Page 12 of Unholy

Nathan’s smile tightened at the edges. Before he could speak, Luke scrambled to undo what he’d said.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up. Just?—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Nathan said, waving away his concerns. His gaze traveled the room as he replied. “Yes, it’s been hard being short a person. Alex was… dedicated and talented. Filling the hole he left behind will be difficult, but I believe Judah is up to the task.”

Dedicated, Luke thought, but not dedicated enough to stay.

Nathan glanced at him and did a double-take at whatever his expression was doing. “You don’t agree?”

Luke tried to lighten his scowl, but he wasn’t sure it worked. “No, no, I think Judah will be fine. That’s not—he’s a good kid. That’s not what I was thinking.”

“Share with the class, Luke. It’ll do you good to have a conversation with another human once in a while.” He smiled as he spoke, letting Luke know it was a joke.

It was true, he kept to himself a lot. Had, in fact, since he’d lost his squad. In the beginning, his appointments with Maxwell wrung him out and left him feeling hollow. He was still required for regular sessions with Maxwell, in fact, butthey were less frequent and didn’t exhaust him. They’d hashed out everything that happened that night years ago, and Maxwell thankfully didn’t force him to go into much detail about his nightmares these days. At this point, he’d heard it all before. New nightmares usually just meant an offer for sleep meds, which Luke always refused.

He shook himself, focusing on the man in front of him once more. “If I must,” he groused, though it lacked heat.

Nathan smiled, a weak thing that didn’t touch his eyes. “So?”

Luke sighed. “I’m sure you’ve heard it before, Nate. I just don’t understand why Hawk, if he was as dedicated as you say, would get involved with a demon like that.”

Nathan shook his head. “He was desperate for revenge against the demon that killed his family. Desperation drives even the hardiest of men to do crazy things, I guess.”

Luke hummed. “Do you think he’s… happy? I know a couple of squads have seen him a time or two around that club.”

“I hope he is. I hope that demon is being—good to him?” The last part was questioning, as though he wasn’t sure such a phrase could even apply to a demon. “From what I’ve heard, he looked healthy. That’s something, at least.”

For a moment, Luke pondered it. What would he have if he didn’t have the guild? He owed everything to them. His childhood, his job, his skills. He’d gotten his car and cell phone through the guild. Fighting demons was the only thing he’d ever done. The only thing he’d everwantedto do. He couldn’t imagine being cut off from the guild.

But maybe Hawk didn’t feel the same. Maybe he’d met that black-eyed demon and realized he wanted something completely different for himself.

Unwittingly, red eyes appeared in his thoughts. Red eyes and porcelain white skin, a crooked smile and glossy black hair.

You don’t have to be alone.

The food turned to ash in his mouth, and his appetite disappeared. He set his fork down, his shoulders hunching as he rubbed the back of his neck.

It was better to be alone. Better to be here, doing what he knew, than to risk losing it all for an empty promise.

Chapter 6

Luke

Another week passedin a routine blur. Luke distracted himself from the memory of Malachi’s honeyed promises by throwing himself into his work. He trained during the day at the guild and patrolled at night, staying on the move to keep his mind from wandering. He found another crex demon in an old office building and a pair of white wraith-like things he would have to look up in the library to put a name to. But too many nights, there was nothing at all to fight. Nothing to distract him from the emptiness all around him where his squad used to be. On those nights, he spent far too long repeating Malachi’s words over in his mind:You don’t have to be alone. You don’t have to be alone.

Tonight, so far, had been one of those empty nights. The city lights were a distant glow, reflecting off the storm clouds overhead. Around him, the cemetery was abysmally dark, the headstones cold and flat slabs of shadow behind which anything could be lurking. The occasional raindrop hit his face and arms, as though the sky could open up at any moment. It was dismal. Just like his mood.

So far, none of the usual haunts had proven fruitful, and he wondered if he would go home tonight with clean blades and restless energy. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Malachi since the night he’d declared Lukehis, and Luke dared to hope that maybe he’d given up and gone on to easier prey. Because that had to be what it was. He was playing some kind of game with him, trying to lure him away from the guild like that other demon had lured Hawk. But Hawk was young and new to the fight, new to the strange temptations that some demons could offer. Luke wasn’t so easily fooled.

The sound of something shifting behind him broke the silence, and he whirled around, raising his blade.

There was nothing there but pale headstones and whispering wind. He held himself still, waiting and listening. A handful of raindrops landed on his face, increasing in frequency. He slowly turned back around, tension leaching from him. Perhaps it was only the wind ruffling some flowers on a nearby headstone.

Something cinched painfully tight around his ankles, wrenching both feet out from under him. He just had the sense of mind to turn his blade away so he didn’t land on it. His own body weight crushed his elbow under his chest, and he rolled onto his back as something dragged him across the grass.

It was a monster of some kind, half-hidden in the dirt. He’d never seen anything like it. Many rotted hands and arms stretched out of the earth, snagging around his ankles and calves, dragging him closer to its impossible face. There were eyes—too many to count. Flat and round like a human’s, but all wrong. Gaping mouths with flat, blunt teeth opened and closed like they could already taste his flesh. It looked like something had melted a dozen zombies out of a horror movietogether into one. Raspy whines left the mouths, all different pitches that clashed with each other, painfully shrill.

He swung his blade as he drew a bottle of holy water from his belt with his free hand. His sword caught on bone and glanced off. He couldn’t swing with enough momentum at this angle to hack through them. Desperately, he flung holy water at the thing. Its shrieks doubled as the holy water burned its mottled skin, but those fingers, if anything, only tightened. He was certain they were digging into him, ripping holes through both denim and skin. The pain blared like an alarm in his head—hurts, hurts, hurts.

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