Finale

“It’s doomed. Deep down, you know it. There isn’t a lot of time left before fallen angels make their move and we’re thrust into war. I’ve agreed to give devilcraft to them. They’ll have the powers of heaven and hell—and the backing of the archangels. The whole thing will be over in less than a day. If you help me get Pepper to enchant the objects, I’ll vouch for you. I’ll make sure some of the most influential fallen angels know you helped out and are loyal to the cause.”

I took a step back, seeing Dante through new eyes. I didn’t even know who he was. He couldn’t have been more of a stranger to me at that moment. “I don’t— This whole revolution— All lies?” I finally managed to choke out.

“Self-preservation,” he said. “I did it to save myself.”

“And the rest of the Nephilim race?” I sputtered.

His silence told me just how concerned he was about their well-being. A disinterested shrug couldn’t have been more telling. Dante was in this for himself, end of story.

“They believe in you,” I said with a sick feeling swelling in mywelling heart. “They’re counting on you.”

“They’re counting on you.”

I flinched. The full impact of the responsibility weighing on my shoulders seemed to crush me at that moment. I was their leader. I was the face on this campaign. And now my most trusted adviser was defecting. If the army had been standing on weak legs before, one of those knees had just been kicked out.

“You can’t do this to me,” I said threateningly. “I’ll expose you. I’ll tell everyone what you’re really up to. I don’t know everything about Nephilim law, but I’m pretty sure they have a system to take care of traitors, and I somehow doubt it will be very judicial!”

“And who’s going to believe you?” said Dante simply. “If I argue that you’re the real traitor, who do you think they’ll believe?”

He was right. Who would Nephilim believe? The young, inexperienced imposter placed in power by her dead father, or the strong, capable, and charismatic man who had both the looks and skill of a fabled Roman god?

“I have pictures,” Dante said. “Of you with Patch. Of you with Pepper. Even some of you looking friendly with Dabria. I’ll pin this on you, Nora. You’re sympathetic to the fallen angel cause. That’s how I’ll frame it. They will destroy you.”

“You can’t do this,” I said, rage sizzling in my chest.

“You’re walking down a dead-end road. This is your last chance to turn around. Come with me. You’re stronger than you think you are. We’d make an unstoppable team. I could use you—”

I gave a harsh laugh. “Oh, I’m quite finished with you using me!” I grabbed a large stone from the rubble wall, intending to smash it against Dante’s skull, knock him unconscious, and recruit Patch’s help in deciding what to do with him next, when a cruel and twisted smirk transformed Dante’s dark features, making him appear decidedly more demon than fabled Roman god.

“What a waste of talent,” he muttered in a chastising tone. His expression was too smug, given that I held him captive, and that was when an awful suspicion began to form in my mind. The whip binding his wrists wasn’t causing his skin to blister the way it had mine. In fact, other than having his face planted in gravel, he didn’t look uncomfortable.

The whip snapped free from Dante’s wrists, and in an instant, he sprang to his feet.

“Did you really think I’d allow Blakely to create a weapon that could be used against me?” he jeered, his upper lip curling over his teeth. Commanding the whip, he cracked it at me. Scorching heat sliced across my body, pitching me off my feet. I landed hard, robbed of breath. Dizzy from the impact, I scuttled backward, trying to bring Dante into focus.

“You might like to know I have every intention of taking over your position as commander of the Nephilim army,” Dante sneered. “I have the backing of the entire fallen angel race. I plan to lead the Nephilim right into the hands of fallen angels. They won’t know what I’ve done until it’s too late.”

The only reason Dante would be telling me any of this was if he sincerely believed I had no chance at stopping him. But I wasn’t throwing in the towel now, or ever. “You swore an oath to Hank to help me lead his army to freedom, you arrogant idiot. If you try to steal my title, we’ll both see the consequences of having broken our oaths. Death, Dante. Not exactly a minor complication,” I reminded him cynically.

Dante chuckled with derision. “About that oath. A complete and utter lie. When I said it, I thought it might convince you to trust me. Not that I needed to make the effort. The devilcraft prototypes I gave you have been doing a fine job of compelling you to trust me.”

There was no time for his deception to fully sink in. The whip lashed fire through my clothes a second time. Urged to action solely out of self-preservation, I scrabbled over the wall, hearing the dog bark and attack behind me, and dropped to the opposite side. The steep hill, slick with dew, sent me rolling and skidding toward the gravestones far below.

CHAPTER 30

AT THE BOTTOM OF THE HILL I LOOKED UP, BUT I didn’t see Dante. The black dog bounded after me, circling me with what almost appeared to be concern. I pulled myself up to sitting. Thick clouds blotted the moon, and I shivered violently as frost nipped my skin. Suddenly acutely aware of my surroundings, I jumped to my feet and ran through the maze of graves toward the mausoleum. To my surprise, the dog raced ahead, peering back every few steps as though to make sure I was still following.

“Scott!” I called out, flinging open the mausoleum’s door as I burst inside.

There were no windows. I couldn’t see. Impatiently, I swept my hands out, trying to feel my surroundings. I tripped on a small object and heard it roll away. Patting my hands across the cold stone floor, I grasped the flashlight Scott had taken with him and obviously dropped, and switched it on.

There. In the corner. Scott was on his back, eyes open but dazed. I scrambled over, tugging at the blue-glowing whip scorching his wrists until it fell free. His skin blistered and oozed. He gave a pained moan.

“I think Dante is gone, but stay alert just the same,” I told him. “There’s a dog guarding the door—he’s on our side. Stay here until I come back. I have to find Patch.”

Scott groaned again, this time cursing Dante’s name. “Didn’t see it coming,” he muttered.

That made two of us.

I rushed outside, sprinting across the cemetery, which had fallen into near-perfect darkness. I batted my way through a hedge of bushes, plowing my own shortcut to the parking lot. I leaped the wrought-iron fence and ran straight for the lone black truck parked in the lot.

I saw the eerie blue light glowing behind the windows when I was still several feet away. Wrenching the door open, I dragged Patch out, laid him on the pavement, and began the laborious process of uncoiling the whip, which snaked the width of his chest, pinning his arms at his sides like a torturous corset. His eyes were shut, his skin emanating a faint blyue. At last I jerked the whip loose and flung it aside, oblivious to my burned fingers.

“Patch,” I said, shaking him. Tears jumped to my eyes, and my throat clogged with emotion. “Wake up, Patch.” I shook him harder. “You’re going to be fine. Dante is gone, and I untied the whip. Please wake up.” I pushed resolve into my voice. “You’re going to be okay. We’re together now. I need you to open your eyes. I need to know you can hear me.”

His body felt feverish, heat pouring through his clothes, and I ripped open his shirt. I gasped at the bubbled skin, patterned where the whip had coiled. The worst wounds curled up like blackened, scorched paper. A blowtorch would have produced as much damage.

I knew he couldn’t feel it, but I did. My jaw tightened with venomous hatred toward Dante even as tears streamed down my face. Dante had made a massive, unforgivable mistake. Patch was everything to me, and if the devilcraft left any lasting damage, I would see to it that Dante regretted this single assault as long as he lived, which if I had anything to say about it, wouldn’t be long. But my seething rage was pushed aside by a consuming distress for Patch. Grief and guilt and ice-cold apprehension plummeted inside