had found at killing the twins was fading and the true extent of her injuries beginning to show. “Wants to take them down from the inside.”
Gabriel bent down beside Noa. “We need to leave,” he said gently. His blue eyes landed on the dead twin priests. Noa saw a flicker of sadness show in his sagged shoulders. But she was beginning to learn that it wasn’t in sympathy for the men who deserved their deaths, but for any life being lost.
“We need to make sure you’re okay,” Gabriel said, focusing back on Noa. He looked at the iron maiden. Noa’s still-wet blood decorated the sharp spikes that, only minutes later, would have finally killed her. “We all need to get home to safety. More Brethren will be coming soon, we can bank on that. The Shadows are on clean-up duty. But we can’t hang around here.”
Diel shifted beneath Noa, and he carefully got to his feet, Noa secure in his arms. She leaned her head against his broad chest; his hard muscles felt like a feather pillow underneath her.
As Diel carried her to the stairs, the potent scent of gasoline filled her nose. She opened her eyes to see Uriel pouring gas from a canister all over the medieval inquisition devices and finally over the slain priests. As they backed toward the door, Bara aimed his flame thrower at the basement, lighting it up. He shut the door, and Uriel poured gas on the stairs and the main body of the church behind them as they went.
The next thing Noa knew, they were crossing the field. The cold wind stung her hundreds of wounds. She clung to Diel, trying her best to stave off the pain. She caught the spread of stars up above and cherished being above ground. But just as beautiful as the stars were the sapphire eyes that kept dropping down to her to make sure she was okay.
So Noa held on to that sight. She couldn’t imagine anything more breathtaking.
They reached the van, Noa tucked into the safety of Diel’s chest. The van began to move. The blaze of the burning church was the only light around them. In the silence, not caring who was listening, Noa lifted her chin, caught Diel’s eyes and said, “You came for me.”
Diel’s head twitched, eyes blinking fast. He ran his hand down her cheek and, emotion thick in his voice, said, “To hell.” Noa’s skin bumped at his gruffly spoken words. Her heart swelled and her soul leaned even deeper into his. “I’d follow you straight into hell.”
“You did,” Noa said, breathing easier now she was in his hold. She lay back into his chest and closed her swollen eyes. Anywhere with Father Auguste was hell. But Diel, his brothers, and Noa’s sisters had come for her, clamoring past priest-robed demons and the pits of the inferno itself to find her.
Her family.
Her safety.
Home.
Chapter 29
Whispered voices echoed around her. Noa’s hands moved slightly, touching something soft beneath her palms. She gritted her teeth; it hurt to move. There wasn’t a part of her that was spared from pain. A sliver of fear managed to break through her hardened spirit, and she flicked open her eyes to find an intricately patterned ceiling above her.
She breathed heavily, panic thick in her veins. She couldn’t remember why she was here, where she even was. Noa searched her mind for why she was in pain, and memories of being with Auguste barreled into her like a tidal wave of torture. The garrote, the stake, the flames, the iron maiden … then …
“Shh,” a familiar voice hushed. Noa realized she had been breathing too fast. She pushed through the tightness and discomfort in her pained neck to turn her head. The memories turned to vapors of black smoke as her eyes fell on Diel, lying on his side, his hand covering hers. Noa’s heart flipped as she saw the dark circles underneath his eyes, and his pale skin. He was clean of the blood she recalled he’d had on his skin and clothes, and he was staring at her with concern in his blue gaze.
“Hey,” Noa managed to say, throat feeling like fire. Diel lifted up to his elbow, carefully and slowly. Warmth flooded Noa’s chest when she realized it was to protect her wounds. Her lip trembled, too many heavy thoughts hitting her at once, but she managed to say, “On a scale of one to ten, how fucked up do I look right