Dark Before Dawn (The Protector Guild Book 7), page 23
Darius let out a nondescript grunt, not saying another word or even bothering to look my way once during the rest of the trip.
When we pulled up to “The Lodge” it looked more like an amusement park for relaxation. Dozens of small cabins lined the property, cratered in a small mountain valley.
Luckily there wasn’t too much snowfall, but we’d still had to put some snow chains on to make it all the way up here. I sent a silent thank you up to whatever frat bro Darius had stolen the car from for having the foresight to keep them in the trunk.
“Where do we go?” Declan craned her neck between the two front seats, her eyes wide at the picturesque scene in front of us.
It looked like the kind of small town you’d see in one of those Hallmark movies—the tiny cabins warm and inviting and decorated with lights.
Snow coated the ground in giant fluffy mounds, smoke curling from chimneys.
I nodded my head. “I’m guessing the larger building over there.”
I parked the car in a small lot, our temporary wonder evaporating as we maneuvered Seamus out of his seat.
His typically warm skin looked pale and ashy, caked under layers of sweat. The bite on his side hadn’t stopped bleeding, the bandages already seeped through with blood from the trip.
Carefully, I cradled him, one arm under his knees, one his head, as we walked towards what I assumed was the primary residence.
Ro and Dec’s footsteps crunched softly in the snow along mine as we moved, all of us aware of the small trail of blood dripping along our path. No matter how many times we tried to close the wound, or at least put pressure to stem the flow, it wouldn’t heal.
When I turned back, I realized that Darius wasn’t following us. He stood by the car, his eyes scanning the cabins like he was looking for something—or someone.
“Let’s go,” Dec called, her words forming into clouds from the chill in the air.
For a moment, I thought he was going to get in the car and leave us here.
He stared at Dec, considering for a long moment, his jaw clenched so tightly I could see the tension from twenty feet away.
Slowly, as if every muscle in his body was resisting him, he walked towards us.
By the time he caught up, I was already knocking on the door, shifting Seamus’s weight awkwardly as we stood back.
A girl with long red curls opened it, the heat and light from the cabin washing over me. A wave of smells hit me like a truck—warm spices, roasted meat, a subtle hint of clove.
“Can I help you?” Her smile was kind but hesitant.
My stomach growled audibly. How long had it been since we’d all had a proper meal? One cooked over a stove, not just from a box.
Her already wide eyes widened further as she took in Seamus. “Oh my god, is he okay?”
I shook my head. I wasn’t sure who this girl was, if everyone here knew about the supernatural world, or if there were humans here too. “He needs medical attention. Dani said to ask for Charlie—she called ahead to warn that we were coming.”
The woman stood taller, her almost child-like face flattening out into something more serious. “Yes, of course. Hang on.”
She disappeared from the doorway and closed it. I took a few steps back, both to adjust Seamus and to get a better look at the place. I heard voices in the distance, but no one was within sight.
When the door opened again, a much less friendly-looking face greeted us. Dark hair, dark eyes, the build of a protector who’d spent a lifetime training.
For a moment, I thought I was staring at a ghost.
Dec stiffened next to me and I knew she was seeing the same thing I was.
Bishop Slate. Atlas’s cousin, on his mother’s side.
We’d been told he died on a mission.
Years ago.
“You.” The single word was little more than a growl, more feral animal than human. His brows furrowed into an angry line and he sprang into action.
I turned, shielding Seamus with my body, but he wasn’t coming after us.
In little more than a blink of an eye, he had Darius shoved against the wall of the cabin, the wood straining from pressure, the gleam of a dagger pressed to his heart.
Darius’s lips twisted into a wild, terrifying grin—his eyes narrowed and taunting. “Good to see you too, Bishop.”
16
MAX
“It’s beautiful.”
