Blood Pact (Darkling Mage 7)

“Then talk,” I told the shielded stranger. “I don’t know why you’re resorting to violence when you could be using your mouth instead.”

He sneered, his lips parting, and just as he was about to answer, Herald lifted his spear. I stared directly into the man’s eyes, straining not to give the sneak attack away.

It never mattered. He lifted his other arm, and his shield transferred there instantly, vanishing and reappearing as if shunted through space. Herald yelped in surprise as the spear connected with the shield and shattered into worthless pieces.

My mouth fell open. Herald’s ice constructs weren’t that fragile. He’d gone toe to toe with other sword fighters, even gods with that same blade in the past. Surely the spear would be even sturdier.

“Look out,” I shouted, but too late. Without even glancing over his shoulder, the man slammed his shield backwards, smashing it into Herald’s chest. Herald grunted, then crumpled to the ground, winded by the savage blow.

Last resort. My other hand was uninjured, still free. I opened my backpack.

The screech of metal as Vanitas split into two halves didn’t even make the stranger flinch. He raised his shield with lightning reflexes, deflecting first the scabbard, then the sword. Vanitas, being Vanitas, had attacked at top speed, but even that shouldn’t have caused him to recoil as violently as he did. Sword and scabbard bounced harmlessly off the golden shield, zipping overhead. In the distance, I heard the splintering of wood, the rustling of leaves. Vanitas had smacked into some trees, again.

“Holy shit,” I muttered, struggling to crawl away from our attacker and his crazy stupid magical shield.

“Now we can talk,” the man said. I scrambled away as he approached, but he reached me in two long strides, kneeling on the ground and lifting the shield to my face.

“Please don’t say you’re going to smash my face with that thing. Not the face.”

He frowned. The golden light of the shield flickered, and in an instant, it was gone, replaced by an equally golden dagger – which was pointed directly at my throat.

I stared at the blade. “What the hell? How did you – ”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, his other hand grabbing me by the collar with surprising strength. “I came all this way to find someone, but all I got was you. Look at me. Tell me. Why was I summoned here?”

“What the hell are you even talking about? Nobody summoned you. I don’t know anything about – ”

Our eyes met, and all the breath left my body. Up close, I could finally see him.

The man looked familiar, only not at all, like someone I once knew. He had the same brilliant blue eyes, the same strong jaw. But this guy’s hair was brown, and mostly straight, unlike the man I was thinking of, who had hair in blond curls, like an angel.

And most damning of all were the strange, glowing designs etched into his skin, patterns and glyphs tattooed across his chest and his clavicles, peeking just above the line of his collar. No. It couldn’t be.

“Sam?” I said, my eyes narrowed, my mouth dry. “Samyaza? Is that you?”

The point of the dagger came closer to my throat, and the man’s eyes burned even harder.

“How do you know my father’s name?”

Chapter 21

“Nephilim,” Carver said, speaking the word with gravity.

“Bless you,” Sterling said.

Carver grimaced. “No, you fool. Nephilim. I find it difficult to believe that someone who’s lived as long as you have doesn’t know what that means.”

“You’re absolutely right. The word means nothing to me.” Sterling raised an eyebrow, his hands folded behind his head, waiting expectantly for Carver to continue.

Carver’s smile went from ear to ear. “Well, it should. It’s shorthand for a very specific kind of angel.”

Sterling’s innate speed k

icked into high gear. He sprang to his feet and vaulted over the back of the couch before I’d even blinked. He huddled behind the backrest, peering over the top of it, staring terrified at the nephilim – Mason, that was his name – then accusingly at me and Herald.

“And you brought him home?” he hissed. “That’s like – like taking home a grenade.”

“Or an exploding dog,” I said. “Cool it, Sterling. I don’t think Mason wants to hurt any of us for the moment.”