Angelbound (45 page)

Walker’s face is still as stone. “Your mother forbade me to mention my personal history, so I’ve respected her wishes. Now, however, it’s time you knew about the Aquilinea.”

“Thanks.” My head bobs from side to side. “That explains why Octavia and Lincoln trusted you with their messages.” I picture the ghouls who sometimes accompany Verus to matches; I always thought some of them looked like Walker. Must be Aquilinea as well. I glance out to the Arena floor. Maybe I’ll see one of them out there today? The thought should be comforting, but it isn’t. Thinking about the stadium only ratchets up my nerves.

Lincoln barely moves as he speaks. “That explains you and me. How about you and Myla?”

I eye him closely.
Oooooooh, I get it.
The Prince is never an easy guy to read, but I get the definite feeling he’s ticked off about something or some
one
. The short list of options are Walker, Walker, and Walker. “You didn’t know that Walker knew me?”

Lincoln’s gaze stays locked on Walker. “Not beyond the few messages I gave him.”

A muscle flickers along Walker’s jawline. “I’m under an unbreakable oath. Myla’s mother must approve anything I say about her.”

“How about I act as proxy for my mother?” I twiddle my fingers in Walker’s direction. “I release thee from thy oath.” I want to hear how Walker ended up in my life too. Besides, the mega-tension in this hallway isn’t helping an already-anxious morning.

“That should work.” Lincoln’s eyes narrow. “Speak.”

Walker inhales a long breath. “Xavier was my instructor ages ago, in the Citadel. He became like a father to me. When he left Purgatory, he asked me to watch over Camilla. I took an unbreakable oath. When Myla was born, I watched over her too.”

Lincoln’s hands ball into fists. “So, Myla’s the mystery girl you’ve been visiting all these years?”

My brows jet upwards. Who knew I was a topic of conversation between Walker and Lincoln? For years, no less.

Walker juts out his chin. “Yes.”

My mouth rounds into an ‘o.’ It took my anxious brain a bit, but I finally get
what’s going on here. I move to stand directly in front of the Prince, cupping his face in my hands. His day-old stubble tickles my palms as he stubbornly keeps glaring at Walker. “It’s not like that between us. Walker’s basically my brother.” I guide his eyes to look directly into mine.

Rage simmers behind the Prince’s features. “So, you two never?”

“Sha!” I roll my eyes. “I appreciate the jealousy, but we’re burning up valuable goodbye kiss time.”

Lincoln finally grins and leans in closer. We share a slow kiss. It’s sweet, intense, and over way too soon.

The Prince presses his forehead to mine. “Be safe.”

My tail musses his hair. “I will.” I kiss him one more time, just because I can.

I pull my mask over my face, suck in a deep breath, and turn to Walker. “Let’s do this.”

Walker turns to Lincoln, setting his fist on his chest. “Goodbye, Shield Brother.” I’m guessing this is a traditional farewell for the Aquilinea, but the way Walker says it, it’s more of a question: ‘are we okay?’

The Prince pauses, then moves his fist in the same motion. “Until we meet again.” The way Lincoln says the words, it’s an answer: ‘We’re good.’

Walker smiles. Together, we step out onto the Arena floor, heading toward a group of quasis clustered around Sharkie. All of them have long black tails with arrowhead ends.

Arena fighters. All part-Furor. The best in Purgatory.

The last time we were all gathered together, it was the Scala initiation. My
forehead creases with questions.

“Walker, is there a ceremony today?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Uh-huh.” My shoulders constrict with anxiety. Something about this feels off. Normally there’s only one kick-ass quasi on the Arena floor, along with a bunch of lesser demons. Why are all the part-Furor Arena fighters in Purgatory—every top warrior we have—gathering in the Arena today?

I scan the Arena grounds. More weirdness is afoot. Usually, there’s at least one extra ghoul on the stadium floor. Today, there’s only Walker and Sharkie. The exit archways sit empty as well, except for the one directly across from me. In there, Lincoln paces in the shadows, his body tense as a coiled spring. He turns in my direction. Our gaze meets. There’s no joy of lovers connecting, only the focus of two warriors waiting for…
What?

Sharkie thumps his staff on the ground. At each of the four points of the compass, a member of the Oligarchy appears along the lip of the stadium. Turning as one, they open four massive portals along the Arena’s top tier. Angels and demons pour into the stands.

