Page 13 of Fallen: Darkness Ascending, Vol.1

T W O

I launch myself down the hall as footsteps echo in behind me.

This house is so outrageously prestigious, there are pillars with vases along the hall—I take one, the budding flowers swaying into each other, and turn to throw the entire thing at Cillian.

His hands come up to block it, the porcelain splintering and cutting his hands and cheeks to send the clod of dirt into his face.

It was a damn good throw—and thank god for that bit of luck.

I see him flinch from the dirt in his eyes; that’ll buy me a bit of time.

Behind him, I see Cornelius step out of the bedroom, hands pocketed. Face neutral as he stares over Cillian’s shoulder at me.

I keep running.

The hall loops around to a familiar, second-story balcony at the main foyer.

I stumble myself quickly down the stairs, turning around the bend and heading for the door I saw the guard enter with Stray.

Bursting through, I startle a few of the dogs inside.

I almost have to do a double-take, they look just like him…

the same, bold red color pointed with black.

Pointed ears, musculature, thick coat. Cornelius said his friend was the creator of the breed, but I’m still surprised to see others here.

This seems to be a room designated for sick or injured dogs, six large kennels and some basic equipment off to the side, bright windows, clipboards hung on the chain-link kennels.

I pass by the other occupants, bandaged or sleeping, finding my Stray over on the other side lapping up water.

He swallows and wags his tail to see me, coming to the front of the cage.

I almost cry.

He looks uninjured. He must have gotten the wind knocked out of him back there, maybe sore and bruised under his coat, but he’s alright.

My fingers tremble as I rip the latch of his kennel open, petting his head and ears, bringing him to a quick heel and heading for the door.

He’s eager to follow, happy to be back at my side.

We tuck back out the door, exiting beneath the wide staircase, and I have the front door locked in my sights.

It flashes out of my vision to be replaced with a figure in black clothes and dully entertained hazel eyes.

I curse in surprise, halting as Cillian drops down from the second floor balcony to land in a deep crouch, then stand and look up at me.

Panting, I start to circle around, trying to find a better angle to get to the front door—a gloved hand appears along the stairway railing, Cornelius slowly and elegantly descending.

Cillian takes a few steps forward, looking down at me. “There’s no way out of the estate. There’s no way to fight back. Stop running from us, Hope.”

I glare at him, snapping my fingers. Stray tenses to attention, and I throw an arm out toward Cillian. Venom in my voice, I snarl out the bite command for the first time ever .

“Stray— mordre! ”

His body tenses in anticipation of a command, but for some reason he does nothing other than whine. His paws click as he paces in place, snarling softly, seeming almost conflicted. Did…Did I forget the word? Did I say it wrong?

Ahead, Cillian begins to chuckle darkly, creeping closer one casual step at a time. “No, no…the dog isn’t going to be your weapon either. Who do you think trained him so well, just for you? Stray might serve you, but he’s my dog, Hope. Aren’t you, boy?”

He crouches, smirking at me, and extends a hand. Stray doesn’t so much as sniff it, but when Cillian gently pets under his chin the dog stretches out his neck to ask for more—his tongue lapping twice at Cillian’s wrist.

Cornelius has leaned himself against the back of the couch, spectating.

“Cillian and his team are my trainers. Cill’s friend invented the breed, very selectively.

‘Fide Morte’, ‘loyalty in death’. Stray here underwent special disobedience trainings to ignore Cillian for all his commands—he was the only one of seven pups to have passed the final test before I assigned him to you.

I could only stand for giving you the very best of the best, little lamb. ”

I shake my head, stumbling back a step. “…You…You can’t be serious.”

There’s the slightest flash of offense in his expression, as though it’s rude of me to somehow imply he may not be capable of achieving such a thing. But no, I’m sure he could, I just…am struggling to fathom how much unwarranted trust I put into this man.

He unpockets a hand as Cillian stands, and he waves his wrist vaguely. “You did say you wanted to live closer, so I could help you more easily. This is my home. Welcome.”

I scoff, looking between the two men. When I step back, Stray follows at my side. “This can’t be…You, you were trying to help me stop falling into hell, but if Phantasmus works for you, does what you say…A…Are you even really an angel? Is any of this real?!”

Cornelius holds up a hand. “ Fallen angel, love. A critical difference. Yes, Cillian and Phantasmus work for me—he found you first, on his own, and discovered your special little secret…we had to test things, press the boundaries. There’s never been a soul like yours, Hope, and there may never be again.

