Page 4 of Wings of Darkness (Daughter of the Seven Circles #2)

Chapter

Four

RONEN

P unch after punch, I rammed my fists into the bag, changing up my combos but never slowing my speed or intensity.

“Okay, who got your wings wet this time?” Alexei gritted out, holding the punching bag for me.

Wet wings meant harder flight, losing altitude or tearing your muscles apart to keep from crashing to your death.

It meant hours to fucking dry and dragging against the ground without the ability to dematerialize them until they dried or the torn muscles healed.

Wet wings pissed any sane angel off, which was why if any of my Dreads chose to play another prank on me with water, they’d be demoted and running patrols in the Veil Forest, where Hellhounds and Spinewalkers crept through the thick fog.

Lucky for them, I only manifested them seconds before flight, like most angels .

“No one.” My right hook slammed into the bag, knocking Alexei back.

“It was Danny, wasn’t it?” Alexei shook his head. “That prick’s always doing something to piss you off.”

He wasn’t wrong, but no, it wasn’t the squadron leader of the Devils. Not this time.

“No.”

“Female trouble?” Alexei stepped back up to the bag, holding it steady. “Maybe if you didn’t look the way you did, your life would be easier.”

I scoffed, shaking my head at the golden boy who had females fawning over him weekly.

“And who will you have in your bed tonight?” I pointed out in between grunts.

He grinned. “I may have asked a few of my favorites to join me.”

“A few?”

“It’s so hard to choose. They’re all so beautiful.”

“And they agree to that?” I sure as hell wouldn’t. I don’t share.

Alexei shrugged. “I’ll learn tonight. But I have a feeling it’ll work out in my favor.”

I laughed at my second and finished punching out my frustration until sweat soaked my clothes and sand clung to my arms. That was the one thing I hated about this enclosed arena—always feeling the gritty substance sticking to me like a second skin and digging into my boots.

It didn’t matter if I trained in my uniform or pants and a T-shirt; the sand always found a way in.

I also hated the floor-length windows lining almost every wall, like we were some spectacle to watch.

This wasn’t a gladiator arena, even if we were as brutal and vicious as those warriors.

But the windows weren’t for spectators, nor were they some punishment.

Lucifer had created his castle with hundreds of them so he could gaze toward the heavens, where he’d believed Saraqael to be while she’d been away.

That was before he learned Saraqael avoided Heaven’s domain like the plague and found a home on Earth.

“Here.” Alexei slapped a towel into my chest, his eyes blatantly fixed on something to my right.

I shook my head. “Haven’t you learned your lesson from staring at MJ’s ass the last hundred times?”

MJ, my third, trained in the weapons range, pulling back her bow with precision before releasing two arrows. Both hit the dummy’s heart from sixty meters away—about the same distance we stood from her in the sparring grounds.

He shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt to admire.”

I snorted. He knew damn well it did hurt him—frequently. Yet he always came back for more.

“It will once she notices.”

Which she did. He deflected the arrow she shot at his face with a blast of wind, and it hit the punching bag, spilling grain everywhere. He smirked at MJ.

“Pick it all up, Alexei, and patch up the bag. We’ll debrief tomorrow and check out the recruits for the Infernal Sixty,” I said, walking past a few of my Dreads lifting weights.

“Can’t wait for the new bait. I love the Infernal Sixty!”

I usually agreed with Alexei, but this time, she’d be a part of it. I’d had enough exposure to watching the Nephilim crawl all over her.

How many males did she have? First the damned traitorous pet, and now the Nephilim? She nearly rivaled Alexei—but no one could be as bad as him. Nor did I care who occupied his bed. Or hers. But my shadows sure as hell did.

We used to work as one, and still did—unless it came to her.

If she entered the room or my mind even for a split second, they pushed and begged to be released.

The last time I struggled this hard to keep them contained was when the council first created me—back when I was just learning about my semi-sentient power.

Sometimes they had a mind of their own, did things without my command.

But that was years ago. I thought we were past that petulant stage—until last week.

A soul groaned off to my left as I passed. A blood-banded warrior beat in his face, splitting his cheek. My lips pressed together, still unnerved by the fact the dead didn’t bleed.

I gave the almost-empty arena a once-over before I left. Tomorrow, it’d be filled with new souls and blood-banded. Tomorrow, they’d realize exactly what horror they brought upon themselves.

