Page 4 of Gargoyle Vigilante

Michael regarded them with a self-satisfied smirk. “You see? There are those who know when to back off, to follow their instincts and do my bidding.”

Dante resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Archangels could be so testy, and he hadn’t exactly endeared himself to this particular one in millenniums.

He dragged his fingers through his short, mussed hair. “Look, I explained to you already during the Civil War that humans are a hot mess on a good day. I want to get this over with so I can relax and go back to warding off evil somewhere nice. Perhaps the mountains? But the only reason I left you guys in the dust is I didn’t feel like waiting for everyone to get off their asses to finish this job.”

Michael gritted his teeth. “There is an order to the battle, a strategy. When you deserted your post and took things into your own hands, you upset the Divine Spark’s plan. Your fated mate plays an integral part in that plan.”

Dante pressed his lips together. “That’s another thing. I don’t need some fated mate to hold me down. I’m fine just hanging around and fucking the occasional willing participant.” He gave him a sneer. “But thanks for thinking of me.”

Michael narrowed his laser eyes, the color darkening this time. “The occasional fuck doesn’t produce progeny. If we’ve learned nothing else, it’s that we need to replenish our protection ranks. We're at great risk with so many gargoyles defecting to the demon uprising.”

The whole conversation was beginning to give Dante a massive headache. “You never know. One of the little cum-dumpsters I’m banging could get knocked up.”

Michael’s fury seemed to be seeping out of his now glowing body. Just a smidgeon more rage and his flames would probablyignite around him, possibly even his wings would whoosh out.Oops. Showing his heavenly side on the Earth plane was definitely against the rules. Dante loved fucking with the self-righteous ass.

Mal squeezed Dante’s shoulder. Hard. “Ease up, Dante,” he whispered. “You might be in the lead with rogue kills, but there’s only so much shit-talk an Archangel can take.”

Michael reined in his glow, clenching and unclenching his fits as it diminished. “Listen to your friend, Dante. He’s the only ally you have left among your kind. In case you’re too dense to remember, you can’t procreate with any human you unload in. He has to be your chosen one, and that canonlybe a Nephilim.”

Dante remembered. He simply didn’t give a shit. “Oh, right. I forgot. That long-lost race of half-breed angels.” He snapped his fingers several times as if trying to recall what he’d known since the moment he’d been formed. “Remind me again? Weren’t you behind that little faux pas?

Michael continued to glare. “I didn’t know the angels were going toEarthto party when I gave permission. I was still getting my wings under me back then.” He sighed. “But the Divine Spark has since found a way to combine the two races so we can bring forth more protectors.” His top lip curled. “No offense, but gargoyles are too easy to lure to the darkness. At least with some angelic blood, their loyalty to the Divine is more certain.”

Mal put his hands on his hips. “You know, I’m starting to get offended. I hope you’re not throwing all gargoyles into the same pot. I mean, I’ve always been—”

Mal and Michael froze, Dante tensing as all his senses went on alert. Tiny pin-pricks, almost like mini bee stings, covered his body, signaling that shadow gargoyles were nearby. The sensation built in strength as it became clear that there were many gathering at once.

They didn’t usually move around in such large numbers. Drawing attention to their presence didn’t further their cause—it only made it easier for them to be discovered by the Slayers. That could only mean they were desperate enough to be willing to take dangerous chances.

A holy relic is nearby.

As soon as he locked in on what direction to head, Dante insulated himself from the noisy surroundings of the bar. He blinked, grounding his physical self for a moment.

The only one left standing next to him was Mal, who also seemed to be re-grounding. Michael had vanished, which was to be expected. Regardless of legend, Archangels didn’t fight. That was what he and his fellow Slayers had been hired for.

“You’ll need my help.” Mal arched his eyebrows.

Dante pressed his lips together, no longer used to fighting with a partner. But Mal was the only gargoyle he trusted with his life.

He gave a sharp nod. “Then let’s kill some demon ass.”

Chapter Three

Amir gasped, losing his footing, then fell backward, landing on his butt with anoomph.Several dark figures lumbered toward him, the very same who had annihilated everyone back at the store. Now that the creatures weren’t rushing through the air or chasing him, he was able to discern more of what they looked like.

Their mass seemed solid—like enormous, hulking silhouettes—their forms appearing to be at least seven feet tall. They moved silently, but the air around them rustled angrily, as though they were creating their own windstorm with every step.

A scream caught in Amir’s throat as they drew closer, their pupilless eyes now glowing red. His uncle had warned him that should the physical manifestation of evil come for the Seal, it would be the most terrifying he’d ever seen.

His uncle wasn’t even close to describing how horrific these beings were.

One of the creatures broke from the rest, moving rapidly toward him. His instinct for survival kicked into gear, and he dashed to his feet, running away despite knowing his efforts were futile. But he’d taken on a sacred duty, and he would remain true to his promise until his last breath.

Amir screamed as a searing pain shot through him. What felt like a knife—or perhaps an enormous claw—sliced the back of his neck. He collapsed to the filthy ground, the small ring box containing the Seal jamming into his hip bone. His instinct had been to grab his front jeans pocket, but he stopped himself. Not that being careful would matter much once they tore him to pieces searching for the relic.

Through the hazy fog of his mind that was becoming dimmed by the excruciating pain, he wondered if the best courseof action was to destroy the artifact. After all, if it no longer existed, it couldn’t be used against humanity. God, why hadn’t he thought to ask Khaled more questions? Instead of assuming his uncle was being too dramatic, that his trauma from escaping Iraq after it fell was what colored his perceptions, he should’ve learned everything his uncle knew.

Instead, he’d treated everything as if it were myth or lore, not ascribing any truth to his uncle’s beliefs. His own learning centered around words instead of objects. He studied ancient languages in the hopes that he could someday work as an epigraphist, translating and identifying historical writings. Not that any of it mattered now.

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