The River Styx had almost instantly become my favorite place in hell. A weird statement to make perhaps—hell was no amusement park or vacation site, but it was true. The dark shimmery water was still and serene, shifting in a rainbow of colors like an oil slick. I wanted to run my fingers through it.
Instead, I buried my hand into Ralph’s luscious fur, grinning as he leaned into the pressure. It was good to have him near again. While I didn’t want him anywhere close to the chaos going on in the human realm, I’d missed him. He was a part of me, and I didn’t feel entirely complete without him around.
“It is.” Lucifer’s voice was filled with a quiet reverence as he stared at the infinite expanse of water. “Most dangerous things are.”
I turned to face him, but found that I had moved several steps forward, my body unconsciously drawn toward the body of water. Ralph stood, closing the distance between us instantly, his wet nose bumping against my hand for more pets. I obliged. The Guild acted like hellhounds were some of the most terrifying creatures around. But Ralph was sweetness embodied. Could he decapitate a demon in two seconds flat? Yes. But he was also a very good boy.
“Dangerous?”
Lucifer nodded, the longing still visible in the way he studied the water. “I would not touch it, if you hope to continue living. There is only one person who can guarantee your survival against the water’s power—and he abandoned his post many years ago, whether by choice or not is unclear.”
Something flickered in the dark depths of his eyes, a sadness maybe, or perhaps something darker—a regret?
“Someone you cared for?”
His lips pressed into a thin line, the momentary glimpse into feeling gone. “There is no one alive I care for. But yes, locating Azrael or his power source would be of great use to me. As with your birth, his disappearance has created many shifts in this world.”
It was a surprisingly informative answer. Rarely did Lucifer offer more than a simple one-word grunt—and when he did, it was only if doing so resulted in a significantly longer chastisement of my many shortcomings.
“Azrael?” I’d heard that name before, in some lore or show, but it wasn’t the one I was expecting. “Like the angel of death? I thought that Charon was the one who ferries souls across the river?”
“I’ve told you before—the mythologies you know are fractured versions of the truth.” His words rang with a frustration and finality that I didn’t feel like picking at right now. I had to choose my battles with him.
“Where do you think he disappeared to?”
“If I knew, it wouldn’t be a disappearance, would it? Azrael and his river are of no concern to you right now. Just know that the magic in those waters is stagnant, but volatile. As drawn as you may find yourself to it, do not allow yourself to be overcome by your impulses—especially in this case. The amount of shadow magic in those depths would consume you on impact.”
I wanted to press, ask more of Azrael, of the river, but I knew Lucifer well enough now to understand that this was his way of ending the conversation politely. Instead, I studied the shoreline, marveling at how still the current was—almost like the river was holding its breath, waiting for its master to return to release it. My gaze latched onto a lone figure, dressed in black, standing so close to the shoreline that a single misstep would find him toeing it.
Squinting, the lines of the figure grew clearer. “Is that Sam? What’s he doing so close?”
Lucifer’s jaw clenched, his exhale loud as he nodded. “He’s as drawn to the river as you, though for different reasons.”
I waited, silently praying that Lucifer would continue if I just bit my tongue.
When his eyes darted to mine, a knowing look in their depths, he continued. “His home is on the other side. He has not been able to access it since Azrael’s departure.”
Ralph let out an uncharacteristic whine, his tail wagging like he wanted to go to Sam. Their relationship was a peculiar one. And as much as Sam frustrated me, I’d be forever grateful that he’d not only sent Ralph to me, but taken care of him too in my absence.
I mean if Ralph liked him, he couldn’t be as horrible as he seemed, right?
“Can’t he just, you know,” I made a popping noise with my mouth, my fingers digging behind Ralph’s ear until he started thumping his back leg like a cartoon dog, “teleport to the other side?”
