Page 67 of Wings of Darkness (Daughter of the Seven Circles #2)

Chapter

Forty-Four

LUCILLE

T oday was the day that I either kicked ass or got my ass kicked. Knowing Moira, more than likely dead . I’d need to use all the skills I’d acquired and then some, since I couldn’t use my powers—or at least not the ones anyone could see.

If I managed to defeat Moira with my hands essentially tied behind my back, then I could finally stop doubting my worth in this military. It would mean not only that I was a warrior, but that I had the ability to save the people I loved.

I stepped out of my room, clothed in the colors of Hell, and gave Oliver a small smile.

He gave me one back.

I’d explained what had happened with Aspen after he found out, which—unsurprisingly—didn’t shock him.

But once I told him I still wanted to rescue Aspen, I received the scolding of my life.

We argued late into the night and eventually came to a truce after I started to beg and cry.

I think my desperation scared him. It scared me too.

Oliver knocked my shoulder with his fist. “Today’s the day.”

“Let’s hope we survive.”

He pulled me into his arms and gave me a noogie. “Luce, we’re going to wipe the floor with them. I’m not worried.”

That made one of us.

We walked to the arena and met MJ and Alexei at the doors.

“The Nephilim’s up first,” MJ informed us, stepping boot-to-boot with Oliver. “I don’t care how many times you puke. If you can put them down, do it.”

Oliver straightened and saluted MJ. “Brought my barf bag, Sergeant.”

MJ’s eye twitched. I was pretty sure she wanted to stab him with one of her arrows.

Alexei smacked his back. “Dig deep and tune out the images, got it?”

“Got it.” Oliver twisted his head. “Kiss for good luck?”

Alexei shoved him toward the door.

I hugged Oliver and whispered in his ear, “I’ll be brave for you, if you’ll be brave for me.”

He pulled back and kissed my forehead, murmuring the same words against my skin. Then he pushed his shoulders back and entered the arena. We followed close behind.

BO hit me like a slap in the face as I passed the stands, and sweat instantly beaded on my forehead.

The arena was packed. Angels, humans, and half-breeds sat shoulder-to-shoulder, filling every inch of the cement seating.

Warriors stood on the ground level, circling the outer edge, waiting for the next match.

“Be brave, Oli,” I said as we split off from him. We pushed through to the front row, and a coppery tang slowly overpowered the BO. Sliding up next to Ichi, who conveniently stood beside Rune and Ronen, I found out why.

Blood decorated the open circle as if someone had taken a few buckets of paint and splashed them onto the ground. Some poor Bowel recruit currently poured fresh sand over the gory scene before Oliver and the Trencher approached the center.

As the final grains fell, Oliver strode toward his opponent at the heart of the arena with his chin raised and a mischievous smile twisting his lips. His smile never faltered, even as the large, bald warrior sauntered down the opposite path, receiving pats on the back, encouragement, and weapons.

I was proud of him.

“Marcel, a blood-banded human from the Trenchers Squadron, has challenged Oliver, a blood-banded Nephilim from the Tormentors Squadron, for his spot,” a male announced from the dais. “Let the challenge begin.”

That was a surprise. The majority of elite squadrons were made up of angels and angel half-breeds for a reason.

Marcel twirled his sword in a flashy maneuver. “Let’s go, Nephilim. I’ll send you where you belong.”

Oliver laughed in disbelief. “Did someone put you up to this?”

Marcel blinked. He seemed confused by the question, or maybe by Oliver’s nonchalance.

“If so, you gotta get better friends, man. ”

Marcel jabbed his sword toward Oliver’s stomach, and Oliver jumped back.

The crowd booed. But I wasn’t sure if they were booing Marcel or the fact that he didn’t stab Oliver.

“No? Don’t have any friends? Then are you just a complete moron?”

Marcel attacked again, and Oliver dodged, shaking his head. His eyes flashed green, and Marcel dropped his sword, flinging his hands up to his face. He dug in the heels of his palms as if that’d stop Oliver’s power.

“What are you doing to me?”

“Not much.” Oliver shrugged.

“Make it stop.” Marcel fell to his knees. “Make it stop!” he screamed, clawing at his face.

Remembering the first time Oliver used his powers on me, I could only imagine what Marcel was seeing. Whatever fears Oliver dredged up had reduced him to a sniveling, bald baby. And he didn’t even touch him. This was a mild fear.

Oliver picked up Marcel’s sword and placed it against the Trencher’s neck. “I could make it a lot worse, if you’d like. Or you could use the last brain cell you have and run along before the images turn darker, or you die.”

