Page 75 of Helsing: Demon Slayer
The dire wolves hesitated.
And then the dark-winged figures were upon them, bringing the storm to the beasts.
In the midst of chaos and furious snarling, Ryan appeared in a dazzling burst of lightning, running up the unfinished amphitheater’s terraced steps toward her, relentless and implacable. The howling winds and crackling energy seemed to part before his determined onslaught, opening up a channel of stillness in the tumult.
For a moment, Dianne thought he was the king of the black-winged beings.
As Ryan reached the level where she lay sprawled, the calmness stretched before him, bringing Dianne sweet, clean air she didn’t know she needed. Her lungs inhaled, and the pressure on her chest and head eased. But the unnatural storm refused to relinquish its hold on her. For a split second, as she struggled to focus on his blurred face, icy terror washed through her core.
Ryan slid to his knees in front of her, gripping her arms with bruising force. Dianne winced, and he immediately softened his hold before dragging her upright and searching her face with an intensity that laid her bare, bringing everything into focus. He was here. He’d come for her.
The next moment his big hands felt their way down her arms. A painful electric jolt surged up her arm as his fingers brushed over the bracelet.
“Are you all right?” His gaze burned like a promise. Like losing her now wasn’t an option.
At Dianne’s mute nod, he put both his hands on either side of her face and dipped his mouth to claim hers. Everything chaotic, fearful and angry, stilled inside her. It was as if she’d come home at last. The most beautiful music sang inside her, just as it had at Medugorje.
Her hands came of their own accord to Ryan’s massive shoulders, bracing her against his warmth. Then he groaned, deepening the kiss, and pulled her snug against his broad chest while his arms went around her. His strong fingers pressed into her back and waist, molding her against him as if he could merge them with the force of his will.
The storm intensified around them as the wind roared, its pitch rising as lightning lit the night directly overhead. Sounds of vicious fighting between the dire wolves—snapping, growling, striking—and the mysterious figures wove a clashing counterpoint to nature's onslaught.The cheap souvenir trinket that Germaine had given her branded Dianne, the scorching pain mixing with the love, hope, and longing in their kiss as if something not of this world tried to break their bond, to rip them apart and steal her away.
Dianne snuggled against Ryan, seeking to get closer. She was never letting this man go. She felt her knees weaken as the drugging effect of his kiss made her reel.
Ryan tightened his arms to keep her upright, his body wrapped protectively around her, shielding her from the storm’s fury which combusted in a spectacular lightning burst in the sky over them.
Silence descended over them as the storm ended.
When Dianne opened her eyes, the lightning lingered on her retinas even though everything, including the clinic above them, was dark.
The dire wolves and the dark-winged figures had vanished.
And the bracelet had seared its way beneath her skin, fused to her very bone like metal smelted into flesh, its heat lingering like the storm’s dying embers.
Twenty-One
Dianneshivered.
Ryan, who’d turned to scan the landscape around them, faced her again as fat, cold raindrops began to fall. They clung to her skin instead of sliding away, heavier than they should be.
“We’ve got to get to shelter,” he said, his voice rough. “Can you walk?”
She nodded. “I’m fine. Those dire wolves seemed less than concerned about me. In fact, it felt like they wanted me to watch them.”
Ryan’s expression tightened, his gaze flicking toward the trees on the slope above them to the north.
Something was off. Not just the eerie silence or the pressure in the air, but the way the landscape itself seemed to wait, as though the world had exhaled and refused to breathe in again.
Dianne’s instincts prickled. She swallowed. The storm had ended. The quiet had not. Even the wind refused to stir. Whatever force had sent the wolves wasn’t finished. It was watching.
But maybe it wasn’t just about theElioudand their longstanding battle against the Dark angelic forces.
Maybe it was her.
The thought chilled her more than the rain.
She’d been around too muchdaemonicactivity, starting with the cruise, then Podgorica, then the mountains. Was she drawing them, or was she just unlucky enough to always be at the center?
Did Abaddon, the Angel of the Abyss, want her?