I catalog the crowd. The angels look as they always do: white wings, linen robes, and blue eyes. I inspect the demons and gasp. This group isn’t the usual grab bag of colors, shapes, and sizes. Today, the demons are all tall, bulky, and ripped with muscles. Great wings, as dark and angled as a bat’s, hang off many of their backs. Without making a sound, they take their seats with military precision. At least five thousand of them pack the towering stands.

I’m used to a howling jumble of demons. Over the years, I’ve stopped noticing them. But today’s silence sets my nerves on a knife’s edge.

I look to Sharkie. He’s panting out his nose-holes, black sweat dripping down his cheeks. Walker steps to my side, setting his hand on my shoulder. In the distant archway, Lincoln turns his baculum into a fiery broadsword.

Unholy moley. Whatever’s coming, it’s bad.

The crowd of angels and demons take their seats in record time. Verus and Armageddon are last to process into the stadium. Angels in white armor flank either side of Verus. I recognize Rhiannon and Levi. Extra protection for Verus; not a good sign.

Squinting, I examine the dark balcony. Armageddon’s surrounded by massive stone-skinned demons. Clementine sits there too, a satisfied smirk twisting her piggish face. I grip my hands behind my back to hide how I’m shaking.

The match is ready to begin.

Sharkie thumps his staff one more time. “Angels, ghouls, and demons, I bring you–”

Armageddon raises his pointer finger, his voice echoing through the stadium. “I request the presence of the Scala and Scala Heir.” He shoots a snide glance at the Oligarchy. “Do you agree?”

Huh. As if they’d ever disagree.

The Oligarchy speak in unison. “Call the bearers.”

Minutes tick by. I hop in place, cracking my neck from side to side. Man, I hate waiting around. Pisses. Me. Off. My inner wrath demon awakens, sending my tail in arc over my shoulder. New emotions—rage and frustration—combine with the terror that overwhelmed me before. Makes me feel better, actually. My shoulders loosen, getting ready to hit something.

Finally, a long portal opens in the center of the Arena floor. Out of it steps six ghouls carrying a stretcher. The Scala lies atop it, deep in sleep. Nearby stands the Scala Heir in her white robes. Her head is held high (a little too high, in the opinion of the
real
Scala Heir) as she scans the crowd.

Adair raises her hand. “I’d like to say something, if I may?”

Sharkie bows. “Of course, oh, Scala Heir.”

“I was so touched when this random ghoul visited me and asked if I could join you people today. It really shows you’ve come to revere me. Thank you. Really.”

I shoot a glance toward Lincoln. His gaze shifts between me and Adair; he shakes his head from side to side. I know exactly what he’s thinking: she should never be here without any thrax to protect her.

Dingbat.

Sharkie pounds his staff onto the stadium floor. “Now we shall–”

Armageddon sniffs. Sharkie and the stadium fall silent. “I was not finished.”

My muscles tighten as fear crawls up my spine. I don’t like the smug grin rounding Armageddon’s mouth. What could he possibly have to say? Get on with the match already.

Muscles twitch in the emcee’s gray neck. In her balcony, Verus grips her throne, her blue eyes narrowing into slits. A long pause follows, then Sharkie stammers out one word: “Ye…Yes?”

Rising to his feet, Armageddon shoots his thin arms high. “ATTACK!”

My body freezes with shock. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

What happens next takes seconds, but each one ekes by in what feels like years, beginning with demons streaming out of the stands and onto the Arena floor. I gasp, suddenly realizing why all the part-Furor fighters in Purgatory—every top quasi warrior we have—were brought together in the Arena today:

To wipe us all out at once.

I scan the top lip of the stadium. The Oligarchy stand stunned, their skeletal heads wagging. They stumble about for a bit, then step into their own portals and disappear. The main exit goes with them.

Thanks a lot, assholes.

In the white stands, the angels form an ad hoc group around Verus’s balcony, but it’s unclear if they want to protect her or look for escape. Either way, these aren’t warriors. The demon fighters close in with military precision, slaughtering their way through the angel spectators to reach Verus and her entourage.

My body shivers with icy shock. I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

Spreading her wings, Verus takes to flight. Some of her guard fight the demons in hand-to-hand combat, others take to the air and surround their Queen. A pack of demons pump their bat-like wings and rise into the air as well. The two sides claw, swoop, and stab each other in a dog-fight above my head.

