Page 43 of Bones

The two men remaining, since Reaper’s blow took two souls, fall back to the open hanger. I don’t run after them, a satisfied growl rumbling along my bones. All it does is make me enjoy this hunt even more.

“Xavius.”

Reaper’s observation makes me stop, maybe a dozen feet away from the entrance. This close, I can practically taste my mate.

Father Xavius is once more garbed in his ostentatious white cassock, standing at the entrance of the hanger with pious righteousness. His hands are clasped in front of him, confident he cannot be touched.

Carefully, I send out slivers of bone to skate over the ground to feel for wards. I almost laugh when I encounter them. There’s demon bane and salt to try to act as a physical barrier, my bones unable to cross them without being detected. But it’s the magical barrier that reeks of angelic blessings.

The weight of Reaper’s attention has me nodding subtly. The Light Justicars have underestimated us so severely, I could pity them. I don’t though. By quiet agreement, we decide to indulge Xavius.

The man that steps up beside him makes me clench my fist.

“Hold.” I don’t need Reaper’s quiet order, but he’s not wrong to think my every instinct screams at me to rip Paul to shreds before sundering his soul so that he wanders the wastes of Hell for eternity.

“There is no need for this conflict to continue,” Xavius calls out as if he’s on the pulpit. “The issue between your kind and the Santi Pastori is settled. Now that our lost lamb has been returned, we will return home.”

“You have more than one little lamb,” Reaper responds, his power buffeting the building in waves. The angelically blessed wards ripple, turning visible with their oil slick sheen. Xavius smiles, clearly reassured that he’s protected behind the erected ward. He holds out his hands as if he is blameless. “If another lamb seeks to shelter with my flock, who am I to deny her? Her soul is stricken. We can heal her until she is whole once more.”

Fury paints my vision red, a roar almost ripping from me; but it’s not my fury. It’s Reaper’s. I glance at him, but he looks as controlled the moment before. I wait, eager to bust through thepaper thin wards and retrieve my mate. To my ire, Reaper bows his head, as if in agreement.

Quiet, I ask, “Sir?”

He ignores me and begins to turn away. “I wish to take away his victory before I devour his soul,” his voice whispers into my ear. I appreciate my demonic form’s inability to change expressions. As it is, I practically purr with smug satisfaction and turn away as if to follow my leader. Xavius’ voice becomes muddled as he begins to issue orders but his arrogance is evident.

Then we hear it.

A scream that sinks into the depths of my being. My mate is furious and afraid.

“Odanatos!” Sydney’s voice.

The world around us slows, the vibrancy fading away; primal fear, the fear that has existed since life began tells me to flee. Reaper’s power swells around him, pulling life towards him with the unrelenting of a black hole. Then, in the very same instant, Reaper explodes.

He barrels down on the hanger, twice his previous size. His scythe is out, absorbing the light of the sun and casting the world in darkness around him. I race behind him, having to be careful that I don’t get struck by his power.

The justicars shout. In the shadows, the world drained of color, I see Xavius turn back towards us. Paul, behind him, is running deeper into the hanger. The remainder of the guards rush to form a line of defense, both magical and physical.

Reaper swings his scythe, the angelic blessing offering no resistance or protection. The obsidian blade slices through thewalls of the hanger in its arc before sweeping through the line of men before us.

Their souls are extinguished, the life vanishing from the bodies before gravity takes over. The bodies are whole, the only sign of death are their burned out eyes.

I move around him, rushing deeper into the hanger. Paul has nearly reached the base of the stairs leading up into the plane. With a jerk of my head, he’s in my control and frozen mid step.

I force his bones to move, controlling him as my puppet, until he’s jerkily lumbering towards me. His eyes are wide with terror and the sharp smell of piss hits me as he loses control of his bladder. He’s trying to say something but with his jaw out of his control it’s nothing but the sounds of a scared beast.

I have no desire to listen to his pleas. I close the distance between us, bending so my face is inches away from his. Let him see his death with unescapable clarity.

“For hurting Sloan, you will wander the bowels of the Hells for eternity. There will be no salvation for you.” I punctuate each word by shattering one of his bones.

I open my mouth, distending my jaw to stretch my mouth open wider than possible. I snap forward, the crunch of me ripping through his flesh and spine ricochets through the hanger. Snarling, I rip his head from his body before spitting it out at Reaper’s feet.

My blood is up. Sloan is close. I want to battle. I want to fuck. I want to devour my pretty little perfect prey. I throw my head back, bellowing a roar.

Like being sucked into a vacuum, a quiet gasp steals all of that away. In its place is a twisting chill. I lower my head and find Sloan’s wide-eyed gaze where she stands at the entrance of the private plane.

I’ve lost her, now. How can she choose me after being witness to my brutality?

Except, instead of turning away from me, Sloan is racing down the stairs.

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