Death of a Demon (The Dark Angel Wars 3)

Although the heat of the afternoon sun beat down hard on our skin, she had shivers going up and down her spine.

“Just a little rendezvous,” she mumbled. “Nothing for you to be concerned about.”

Still, I was on high alert. Mona’s nerves had me humming, like waiting for a snake to strike.

Slipping into the forest without anyone seeing, she followed a path nearly invisible to the naked eye. It was a deer trail, worn by light hoofed prints. A quick ten minute jog put us squarely in the middle of a thicket surrounded by thorny brambles. Just brushing up against a bush caused tiny red droplets of bloods to spring to the surface of her arm. She wiped it away impatiently and looked around.

“My Prince?” she whispered.

“My child.” Seth stepped out of a dark shadow thrown by a tree. Mona and I both jumped at his sudden appearance. He smiled, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Have they arrived?”

“Yes, my Prince.” She bowed her head and stared at the dead leaves on the ground. “There are so many of them. At least a hundred from the other factions. Their strongest warriors. I came as soon as they arrived.”

“Good, good.” His hand brushed up her arm and she looked up into his face. A deadly and faraway look clouded his eyes. “Everything is as I planned. We move into phase two tonight.”

I wasn’t liking the sound of this.

Phase two? What’s phase two?

Mona shook her head, as if a bee were buzzing in her ear. “I understand.”

“Make contact with my source as soon as you begin,” he said, his mouth pressing into a firm line. “Together, you will weaken the Nephilim from the inside. My forces will await your word to attack from the outside.”

Weakening the Nephilim? Everything I’d feared about my demon and her motivations were true. Owning my body wasn’t enough for her.

And who was this inside contact? Everything inside me screamed for an answer. How could a Nephilim turn against its own family? It wasn’t possible. And yet, Seth seemed so sure his contact would be assisting this new part of his plan.

Together, they were going to slaughter the family that I loved. I couldn’t allow that to happen. I just couldn’t.

I lashed out with all my strength, pressing against Mona’s mind. Her will was impenetrable, as solid as a steel wall. Still, I screamed and kicked and punched with all my might, looking for a weakness. A tiny crack. Anything that would let me burst through this living hell and back into my rightful seat of control. Nothing budged.

“She’s struggling,” Mona said to Seth, tapping on her temple. “She’s freaking out. What do you want me to do about it?”

His lips curled into a satisfied smirk as he leaned in close to Mona’s ear. The warm touch of his breath fluttered the baby curls I still had at the base of my neck. He smelled like cinnamon, tree bark, and something floral. It was deceptively pleasing to my senses, a facade to cover his deadly nature.

“There’s still time.” His voice was soft and rich, like buttery toffee as it cooled. “Join me. I am a merciful ruler. Your friends would find my favor.”

Never.

I’d spent enough time hunted and manipulated by demons to know their true nature. He would never show the Nephilim mercy. He’d strike them down and as soon as he was finished with me, he’d toss me into Hell. There was no way I’d turn to the dark side. Not for one moment. I was stronger than that.

Mona shook her head in defeat.

Seth leaned back and grinned, his cheeks flushed. “She’ll change her mind. They always do.”

Inwardly, I hissed. He didn’t know me. I’d never give into the likes of him.

Waiting for night to fall was like teetering at the edge of a canyon, my toes clinging to the rocks below me for some kind of purchase. I had to give some credit to Mona—she kept as cool as a cucumber and walked through the events of the day as if it were like any other.

There was a giant gathering in the ballroom of all the nations. Meetings with the board on war strategy. And spattered in-between: whispers in the hallways about the impending war. Try as they might, no one could hide from the distinct odor of panic filling the halls of Westward Manor.

The stench lingered in the ancient mortar of the red stone masonry, like a stain too deep to wash away. Even the few Nephilim children who usually ran up and down the stairs after dinner were unusually subdued. No one laughed. No one raised their voices. Anticipation had killed the lively spirit of the Nephilim, and yet they had no idea what dangers actually lurked in the shadows of their home.

All the while, I paced inside my own head, searching for a way out. I’d spent the last few days a prisoner in my own mind. Too compliant to my inner demon to properly fight. But no longer. I was going to win. I was going to stop this attack. One way or another.

Images of my friends and family, butchered in the night by a demon army, flashed in front of my eyes. I pictured Gabe, lying across the bed, his body broken and still. I imagined Luke as he poured over his books in his study, not realizing danger lurked behind him until his own blood splattered across the crisp white pages. And so many others, slumbering peacefully in their beds, unaware of the Prince of Hell moving in on their homes. I couldn’t stand it. The images were giving me palpitations.

Mona didn’t get back to our room that night until a deep and penetrating darkness had fallen across the manor. Despite the warmth of the day, a low fire burned in the fireplace. Raquel’s messy mane of hair peeked out from under the sheets on her bed. She must’ve lit the fire herself tonight before falling asleep, the amber flames throwing the room into a pleasantly dim glow. It was something she did when she needed some extra comfort. I ached to reach out to her. To hug her. To tell her it was all going to be okay. But that would’ve been a lie.