We needed to be sure, before I brought you here. ”

My breaths are panting, heavy, with rage.

I glare daggers into Cornelius’s soft, calm face.

“When I showed you Phantasmus on our call, and you said you didn’t see him.

Were you lying?” There’s a pause, no readable reaction other than the tilt of his head and a narrowing of his eyes.

I step forward once, firm. “ Were you lying , Cornelius?!”

The corner of his lip flicks upward, entertained or finding something slightly funny. I can’t fucking imagine what. His voice is calm, cold, and dangerously soft as he replies, “Ohh…careful with sharp questions like that, lamb. You’ll only hurt yourself. Don’t you trust me?”

My exhale huffs out in disbelief at his nonchalance. The words suddenly sound so poisoned, so toxic. So vile. “…You betrayed me. You used me…”

Cillian grimaces, turning over his shoulder to Cornelius. “See, boss? She’s never going to willingly let us feed on her. We have to use the fear.”

Cornelius doesn’t even look at him, just gives a jerk of his head to express his disagreement. “Mmm? I’m not so sure. She’s willingly let me before. She even likes it.”

My short nails bite at my palm as my fingers coil to fists. “If you think I’d ever let you do that again, you’re fucking delusional . I did it then because I trusted you, Cornelius! I thought you were saving me!”

“I was, darling. Whether you understand that, or not?—”

“ Fuck you, Cornelius! I don’t want to hear another word out of you, everything you say is a lie! ”

Stray begins to bark, pressing against my side, at the rising tensions.

Cornelius stares at me for a few seconds before sighing and looking down in remorse. A small frown pulls at his lips, and I feel a small surge of satisfaction that I might’ve made him feel bad. Good, he deserves it.

“Fine, then. You’re right. Besides, her anger will feed no one. Take her down, Cill.”

Oh fuck.

The placid, soulless expression on his face immediately twists into eager malice and desire. “Ohhh I’ve been waiting to hear you say that—but only if I get to do it my way.”

I try to sidestep, try to rush for a door at my far right, but Cillian skitters to the side and stays in front of me, cutting off my retreat.

“I’ve been breathing her scent for so long now…if I take a little taste I won’t be able to stop until she’s dead. I couldn’t restrain myself even if you ask. So don’t ask me unless you mean it , boss.”

My second attempt to maneuver away and find an exit is also cut off, and I feel my heart hyperventilating to keep up with the surging adrenaline—feeling trapped.

Cornelius leans off the couch, setting a hand on Cillian’s shoulder sympathetically. “I know…Sate your hunger, but do it safely.”

Oh fuck ? —

The man snarls, and launches himself. I’m shrieking, turning, feet trying to run, barely getting two paces away before my wrist is seized, yanked, joined by the other.

My face is slammed into the wall, Cillian’s body iron behind me, shoving me against the wood beams as I scream and struggle and Stray barks in distress.

Cold metal bites around my wrists as I try to reclaim them, but there’s a professionalism to his movements that suggests Cillian has subdued many a struggling victim in this way.

Red blots into my vision, but I refuse to let it take over.

I try to shove off the wall and into him, hoping to throw him off-balance and try to flee.

It barely works, and he recovers far too quickly, grabbing me and taking me down to the ground.

Both hands are around my throat before I can blink through the dizziness of my head hitting the floor, my wrists pinching in the handcuffs as I try to resist. Flecks of spittle fly onto my face—Stray, barking, pissed off and tempted to bite.

Cillian’s face hangs over mine, dusty blonde curls falling around his disturbingly pleased expression.

Like he’s getting off, right now, just watching me choke.

I feel hell start to trickle in, but I almost wonder if dying here in the real world first will be a better release.

Then I won’t be stuck in eternal torture.

His hands come away all at once, and he seems to need to catch his breath as much as I do. He groans, looking down at me. He smacks at my cheek rousingly. “No no no, Hope…Get back here. Not yet…Not until you’re in hell, sweetie. I can’t taste you when you’re here. Thaaat’s it… ”

Crimson freckles into my sight again, and his hands return to my throat to earnestly clench, crushing my windpipe painfully, making my head feel fit to burst. The pressure of the blood rush makes the hellscape start to bleed in faster, the home around us decaying and growing cold and gray.