Page 9

I’m dead.

Any chance I had at making it through the night is gone. The second he finds me, and he will, I’m dead.

I could’ve run into the tunnels and hoped that I’d lose him, but being stuck underground with a vengeful angel and nowhere to hide sounded quite unsavoury. Instead I’m back to moving smoothly from block to block, clinging to the shadows and staying under cover as much as I can to hide from the skies. The urgency I felt before has been replaced by a crippling fear of retribution.

The threat of daemons no longer concerns me. My focus lies purely on the silver-winged angel I left bleeding in the train station.

Personally, I think that stabbing him in the stomach was a fair reaction to him violating my mind. In fact, a bullet in the head would have been my preference, but beggars can’t be choosers. Though for some strange reason, I don’t think he will see it that way.

For a long time, we’ve theorised about what abilities angels actually possess. We know for a fact that they are phenomenally stronger and faster than we are. They don’t get wounded by our weapons, and when they are wounded, they heal almost immediately.

Some have said that angels possess abilities of compulsion. That they are able to intrude on our deepest thoughts and take control of them.

I think my new friend just proved that to be true. When I lowered my gun, it was as if every part of my being wanted to protest the movement, but there was a small feeling in my mind that overrode my senses. Something that told me to do it.

The truth is that we have no idea just how powerful their kind is. If angels have this power, how have they not already won the war? Could they be controlling people all over the world?

The angel’s face, flushed with rage, haunts my mind.

I stabbed an angel.

I acted out of instinct, half expecting the metal to crumple against his perfect skin, not pierce straight through it.

My impulsive act of violence has signed my death certificate.

I need to find Jeremy before the angel finds me.

The memory of this morning’s conversation rings through my mind, a guilt-laced rope tugging me forward with each step. I should have stayed and talked it through with him. I’m always late to work; I should have just been late again. I should have told him that even though I don’t know why my answer is no, I do love him. Now I wonder if I’ll ever get the chance.

Either I’ll be dead by sunrise, or he will.

I had one chance to scurry into the protection of the tunnels and follow them to the doorstep of the AIA, but now I can’t think of anything worse than being trapped underground with a vengeful angel.

It’s roughly ten blocks from here to the office, which sounds doable under any other circumstances. Perhaps if I didn’t commit such a moronic act, I’d believe I could make it that far.

Though I did, and I don’t.

If I make it to Market Road, the street from there has no cover. No shadows to stick to; brighter streetlights to spotlight me. That’s the first challenge. The second is Lincoln Park, the large stretch of trees and grass that sits slap-bang between downtown and the city centre. Trouble is, I’m downtown, and the AIA is in the city centre.

Lincoln Park is known to be frequented by creatures of the darkness. Daemons like the thick canopy of tree coverage to hide from their winged foes. Don’t get me wrong – I am all for hiding from the angels, one in particular, but in Lincoln Park I’ll have to face public enemy number two, and worlds know how many of them.

Fighting daemons isn’t new to me. We fought against them when the war began, and ever since the AIA was formed, it’s all we’ve trained for. The difference is that in the past I’ve had a team, and while I’m a good soldier and a great fighter, I possess no immortal abilities. Against a whole horde of daemons, I’m nothing but a meal.

Daemons are weaker than angels, their movements slower and one sole purpose in their short, simple lives: draining the life out of human flesh.

The only reason we know of that the angels haven’t killed them all and won the war is the sheer volume of daemons. No matter how many are killed, they just keep coming. One falls and another stands in its place within a second.

The only way I’ll make it down Market Road is quickly and without hesitation. Being out in the open air is likely to get me killed. The street is where he will find me. I have a better shot at hiding from him in Lincoln Park and taking my chances with the daemons.

I strap the shotgun over my shoulder, not wanting it to slow me down. My back is flat up against the wall of the first building on the corner of Mary Street and Market Road. From here the streets are lined with houses instead of offices and stores. No awnings to hide under, no high-rise buildings to cling to. Every door and window is sealed shut with reinforced steel; no way in, no way out.

I take a deep breath and inch out from the wall to take a quick scan of the skies before I prepare myself to run. My plan, and I use the term “plan”

lightly, involves making it in one piece to Lincoln Park without hearing the dreaded sound of wings. If I can make it to the AIA, I should be able to hide from the angel until I know what happened to Jeremy. Until I know if I have a chance at saving him.

With that, I take off running. I dodge abandoned cars in the street, sliding over the hood of one as I near the end of the first block. Sometimes my agility still surprises me, since I only ever get to exercise at the AIA gym these days. I haven’t put it into practice in years. In everyday life I’m an extremely uncoordinated person – I once fell into an ice-cold lake fully clothed. But put me in a life-or-death situation and I become unrecognisably agile.

My breath is heavy with each quick step I take down the second block of Market Road. Part of me wants to look up and check if there are any threats from above, but I know it’ll only throw me off and slow me down.

One more block until I reach the trees that outline the park. From there the white-and-silver-winged angel is no longer the impending threat of concern.

For a moment, I think I might make it. I wonder if the angel saw me as that little of a threat that he isn’t even bothering to chase me. Seeing to my death might just be an inconvenience to him, especially when he knows that humans don’t survive nightfall.

But my hope is short-lived.

I make it halfway down the last block before I hear it. The spine-chilling sound of wings.

The towering greenery of Lincoln Park teases me from a distance, weighing down each step, yet I move faster than ever. Adrenalin courses through my veins like a drug. I don’t stop moving as I pull the handgun from my belt, angle it upwards, and shoot without looking at my target. The angel draws closer, but I’ve almost made it to the park. Just a little further and I’ll be in the clear. All I need to do is slow him down and buy myself a little extra time.

