Page 17

Once Tobe and the others had left, Naomi returned to her position at the hostess station.

It was hard to be her usual gracious self when frustration simmered in her blood.

Frustration at Iain, at Tobe, at her inability to convince her anchor to hang back.

So her every smile was stiff, her every “Enjoy your meal” empty.

As such, it was a relief when the end of her shift rolled around.

Hooking the strap of her purse over her shoulder, she said her goodbyes and left the restaurant. Her skin prickled as the cool evening breeze whispered over her. Damn, she should have brought a jacket.

No less annoyed than she had been earlier, her pace was faster than usual. Strident, even. But it faltered when she felt someone watching her. Again .

She couldn’t help but frown. Unless Luka had released Iain, it couldn’t be him. It didn’t seem likely that the legion would have let him go so soon. As such, there’d be no reason why Luka would have put a tail on her already.

Whoever was following her had to be the person who’d followed her all the way to the pizzeria. She’d thought it was Iain. But now? Well, it could be the PI. She doubted it was clerics—if there were more, surely they would have attacked before now.

In her current mood, she wasn’t feeling inclined to ignore that someone thought it acceptable to shadow her. She couldn’t confront them here and now, though. A few humans lived around these parts, and there were plenty of things they shouldn’t see.

What she needed to do was lure her follower to an isolated spot where there’d be no CCTV. And she knew just the place.

She headed for the nearby industrial space that her lair owned. Many of them used the place to store items that had “fallen out of a truck” or to privately engage in other illegal activities, but that was off-topic.

Reaching it, she walked to a spot where no human eyes would be able to see shit. Then she turned, ready to face her tail. “Come out, come out, whoever the hell you are,” she sang.

Someone stepped out of the shadows . . . but it wasn’t the PI. Nor were any of the six other people who inched forward to gather near him. All were strangers, but the emblems on their black clothes told them exactly who she was facing.

Motherfucker.

Did they always travel in groups of seven? Maybe. If she recalled rightly, it was considered a holy number in the Bible. That could have something to do with it.

“Where are they?” the cleric in the center of the group demanded, his piercing eyes flinty, his square jaw hard. Like the others, he appeared freshly shaved, had not one hair on his head, and was armed with a sword that gleamed with magick.

Naomi went for confused. “Excuse me?”

“Our brethren,” he elaborated, impatient. “Where are they? They came for you, and they have since disappeared.”

“Brethren?” she echoed, scrunching her face up, feeling the molten force within her slinking upward in a predatory fashion.

He sneered. “Do not plead ignorance. You must have had something to do with their disappearance, though I fail to understand how.” He looked her up and down in a superior manner.

Well wasn’t he a precious little misogynist.

She shook her head, her skin heating with the power humming just underneath it. That same heat bled outward, upping the temperature. “I have no clue who or what you’re talking about, and I want no part of whatever this is.”

“That is too bad, because we cannot in good conscience allow you to walk away. Not when you will otherwise cause much destruction to this world. Or, more to the point, your future child will.”

Naomi sighed. “Look, Brother John—”

“My name is Adrian.”

“Adrian, whatever. I’ve had something of a shitty evening—”

“And it’s about to get worse.”

For them , yes. Because if they weren’t going to walk away, she had no option but to kill them.

Her demon wanted to rise. Take over. Attack. Destroy.

You and I have a deal , she psychically reminded it.

It only huffed in response.

Naomi narrowed her eyes as she swept them over the other clerics. “Who are you?”

“Agents of God,” the one on the far right claimed in a gruff voice. Somewhere in his fifties, he appeared to be the eldest of the bunch. “Our brotherhood has done his work for many, many centuries.”

“Well, it’s not really his work, is it? He didn’t tell you to do this; you’re acting of your own accord and you claim it’s the will of God. That’s a little different.”

“Wrong, we are his servants; it is our duty to preserve the greater good,” Gruff Voice piously upheld.

“Is that so?” She flicked a look at his blade. “Where did you all get your swords?”

He frowned. “Why?”

She shrugged. “Just curious. They gleam with a power I don’t think is anything close to pure. Tell me, do they hold the smells of sweat and rot?”

The clerics all stiffened.

“Yeah, that means dark magick is embedded in the blades. I gotta wonder why God’s servants would use anything like that.”