Back in my room, I shucked off my sweaty clothes and hopped into the shower.

“For fuck’s sake,” I hissed, cringing as the icy water hit my back.

Someone must’ve pissed off Lucifer today. Hell was fortunate to have running water—unlike Elora—but unfortunately, Lucifer’s moods controlled the temperature.

Stepping out, I paused on my only colored tattoo, like I did every day. The band of red circled my left bicep, a glaring reminder of my precarious situation.

As a living soul in Hell, to stay without consequences, I needed Lucifer’s blood tattooed into my arm. He decided who among the living could reside in Hell before their time. But it came at a steep price.

I questioned the deal I made with Lucifer every day.

Having two alpha males with equal power in one domain amounted to a volatile atmosphere.

But once we figured out our odd dynamic and he gave me a semblance of my control back, we came to a fragile truce.

Then, when Saraqael left him, he no longer cared about changing leadership—and my guilt slid away.

The blood-band seemed like a saving grace for the last twenty years, even with Hell imploding. But after all these new developments with Saraqael and her daughter, the guilt snuck back in, sinking heavy in my gut.

I believed in truth—and yet, I never told him that if I ever found the items for the Unmaking Ceremony and replaced him as king, there was a chance he’d die.

I didn’t think that made me a bad male—only a desperate one.

Because if I’d told him the truth, I wouldn’t be a general. I wouldn’t have free rein in the Redemption Circle. No—I’d be his slave. And I swore to myself, I’d never, never let that happen again.

I slipped on my uniform and strapped my dual blades to my back. After combing through my short hair, I glanced at Tsal-mawet secured to my weapons wall, then headed to the Hall of Judgment on the other side of the castle.

On my way, I tuned into Rune and felt a calm happiness from my Soulhound. The ease with which I connected to her mind gave me a sense of peace I hadn’t had for the last ten years. I realized I had needed her back, and our connection restored .

I nudged awareness at her, forcing her awake so I could see the female. I groaned. No wonder Rune fell asleep. The female did too.

Wake her up, Rune. She needs to get ready.

Rune sent me a feeling of confirmation and licked the female’s cheek. She smiled in her sleep, doing horrible things to my nerves. Rune, seeing the lack of opening eyes, slobbered all over her face.

I smirked, and the female laughed. I separated the visual connection the moment she opened her captivating, starry eyes and sent Rune a feeling of gratitude.

Hopefully, the female would be ready when I came to fetch her.

I really had to stop thinking about her as the female , or I’d start calling her that. But I needed something else besides Lucille.

My shadows sank their claws into the seductive syllables and darkened my vision. I shivered. This loss of control drove me insane. I didn’t have the luxury to be anything but composed and unshakeable.

But the instant my shadows connected with her mind, the manipulative, revolting bond woke up.

Immediately, I blocked her side of the connection—and my own.

I wanted nothing from her, and I’d give her nothing in return.

I’d have her trained and keep her alive, but it ended there.

She was a job—only orders. I was lucky I didn’t have to personally train her.

Now, if only my shadows would listen and quit challenging my restraint.

The tall doors of the Hall of Judgment came into view.

Each one depicted a story. One door, blood red, illustrated souls begging for mercy in each of the Seven Circles of Hell on their journey to redemption.

The other, pure white, illustrated joyful souls on their way to Heaven after paying the price for their sins.

Hell gained an influx of souls when the gates opened last week—so many souls that had been waiting in limbo to descend to Hell for their judgment. Now, Lucifer and I had to work overtime to send them to their respective circle.

Fortunately for them, Hell wasn’t necessarily their last stop. They received the chance to redeem themselves—unless they were too corrupted and weak to ascend. Then they were stuck in Hell forever, suffering in the lower circles.

A Damned Soul.

A type of soul that shouldn’t even be able to breach the Redemption Circle. Yet here I was, entering the hall to help Lucifer interrogate one.

I pushed open the door and made my way toward the dais. Lucifer occupied his two-themed throne with quiet authority. His hands casually rested on carvings symbolizing joy and agony.

“Bloodhound.” Lucifer nodded.

His nickname for me eased the tension in my jaw. My cold shower wasn’t a result of something I did. Someone—or something—else must’ve pissed him off.

“My liege.” I nodded back, positioning myself at his side.