He’ll either be determined enough to follow me right into enemy territory, or he’ll leave me for the daemons to feast upon.

The second my boots meet grass, I take a breath, but I don’t slow down. I move faster into the thick trees that outline the shadowy darkness of Lincoln Park. The angel may not be able to get to me from above, but if he’s willing to enter the park, he will easily be able to catch me on foot. Perhaps I could climb the trunk of the thickest tree and hide within its branches. Perhaps he wouldn’t think to look for me amongst the leaves.

Hope is torn away from me as the trees begin to thin into a clearing in the centre.

Oh, give me a break.

I remembered them being thicker. I thought I had more time before I had to face the next stretch of open air.

But I can’t afford to stop.

Each breath is like a sharp pinch on my lungs as I take step after step —

Something hard crashes into my chest, sending me crashing backward onto the grass. I land on my back and pain shoots through my spine on impact. I hiss through it, opening my eyes and expecting to see a blue-and-silver ocean staring back at me.

To my relief, I find pure black pits of darkness staring down at me instead. Sharp teeth snap in my direction, dripping with venom-filled saliva.

The daemon moves to dig its claws into my shoulders, but I move quicker. I rock my hips back and use the momentum to flip it off me. I pick up the handgun that fell in our tumble and fire two rounds straight into its head.

Always go for the head.

The daemon lies still on the ground, and its bark-like skin shrivels as it’s pulled back to hell.

I turn to run again, but fall still when I see them. Dark shadows, nearly twenty of them. They stand so still that the only indication they’re alive is a low growling sound that rumbles through the trees.

The daemons salivate expectantly, waiting for me to make my move. The gun feels flimsy in my hand. To make matters worse, my shirt starts to cling to a damp patch underneath it. I’m bleeding.

I slowly touch the wound on my lower back. It’s a small scratch. The bleeding should stop soon. But the scent will still drive them to hunger.

I swap the handgun for a sickle blade, flipping it over my wrist a few times before raising my hands in front of my face. I wish more than anything that I had a frost blade right now.

A daemon screeches its war cry as it lunges for me. I ready my blade to strike, but the creature stops in its place and turns to look up at the sky.

I grab hold of the tree next to me as the ground shakes, but it’s over as quickly as it begins. In a blur, the daemon’s head falls to the ground. Its body lands next to it a second later.

A large figure emerges in place of the daemon. Large white wings threaded with silver block my vision.

He found me.

I palm the dagger strapped to my thigh and throw it at the angel, but he catches it with ease. A drop of golden blood drips down his hand.

His hair is almost perfectly moulded in place apart from a few loose strands hanging over his forehead. It seems unnatural after flying as high and fast as they do – perhaps it’s a perk of immortality. One of their many unknown abilities: having no need for hairspray.

The angel’s piercing blue eyes hold nothing human within them. The silver dances wildly as if to reiterate that.

My eyes drop to the blade he holds tightly in one hand, then to his free hand, which drips with black daemon blood.

I inhale a sharp breath as it dawns on me.

Did he just decapitate that daemon with his bare hands?

Though it spreads fear through my veins like a disease, I can’t help but feel… impressed at the thought.

I barely reach the angel’s shoulders; he towers over me. Perhaps he was right to call me an insect. I certainly feel like one now I’m standing before him, feeling the full weight of his gaze that promises nothing but death. Not that I’d ever admit that. I have always been told that I’m annoyingly and unreasonably confident, like one of those small yappy dogs who doesn’t realise its size. Right now I don’t feel that part of myself.

I’m frozen in place, unsure of what to do. Part of me feels a strange need to bow, to get down on my hands and knees and beg for my life. That is not a part of myself that I will ever accept. Instead, I stand up taller and raise my chin. A pathetic attempt to seem as intimidating as I possibly can.

He cocks his head as he looks me over, his expression never changing. He throws my weapon to my feet.

“So we meet again, Slayer.”

He says the words with irritation.

Slayer? “Gotta say, not a fan of the nickname.”

My response tumbles out of my mouth before I can stop myself. This man – no, this angel – could kill me in seconds, without even trying. Probably without even lifting a finger. The last thing I need is to piss him off any further.

His eyes flicker with an emotion that’s not remotely human: a horrid mixture of rage and power. I watch as his lips twitch into a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Eyes that still scream at me to run.

The daemons in the shadows seem to be hesitant to make their move now that the angel is here. Their growling is low and impatient.

“I can smell your fear, Slayer. I expected much more from the human who drove a blade through my abdomen.”

The angel takes a step towards me, and I instinctively take one back, nearly tripping over the daemon corpse behind me. A low chuckle sends a shiver down my spine. “You’re right to be afraid. I could rip your human heart out before you even see me move.”

My stomach churns at the reality of it. From the commanding gaze in his eyes to the wings that curve from his back, there is no doubt in my mind of his power.

“You’re three times my size and unmistakably immortal. Excuse me for being a little intimidated,”

I snarl, standing my ground. If this is how I die, so be it. “Though don’t mistake my fear for subservience. I’d rather die with a blade in my hand than on my knees pretending to give a rat’s ass about the opinion of an angel.”

The angel’s lips fall and his head tilts to the side again. “As much as I’d love to see that, it will have to wait.”

With that, he lifts his arm above his head and reaches behind his back. He pulls a large sword out of the scabbard between his wings.

Moving with inhuman speed, he throws it just barely past my ear and into the head of a daemon sneaking up behind me. The brute force of it takes the creature’s head straight off.

“Run, little Slayer. They’re coming for you.”