Page 19 of Unholy

Squads were like brotherhoods within a brotherhood. It was nice of them to offer, but he couldn’t imagine asking Sloan to move someone out of their squad just to make room for him.

“I appreciate the offer, Doc, but I’m really fine. I don’t mind working alone.” He couldn’t possibly mention his close call the other night. It would only reinforce Maxwell’s belief that Luke needed a squad to back him up.

“Maybe you could patrol with Isaac or Cyrus, then. They also tend to work alone, but you might enjoy having something like a smaller squad with just the three of you.”

If he was going to patrol with anyone, it would probably be those two. Isaac was technically in a squad, but he went out alone just as often as he hunted with his squad. He hadtrouble understanding anything that wasn’t a hunt.Peoplewere hard for him, which made him blunt and strange to most. People whispered behind their hands that he was ‘psycho,’ but Luke wasn’t sure he believed that. And Cyrus—if there was a black sheep amongst the guild, it was him. Tattooed and short of patience, he treated the guild more like a means to an end, but what end was anyone’s guess. He was the only person who didn’t attend Father Hawley’s church services—and there were three scheduled every Sunday to ensure everyone could attend.

“Maybe,” he hedged, although he wasn’t sure they would like patrolling together any better than he would.

Besides, a tiny part of him whispered, if he patrolled with them, they might discover Malachi. They mighthurtMalachi. Against his better judgment, the prospect bothered him.

“Or there’s always the possibility of forming a new squad with some of the up-and-coming graduates.”

Luke balked at that. “No,” he said firmly. “I definitely don’t want to be in charge of new graduates.” His anxiety would be through the roof in the field with a bunch of fresh eighteen-year-old paladins underfoot, eager for glory and the chance to prove themselves. He couldn’t think of anything worse.

Maxwell inclined his head. “Fair enough. I just worry about you out there all alone. If you were to run into trouble, who would have your back?”

Well, Luke thought begrudgingly, Malachi would. Who better to have his back than an immortal demon who couldn’t be killed by the monsters Luke faced on patrols?

After a draining hourin Maxwell’s office, Luke dragged himself from the medical wing and out into the training yard. The real therapy, his favorite therapy, was out there, in the sand with the others. Sessions with Maxwell always left him feeling raw, like he’d flayed off some calluses and exposed the soft, sensitive underside to the elements. Here in the training yard, he could focus on the burn of muscle in use. It cleared his mind like an eraser on a whiteboard, resetting him to his most basic state.

Before he dared to pick out a practice sword, he forced himself to go to the running track. The midmorning sun was golden and bright, warming his skin. A northern breeze wafted through the trees around the grounds, bringing with it the sweet scent of pine from the Angeles National Forest.

He left his shirt on one of the wooden benches and fell into an easy jog, uncertain how long he planned to run. He’d know how long was long enough when his mind was finally quiet.

The pavement was solid under his sneakers. There was a middle-grade class sitting on some benches nearby, having a lesson outside. Many of them tracked him with their eyes, and his face heated under the attention, turning his gaze to the pavement in front of him and resolutely ignoring everything else around him.

He chafed under attention these days, had ever since he lost his squad. For months after his release from the medical wing, people gave him pitying looks everywhere he went. It was too painful to even visit HQ for a while. Sloan tried placing him with a handful of different squads at first. Each time, anxiety over what might happen to the members of his squad crippled him, and it was worse if he patrolled with young paladins. Finally, after months of trial and error—during which he experienced debilitating panic attacks and nightmares—he finally went to the council with a formal request to be excused from squads altogether. He could still patrol and fight, but he’d rather do it alone. It was rare but not unheard of, and he focused better when he didn’t have to worry about the people around him getting hurt. When therewereno people around him to get hurt.

Except Malachi. Malachi said the monsters Luke hunted couldn’t kill him. He was impervious to all but holy weapons. The only concern would be the guild discovering their… companionship? Relationship?

Luke huffed, shaking his head and slinging sweat from his brow. He couldn’t seriously be entertaining this. Letting Malachi anywhere near him would puteverythingat risk. But if Maxwell was right, he’d met Malachi for a reason. Did he feel drawn to Luke, too? Was that why he claimed Luke was ‘his human,’ and why he kept following him around?

The running track took him away from the well-maintained lawns and into the overgrown, scraggly acreage behind the buildings. It was still part of the guild’s grounds, safely ensconced behind the blessed brick wall, but the area was untamed. They used it for training exercises sometimes, and the school-aged kids camped out occasionally, roasting marshmallows while Father Hawley gave lighthearted sermons under the stars. Luke himself had been on a handful of the camp-outs as a teen and remembered them fondly enough, fun if a little cheesy.

Out there, away from the rest of the guild and baking under the noonday sun, his mind finally wiped clean. And with sweat-soaked clarity, he could admit what he wanted. That moment they’d fallen together in the cemetery and Malachi had held him so sweetly, he’d felt sheltered andcared for. It had cracked the walls he’d built around himself, and Malachi came flooding into the empty spaces in his heart he’d long ago resigned himself to never filling.

He wanted to feel that again, wanted to give himself over and trust someone else with the most fragile parts of himself. The only question he had left to answer: was Malachi the right one for the job?

He didn’t know, and the question plagued him for the rest of the day. When he finished the running track’s big loop and made it back to the training yard, he chose a practice sword and went to work with relish, sparring anyone who was brave enough to face him. Faces passed in a blur, and all he focused on was the burn of physical exertion and his ever-circling thoughts.

When his limbs shook with exhaustion and the sun hung just above the horizon, he finally called it quits for the day. He returned his practice sword to the weapons hutch and shrugged into his shirt as he trudged to the parking lot. Dinner was likely being served in the cafeteria, but he didn’t feel like sitting in a crowded room. He’d rather have a hot shower and call it an early night. Maybe he’d find some respite from his dilemma in sleep.

Chapter 8

Malachi

Malachi tooka drag of his cigarette. The dying, molten light of the sun haloed the apartment building before him, casting the parking lot where he sat in shadow. The end of their dinner last night notwithstanding, he thought things had gone very well with Luke, who obviously liked him more than he let on. Malachi was going to press that weakness until Luke bent. He would have his human in due time.

Luke was home. He’d seen him arrive and go inside, his shoulders slumped as though the day had stolen the steel from his spine. When he thought sufficient time had passed—enough time for Luke to go in and do whatever humans did when they were alone, like showering or eating—he plucked the styrofoam container from his passenger seat and made his way up the echoing staircase, following the unfathomable pull of Luke’s aura.

Outside Luke’s apartment, he paused, sensing wards on the threshold. The heavy, metal-plated apartment door had the same deep green paint as all the others in the hall, with a brass34below the shiny peephole. In theory, he could havepicked the lock or even forced the door open, but there was no way in with the wards in place. He would have to knock, and Luke would have to invite him in. This would be the moment that decided whether Luke would allow him into his life. It would be far too easy to refuse Malachi entrance and order him away. If he did, there was nothing Malachi could do about it. Sure, he would continue to follow Luke from afar. He wouldn’t be able to resist. But they wouldn’t betogether.

With a fortifying breath, he knocked on the door, standing in full view of the peephole so Luke would know exactly who he was. He wanted Luke, and he wanted Luke to wanthim. He couldn’t force that to happen. Luke had to accept him.

Faint shuffling, like bare feet on carpet, drew his attention. Luke was right on the other side, probably looking through the peephole at him. Malachi held his breath, his fingers pressing just hard enough into the styrofoam to bend it.

Would Luke let him in? Or would Malachi spend another lonely night at the bar, wishing things were different?

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