Only One I Want (UnHallowed Series Book 2) Read online

Braile looked over his shoulder. Michael had his blade raised, poised to strike. Duty was duty and had to come first. His countenance wasn’t one of resignation or fury. After all, Braile had thrown his life away for something Michael and all of Heaven deemed unpardonable. He’d broken a tenet. His death was the price for her life. The die was cast the instant she took her first grace-aided breath. Except, for once, in all the time Braile had known Michael, his normally harsh features were hopeful.

  Michael lowered his sword and his mouth twisted into a mockery of a grin. “Your death will not be a punishment, but a service to all. With your grace, you saved what wasn’t meant to be born. With the rest of your grace—at the appointed time—you will save all of humanity.”

  1

  Present Day

  Bane kicked the trash out of his way. Another night of hunting. He wasn’t an all-powerful fallen archangel. He was on the lowest rung of the UnHallowed ladder, an ordinary fallen angel of the warrior class. Ten thousand years as a fucking grunt.

  He pushed aside his ire, there would be plenty of time during the daylight hours to bitch and plan, and continued his patrol through the silent streets. The absence of humans wasn’t an anomaly; large sections of the city were abandoned. Gothic structures, small homes, factories, houses of worship, many had succumbed to the ravages of time and misuse. The decay of a once great city. The absence of Darklings, that gave him pause. The recent closure of the Cruor–the portal to Hell—hadn’t eliminated the Darkling threat, it just made them more desperate, piggybacked with aggression. Not that Darklings were timid. They were effective weapons of destruction. Practically brainless, they were simpleminded killers, preying on humans with the weakest moral compass, otherwise they would’ve consumed humanity millennia ago. They struck quickly and devoured their prey with equal speed. Others, they fed off for decades, marking the individual’s soul for Hell. Whether consumed in a frenzy or at their leisure, the result was the same—damnation.

  Luckily, they were easy to kill. Something Bane excelled at.

  So, where were the wispy creatures? The night waned. Nothing stopped time. Morning approached, and with it, his immolation. UnHallowed and sunlight didn’t mix. Their punishment for questioning the Maker. Their disgrace. Where once they were Hallowed, they were now UnHallowed—or worse, Demoni Lords.

  In unending darkness is where you shall find refuge and no other place.

  He’d spent hours crisscrossing downtown to no avail. Did Darklings go on vacation? He could certainly use one. “To hell with this.” He wasn’t far from Scarla’s training center, Maximum Effort, or Lusted, the bar she ran next door. Chances were Scarla was awake. They could annoy each other over a beer. He pivoted and headed that way. Maybe he could find out who she was dating. Chayyliél would pay in gold for that info. He took the overprotective father stereotype to the next level. Bane didn’t blame him. Scarla was the little sister Bane never had and he’d break any man stupid enough to touch her.

  Sulfur permeated the air.

  Bane halted. Sulfur meant Darklings. Darklings meant death to the unlucky human who stumbled into their path. So much for calling it an early night. His nostrils clogged from the concentration of sulfur in the air. Damn, he’d hit the mother lode. Another opportunity to impress Michael.

  Redemption had been promised for his nightly routine. His grace restored and a return to the Celestial Army. He called bullshit on Michael’s promise and turned his back on the human world. Michael couldn’t lie, but that didn’t mean he could be trusted. Then Michael promised the one thing Bane truly desired if he led the UnHallowed back into the fold, not as celestial beings with their full grace restored—which was what most of the UnHallowed wanted—but as a secondary unit fighting the Darklings. A hard sell that didn’t come close to describing the task.

  Most of the UnHallowed chose the shadows rather than venture to this side of reality. They blamed the humans for their fallen state. Bane chose the truth rather than bitter illusions. He liked humans, found their pettiness amusing. He even respected the handful he’d studied during his long existence. Because of that, he wanted what was promised—and more. He wanted his wings restored, elevation of his station to archangel, and leadership of the UnHallowed. He’d settle for nothing less.

