Page 67 of Angel's Smoke

“Life doesn’t need to be as hard for our child as it’s been for you. I’ve grown a lot, and I’d like to make sure the baby can reap the benefits of that. If anything, I’m learning so much about parenthood, fatherhood, and family in general. Even if we’re not together, you can’t deny that it would be best for the kid to have financial stability. And you know the courts always do their best to try and keep the parents in the kid’s life, even if the adults are separated. Kind of the best of all worlds, if you ask me. You get some money for a change, and we all get a happy little family. It’s a win-win.”

“Disrespectfully, fuck you.”

Anna hung up on him before she found her phone hurled halfway down the mountain. The threats laced in Travis’s voice shouldn’t have hurt her the way they had, but her skin had grown far thinner in recent weeks, literally and figuratively. When she tried to summon a cone of safety around her shoulders by wrapping herself in her comforter, all she got was the ghost of Iron’s warmth pressing down on her. It was a hollow, empty shell, no longer strong enough to offer the protection she needed, but still taunting in its presence regardless.

He’d left her. The reasons didn’t matter because they wouldn’t change the result. But the pain left behind didn’t give a shit. It was there, hot and heavy, beating her down with its insistence that no, Anna, you cannot do this on your own. See how much it hurts? How foolish you are for thinking you even could.

She didn’t try to sniff her way out of the tears that needed to fall, because what was the fucking point? Instead, she turned off her phone and chucked it into her nightstand drawer. It landed with athunk, shaking her little reading lamp and the glasses case standing sentinel next to it.

The case, forgotten but not really, housed the new purple glasses Iron had gotten to replace her shoddy pair. She hadn’t brought herself to wear them since the day he left.

Now, she was grateful for the decision. She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing the lie she had become reflected back at her in her paltry bathroom mirror.

The one depicting the version of her that Iron had sworn was more than enough.

Chapter32

Iron allowed himself one last memory of Anna’s smile before he buried it beneath the shards of his broken heart and attacked. He swung his ax high, sending an arc of blue flames clear through the mystic in front of him. The crackling sizzle and scream were the fuel that kept Iron’s legs pumping, his arms slashing. If he kept moving, kept chopping down the forest of charmers like so much overgrowth, he’d crowd out the billowing need to drop to his feet and grieve.

He ducked to the left, dodging a blow from an elite charmer, then swung back around and bashed his flaming mace into the side of the bastard’s head. Blood sprayed, then atomized within his fire. Iron was just about to swing his ax again when a booming command froze every charmer around him.

“Hold! He is mine.”

The crowd parted enough for Cyro to charge forward, bone swords swinging. Iron erupted and lunged for the demon ruler. With a mighty swing, Iron’s mace connected with Cyro’s shoulder, sending him crashing into a nearby boulder. Iron was getting ready to charge again, but a green light flared from Cyro’s chest and punched out on a tether to hit Iron squarely in his. He grunted, then roared as he was dragged toward the boulder like some animal on a lead. He tried to dig his heels in, but the pull was too strong. Cyro’s fist met Iron’s face when they collided. Bone crunched. Pain exploded behind his eyes. He stumbled back on his ass to the sound of taunting laughter.

It was all too much, yet not enough. The hits did nothing to fill the void of despair that blossomed like a chasm within his chest. All they did was annoy the fuck out of him. This wasn’t a warrior or anyone close to a worthy opponent. Cyro was simply the queen of the hive who’d grown fat on his drones. The true blow had already been dealt by Iron’s hand. He’d made it up here, hadn’t he? Left his whole life behind so those he loved could keep on living? Lost it all, including Anna and her child, for the sake of the realm?

And this piece of shit thought he could steal Iron’s focus away from what truly mattered?

Rage morphed into blind fury as Iron took in the smug bloodied grin painting Cyro’s face. It was a mockery of not only him but his brothers, the mates, Anna, and every soul they had ever saved. It flew in the face of all the emotions Iron had witnessed during his time among the mortals, every smile and sob that were as much a part of him as they were the human condition.

Iron threw his hands behind him, whipped his legs overhead, and vaulted backward so his feet were on the ground again. The flames of his and his brothers’ fire barricading the Empyrean cast a hellish hue on the scene before him. Thick, soupy orange mist choked the landscape while monstrous warriors as far as the eye could see surrounded themselves in dark magic capable of destroying not only any life imaginable but any souls as well.

This was what Cyro brought to the Empyrean’s doors and what he’d turn the highest realm of Heaven into. A barren wasteland with nothing but death, destruction, and eternal darkness.

And Iron was only one man. One sentinel. Against an army.

But he could still fly.

Iron took to the skies and, instead of firing his flames at Cyro, spun in the air and rained sheets of flames down on the front line of charmers. Many had shields up, but many didn’t, and he smiled as the sickening screams of engulfed demons rose around him, registering on Cyro’s smug-as-fuck face.

Black blood and dark fury coated the demon ruler’s visage, and Iron drank that shit up. “That was the wrong move,” Cyro warned.

“Was it? Because it looked really efficient.”

Cyro got to his feet, sank into a crouch, and crossed his bone swords in an X over his chest. Dark magic swirled about the blades, then arced through the air. Iron threw his flames out but couldn’t turn in time to block the blow entirely. His body twisted in midair while his wings took the brunt of the force, seizing them into stillness. Iron plummeted to the ground. Blood filled his mouth with the shock of the impact. When he tried to rise, the weight of his wings, now limp and useless, pulled him back down.

Cyro stalked toward him, grace and swagger filling every movement. “Poor downed little bird.” Then he tapped the tips of his swords together. The sound was like a beast’s canines sharpening each other.

Iron went to hurl his ax, but he’d lost the damn thing somewhere in the fall. Off toward his right, a charmer skulked forward, toed at something on the ground, and quickly slammed down its glowing shield, crushing the thing. Iron saw a burst of blue fire spread out beneath the shield’s rim, then extinguish on a hiss.

His ax.

Fuck.

Iron shot to his feet and spat blood on the ground. His equilibrium was barely hanging on. He still had his mace, thank the mages, and he swung it like the wild savage he’d become. Cyro threw up a blade just in time, but the force of Iron’s strike was too strong to withstand one-handed. One bone sword clamored to the ground. The demon ruler staggered, then recovered by gripping the tip of the remaining sword in one gloved hand while steadying the handle with the other. Iron poured every ounce of strength he had into the strike and was renewed when his efforts finally forced Cyro to take a step back.

A surge of satisfaction emboldened Iron’s muscles, and he pushed harder, hoping for one more inch to throw the bastard off-balance.

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