Marcel flipped over and scrambled on his hands and knees back the way he came. Either Oliver had gone deeper than I thought, or Marcel was just that pathetic.

“The challenge goes to Oliver,” the announcer shouted.

Oliver winked at me, and I rolled my eyes. That match was nothing .

But it made an impact. The crowd didn’t cheer, but they didn’t boo either. Neither did the warriors. Everyone stood in stunned silence, unable to comprehend what Oliver had just done.

“Up next, Theon, a blood-banded angel from the Devils Squadron, has challenged his own squadmate, Oliver.”

Oh, shit.

The warriors thundered their approval, hollering, pounding their chests, and shooting bursts of flame and water into the air. The crowd, caught up in the excitement, followed suit.

“You two sure know how to make friends,” Alexei commented.

“Hard to make friends with angels that suffocate you daily,” I replied.

Alexei flipped his dagger, considering Ichi. “Is that so?”

Ichi turned and gave him a slight bow. “I wasn’t a part of it, but I stopped it.”

“You should’ve said something, beautiful.”

I crossed my arms. “Why? So the big bad Dreads could come to our rescue and make us look weaker?”

He had no response to that—because he knew I was right.

Theon luscelered into the ring, pumping his fist in the air, and the cheers grew deafening.

He paraded around as the crowd threw flowers and coins at his feet, even a few lace panties.

I wanted to find those females and tell them they were better off saving their panties for someone who wasn’t a rotten piece of shit.

Oliver leaned on Marcel’s sword, looking as unimpressed as I felt. Not that my opinion of Theon could fall much further—it was already seven circles under .

Theon reached down and picked up a red lace thong, sniffing it as he grinned.

Heavenly Hell, he made me sick.

Still crouched beside his new pile of panties, Theon raised his hand—and water slammed into Oliver’s chest, knocking him flat. He never saw it coming. I never saw it coming. Theon had played into our expectations.

He luscelered, blurring across the short distance. He double-fisted his axe, raised it high, and swung for Oliver’s head with everything he had. No pause. No hesitation. Theon wanted to take Oliver’s life—fast and viciously.

“Roll!” I screamed, my skin itching.

Oliver didn’t.

Instead, he whipped up the sword, and steel clanged against steel, ringing through the crowd’s noise. Theon bore down on him. Metal screeched as Oliver held the axe at bay. Blood bloomed through the glove of his left hand as his arms strained against Theon’s burly strength.

Why didn’t he just roll? Oliver’s muscles were half Theon’s size. And he was fighting from his back.

Theon’s axe pushed lower, inching toward his neck.

“Use your power!” I shouted. He should’ve done that from the start.

What was Oliver playing at?

He didn’t listen. Theon grinned, and water swallowed Oliver’s face—a green light refracted through the liquid.

So, he was using his powers. But they weren’t enough. Either they didn’t affect Theon, or he had a strong mind shield, and Oliver couldn’t penetrate.

The axe lowered further.

I lurched forward, only to be stopped by Ichi. “We don’t intervene.”

“I’m not going to let Theon kill Oliver,” I snapped, trying to shake off her tightening grip.

But she held onto me, even when Oliver lost the struggle.

It all happened so fast. Oliver’s right arm dropped as he shifted his head.

Theon’s axe veered off-center, sinking into his shoulder.

Water muffled his cry, just as the cheering crowd drowned out Theon’s laughter when he yanked the weapon free.

It was over. The next swing would drive through Oliver’s head, and I’d lose him.

I wrenched out of Ichi’s hold, about to pull at my Infernus, when Theon stumbled back and dropped his axe. He clutched at a dagger protruding from his stomach.

“How’s that feel?” Oliver rasped, standing, no longer suffocating on water.

But his brows were drawn, and he covered his wound while his right arm dangled uselessly at his side.

“It took me a few seconds to figure out where I wanted to stab you. The stomach seemed the best place for putting on my show.”

His show? Did Oliver plan this, or was he making it up as he went?

Theon’s nostrils flared as he shot out a blast of water, but it faltered, losing momentum. Oliver jerked out of the way and winced. That small movement hurt, and he thought he could put on a show ?

“See, I could’ve slammed it through your ribs, hoping to nick your heart. But then you’d miss out on my favorite part.” Oliver laughed. “Heart, part. I like that.”

Theon didn’t. He ripped the dagger from his stomach and charged Oliver.

A second later, Oliver used a maneuver we learned from Alexei to dodge the knife, then slid up behind Theon and fisted his orange hair.

Water instantly encased Oliver’s head. But with each passing second, it thinned, revealing his nose, his smug smile, and blazing green eyes.

“Enjoy,” Oliver taunted.