Lucifer’s face lit up briefly with the vestiges of what looked almost like amusement, his eyes darting between me and Ralph, but when I blinked, it was back to the typical, impenetrable mask. “He cannot. The Styx is made up of a very powerful, very volatile form of shadow magic. Our magic is useless against it. The only way through is across. And the only way across is with Azrael—or his power source and someone strong enough to wield it. The dead have not fared well in his absence. I suspect there will be a reckoning for that soon. Our world does not do well without balance, and Azrael has always been the primary conductor of the scale between death and life. I do not know what the reapers have been doing in his absence, how they’ve been faring. If at all.”
“Reapers?”
Lucifer’s silence was answer enough—I wasn’t going to get more on them or Azrael. He was already bored with that topic.
I tried another angle. “So that’s why Sam stays here with you?” When Lucifer shot me a questioning look, I shrugged. “What? It’s obvious you two don’t exactly get along—or even like each other. But he has nowhere else to go. Also explains his general nihilism.” I turned back to Sam, the wistfulness in the way he studied the Styx, the longing in his posture taking on a new form with this information. “It’s kind of heartbreaking when you think about it. You’ve probably become the closest thing to a friend he has here.”
Lucifer as your only friend? Fucking bleak.
“Samael’s place here is a complicated one. One we have no time or need to discuss at the moment. You have far more pressing things to be concerned with and my time is limited with you.” He studied me, his gaze sharpening as he scanned me, assessing. “I can sense that your powers have returned. That’s good.” Yeah, because he fucking tortured me until they reignited. Sanctimonious fuck. The small upturn of his lips—invisible almost—told me he knew where my thoughts had traveled. “Now tell me, what have you discovered in your time away?”
“I found the source of shadow magic you mentioned.” I tried to temper my excitement at the surprise widening his eyes—it was rare to catch Lucifer off guard, to impress him—but I could feel the smug grin pulling across my face anyway. “At least I’m pretty sure that I did, anyway. The Guild has a large stone, it looks like a much bigger version of your blade, and it sits in a pool of shadow magic. They’ve been using it to forge bonds between protectors. But it was how you said it would be—I felt an unmistakable pull to it. Power practically pulsed from it, intoxicating and impossible to ignore.”
His eyes narrowed as he studied me. “How large was this stone?”
“I don’t know—about,” I estimated with my hands, feeling a bit ridiculous under his scrutiny, “this big?”
Something darkened in his expression, his jaw so tight he’d crack a tooth if he was human. “So my suspicions were warranted. They do have the Abraxas.” He shook his head, eyes blazing as he stared at the river. I got the feeling Lucifer was very rarely off from his calculations—but it was clear in this case, he wanted to be. “And to use it for something so contrived. I wonder, then, when they stopped using stolen blades to manufacture their false bonds?”
The question clearly wasn’t presented for me to answer, so I asked my own. “Abraxas?”
“Nevermind that, do you know where the stone is now?”
I shook my head, my chest tightening at the memory of the bonding ceremony. Something told me that if it was important enough to flare Lucifer’s ire at just the mention of it, it wasn’t something the council kept stored in an easy-to-access basement, carting out only when bonding new matches.
Not that I knew where the bonding ceremony had taken place anyway—I’d teleported in and out of it, drawn only by my connection to Atlas.
“Not an ideal answer.” He sighed, his eyes landing on mine as he nodded once. “But that’s a start. You’ve done well.” I started to smile at the compliment before he added, “better than I expected you to, anyway.”
I didn’t bother stifling my eye roll. That was the closest thing to approval I’d likely ever get from Lucifer—which was maybe a good thing. I still wasn’t sure what his intentions were, where I fit in this strange world-saving plan of his.
After what he’d put me through—what he’d put my team through—I didn’t trust him for shit. For now, I wanted nothing more than to walk the tightrope with balance and focus—then when the time came, I’d decide on which side to fall.
But information was key, and I couldn’t make moves until I had it.
“What will you do with it once you have it?”
He stiffened, his eyes darting from mine as the lines of his face sharpened. “Keep the hell realm from imploding and destroying all the beings here—and, most likely, all the beings in your realm as well. The details of which don’t concern you yet.”