The sight is surreal, overwhelming. The world moves by in super-slow motion. My heartbeat booms in my ears. I inspect the Arena floor, looking for the archway where Lincoln was waiting. He’s no longer there.

Walker touches my shoulder, snapping me back to attention. “I’ve used Group Think to call my brothers and sisters in the Aquilinea. They’ll transport as many angels as they can.” He scans the crowd. “We need to get you out of here.” He frowns. “There are too many people around to easily open a portal, but I’ll have to try.”

“What about Lincoln?” I scan the nearby crowd, seeing little past the close press of bodies.

Walker closes his eyes. “He’s on the Arena floor.” He grabs my hand. “I’ll come back for him right after I move you.”

“Got it.” Bracing myself, I wait for the familiar buzz of a portal opening.

Nothing happens.

Around us, the stadium breaks out into full-bore pandemonium. Screams echo through the air. Demons, angels, and quasis scramble about, their bodies a jumble of bloody, hand-to-hand combat. Lincoln’s caught somewhere in that tangle of war. My chest tightens. We all have to escape, now.

I search Walker’s face, panic swirling through me. “What’s wrong?”

His features contort. “Give it a moment, there are so many—”

But Walker’s interrupted. Two dark and nasty Crini demons step in front of us, making for sixteen giant octopus legs to fend off at once.

Unholy moley.

The first Crini grabs Walker around the belly and squeezes. Now, Walker can barely breathe, let alone open a portal.

I round on the first Crini, my eyes blazing with fury.
How dare you lay a tentacle on my Walker?!
I dig in my heels, ready to leap up and kick in its face, when the second Crini takes a swipe at my back.

Dammit! Walker will have to wait.

I duck low while my tail goes to work, slicing through two of my attacker’s arms. I quickly shoot a glance at Walker; his arms and legs are braced between the creature’s long black beak and huge red eyes. It’s taking all his strength not to get stuffed into the Crini’s mouth.

That gives me an idea.

My Crini lunges at me again; this time I hold stock-still. The creature’s arm wraps about me, pulling me toward its snapping jaws. I play possum until I’m inches away from its beak, then stab my tail through its eye and brain. The demon howls, then falls over dead. Hah!

I’m dropped in a heartbeat, only to get scooped up by Walker’s monster. Fresh rage blasts through me.
This slimy monster picked the wrong girl
. The Crini wraps two massive arms wrap about my body; a third holds my tail firmly in place.

Dammit, this one’s clever.

Panic zooms through me. I can’t move my arms, legs, or tail. The Crini’s great eyes flip between me and Walker, debating the better meal. Its gaze locks on me. Not good. With a curl of its tentacle, the demon moves Walker away from its
mouth. After that, he pulls my head toward its jaws instead.

I writhe and struggle, but it’s no use. The Crini opens its long beak. Green razor-sharp teeth line its mouth. Saliva drips from its huge pink tongue. Everything takes on a dreamlike quality. I seem to float outside myself as the monster drags my head deep within its jaws.

This is it. I’m about to get killed. Somehow I feel numbed instead of terrified.

I wince, my hands balling into fists. I struggle to break loose from the monster’s grip, but it’s no use. All I can do is wait for a CRACK as its teeth sink into my skull.

Instead of biting down, the creature’s jaws loosen. Its tentacle-arms fall slack, allowing me to twist out of its grip. I gain solid footing and scan the Arena.

Holy crap, what happened there? I scope out the Arena’s floor. Lincoln stands nearby, his baculum sword blazing. The Crini lies in two neat halves by his feet. I exhale a long breath, relief filling every cell in my body.

“I owe you one.” I smile.

He grins, wagging his eyebrows suggestively. “I know.”

I chuckle, more than thankful for the smile.

The Prince grabs my hand; his fire-sword disappears. “Walker’s free, let’s get out of here.”

Relief washes over me. Walker’s okay and we can leave! I scope out the stadium floor. Walker stands nearby, his arm gripping his belly, his face writhing in pain. A portal lays open beside him, its shape flickering in and out of focus.

We don’t have long. Walker’s so hurt, he can barely keep a half-portal open.
We need to get him help and us to safety. Lincoln and I race toward the opened portal.

A high-pitched scream rattles our eardrums, freezing us both in place. Lincoln winces. “I know that voice.”

“I do too. It’s Adair.” My heart sinks.
Why didn’t that high-maintenance dip leave with the Scala?