Night In A Waste Land (Hell Theory #2) - Lauren Gilley Page 0,48

brand of healing works differently. We’re only trying to understand so that we can help more people – just like you’ve helped them.”

John wasn’t listening, his gaze fixed on Rose.

I could heal you, you know, his voice said, silky-soft inside her skull, almost like – no, no, she wouldn’t allow herself to make the comparison. She wouldn’t even think his name.

But it was too late. John’s smile widened. Your precious King Arthur. Roasting in hell. I could make it so you don’t remember. You’d never have to shove thoughts of him aside again, because you wouldn’t have any thoughts of him at all.

Rose reached inside her jacket. “Shut up,” she hissed through her teeth.

“Rose,” Lance said, his tone commanding. He took a step toward her, all bowed up and about to rip his jacket seams. She was putting the op in danger; she was ruining everything.

Not that it mattered, at this point.

“He knows who we are,” she said. “He knows why we’re here.”

“What?”

“He’s inside my head.” She was shaking, but her grip was sure when she curled her hand around her dagger. “He’s talking to me in my mind.”

“They can do that?” Gallo asked.

Rose held the conduit’s stare, refusing to flinch. His irises had started to glow blue. “This one can.”

“Rose,” Lance warned again, taking another step, hulking and authoritative in her periphery.

If he reached her, he could stop her. She wasn’t strong enough to break loose from his grip, she knew.

But she was faster than him.

Out loud, John said, “It’s very charming how you still grieve for him. That you think he was worth it.”

Rose moved.

Lance made a grab for her, but she evaded him with a quick duck and whirl, crouching low beneath his swipe. When she came up, John had raised both his hands, glowing blue fire kindling in his palms.

But she already had her own weapons drawn. The hell dagger in her left hand. Her gun in her right. She fired before she’d finished turning, and the obsidian-tipped round caught him square in the chest.

He looked smug, in that first second of impact, but then his eyes popped wide as an exit wound painted the wall behind him with blood, and the obsidian hit his blood stream. Then he staggered back, hands falling to his sides.

Rose wouldn’t get a better chance than this; she pursued. Dimly, she registered Gallo behind her, shouting into his ear piece, telling Tris and Gavin that they needed backup.

In the three strides it took to reach John, she holstered her gun and pulled another knife. She led with it, punched it between the conduit’s ribs, pinning him back, and shifted her grip so she held him with her left, and took the hell dagger in her right hand, ready for the killing blow.

She didn’t see his hand until it was too late; until it was closing around her throat, and his bloodied lips curved upward in a smile.

“Rose!” Lance shouted, panicked.

My spikes, she thought, when she felt his fingers curling, tightening. She knew when they bit into him, because she felt the hot trickle of blood. But they were iron and silver, meant for hell spawn, and this was no hell spawn here in front of her now, hand tightening, tightening.

She thrust the dagger forward.

He deflected it, at the last second, his other hand gripping the blade with inhuman speed.

The hand around her throat tightened, and tightened again.

Rose gasped – she knew she shouldn’t, because when the hand kept tightening, she couldn’t draw another breath. The spiked choker dug hard against the fragile tissues of her throat; his blood ran hot down the back of her neck. She kept pressing forward with the dagger, hard, as hard as she could – but though his skin bled and smoked where the blade cut, he prevented it from penetrating his breast.

He bared his bloodied teeth at her in a semblance of a grin. “Do you want to join him?”

She choked; gagged. Who are you? She tried to say it, but she had no air. Black spots crowded her vision, and she saw his smile stretch an impossible fraction.

“I am the angel Raphael, you pathetic child.”

As the world dimmed, she felt a presence at her back, heat, and movement. Saw, before her eyes slipped shut, John’s – Raphael’s – face evidence shock.

Rose saw the knife plunge through his right eye. Felt a big, strong, callused hand close around hers, in the moment Raphael’s hand went slack, and the presence behind her helped her stab