  Bane followed the scent two blocks over and through a vacant lot to a street of boarded up row houses. He leaned on a broken lamppost, surveying the urban landscape at its bleakest. Sixty years ago, this had been a thriving neighborhood with stay-at-home mothers, and kids playing stickball well after the sun had set. The memory triggered a wave of nostalgia he viciously squelched. Too many centuries to stroll down memory lane. That path led to a dead end named insanity.

  A crash came from inside the faded red brick structure three houses to his right. Instead of phasing through the brick house and into the middle of the melee, Bane pulled the fabric of the night to him and let the shadows cloak him. He crossed through the conduits and exited in a corner of the living room, his twin blades in his hands, ready to engage.

  Except, a female had things well in hand. The head to toe black outfit hid her identity in the same as one of his UnHallowed brethren—and accentuated the swell of her breasts, the sweet flare of her hips, the sensual curve of her ass, and a pair of long, long legs. She had two twelve-inch serrated black blades—similar to his— strapped to her forearms as she faced four Darklings.

  Four? A rare occurrence when he usually only found one, two at the most. The creatures appeared as nothing more than black smoke, until they were ready to kill—then they were solid and deadly.

  A gentle-hu-man would’ve stepped in and taken over. He was by no means gentle nor could he be mistaken for human. So, he leaned casually against the wall and enjoyed the show.

  By the ash residue sprinkled over the scarred parquet floors, she’d already killed several. Plus, he was entranced by the erotic fluidity of her attack. Sensual, like silk caught in a breeze, except, just when he thought he could predict the pattern of her attack, the breeze became a tornado. He studied every parry and slice of her blades, the way she deflected and delivered her blows. They were slightly erratic, lacking precise control. The subtle tremor in her limbs, the satisfying breath he noted at the completion of each stab or blow. Not enjoyment, per se, but he sensed satisfaction. Pride.

  He gave a mental snort. She lacked the cool detachment needed to keep one’s parts and life intact, yet the rhythm of her attack struck a familiar note within him. He’d seen the technique before. The memory flirted with his mind.

  While he searched his brain for the answer, she killed one of the four. Next, she delivered a roundhouse kick and followed up with a stab to the second Darkling’s center mass.

  Then she saw him and froze. That momentary lapse in her concentration allowed a Darkling to get too close to her unprotected back. One swipe of its claw and it would rip her spine from her body. He’d seen it happen. Wasn’t pretty. Then the demon would suck her soul from her body before it could ascend, if that was its destination. For the Darkling, the soul was a gourmet meal, the hollowed-out body, the dessert. In the end, nothing would be left to bury. Another missing person filed away in a police report.

  With a flick of his wrist, Bane threw a blade directly at her, certain she would duck. The female didn’t disappoint. With a second to spare, she shifted to the left. His blade cleared a hair’s breadth to the right of her throat. He expected no less. One with her skills wouldn’t die from a blade she saw coming.

  And then there was one Darkling.

  Bane stepped from his corner. Together, they circled the creature, and each other.

  “Who are you?” he demanded with a smile to put her at ease. Her eyes were hooded, yet their weight touched him. One of her blades remained on the writhing vaporous mass between them. The other, him. She didn’t trust him. He approved.

  “Who are you…” she said in a husky, sultry voice that made his acidic blood simmer and his dormant cock take notice. From her attack sta
nce and the tension in her body, he doubted seduction was her intention which made her even more alluring. “—UnHallowed?”

  2

  Michael landed in the tall grass far away from a bald mound of earth near the other end of the property. Moonlight shimmered across his blade and full coat of armor. His power blanketed the area, searching for anything foul to destroy. He was alone, yet he detected the presence of another. A creature belonging in the lowest level of Hell had been here, walked the ground searching for what had been secreted beneath the soil. It shouldn’t have been possible, but the lingering signature of its putrid essence couldn’t be denied. Futile rage filled him until the ground vibrated.

  Quickly he contained his emotions. Rage was pointless. It diluted reasoning and spurred rash behavior, which usually led to disaster. He needed clear thoughts to navigate this dangerous path.