“Lofty goals.” I narrowed my eyes, focusing on him. There was something he wasn’t telling me, I was certain of that much. It was rare for something to unsettle Lucifer, but I could tell that the true answer to my question—the one he wasn’t yet trusting me with—did just that. “So what do I do now?”
He snorted, the sound strange coming from someone like him. “Other than finding it again, you mean?” His dark brow arched as he considered me, weighing how much to give, how much to let me in. I seemed to pass his assessment, somewhat at least, because he actually kept going. “We require three things to stabilize the shadow magic containing this world: the Abraxas, the nexus, and you. Right now, we have none of these.”
I waved my hand awkwardly, from head to waist, stepping around Ralph in case the bulk of the hellhound was covering too much of me from sight. “Pretty sure I’m right here.”
With a small yip that would have been better suited coming from a pomeranian than a giant hellhound, Ralph closed the distance between us again, leaning against me with so much of his weight that I stumbled slightly, wrapping my arms around his neck to keep from falling on my ass.
Lucifer glanced down at me, and I shrank at the clear judgment lining his face. The results of his assessment were clearly less ideal this time—whatever he was searching for was decidedly lacking. “Until you are at your full strength, you stand no chance of being of any use to me. In fact,” he shook his head, shoulders tensing, “you’re more of a liability than useful at the moment. The odds of you landing in enemy hands are significantly higher than you achieving your potential. Sometimes I think the wiser, kinder thing would be to keep you locked here.”
I clenched my jaw, waiting for him to finish his thought, knowing full well that if the devil himself wanted to keep me a prisoner in hell, there was very little that I could do to resist.
“But,” he said, drawing out the word as he nodded towards Sam’s retreating figure, “he’s convinced that your power will only strengthen as your bonds do. And unfortunately, there’s very little that I can do to assist with that.”
“Bonds? Like with my team, you mean?”
He nodded. “Life bonds have been absent for many years. But the mere fact that your friends were able to access you here, that they could pull through the barriers erected around this place and come into my domain uninvited—it is clear that they are returning. At least where you’re concerned anyway. While you’re here, we can train you—teach you to control the power you don’t fully understand. But that power will only strengthen as your lifeforce is bolstered by theirs. It is the way.”
“That’s why you haven’t killed them? Why you saved Wade near Headquarters that night?”
“I owed Serae and Wade’s mother a favor.” Serae was Wade’s aunt—a succubus that had been helping him, and later me, to control and use our powers. “It just so happened to be doubly beneficial for me in that I was able to use him to bring you to me.”
“You’ll let me return soon then?” I kept the hope from my voice as much as possible. Now that my powers were returning, I desperately wanted to return to the cabin. The sooner I did, the sooner I could rescue Atlas from the hell The Guild and that drude thing were putting him through.
“Soon, yes. Tomorrow in fact.” His lips flattened into a thin line. “Though I’ll expect progress from your end soon. We are running out of time and, like I said, we have none of the three things required to complete the ritual. You must train, every single day—not just sparring but your powers as well.”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s like a muscle,” I said, echoing something he or Sam had mentioned before.
He flared his nostrils, looking down at me. “Yes well, mock all you want, but right now you’re no better than a baby deer, all gangly limbs and little control. Prey. We need you to become a lion.”
Tall order. I knew we were dealing with some serious shit, but a part of me enjoyed poking Lucifer, finding the cracks in his rigid demeanor. It was, perhaps, one of my deadliest coping mechanisms to date.
I pressed my face against Ralph, drawing from his strength, his comfort, to quell the anxiety clogging my airway. It was a lot—knowing that the literal fate of the world rested on my shoulders. According to Lucifer anyway. Part of me hoped he really was lying about everything, that his plan was truly nefarious—so that failing to live up to his expectations would actually benefit the world, not condemn it.
