Diel nodded, glancing down at his bloodied hands. His fingers flexed, then curled into fists. He backed away from Dinah, who edged closer. His nostrils flared. He held out his hand. “Get back!” he snarled.
“Did they give you that name?” Noa asked, unperturbed by the threat in his voice. When Diel’s focus moved back to her, his shoulders seemed to lose a fraction of their tension. Something warmed inside her chest at that observation.
Diel nodded. His gaze lowered to the remote in her hands. “Turn it down,” he growled.
“You need to breathe,” Noa said, and Diel’s eyes narrowed. She had watched him calm himself before. He had breathed deeply and beaten whatever it was that was pushing to be freed within him. “We’re not the enemy. We want what you want—”
“I want them fucking dead!” he suddenly roared, but just as he was about to pounce, the collar buzzed, and he started to breathe deeply, slowly, calmingly. There wasn’t a muscle in his body that wasn’t pulled taut or a vein that wasn’t protruding. His chest rose and fell as his blue eyes slipped shut and he breathed.
Noa found herself following the rhythm of his inhales and exhales. She hadn’t realized she had edged closer to where he stood against the cave’s wall until his eyes opened, immediately fixing on her as if he had sensed her proximity. “I want them dead. We all do,” he said, voice graveled but anger curtailed.
“Who’s we?” Dinah said from behind them.
“Me and my brothers.”
Noa stopped breathing at those words and looked up at Diel. His jaw was tight, as though he wasn’t used to admitting to anyone that he had any brothers to speak of. His inner torment was displayed on his face like a movie reel. But eventually, after raking his assessing eyes over each of the sisters, he said, “We are the Fallen.” He took a second’s pause. “They told us we were evil. They told us we were possessed by demons.” Noa’s breathing hitched when he lifted his hand and ran it down the center of his Saint Peter’s cross. “They told us that darkness ran in our veins.”
Shivers raced down Noa’s spine. Those were the words they had spoken to her Coven. Her sisters cast knowing looks to one another. They were the words belonging to one group of men, one secret sect that brought only evil and cruelty to the world.
“The Fallen?” Dinah inched closer to stand by Noa’s side. “You were named Jegudiel, and you call yourself and your brothers the Fallen.” Dinah studied him. “Fallen angels. The Brethren called you that?”
Diel nodded. His hands lifted to his hair, and he started pulling on the dark strands. The collar buzzed, indicating the increase in his pulse rate. But this time Noa was sure it was from the memories of whatever he and his brothers had gone through at the Brethren’s hands and not because of Noa and the rest of the Coven’s presence.
“Breathe,” Noa whispered, and Diel locked his blue eyes on her. Noa began breathing deeply, and warmth burst in her veins when he began to copy her. She saw Dinah casting her a strange look in her peripheral, but she ignored her sister and kept her attention on Diel. The buzzing of his collar gradually lessened, but she could see he was agitated. His cheeks twitched as he looked around the cave.
Noa stepped closer to him again. “We are the Coven.” Diel froze and slammed his eyes back to her. Noa lifted her shirt to show the pentagram but conceal her breasts. Diel studied their brand again. The dilating of his pupils left her breathless.
“Home,” he snarled and turned toward the mouth of the cave. “I need to get home.” His face began to redden. Noa didn’t understand why. “I need to get fucking home!”
Diel’s collar hummed, and he rocked on his feet. Noa saw the darkness that he had managed to briefly push away begin to take control. She didn’t know the trigger.
Diel pushed off the wall, and Dinah took hold of Noa’s arm and pulled her back. He started to pace—a bull in a ring about to attack. His head twitched and his muscles tensed once more. He was losing it. Noa wanted to jump in his path and help him breathe, help him calm.
Flashes of the past filled her head. The young boy in a collar tied to a leash. The boy who’d prowled and paced and