Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Alban lifted his shoulders. “Does it matter? Both Kushiel and our Lord want the same thing. They want what we want.”
“But I will bet that God would not have raged at the rest of us each time our other brothers failed in their attempt to kill her,” Henry hedged.
“Well, Kushiel will not rage this time,” Jonah pointed out. “She is dead. The work of our Holy Father has been completed.”
“Has it, though?” Henry asked.
Jonah felt his brow pinch. “Excuse me?”
Henry shrugged. “The translation of the prophecy still seems off to me.”
Idris’s back straightened. “I know the old tongues; my translation was exact.”
“Maybe. But maybe not. I still maintain—”
“A large crowd has gathered in the lot,” Magnus cut in. “We should leave. It is no good for us to hang about.” He flicked his gaze around . . . and frowned. “Where is Oslo?”
Jonah looked at where their brother had last stood. The spot was empty. “Oslo! Oslo!” He spun around, calling his name repeatedly, the others doing the same.
No response.
Jonah turned back around. “I don’t see . . .” He trailed off on noticing another absence. “Duncan?”
Magnus gripped Jonah’s arm painfully tight, his eyes flickering. “We must leave. Now. Something is not right.”
Jonah’s stomach churned with apprehension. “I agree. But Oslo and Duncan—”
“We have to go,” Magnus insisted . . . just as an unfamiliar male abruptly appeared behind him.
Feeling his eyes widen, Jonah yelled, “Move!” But it was too late. The newcomer fisted Magnus’ tunic, and then they both disappeared into thin air.
Curses and gasps flew out of the seven remaining brethren.
His pulse quickening, Jonah conjured an orb of pure white magick, but there was no one to aim it at. He glanced around, his every breath now short and choppy. “Where are they?” Who were they?
He did a double-take as movement snatched his attention. “Duck!” he shouted as the unfamiliar male returned, materializing at Griff’s back. Again his warning came too late. Both men vanished before he could toss the orb of magick. “Dammit!”
“Maynard and Idris have disappeared as well,” Van informed him, his voice shaky. “And Alban.”
Visibly panicking, Henry began dragging Jonah toward their vehicles. “We must leave now, we—”
An invisible wall slammed into them, knocking both to the ground.
The orb in his hand winking out, Jonah grunted at the pain that raced up his spine. Telekinesis, he thought. “Stop hiding and face us!” he demanded . . . but nobody did. It was as he and Henry struggled to their feet that he noticed Van had also disappeared.
“They come at people from behind, we need to ensure that they can’t!” stated Henry. He and Jonah went back to back, scanning the shadows. “I see nothing.”
Nor did Jonah, but . . . “They’re there,” he murmured, his nostrils flaring, anger and dread panging in his blood. “Whoever they are.”
An invisible impact rammed into their sides, making them topple over like skittles.
Jonah felt Henry’s body heat disappear; knew that he was now alone.
The click-clack of heels preceded a familiar woman stalking out of the shadows. The whore.
Squatting near Jonah, she glared at him. “You know, I’m sick and fucking tired of you idiots coming at me—not to mention furious that you almost killed my bodyguard. He has nothing to do with your prophecy, but you didn’t care about that. So I’m really not gonna care that this will hurt.” She fisted his hair, wrenched back his head, and bit into his neck.
Oh God, it burned. Burned like acid as she drank his blood. Drank and drank and drank. He cried out as that burn coursed through his body, weakening him on every level. Like her bite had injected something into him.
She finally unlatched her teeth from his skin and dumped him on the ground with a sneer. Then her gaze snapped upward, turning wary.
Even as pain racked his insides, Jonah tracked her gaze. A tall man in an elegant suit appeared, his expression cold, his dark eyes twin orbs of fury, snakes wriggling beneath his skin.
Jonah felt the blood drain from his face. “Lucifer,” he breathed in horror.
The man tore his gaze away from the whore and slammed it on Jonah. “Oh no,” he said, his voice flat and pure frost. “I’m something much, much worse.”
Jonah was about to ask who could possibly be worse than Lucifer, but then the man threw a ball of flames at his head, and an all-consuming pain stole every thought from his mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY
As the dying cleric writhed in agony on the ground, Naomi swiped the back of her hand over her mouth and stared up at Luka. Her heart was pounding like crazy. He wasn’t supposed to be here; he wasn’t supposed to know, to have seen . . .
Fuck.
Luka didn’t say a word. He merely stared at her, flickers of menace moving in the depths of his cool gaze.