Demon of Darkness (The Hellbound Hellion #2) - Tansey Morgan Page 0,5
I said, my voice a harsh whisper.
I retreated into the back of the van before Arael could object. We hadn’t spoken much about turning Jericho into a Slayer; not since I learned that Slayers usually became Martyrs. That was their only fate, to die for Heaven’s cause. None of them ever grew old and died in their beds, none of them lived after their missions were accomplished.
I had only just met Jericho, and sure, there was every chance any one of us could die in what was to come. But I would be damned—again—if I was going to decide that fate for someone else. There had to be another way of killing asshole demons like Okaras besides Martyrdom.
Sighing, I ran my hands across my face, rubbed my eyes, and shook my head.
He’s right, you know.
My eyes snapped open. “What?” I asked.
Zephon looked at me, puzzled. “I didn’t say anything,” he said.
“You… didn’t?”
He shrugged, then examined me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine.” I shook my head again, shaking the moment off. I felt cold, all of a sudden, and a little off balance. “We’re gonna stop, find a place to call it a night. Jericho needs to make repairs.”
“I heard.” Zephon paused. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” I snapped. “I’m sorry, I just… I’m still worried about Dagon. He should be here with us.”
“I know.”
“Do you think he’s okay?”
Zephon took a deep breath, exhaled. “I have known Dagon for a long time. He is among the best angels out there, firstborn, Prince of the Golden Seraphim. If anyone is capable of surviving an encounter with one of the Wretched, it’s him.”
“Yeah, what does that mean? Prince of the Golden Seraphim? I’ve never asked.”
“You don’t remember how angels are ranked?”
I shook my head. “It’s been a few millennia. Some stuff is still lost on me.”
“I’ll explain it to you properly one day. For now, suffice it to say, Dagon climbed the ranks of his House and of the elite group of Seraphim through his merit and deeds. He wasn’t born into the title of Prince as humans are—he earned it.”
“So, he’s a big deal…”
“To us, yes.”
I glanced out of the back window which looked over the path we had travelled. Dagon was out there, somewhere. If he hadn’t led the Wretched away, there was no telling what it would’ve done to us. There was a reason why the angels hadn’t decided to just throw themselves at it with all their weapons and skills. The Wretched were hard to kill, almost impossible.
Running was the only choice, and we had run.
I could only hope Dagon was okay, wherever he was, and that he’d make his way back to us soon. We were going to need him.
CHAPTER THREE
Dagon
Hitting firm ground made me jump awake with a start. I gasped even as I tried to sit upright, but my body roared with pain, forcing me once more to the ground I had landed in. A pair of hands pressed against my chest, keeping me down whether I wanted to be on my back or not. I opened my eyes, but I could barely see a thing around me.
“Don’t move.” It was a woman’s voice, soft, and low. Little more than a whisper against my cheek.
“Cari?” I croaked, hopeful, the muscles in my throat straining as I forced the word out of my mouth.
“Who’s Cari?”
I shut my eyes again, concentrating on the pain coursing through me. The pain was making it hard to think, and the only way to rid myself of it quickly was to flood my body with Light. Placing my hands flat on the ground, I reached for my power, summoning the Light to fall upon me and heal my aching body.
But it didn’t work. Instead, the world around me shook and grumbled. The darkness was starting to clear as my eyes adjusted, but everything was trembling, and the Light hadn’t touched me. My muscles and bones weren’t feeling any better, in fact getting knocked around was making it worse.
“What’s happening?” I asked as I tried to stand.
“I think you just pissed it off,” the woman said.
“Pissed what off?!”
“Haven’t you figured it out yet?”
I looked up and around me. It was difficult to see the ceiling, but I knew there was one because our voices were echoing. The ground beneath my feet was firm, but it wasn’t stone. It was something a little soft, a little fleshy, and a little wet; and whatever the wet stuff was, it stank.