Gargoyle after gargoyle fell to the ground under the sharp, shining blade, and then Zel was fighting alongside me, her movements impossibly fast and shrouded in darkness. She’d throw a dagger, then use shadow tentacles to pull it back to her hand, and if I hadn’t been fighting my own demons, I would have stopped to stare.
“You all right, little mortal?” Zel yelled, as she stabbed a gargoyle through the neck.
“I think so?” I called back, as I narrowly dodged a gargoyle’s claws. With a mighty swoop, I chopped the head off of him, like some kind of bloodthirsty warlord riding a battle high. Okay, maybe I wasn’t all right. But I couldn’t stop either.
Zel cut down the last gargoyle, and then we were alone. Standing amid a circle of dead bodies. Panting heavily and covered in dust and blood.
I looked down at myself and the horror of it all finally hit me. The adrenaline left me in a rush, and the sword fell from my hand and clattered on the floor. I looked at my trembling hands, wondering if they were mine. How had I done all that? I’d never even held a sword before, as far as I could remember. Yet somehow I’d cut down my opponents like it was nothing. Like I’d been born for combat.
“How?” I looked up at Zel, my heart racing and bile rising in my throat. “How did I…?”
Zel leaned against one of the large bookcases, looking completely at rest as she wiped off her daggers with a small cloth. “That was some show. I have to admit, I’m impressed, little mortal.”
“I killed them.” My gaze flew over the lifeless bodies, knowing I’d been responsible for their deaths. “Oh god, I killed them.”
She shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “It was you or them.”
Pushing off the bookcase, she nudged the sword I’d used with her boot, then carefully picked it up with her cloth, like she worried it would burn her, even though the bright light had faded. I felt a pang of something like possessiveness when she touched it, like I wanted to snatch the blade from her and shout, “Mine!” I stepped back instead, shaking my head to clear it. What the hell was wrong with me?
“How did I do this?” I asked, my voice faltering.
“That’s not my story to tell,” she said. “You’ll have to ask Lucifer.”
She walked out of the library, leaving me standing amid a circle of death—one caused by my own hand.
12
Lucifer
I landed hastily on the balcony of my penthouse, taking in the destruction. The windows of the living room had all been shattered, and tiny pieces of glass shimmered in the moonlight. Panic and dread fought for control inside me as I rushed inside.
“Hannah?” I yelled.
My furniture had been tossed about and broken, and a thin layer of dust and rubble coated the floor, along with blood. No bodies though, and no sign of Hannah or Azazel either.
I ran to Hannah’s room, but it was empty and untouched except for the broken windows and the glass all over the floor. Where was she? I returned to the living room and turned in a circle. My rage and fear nearly overwhelmed me. Darkness slipped from my fingertips, eager to find someone to punish for this invasion. How dare they attack my penthouse? Where my woman was?
“She’s fine.”
Whirling, I nearly blasted Azazel with dark magic before I reined myself in. “Where is she?”
“In your room. She’s asleep, and unharmed.”
Relief settled over me and I let out a long breath, then rested a hand on Azazel’s shoulder. “Thank you for protecting her. I knew you wouldn’t fail me. Gargoyles, was it?”
She bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement. “They were trying to kidnap Hannah.”
My fists clenched at my side and filled with hellfire, waiting to be unleashed. First imps, then shifters, and now gargoyles. Were all my demons turning against me? And why attack now? They must have known we were going to be away rescuing Hannah’s friend. Another betrayal against me.
“There’s something you should see,” Azazel said.
She led me into the library, where the gargoyles’ bodies had dropped in a circle. The clean-up crew was still working here, and they all gave me a low bow before continuing their work. Even though much of the carnage was gone, I spotted some heads removed from their bodies, and there were many more attackers than even Azazel could face.
I arched an eyebrow at her. “You did all this?”
“No, I had help. From Hannah.” Azazel crossed her arms and cocked her head at me. “She used Morningstar.”
I glanced over at the spot on the wall where the sword usually hung, but it was missing. Then I saw it resting on my desk, beside its jewel-encrusted sheath. I picked it up and examined the sword I’d wielded back when I was an Archangel in Heaven, now covered in traces of gargoyle blood and stone but still glowing with the white light of the angels. I’d clean it later, after I checked on my mate.
“Impressive,” I said, as I set the sword back down. “She must be remembering, finally.”
I left Azazel in the library and stalked to my room. The door wasn’t quite closed, and I opened it silently. Hannah was passed out on the bed, curled up in a ball, clutching my pillow tightly to her chest. She’d fallen asleep tense, based on the way her brows were furrowed together, and at some point she’d thrown the sheets off herself and pushed them into a heap on the empty side of the bed.
My rage quieted, turning into a strong relief to see her alive. When I’d arrived and found the evidence of an attack, I’d feared the worst. Though Hannah’s eventual death would be
