Page 1 of Gargoyle Reaper

Chapter One

Ezekiel's massive form cut through the night sky, his stony skin impervious to the biting cold. With immense power, his large, grey wings flapped against the fierce winds, propelling him forward to the Cathedral of the Holy Cross, under which the East Coast Shadow Slayer lair was located. His talons flexed instinctively, ready to grip the cathedral’s surface as he descended toward the twinkling lights of downtown.

As he neared his destination, Ezekiel's keen eyes scanned the city. The streets boasted a multitude of holiday decorations, lit with twinkling lights. The streets were dusted with a layer of fresh snow that glittered from the bright display, reminiscent of a picture on a Christmas card.

The irony of the festive scene wasn't lost on Ezekiel. While humans celebrated the joyous time of the year with friends and family, he and his fellow Shadow Slayers fought an eternal battle against darkness.

As he approached the cathedral's spire, Ezekiel's wings folded close to his body, allowing him to dive gracefully toward a hidden entrance. With practiced ease, he landed silently on the cathedral's roof, his claws finding purchase on the weathered stone. In an instant, his massive form shimmered and contracted, the rough grey skin smoothing into a cool bronze as he shifted back to his human appearance. Ezekiel straightened his leather jacket and ran his palm across the top of his head, mentally preparing himself to enter the world of mortals once more.

He slipped through a hidden entrance behind an iron buttress, then quickly descended stone steps enclosed behind the wall. Midnight had already come and gone, so he wasn’t worried about being caught lurking about. What gripped him in fear was whether he was in time to save Ronen, a slayer who a rogue demon had mercilessly tortured.

The fact that the rogues were now doing some of the dirty work typically reserved for the shadow gargoyles didn’t portend well. Perhaps they believed their mission to steal enough holy relics so they could plunge the world into darkness and seize the reins of power from Lucifer was failing, and they needed to move the proceedings along.

When Michael summoned him to heal the gravely injured Ronen, the archangel hadn’t shared many details, so Ezekiel could only guess how much Ronen had revealed to the demon—if anything at all. While the injured slayer was an excellent warrior, he was a newer recruit. How resilient he was to torture was in question. On the other hand, he might not know enough about their operations yet to have caused much harm to their mission.

Ezekiel’s footsteps echoed softly through the narrow passageway as he moved deeper into the cathedral’s hidden chambers. The air grew thick with the scent of incense and something else—the metallic tang of blood. His heart raced, worry for Ronen gnawing at his gut.

Once he entered the makeshift infirmary inside a dimly lit chamber, his eyes fell upon Ronen’s prone form. The sight that greeted him made his stomach churn. Ronen lay on a stone altar, his body a canvas of cuts and bruises. The rogue demon's handiwork was evident in the intricate patterns carved into Ronen’s skin, symbols of vile shapes meant to encase Ronen’s spirit, to prevent him from fighting for his light.

The healing would require a difficult combination of physical restoration combined with spiritual renewal. These sessions were always the most taxing on him. While he loved and embraced his role as the official Shadow Slayer healer, the unending battle with the dark forces had become more draining as of late. The Grim Reaper might have shed every speck of light left inside to ensure that Ezekiel would have as much power as possible, but there was only so much he could handle. The battles had become more frequent and brutal. And now, with the rogue demons entering the fray? He feared he couldn’t keep up with the demands being placed on him.

“About time you showed up, Zeke,” a familiar voice drawled from the corner. Cassiel, another Shadow Slayer, pushed off the wall she'd been leaning against. “I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost in all that holiday cheer up there.”

Ezekiel grunted. “Hardly. Not feeling all that cheery these days.”

Cassiel's smirk faded as she approached, her eyes softening with concern. “I know, Zeke. None of us are. But we need you at your best right now.”

Ezekiel nodded, steeling himself as he moved to Ronen’s side. He placed his hands gently on the wounded Slayer’s chest, closing his eyes to focus his energy. A soft golden glow emanated from his palms, seeping into Ronen's battered flesh.

“What happened?” Ezekiel gritted his teeth, furrowing his brow as he struggled to concentrate his light on Ronen.

Cassiel sighed heavily. “Ambush. The demon caught him off guard near Copley Square. We believe they’re after information regarding the relic the seers believe are here.”

Several of the mated Nephilim had been gifted with the ability to sense the presence of holy relics, which is why those who were mated and exhibited the gift were located in different parts of the globe. As of yet, they could only vibe out generallocations and only that the item was holy—not what it actually was. Ezekiel figured the demons couldn’t possibly be aware of that information.

He shuddered at the thought if they did know. They would then be more likely to steal a Nephilim than a gargoyle. The idea of a pregnant Nephilim being taken and tortured filled him with dread. No one should be tortured ever, but that felt even more egregious. Should he ever be given his Fated One, he’d be destroyed if such a thing happened.

Ezekiel drew his eyebrows together. “Did they find out anything?”

“We don't know yet.” She pressed her lips together. “He's been unconscious since we found him.”

He nodded, understanding the implication. If the demons had gotten what they wanted, Ronen would likely be dead. The fact that he was still breathing meant they probably hadn’t broken him.

Yet.

Ezekiel continued pouring healing energy into Ronen's battered body, the younger Slayer's spirit flickering weakly. The demonic symbols carved into his flesh were like anchors, dragging Ronen’s essence down into darkness. He gritted his teeth again, pushing harder against the malevolent magic.

“Come on, Ronen,” he muttered. “Fight this.”

Sweat beaded on Ezekiel's forehead as he worked, the golden light from his hands intensifying, pulsing steadily, knitting together torn flesh and mending broken bones. Slowly, painstakingly, the wounds started to close. Finally, the demonic symbols faded, replaced by smooth, unblemished skin.

Ronen's eyes flew open, wild with panic. He thrashed against Ezekiel’s touch, nearly toppling off the altar.

“Whoa, easy there.” Ezekiel laid his hands on Ronen’s shoulders, gently restraining him. “You're safe now. You're with us.”

Ronen's eyes darted around frantically before focusing on Ezekiel's face. Recognition dawned, and he relaxed slightly, though his breathing remained ragged.

“Ezekiel?” Ronen croaked, his voice hoarse. “What...” He licked his cracked lips. “Where am I?"

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