“Nonsense,” Gruff Voice spat. “What you smell is the pain and suffering threaded through the holy blood that blessed the steel.”

Wait, what? “ Holy blood?”

“Earth-bound angels may have been called back to their realm, but our savior did not abandon us,” Gruff Voice bragged. “He sent one of his messengers to us; gifted us with weapons. Whoever wields those swords also wields the will of God.”

Naomi blinked. “Hold up, you think—”

“Enough now. It is obvious that you are stalling. Perhaps you think you will be saved.”

Adrian inched up his chin. “That will not happen. Your death is a must.”

Knowing she’d get no more out of them, Naomi gently dropped her purse to the ground. “Shame you feel that way. Well, it’s a shame for you. Because I’m not the one who’ll die here tonight. I lied before. I met your brethren. They actually tried to kill me. They’re all dead now.”

“Who killed them?” Gruff Voice demanded, his voice a whip.

Naomi let her mouth curve. “I did.”

Adrian hissed. “You lie.”

“Nope. And all this is a waste of your time. You misunderstood the prophecy; didn’t translate it correctly.” She switched to the ancient tongue as she quoted, “ ‘For she who bears the mark is the progeny of the devil.’ ”

“ ‘And that child will lead an army of demons’,” Adrian finished, sticking to English.

Naomi paused. “Could you maybe say that part in its original language? Then I can tell you what bits you mistranslated.” They most certainly had not correctly translated it, because she was the child in question, and in no reality would she lead any show of force, let alone a demonic army. She was too damn lazy for that.

The stout cleric beside Adrian looked up at him. “That she is familiar with the prophecy means he got to her first. She could be carrying his spawn as we speak.”

“If you’re talking about Lucifer,” she began, “ no way would I ever have his child. You’re wrong in believing that I’ll birth the Antichrist, but I suppose you’re not going to listen to me.”

“You are right, we know better than to take the word of a demon.” Adrian’s jaw tightened. “Where are our brothers’ bodies?”

“Tell me about your monkhood and I will tell you where they’re buried,” said Naomi.

Adrian slipped Gruff Voice a look. “You’re right.

She is stalling. Let us end this.” He lifted his sword, his eyes focused on Naomi intently.

“It is not your fault that you must die at our hands—you were chosen by Lucifer, not the other way around. As such, I will make this quick and as painless as possible.”

Naomi felt her face harden. “ I won’t.” The blistering-hot power awaiting her direction began to boil like water in a pot . . . and then she released it. A red-violet fire roared to life around her, licking at her flesh.

The clerics inched back, turning their heads slightly away from the overly bright flames, their eyes narrowing but not leaving her. Horror and shock danced over their faces, warring for supremacy.

“What are . . . ?” Adrian trailed off, gawking.

Naomi didn’t answer him. Didn’t wait for the Eliouds to make their move. She struck first, throwing up her hands and letting loose rivulets of red-violet liquid fire. They splashed over two clerics, drenching them, burning them, making their skin peel and blister and steam.

Her demon smirked at their screams of agony. The sounds blended with chanting and a battle cry that had her head snapping to the side—just in time for her to see twisting vines of pure-white magick sailing toward her.

Well, shit.

She tried to dodge them. Failed. They slammed into her, zapping every nerve ending like electric jolts.

“Fuck,” she hissed, her flesh throbbing. It would have hurt a lot worse if it weren’t for the flames covering her skin.

Gruff Voice laughed in triumph. “I don’t know what you are, but I do know you are no match for us.”

Her entity threw him a harsh glare, but Naomi smiled. “You really think that, huh?” She pyroported behind the asshole and took him out with a violent twist to his neck. He flopped to the ground, sword and all. “Seems you were wrong.”

As magick came toward her from several angles, she pyroported to another spot . . . and another . . . and another . . . and another.

The clerics swore and spun and attacked blindly, missing their target every time. Chanting, crackling, yelling, and the snapping and popping of fire filled the air.

Throughout all the chaos, her inner demon smiled.

Well, it did love chaos.

Naomi landed behind a cleric, but another blindsided her before she could strike. How rude. She lashed out at the interfering bastard with a full-on blast of fire, setting him alight. His cries of pain were a blissful song to her entity.

Four down, three to go.

Another charged her, hurling magick her way too fast for her to dodge it. The blow was like boiling-hot darts sinking into her skin. Fucker.