  Navigate it he would because much had been lost to close the portal to Hell, namely the immortal life of a beloved friend. He would not let that loss be in vain.

  The battle cry rang out in Heaven. The Celestial Army gathered. Darklings were amassing, this time in Africa. The portal had been closed for six months and Darklings continued to abound, their numbers growing instead of dwindling. There wasn’t a second Cruor, and the one buried in the field remained closed. Unguarded. So how was it possible they continued to multiply?

  Decisions had to be made, ones that placed humanity on the razor’s edge of a war they couldn’t win, and the extinction that would follow. The decisions had to be made now, before he left to lead the army in the next battle. He stood in the field, indecision rotting his insides. Once foreign, the sensation had become normal since Father withheld his guidance on the matter of the Cruor, the Darklings, and the humans.

  You guide me on everything else. Why not this? Irreverent thoughts. One did not question the Holy Father. The portal to Hell could be moved, but not by him or any other angel. They were forbidden to touch it and he had none he could spare to guard the demonic gateway.

  He procrastinated, a destructive dereliction of his duty, which kept the Cruor unprotected for months when he understood the gravity of the situation and recognized what he must do, even without Father’s guidance. His foolish inaction jeopardized everything. Braile would’ve had no such qualms. He had the mind of a tactician, used to making thoughtful yet concise decisions without hesitation. Too long had Michael sat beside the Throne waiting for instructions. He didn’t bemoan his lot in life, but he wouldn’t downplay his ignorance.

  His thoughts strayed to Gemma, the newly made Captain in the Celestial Army. Six months she had been missing. If she were dead, the scent of her spilled grace would have reached Heaven. Reached him. Only brimstone would have stopped him from finding her. That had to be the case. He imagined her caged in a brimstone cell and had to fight his rage and the need to find her.

  With all the things he must do to safeguard humanity, Gemma was not a priority to anyone except him. Finding her must wait, but he would find her, and whomever held her captive would pay.

  Michael shoved thoughts of Gemma away and refocused. He knew what he must do and wouldn’t fail. Regardless of his repugnance for the coming task, action must be taken. There was only one being he could trust with the sacred duty.

  Trust.

  Michael weighed the word and found it lacking because he would never trust the creature he must now employ, not completely, even if the creature was once a member of the heavenly ranks. With a thought, he pinpointed the location of the being. Not far. Then, he opened his wings and took to the skies.

  His prey was in close proximity to—a thought sprang into his mind and a glimmer of hope displaced indecision. He had another choice. There was one other he could give this responsibility to. A disciple who, though young and untried by a real opponent, had the skill to complete the task.

  For better or worse, the time to train had ended and the trial by fire had begun. His disciple would succeed or fail on merit, as all creatures under Heaven did. She would be no different.

  Taige, once a Spaun of the ninth level of Hell, stood in the tall grass, and peered from a pocket dimension at the Archangel Michael. Lips curled in a sneer, Taige’s ferret-like gaze took in the wide expanse of white and gold tri-level wings, and the empyreal sword, and armor glinting in the moonlight.

  He’d only seen the archangel once. It was on the day of the Great Betrayal when Michael chased those who’d disobeyed and doubted their Creator into Hell. At the Creator’s command, Michael entered Hell and deposited the Fallen, as they were first known. Taige, then one of many Spaun demons in the underworld, fell to his knees in supplication when Michael killed the demons that had the temerity to gaze upon his celestial form.

  Taige wasn’t present when Michael returned offering redemption to the Fallen. All but a handful accepted the offer and vacated Hell. Those who spurned Michael’s offer remained to become the Demoni Lords. Those who accepted became the UnHallowed. Twice cursed is the name the Spaun gave the traitorous bastards. Hell welcomed them, exalted and worshipped the lot of the fallen angels as gods. At the first opportunity, they fled. More than a handful of Spaun, masters at disguise and deception, tagged along. Some blended into the fabric of this world and called it home. Others, like Taige, would never claim this place. Some sought to go back through the portal, but weren’t strong enough to survive the return trip.

