Heart of a Demon (The Dark Angel Wars 1)

Margaret took a big step forward and crouched down. I was hoping that Adam and Ashley would’ve attacked by now, but the woods were silent. No help came.

With a jolt, I realized they might not help me after all. If Margaret took me away, the attacks on the Nephilim would stop. They didn’t have to risk their lives. Two of their problems would be gone at the same time. Two birds, one stone. I had let Adam manipulate me into following his plan, once again proving that I wasn’t capable of controlling my own life.

Desperation clutched at my chest and spilled over into my nerve endings. I’d seen Gabe and Margaret fight the first time she came for me. There was no way I could match her strength or speed. If I was lucky, I’d get one shot at this before she ripped the dagger from my hands and took me away.

“Alright, demon. Come get me.”

In less than a millisecond, she rushed me and clasped a cold and bony hand around my wrist. I yanked her down with my other arm and caught her off guard. She tripped over my hand and landed on all fours on the ground next to me. I watched in horror as her head spun a hundred and eighty degrees on her neck with a sick pop. She gave me a rotten smile and growled.

Shaking off the horror that had frozen my limbs, I gripped the dagger tighter. This was my chance. But before I could bury it in her torso, she darted five feet away and righted herself on two feet. Too far away to reach. My eyes trailed up her sickly thin figure to her face. An evil gleam in her eyes told me that she had claimed me as hers. She’d never stop coming for me.

A swinging blade caught the silvery light of the moon. The sword pierced the demon’s back and came out the other side. For a shocking moment, Margaret stood there like a skewered piece of meat. Then, she clasped the blade with her hand and snapped it in two, black blood oozing down her bare chest.

At the same time as Ashley stepped from behind the tree next to Margaret, Adam rushed forward with the crossbow and launched an arrow at the demon. She twisted, the arrow sailing over her shoulder. Ashley pulled a dagger from the sheath in her boot and yelled at me to hide. I couldn’t move, even if I wanted to – my feet had turned into stumps.

With a guttural shout, Adam lunged at the demon with his sword. She managed to sidestep his blade to the right and swiped at him with her lethal claws. In a blur, all three tumbled over the ground. Grunts of pain and flashes of silver were all I could see.

As fast as it had started, the fight ended. Margaret stood on the other side of the creek, her eyes gleaming with hate and black blood oozing from multiple gashes on her body. In a flash, she was gone, taking off through the dark woods.

I looked back at the scene in front of me and gasped. Ashley had fallen to her knees with her hands pressed to her throat. A waterfall of blood poured between her fingers. Adam dropped to the ground next to her and tore off his shirt, revealing a muscular torso and a tattoo that looked similar to Gabe’s.

“Hold this to her neck to stop the bleeding,” he ordered.

I took the t-shirt from him and forced Ashley to drop her hands. A jagged mark had been torn into the flesh at the base of her neck. It looked like she’d been attacked by a wolf. I swallowed the nausea that welled up in my stomach and pressed the damp t-shirt to her neck.

Adam swept Ashley up and began jogging through the trees. I did my best to keep the t-shirt pressed to her neck, but the bouncing of his run wasn’t making it any easier. At this rate, she would never survive. Margaret had run off to nurse her injuries. There was no more threat to me here.

“Go,” I panted. “Just go without me. I can’t run that fast and she won’t survive. Go.”

He frowned at me for a second, a look that I realized was very similar to his brother’s. Then, without a word, he disappeared into the trees with her. I was left holdin

g the rag in my hands with Ashley’s blood dripping down my arms in grizzly dark red lines.

If she survived tonight, I’d never complain about her rude comments again, I promised myself. I’d even let her call me a filthy human again. If only she wouldn’t die.

Chapter Twenty-Three

I stood in front of the door to room 225, not even caring how late it was. Anywhere was better than that sick room with Ashley lying on the bed, stitches holding the thin fabric of her skin together. They’d told me she’d be okay, but that didn’t stop my hands from shaking or the sudden need to see him. All I could do was knock on his door and hope he would answer.

It didn’t take long for the door to swing open and Gabe to appear from the dark shadows of his room. He was dressed in soft blue pajama pants and nothing else. I ran my eyes up his muscular abdomen, not sure whether it was the aftershock of the attack or something else driving shivers up my back. The sleepy look on his face quickly turned to alarm as he scanned me over and turned on the light.

“God, Lizzy, what happened?”

I looked down and realized I’d forgotten to change out of the blood soaked jeans and t-shirt I’d worn into the forest. At the sight of Ashley’s blood, tears began to pool in my eyes and spill onto my cheek.

“I’m so sorry for waking you, but I had to see you.” I brushed past him and into his room.

Only a single queen sized bed took up one side of the floor. Across from it was an armoire and a desk. Pencil sketches lined the walls. There were intricate drawings of bears, elk, and landscapes. Amongst them, I recognized pictures of Luke and Adam and other Nephilim.

Taped on the front of the armoire were three drawings that captured my immediate attention. One was of a girl tied to a tree with a raging fire burning around her feet. The second was a girl standing between two pine trees, getting ready to flee. The third was a close up of my face.

Gabe still stood near the door. I knew he wanted to know what was going on, but I wasn’t ready to talk about tonight, so I zeroed in on the pictures.

“Did you draw these?” I stepped closer to them. Every detail, down to the faint freckles on my nose, had been drawn with absolute precision. They were beautifully done by a master of the art.

There was a long moment of silence in which I was sure he was contemplating whether to grab me by the shoulders and make me tell him what happened, or to answer my questions. The long slow breath he let out told me that he would play my game for another few seconds.

“Yes.” I felt him move next to me, scanning me for signs of injury. “Drawing helps me think through problems or find answers to questions. It’s kind of therapeutic.”