Darkness Falls (Dark Angels 7)

But would the fates and the priestly remnants allow that?

Their continuing silence—at least when it came to the Raziq—very much suggested they might.

“The mere fact you make such a threat shows just how far the Raziq have fallen.” Azriel’s voice cut across the noise and the anger that filled the temple grounds as cleanly as sunshine through rain. Relief made my arms shake, and tears stung my eyes. I blinked them away furiously. It wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot. It was still him and me against all of them.

“You no longer deserve the name of priests,” he continued, voice ominously flat. “And you certainly no longer have the umbrella of protection such a title endows.”

?

??Do not make idle threats, Mijai.” Any pretense of civility had finally been stripped from Malin’s voice. It was evil personified; nothing more, nothing less. “We both know you would not dare to violate the sanctity of this place.”

“Not without the permission of the fates,” he agreed. “And that we now have.”

With those words lingering ominously in the air, he appeared.

And he wasn’t alone.

Chapter 2

Azriel stood on the far side of the massed Raziq, his casual stance belying the fury in his eyes and the fierceness of his grip on Valdis. In this ghostly, gray-clad world, he shone with a light that was intense and golden, and it cut through the shadows as brightly as the sun.

Behind him stood another eight Mijai. All of them were battle scarred—some more so than even Azriel—and all of them radiated a savage desire to fight. But then, the Raziq were the reason so many of them had those scars. The sorceress may have opened hell’s gates—thereby allowing so many demons to breach the remaining barrier—but it was the Raziq who’d made the keys that had enabled her to do it.

If what Azriel had said was true—and he wasn’t given to lies or exaggeration—then for the first time in a very long time, the powers that be had given the Mijai permission to do something more than merely hunt down the escapees from hell. They’d given them the power to deal with the very people who’d caused this mess in the first place.

Which—considering they hadn’t stopped what had basically amounted to the genocide of the Aedh—was one big damn step. And one that showed just how tenuous the current situation was to both the gray fields and Earth.

But there was another, more personal, benefit to Azriel’s sudden appearance—it had drawn Malin’s attention away from me, and that meant the thick beam of energy no longer assaulted Amaya’s shield.

Drop can? Amaya asked.

I hesitated, my gaze flickering to the turgid mass of energy that was the rest of the Raziq. They seemed to have gathered behind Malin, and none of them appeared to be paying any particular attention to me—although it was a little hard to be certain given that they were all concealed from my sight. Still, with the shield sucking strength from both Amaya and me, it was better to err on the side of caution and use it only when absolutely necessary.

Besides, while I didn’t doubt either the fighting skills or the determination of the reapers, they were still outnumbered two to one. I needed to keep as much strength on hand as I could, because once the attention of the Raziq was no longer held by the reapers, some of those “spare” Raziq would undoubtedly come after me.

I took a deep breath that really did little to bolster my courage, then said, Yeah, do it.

The lilac flames retreated instantly. I waited, tension rippling through every particle, ready to flee the instant anything remotely resembling an attack headed my way.

Nothing happened. I didn’t relax, however. Just because they weren’t attacking didn’t mean they soon wouldn’t.

“We both know the fates would never sanctify such an action.” Contempt filled Malin’s tone. “This place is sacred. They hold no jurisdiction here.”

“They have always held jurisdiction here.” Azriel’s voice was flat, unemotional. But his need to kill—to avenge not so much what Malin and her crew had done in relation to the keys as what they’d done to me—was so strong I could almost taste it. Yet he held it in check, and I had no idea why if he had the fates’ permission to deal with the Raziq.

Because, he said, the fates would prefer not to shed blood in this place. She is right in that it is sacred. Therefore, the Raziq have one chance to walk away. As much as I hope—pray—they do not, I will not gainsay the will of the fates. Not when I now have so much more at risk.

Meaning me. God, why the hell had it taken me so damn long to realize what I’d been searching so long for had been right in front of me the whole time? Why had I wasted so much time being afraid and not trusting instinct and emotion when it came to him?

That is a question I have often asked myself. Though his mental tones were touched by wry amusement, there was no evidence of it in his voice as he added, “The fates have not seen the necessity of interfering until now, Malin. But your actions endanger us all.”

“My actions will free us. And that is all that matters.”

“As ever, you do not see the bigger picture. You are too bound by your own dreams and desires.”

He made a slight motion with his hand, and the dark energy covering the Raziq trembled and quivered, as if assaulted by a very great force. Then, with little fanfare, it faded, and the Raziq were finally revealed.

It was the first time I’d actually seen them, and they were—like most Aedh—almost terrifyingly beautiful to behold. The ten men were uniformly tall, with broad shoulders, muscular physiques, and faces that were as close to perfection as creation ever got. The nine women had the bodies of Amazons and the faces of angels, and they all had golden hair that glowed as fiercely as the wings on their backs in the diffused light of the fields. Their eyes—which varied from lilac, like mine, to vibrant blues or the richest of greens—were so filled with power it was almost impossible to meet their gaze for any great length of time. But there was little in the way of life or warmth in their expressions. All that could be seen was either remote condescension or utter contempt or—in Malin’s case—outright animosity and hate.