  Taige had no sentimental bones. He wanted to bring the chaos of Hell here, to this realm, on this earth. He wanted the Demoni Lords free. A promise he made and was bound by blood to keep.

  Michael walked in the opposite direction of where Taige hid, then doubled back. Almost the exact path Taige had taken earlier. Two months ago, he sensed the Cruor in New York City, then in Michigan, and then nothing. As a denizen of Hell, he had a link to the portal. He knew when it appeared in this realm and disappeared, yet always a day late and a dollar short.

  This time was different, not because he’d arrived in time to see it. No, it was different because he no longer sensed the Cruor. Even when it wasn’t in this realm, his connection to it remained. It was a link neither time, dimensions, nor distance could sever. Until now.

  Something had changed to end his connection. Whatever had caused the change had happened here, on this land, in this field. The presence of Michael proved it. The archangel must have sensed Taige’s presence, which would account for his repeated visits.

  Michael continued his walk for some time. Taige watching it all, taking a mental recording of every pause, every lingering stare the archangel had. When Michael paused on a particular patch of earth, Taige tensed with anticipation, then sagged with disappointment when Michael opened his wings and ascended into the sky.

  He wanted to travel the same path Michael had, stand on the same spot as the archangel, but Taige dared not. Michael could be waiting for the slightest movement to pounce and Taige was no equal. The archangel would slay him with as much effort as a human took to kill an ant.

  No, Taige would be wise. He thought about his master and added vigilant to the list.

  Should I inform him of my discovery? His master didn’t suffer fools or pointless conversation. He’d want facts, not speculation.

  I could inform him of Michael’s presence. He did hate the archangel. So did they all. His master was irascible and fractious. Not one to praise the messenger of good news, never mind ominous tidings.

  No. I will keep this information to myself. I will watch and wait for something noteworthy to use for my own benefit.

  Decision made, Taige folded the pocket dimension around him and returned to his master’s side.

  3

  Face, meet brick wall. Bane’s steps faltered. Humans didn’t know about the UnHallowed. If a human ever crossed the path of any of his kind, their memories were wiped. No good would ever come from humans knowing about the war raging around them. They had enough everyday evil in their miserable, undignified lives. The exception to the rule was Sophie. Her friend
ship with the Halfling Scarla allowed the lapse in judgment. Otherwise, Scarla’s best friend would’ve had her mind wiped clean even if it meant she had to relearn her ABCs.

  While he pondered all of this like a pedestrian caught in the crosswalk, the female sliced the Darkling from one end to the other. Her kill, clean and precise. Ash was the only thing left when she was through—and she was gone.

  His smile actually hurt his face. Not much impressed him when it came to humans. She was good. No. She was better than good. The female was quite exceptional… Fortunately for him, she’d left a trail of breadcrumbs. Darkling ash.

  Bane followed at an unhurried pace. He wanted to see where she journeyed. That journey took him through every house on the block. He exited the last dwelling the old-fashioned way, through a side door. The fine sprinkling of ash stained the cracked asphalt and interspersed between the flourishing weeds. She should be right in front of him, probably running away, yet she was truly gone. What the fuck?

  He studied the ash again, his gaze straining in each direction, until he caught a speck next to a manhole a block away. Drag marks scored the street. She’d taken to the sewers.

  “Agile, fast, and strong.” He stood next to the manhole. Impressed, bordering on awe, Bane flung the manhole aside and dropped into a muddy stream, all traces of dust gone. “Add smart.”

  A summons rang between his ears and snapped his attention away from his failed pursuit. Michael called. It had been a while. However, what were a few years to beings who counted lifetimes in millennia.

  Irritated, Bane pulled the shadows to him and traveled through the conduits. Michael couldn’t have picked a worse time if he’d planned it. That female stoked every nerve ending Bane possessed. Humans were supposed to be afraid of demons, dropping to their knees in fervent prayers for salvation from things that went bump in the night.