Page 28 of Gargoyle Reaper

With a snarl, Ezekiel twisted mid-air, using the momentum to swing the shadow gargoyle off his wing. The creaturescreeched as it plummeted, its claws ripping through delicate membrane as it fell. Ezekiel hissed in pain, his injured wing struggling to keep him aloft.

He dove toward the harbor, weaving between cargo cranes and shipping containers. The maze-like layout of the port might give him a chance to lose his pursuers. As he zigzagged through the industrial landscape, Ezekiel’s mind raced. How long had Lysander been playing them? What was Raziel’s endgame?

A flash of movement to his right caught his attention. Ezekiel barely had time to bank left before Lysander barreled past him, narrowly missing a collision.

"You're slowing down, you old fool! Centuries of air battles, and this is the best you can do?”

Ezekiel's jaw clenched as he banked sharply, narrowly avoiding Lysander's outstretched claws. The traitor's taunts rang in his ears, fueling within him a mix of rage and desperation. He couldn't let Lysander win—not when Archer and their unborn child were waiting for him.

With a burst of speed, Ezekiel shot upward, climbing higher into the night sky. His injured wing screamed in protest, but he pushed through the pain. He needed to find an advantage, something to turn the tide.

As he ascended, an idea struck him. The harbor cranes—their towering structures might provide cover and a chance to ambush his pursuers. Ezekiel tucked his wings and dove, plummeting toward the nearest crane. At the last second, he snapped his wings open, using the updraft to slingshot himself around the massive structure.

Lysander’s frustrated roar bellowed behind him as he weaved between the crane’s steel beams. Ezekiel's heart pounded as he pushed his injured wing to its limit, ignoring the searing pain with each beat. He had to stay ahead, had to find a way to turn the tables.

Suddenly, a dark shape materialized in front of him. Ezekiel barely had time to register Raziel’s smirking face before the demon’s fist connected with his jaw. The impact sent him spiraling, crashing into a stack of shipping containers with a bone-jarring thud. Ezekiel grunted, the wind knocked from his lungs as he tumbled to the ground.

Lysander landed nearby, his dark wings folding behind him. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” he sneered. “The great healer, brought low by his own predictability. What’s wrong, can’t heal yourself?”

Lysander and Raziel fell into peals of laughter, the sound like gears grinding.

Raziel’s lips pulled back in another hideous grin. “Once the Shadow Slayers’ great healer is dispatched, we’ll dispose of the doctor, and then who will they turn to?”

Lysander bent down, staring directly into Ezekiel’s eyes as he responded to Raziel. “No one. We can pick them off one by one because no one will be left who can fix them.”

Ezekiel struggled to his feet, his body screaming in protest. The tang of blood was on his tongue, trickling from a gash above his eye. His injured wing hung limply at his side, useless.

“Why?” Ezekiel gritted out, buying time as he assessed his options. “Why turn against us, Lysander? You begged us to take you back.”

Lysander sneered at him. “Yeah, you idiot. How else could we pull this off?” He threw his hands in the air as if he were a prizefighter celebrating a win. “I couldn’t very well use this super sweet cloning skill Raziel taught me unless I wormed my way back in, now could I?”

Raziel’s laughter filled the air again, the wretched sound boring into his skull. His body was rapidly weakening and he doubted he could hold on much longer. The horrible truth was that Lysander was right about one thing: he wasn’t as skilleda warrior as the others. Not when he spent most of his time healing all their casualties.

The demon’s plan had been smart. Instead of constantly battling a myriad of Slayers and losing ranks in the process, eliminate the one who saves the fighters. Take out one, and the rest will eventually fall.

Ezekiel’s stomach roiled.Or two. If he didn’t survive, they would go after Archer next.

With a last gasp of energy, Ezekiel whirled away from his attackers and launched himself off the edge of the shipping container. His injured wing screamed in protest as he glided awkwardly toward the water, but he couldn’t think about the pain. If he could only make it to the harbor...

“Oh no you don't!” Lysander snarled, diving after him.

Ezekiel hit the water with a splash, plunging beneath the dark waves. The icy shock jolted through his system, but he forced himself deeper, using his good wing to propel himself forward. His lungs burned for air, but he knew surfacing too soon would mean certain death.

From above, the muffled sounds of Lysander and Raziel's frustrated shouts reached his ears. Ezekiel allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. They may be formidable in the air, but underwater, he had the advantage. As a healer, he'd developed the ability to hold his breath for extended periods, a skill that had saved many a drowning Slayer over the centuries.

He swam deeper, letting the murky harbor waters conceal him from his pursuers. Ezekiel’s mind raced as he formulated a plan. He needed to get back to the lair, to warn the others about Lysander's betrayal and protect Archer.

Archer. The thought of his mate sent a surge of determination through his battered body. He couldn't fail, not when they had so much to live for. Their future, their child...

A shadow passed overhead, and Ezekiel whirled around to prepare for an enemy attack. He peered up through the murky water, barely making out Cassiel’s form circling above. His lungs burned for air, but could he trust this was actually Cassiel this time? Or was Lysander mimicking her again to draw him out?

Ezekiel's lungs screamed for air. He had no choice but to chance that the gargoyle above him was his friend, the real Cassiel. He angled upward, propelling himself toward the surface with powerful strokes. As he broke through the water's surface, he gasped, gulping in precious oxygen.

Cassiel spotted him, swooping down low over the water. “Ezekiel! Thank the Divine Spark you're alive!” She circled above him, her amber eyes scanning the area. “We need to get you out of here. Can you fly?”

Ezekiel shook his head, wincing as he tried to move his injured wing. “No, it's too damaged. Lysander—”

“I know.” Cassiel gritted her teeth. “What a fucking piece of shit. We'll deal with him later. Right now, we need to get you to safety.”

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