18

The armored men, who must have also been working with the angel, paused in surprise when they saw his real face. I was pretty surprised myself. This was Damiel Dragonsire, Nero’s father. This was the angel Nero’s mother had tracked down and killed because he went rogue. His mother had died too, wounded in that angelic battle. It had all played out centuries ago, and yet here Damiel was.

“How can you be alive?” Nero said slowly, cautiously, as though he couldn’t believe what his eyes were telling him.

“Not now. We have more important problems.”

Damiel indicated the armored men, who were moving toward the angels, surrounding them. They must have been trapped behind the rocks that had fallen on Nero.

One of the men stepped to the front, looking between Nero and this angel who looked a lot like Nero. He had the same hair as Nero, if not a bit more bronze than caramel, and his eyes were blue instead of green, but other than that, they might have been twins.

“Where is Wardbreaker?” the man demanded.

“Still buried where I left him, I presume,” Damiel said darkly.

“You took his place.”

Damiel met the man’s angry eyes with indifference. “There’s no need to feel all torn up about his death. You never even met him.”

The man’s hand waved the others forward. “You played us. Angel or not, you will come to regret that.”

“Take care of these men,” Damiel ordered Nero, moving toward the relics.

Nero stepped into his path. “If it was you the whole time, then Osiris Wardbreaker never turned rogue?”

“We’ll discuss this later, after the battle.”

Nero gave his wrist a sharp flick, and a psychic blast cut through the room, slamming the twelve men against the wall. I heard the sharp, sickening snap of their necks breaking all at once.

“Battle’s over,” he said as the men slid to the ground behind him. “We’ll talk about this now. Did Osiris Wardbreaker go rogue?”

“Yes,” Damiel said in a tone that showed he was only humoring his son. His eyes passed over the men on the ground, and he looked mildly impressed. “I caught up with him about a week after his defection.” His gaze slid to me. “He was kidnapping young supernatural children and feasting on their blood. He enjoyed hearing their screams. And watching them die.

I choked on the image. Acid rose in my throat, and I barely kept it down. Damiel wasn’t even looking at his son. He was looking only at me.

“So trust me, I was doing the world a favor,” he finished.

He was probably right. Killing children, feeding on their blood and pain, was a crime I could not forgive. The world was better off without monsters like that in it.

“Trust you?” Nero shot his father a look of pure, undiluted loathing. “I don’t trust you. Not your words and definitely not with objects of power. I will not allow you to have them.”

“Insubordination does not suit you, soldier.”

“Insubordination? You’re the one who turned dark and betrayed the Legion,” Nero said. “I am not your soldier. You don’t give orders anymore.”

Damiel looked at me. “Make him see reason.”

“Don’t talk to her like you’re old friends.” Nero’s words bit like a whip. “You tortured her.”

“A means to an end.”

“Everything is always just a means to an end with you.”

Anger flashed in Nero’s eyes, splitting the final strands of his self-control. He rushed forward in a flash of supernatural speed, hammering his fist into his father’s jaw. He followed that up with another punch. Flames burst to life across his entire body. He’d lost it, truly and completely lost it.

Damiel struck back, throwing Nero across the room. Solid rock split and fissures formed where Nero’s back had hit the wall, but he rolled himself around and kept going like he hadn’t felt a thing. He wasn’t feeling anything but his own anger. The angels fought without mercy or pause, their terrible, beautiful battle threatening to bring down the whole room.

Five armored men climbed through the fallen rocks in the entrance and rushed into the chamber. They ignored the angels fighting above and ran straight for the relics. One of them made it, grabbing the closest relic, a gun, from its stand. I threw a rock at him, hitting him in the forehead. He fell to the floor, his head bleeding out. His four comrades moved around him, trying to reach the relics.

I tossed magic powder on the gold coins that lay across the floor. The gold glowed orange, and smoke rose from the men’s shoes. The men hopped in alarm, scrambling away from the gold. In their hurried retreat, one of them stumbled into the middle of the firefight between Nero and Damiel. He didn’t last a second.

The others hopped and skipped between the glowing coins, trying to get to the relics. I grabbed hold of one guy’s arm, holding him there.

I stared into his eyes. “Shoot your comrades.”

The man nodded, taking a shiny silver gun from the floor He aimed at the other men and fired. The bullets cut right through their armor like they weren’t wearing any. After he’d shot them down, he froze for a moment, shaking his head. I could feel my control slipping away from his mind. I’d been through too much. I didn’t have enough power left in me. I lifted my hand to knock his gun away, but I was too slow. He shot me in the stomach.

Pain seared through me like wildfire, exploding in my blood. I fell to my knees. Through blurry eyes, I saw him walk toward the relics. I pushed agains the weight of the impending blackout, struggling to my feet. I had to get to him. I had to stop him. He already had a piece of the silver armor in his hand.

A glowing sword tip broke through his chest, piercing him from behind. He dropped dead to the ground. My eyes panned up, expecting to see Nero. But it wasn’t Nero. He and Damiel were still fighting up above.

Seconds passed. Pain pulsed by every beat of my heart. My mind struggled to stay conscious. Blood dripped down my body. I blinked.

“How did you get down here?” I asked, blinking again.

My mind was slow, failing to process what I was seeing. He wore the weapons of heaven and hell. The silver armor fitted his wide, masculine body as perfectly as it had fitted Sierra’s feminine curves. He held a shield in one hand, a sword in the other.

“I wasn’t going to let anything stand between me and my relics,” Valiant said.

Flames flickered on the sword. Hatred burned in his eyes.

“Thank you, Leda,” he said. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Then he swung the sword, blasting the angel-killing flames at the two angels.