Page 42 of Bones

Oh, no. Those shadows have set the small flame inside of me into an inferno. I wrench away from the brute, clearly taking him by surprise. I spin to face him, my blood pumping with a mixture of anger and love. I copy Sydney’s move and break the zip tie around my wrists on the first try.

Bones is out there and I’m going to fight my way to my mate.

25

BONES

The derelict private runaway comes into view. It has my unwavering focus as I fly towards it, carried by a small tornado of black shadows and slivers of bones. On his motorcycle, engine roaring, Reaper keeps up with me.

It’d taken only a few minutes to pick up my mate’s scent and begin my hunt--a few minutes still too long for me. My commander and club president never falters, staying with me without question as we pursue Sloan, Sydney, and the men who took them from us. The men who don’t realize Hell is about to erupt around them.

Sloan’s scent is stronger, fresher. The shadows carrying my form pulsate with my savage hunger.

“The rest of the club is seven minutes behind us.” Reaper’s voice is an arctic wind; desolate and deadly without mercy. Using his demonic voice is the only way he can ensure I bother to hear him.

The hanger gets closer by the heart beat. I will have Sloan in my arms soon. I will not fail her again.

“I won’t wait for them.” My voice is the rattle of bones. “I’ll go in alone if I must.”

“Never alone, brother,” Reaper responds, voice whipping all around me.

We pull to a stop, Reaper slamming on his brakes and throwing up gravel. The engine idles as the bike teeters, the suspension still compensating for his sudden halt.

I’m not stopping. Not when Sloan is so close.

Reaper is transforming into his full demon form, his human shell shredding away as his true self is revealed. He’s a mountain of a creature, a monstrous form made entirely of ethereal darkness. In his right hand is a gleaming, obsidian scythe. It’s so dark that the only light I can see is a faint, bluish glow coming from within. He towers over me, garbed in a tattered black cloak that billows in an invisible wind. The hood is deep, a pool of black hiding any trace of a face. Horns like that of a great elk with dozens of prongs rise through the hood; the frozen skin hanging gruesomely as if the flesh shreds eternally.

Reaper isn’t death. Death is Reaper.

His hooded head turns towards me, the black in place of his face making my tattered soul shudder. Even demons fear the death that Reaper delivers--a total unmaking.

I raise my boney chin, staring into that haunting abyss. “I don’t plan to leave anyone alive,” I tell him. “Not after they took my mate. I swore they’d never hurt her again.”

His response is a frosty wind, in complete defiance to the scorching sun sinking towards the horizon. It’s enough of anagreement for me. I turn back towards the building where Sloan and Sydney are being kept.

As one, we charge towards the airport hanger, falling into perfect formation. Centuries of fighting against warring factions in Hell means we fight flawlessly together. An archangel would be the only chance the Light Justicars could have against us, and they’ve nothing but imitations of true magic.

The hanger is yellowed and worn, nearly blending in with the tan desert surrounding it. The runway is cracked and dust covered and there are only two vehicles parked haphazardly near the open bay door.

As we make our approach, the humans finally catch sight of us. There’s maybe a dozen justicars, easily spotted because of their insistence on wearing bright white. They’re splitting into different groups, five of them taking cover behind the vehicles, a cargo van and a smaller crossover.

“They’ll try to take off,” Reaper’s voice echoes between my ears.

It goes without saying that we will not allow that to happen. Throwing out my hands, shadows filled with bone shrapnel shoot forward. The bone shards pierce through the thick tires and punch through the sides of the vehicles with enough force to rock them both.

Shouts to hold come a moment before a hail of bullets. I cross my forearms in front of my face, slowing from my sprint, as my body is struck over and over again. It’s instinct to mold the bones at my command over my body and harden.

“Demon bane,” I snarl as the bullets are forced from me but not without a bitch of a sting for each one.

Demon bane might work on those of us summoned by mortals from our hellish world, but it’ll take being buried in the stuff for it to begin to have an affect on free demons like us.

Reaper and I reach the men at the same time, and I’ll give them credit. Even with their terror filling my nostrils, not a single one runs from us. They continue to fire, desperately hoping that the last few moments were wrong and that this time, we’ll fall to the bullets. I step onto the hood of the gray crossover, the engine and frame crunching under my weight. With a rumbling growl, I take one of the men in hand, raising him above me even while his comrades continue to fire.

I meet his hate filled eyes.

Then I crush him and let his broken body drop to the broken concrete.

Screams from the left are cut off as a winter wind rushes by, the unforgettable gust created after Reaper swings his weapon.

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