Blessed Monsters (Something Dark and Holy #3) - Emily A. Duncan Page 0,81

grabbing the back of Malachiasz’s coat and yanking him off Milomir right before he struck. He was immediately slammed to the ground.

“You bloody idiot, you’re making it difficult to want to help you,” Serefin grunted through clenched teeth.

He wedged his legs underneath Malachiasz, flinging him off. Malachiasz landed on his feet, moving to strike.

A Kalyazi soldier got in between them and Serefin didn’t have time to scream out a warning. They had to stay back, they couldn’t fight a Vulture, much less what Malachiasz was: roiling, churning horror.

He saw blood in a wet spray, and the soldier fell in front of him. Malachiasz’s head tilted, and he swallowed hard.

Oh, no. Serefin vaulted over the dead soldier, slamming into Malachiasz before he could do something there would be no explaining to the Kalyazi. He ground one knee down on Malachiasz’s chest, the dagger at his throat, aware that it would do nothing to stop him, but it might give him pause.

“Malachiasz, I need you to snap out of this. I’m trying my hardest to protect you and I don’t know how much farther I can take it.”

A low growl spread from Malachiasz’s chest. Serefin slammed his elbow down across the other boy’s face.

“I’m not your precious cleric. I’m not going to bring you out of this gently.” He struck his elbow across Malachiasz’s face again, the hiss of pain cutting through Malachiasz’s teeth the only spare indication that he felt anything. “You sold your fucking soul for a scrap of power. You killed a god and made this bad situation worse. If the Kalyazi want to hang you, I can’t stop them, Malachiasz.”

Malachiasz’s expression shifted. His eyes cleared to a strange grayish murk.

“Serefin.”

“Czijow, brother of mine.”

Malachiasz squirmed, dislodging his arm and pressing the strange disc of metal against Serefin’s chest.

“Let me go,” he whispered. “You have to trust me.”

Serefin’s hand closed around the disc. Milomir hadn’t asked for it back and it was hot in his hands. He could figure out how to make it work. He let out a breath in resignation.

“Trust me,” Malachiasz repeated.

“You bastard,” Serefin muttered. He hit him again, less hard this time, for good measure.

Malachiasz’s eyes flickered to onyx and he bared his teeth at Serefin, spitting out a mouthful of blood and throwing him off. He kicked Serefin hard in the ribs and was gone, using those powerful black wings to escape into the distance.

Serefin lay on the ground as things settled around him. He pressed his hand against his eye and swore softly. Someone nudged him with the toe of their boot, and he opened his eye to see Kacper. He held out his hand for Serefin, sympathetic. Serefin let Kacper haul him to his feet.

“I don’t want to end up on a battlefield with him on the other side,” Serefin said.

Kacper nodded.

“Might be inevitable,” Serefin continued, eyeing the spot where Malachiasz had disappeared.

He had chosen to trust his brother. He hoped he wouldn’t regret it. Serefin touched the metal disc as it cooled underneath his fingers, Malachiasz drawing farther away. Malachiasz wouldn’t have given him the means to find him if he didn’t want to be found.

Serefin braced himself as he turned around. One soldier was dead and any goodwill from the Kalyazi gone. Milomir’s face was ashen.

“We ride harder now,” he said simply.

“I suppose that answers those questions I had before,” Serefin said weakly. He got no response but glares.

“What about Timur?” a soldier asked.

“We’ll stay here until morning,” Milomir said. “We bury him. We remember why we’re fighting.” He leveled a glare at Serefin. “And who.”

Serefin had to fight the urge to reach for Kacper’s hand.

They were sequestered off and guarded as the Kalyazi made camp and buried the dead soldier. Kacper sat heavily on the ground next to Serefin, who had taken off the eye patch and was massaging his eye socket.

Ruslan was shoved over to them. Serefin didn’t have the energy to confront him. His side hurt from where Malachiasz had kicked him, absolutely harder than necessary, but he hadn’t needed to give that third elbow to the face. He tilted back onto the ground and pressed his hand over his eye. Kacper’s fingers twined between his, thumb gently rubbing circles on his wrist.

The journey to Komyazalov was going to be miserable.

26

NADEZHDA LAPTEVA

Svoyatova Yulka Lokteva was led by a Vulture into their foul Salt Mines, hoping to sway just one. No one saw her again.

—Vasiliev’s Book of Saints

It wasn’t complete understanding. There was fear, confusion, bewilderment. Ultimately, though, there