Eternal Sin (Primal Sin #2) - Ariana Nash Page 0,30

and so the angels would attack there first. There hadn’t been any further sign of Severn, but he was sure to appear as soon as the fighting began.

Solo flew at Mikhail’s right, his red wings stroking the air. His face had been hidden behind a helmet visor when Mikhail had arrived to lead the flight. Solo had simply obeyed Mikhail’s orders, and now here they were. The angel gave no indication he was still disturbed by the kiss. So, nothing had changed. Nothing at all.

The clouds parted, revealing the long, narrow warehouses below, like squares on a patchwork quilt. Mikhail freed his blade and spiraled downward. All his angels fell into formation behind him. Solo’s first attack on the demons’ home ground had been chaotic and generally ineffective, resulting in more angry demons making a stand—like kicking a wasp’s nest. But this time, Mikhail needed the chaos. It would shake Severn free from wherever he was hiding. It was time to face Konstantin.

He pulled his wings back, tipped his weight forward, held his breath, and plunged silently toward the warehouses. Wind tore at his face, burning his skin. His wings ached at their awkward angle. The warehouses grew bigger and bigger, swelling to fill his vision.

A shadowy missile flew in fast from Mikhail’s left. Mikhail tucked his wings in tighter—making them ache—and rolled. The missile sailed past. The demon banked for a second strike.

Mikhail caught the eye of a descending angel and nodded. The angel veered off to intercept, and Mikhail plunged ever downward, his rank tucked in close behind him.

More demons dotted the skies, like useless flies. His angels peeled off to attack.

The warehouses filled his vision.

Mikhail threw open his wings, banked hard, focusing on the dusty windows, and with his angels following his lead, he tucked his wings in and burst through the glass. Chaos erupted inside. He hovered, swirling up a storm of dust and debris, and saw them. Demons. Surprised. Unarmed. Afraid.

Angels poured in from all sides to the cacophony of raining glass and screams.

Wait.

The demons… they were laid up in cubicles.

They were… sick?

By Haven, this was a place of healing.

A demon in flight lunged at Mikhail. Their blades struck, but the demon was small—his horns barely even sprouted—and Mikhail’s blow sent him reeling. Gallantly, or foolishly, perhaps, the pup rebounded off the wall and came at Mikhail a second time. Mikhail brought his blade down and kicked the pup in the back, sending him flapping and flailing through the air.

Mikhail’s gaze fell to the unfolding scene below. Angels tore into the vulnerable demons, ripping them from their beds and slaughtering them in seconds. Acidic horror burned Mikhail’s throat. This was a mistake.

A body slammed into Mikhail’s side. Steel twanged against his armor, skipping off. Mikhail easily righted himself, grabbed the pup by the throat, and yanked him close. Brown eyes blazed with scorn. Two short horns declared him barely mature enough to hold that blade he wielded.

“Where’s your honor?” the pup wheezed, leathery wings flapping uselessly.

A blade through the heart would end this one’s young life. He wore only shabby clothing, no armor, and no training either, and yet, he’d attacked. No… not attacked. He was defending those below. Those Mikhail’s forces had already slain.

“You think you’re better than us,” the pup growled. “Are you proud of what you’ve done?”

Mikhail flung him aside. “Go!”

The pup bared his teeth. “Never!” He drew his legs up, pulled his wings in, and charged. Mikhail backhanded him hard enough he felt the crack of it through his shoulder. The pup fell like a rock and slammed into a table, shattering it beneath him, then lay still.

“Withdraw!” Mikhail bellowed, and repeated it again when his angels barely responded. Finally, to the sound of beating wings, they took to the air and left the warehouse, retreating into the airborne fray. Demons filled the skies. Few wore any armor at all. Many weren’t armed and fought with their bare hands and teeth. Mikhail dispatched those who dared tackle him, sickness swelling inside with every blow he landed.

This wasn’t war.

It wasn’t right.

What had he done?

“Withdraw!”

A demon horn sounded, and a fresh wave sailed in, this time led by a demon lord. His wings beat the air with a fierceness that reminded Mikhail of Konstantin, but Konstantin wasn’t here. He wasn’t in the streets below, and now the battle had turned sour. He climbed higher, rising out of the madness and into the sun. “Withdraw!”

The rank of angels receded, disengaging and flying higher, leaving