Gates of Paradise (Blue Bloods 7)

Michael’s sword.

The Blade of Paradise. The Golden Sword of Heaven.

Her father’s sword.

She gripped its hilt and slashed at the invisible bindings that held her, and she could feel the strength returning to her body, could feel the wound on her neck begin to heal. She leapt from the stone table, holding her sword aloft.

Lucifer roared and urged his dark armies to her destruction, and Schuyler cowered as the Dark Prince lunged toward her with hatred in his eyes, his own sword blazing white wit

h the fire of Heaven.

But the blow never landed, as Jack threw himself upon her to shield her from the attack.

“Jack!” she screamed.

He looked at her tenderly, and she knew that he had never been false. That there had been a reason for his actions. He had drunk from her, she realized now, to keep Lucifer from doing the same.

“Hey you.” She smiled and traced a finger on his cheek. “Where have you been?”

“Right here, always,” Jack murmured, kissing her all over her face, her neck. But there was little time for tenderness.

Lucifer reared up with ferocious strength, and the Dark Prince loomed over them. His fangs bared, he was no longer beautiful, no longer bright as the sun, but revealed as Hell’s eternal king, as the horrific monster he was, dark and twisted and evil. Schuyler held on to Jack and prepared for Lucifer to do his worst.

But out of the shadows, out of the darkness, powerful beasts emerged, ready for blood. The wolves of the guard.

FIFTY-SIX

Bliss

he wolves crashed into the battle, meeting their former masters with tooth and claw. With froth on their lips and blood in their mouths. For revenge. For victory. For freedom.

They had followed Fenrir as he raced back through the passages, toward the Gate of Promise, which Gabrielle had shown him, and appeared at the stone tablet just as Schuyler held Michael’s sword aloft.

“Destroy our enemies!” Fenrir roared. “Make them feel our wrath, our revenge!”

Bliss saw Schuyler through the chaos and wanted to run to her, but there was no time. The battle was upon them. They would fight or they would die. The wolves had thrown off their chains; they were savage and ferocious. Demon-fighters. Demon-killers.

Silver against flesh, the White Fire of Heaven against the beasts of Hell. The wolves fought bravely and courageously, but their numbers were no match for the godsfire, for the flame that seared their very souls.

They ran howling to the edges, howling in retreat.

Until a blaze of light shone from the darkness.

A light that was just as bright as the godsfire—even brighter—this was the light from the Holy Grail, blessed by the spirit of the Son of God. The true light of Heaven.

The Venators had come.

FIFTY-SEVEN

Mimi

he Angels Araquiel and Azrael had come to fight for the Light, to defend Heaven’s Gate against its enemies. They flew into battle with a team of angels, arrayed in their golden armor, while everywhere, horns, horns, horns rang in triumph, just as when Michael had led the angels so long ago.

Their swords were aflame with the godsfire, and their hearts were pure and joyous as they fell upon the demons and their Silver Blood brethren.

They said there was no more beautiful sight that day than Araquiel cleaving the demon Leviathan in two, and bringing death to the death mongers. Azrael was a mighty valkyrie, her talons aflame with the light, and the demons cowered and fell upon their swords and scattered.

With the wolves at their side, the angels fought valiantly, and the stone tablet ran red with the blood of their enemies.