Ash & Flame: Season One (19 page)

He had to get to Emma. Had to get away. His mind screamed at him to run, to flee into the woods. They were going to kill him. They were going to play with him, torture him. And when they’d finished with their fun, they would peel the flesh from his bones and eat him alive.

Runrunrun!

He nearly did it. He’d always been a coward, and as long as it kept him and his daughter alive, he was okay knowing that. Only now it wasn’t okay. If he ran now, his daughter would die. He’d be a coward, he’d die a worthless coward, and he’d lose his daughter forever. He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t hate himself.

He wasn’t going to run this time. He couldn’t.

Ren closed his eyes and wrapped his hand around the pendant.
Please work
, he thought.
I need this
.

A white-hot flame seared the palm of his hand and he screamed. He stumbled backwards and fell, landing roughly on the chipped cement. His eyelids shot open and he pulled his hand back.

The shape of the pendant had burned itself into his skin in dark lines that still smoldered, tufts of smoke drifting from his hand. Blisters appeared on the edges of the burn mark, and angry red welts surfaced over the rest of his palm.

He didn’t know how to make the relic weapon work. He was going to die.

“Smells good,” the woman said, her nostrils flaring. She glanced at the two men who now surrounded Ren. “Something to be said for cooked meat, right?”

The man with the knife laughed. He stepped closer to Ren. “Dun care much either way, Cora. Jus’ hungry.”

Ren bit down against the pain, wishing now that he’d stopped long enough to grab another weapon. All he had was his mind and his aching, bruised body. Neither would be enough.

“You jus’ sit still now,” the man said. He slid the blade over his tongue.

I am not a coward
. If they were going to slit his throat, it would be while he was scratching and clawing at their faces.

Ren watched the blade slide back over the Ashen’s tongue, and he lunged at the man. He felt the woman’s hands on his back as she pushed him forward.

The extra momentum carried him right into the man, and Ren grabbed the his wrist and drove it inward, right into the Ashen’s surprised face. The blade cut deep into the man’s mouth, and Ren tumbled forward, bringing the man down underneath his weight.

The Ashen tried to scream as Ren pressed down with all his strength. He bucked and kicked, struggling to free himself from under Ren.

Ren forced the blade deeper, and with a sickening crunch he felt the blade give. His fist leaned heavily against the man’s jaw, the hilt of the knife buried in the Ashen’s mouth. The man stared at him with wild, panicked eyes, gurgling as he struggled to breathe.

Someone tackled Ren from behind and he found himself on his back, breathless, the woman’s strong hands like a vice-grip wound tightly around his throat as she straddled his waist.

She leaned forward and sneered at him, and for a second he saw something in her eyes, something familiar that he couldn’t quite place. And then it was gone, and it was just her hands around his throat, murder written on her face.

“You picked a bad time to fight back, Ren,” she whispered between her bared teeth.

Ren didn’t have time to wonder how she knew his name. He tried to roll over, but he winced at the sharp sting that lanced through his neck and shoulder. He grabbed at one of her wrists, but his enflamed hand couldn’t keep its grip to pull her fingers loose of his throat. He swung at her, pummeled her shoulder, pounded his fists against her ribs.

Streaks laced his vision, and he saw a blur, shaped much like the other man’s head, pop into view above him. The man chuckled as he knelt beside Ren.

“Sweet dreams, bitch.”

Ren tried to blink away the fog. He gasped for air, and his hand swatted at the woman’s head. His feeble, worthless swing brought more barking laughter from the woman.

“How you made it this far, Ren, I’ll never know.”

Darkness curled in, swirled around Ren’s eyes.

He didn’t know either.

▪▪▪

Ithuriel’s skin tingled, like ice crawling up his arms. Drizzle fell against his back, water trickling down his armor. His wings beat against the air, his left wing still so tender that every twitch sent daggers of pain shooting down his shoulder and back. He ground his teeth together and skimmed over the forest, his eyes scanning the trees.

Somewhere below, the relic weapon echoed in his mind, the reverberation of its attempted use like a beacon that pointed out its location so that the man who had stolen it could be punished.

Ren had no idea what it meant to possess a Blessed weapon, less so what it meant to actually use it. And if Ren had tried to use it, he had very likely paid a painful price for that ignorance.

But even the theft of the relic weapon paled right now when compared to Ithuriel’s need to find Ren and the Grigori girl. He knew where they were both headed, and Ithuriel could not allow that to happen.

He focused on the echo of the weapon and swerved to the left and down, the tops of trees streaming by dangerously close. He winced at the soreness that clutched his shoulder, daggers of pain running through his wing. The forest parted, an overgrown, blasted road running between the trees, and the relic weapon flashed in Ithuriel’s eyes.

Someone sat on top of Ren, a woman, her hands wrapped around his throat. The corded muscles of her arms twitched as she squeezed the life out of him. The man standing beside her shifted on his back foot. His head turned and his eyes widened as he saw the angel that swooped down towards them. He pointed towards Ithuriel, his hand shaking.

“C-Cora!” he shouted, and then what remained of his courage drained away. He turned to flee.

Too late. Much too late. This man had already sealed his fate. He had died the instant he chose to walk down this dark path. Ithuriel was only the instrument at the end of the wretched soul’s final destination.

Ithuriel growled and the spear appeared in one hand, the weapon a natural extension of his body. The spearpoint lit up the gloom like a glowing star, and raindrops hissed as they struck the point. He bared his teeth and hurled the spear forward.

The woman, Cora, loosened her grip and looked over her shoulder at her friend as he scrambled back towards the ruin of a car. The spear sliced through the air and caught the man between the shoulders like a hammered nail. He pitched forward with a surprised grunt, the momentum of the spear carrying him over to tumble onto his side. The spearpoint dug into the asphalt, the shaft of the spear jutting from the man’s back. He coughed once, spurting blood from his mouth, and fell still.

Cora’s shocked face turned on Ithuriel an instant before his boot connected with her shoulder, a flicker of darkness in her eyes. The force of Ithuriel’s impact sent her flying across the road. The woman cried out as she landed with a splash in the thick grass and rolled to a jarring stop.

Ithuriel landed next to Ren’s supine form. His wings beat once and he let out a low, relieved sigh as they settled along his shoulder blades. He scanned the clearing, his gaze falling on the woman lying still in the wet grass. Had he seen something in her?

Ren coughed and sputtered as he struggled to sit up, one hand on his reddened throat. He took in huge gulps of air, his eyes wild. Slowly he forced himself up, leaning heavily on one arm, until the rapid rise and fall of his chest slowed. A gash over his brow trickled blood down the corner of his eye.

“Where is the girl?” Ithuriel asked, the woman momentarily forgotten. He reached a hand down towards Ren.

Ren blinked, his eyes going wide. “Emma.” He tried to get to his feet. He swayed, stumbled forward and fell onto his knees. He lowered his head and choked back a sob. “My baby girl.”

Ithuriel worried that he might have sacrificed all of Haven to get to the girl before the Grigori latched onto her. What if he had handed their fates over to the likes of mad Abaddon, or left them to the hordes of cursed men that preyed on the weak?

“Ren.” Ithuriel stepped forward and tugged Ren up by the collar of his soaked shirt. He spun him around by the arm and glared down at the human. “Tell me where she is, Ren. I can bring her back. I will…”

I will bring her back or I will kill her
.

He winced at the thought and knew he could not give it voice, even if it was the truth. Would he Fall if he killed the girl, even if it had to be done to save humanity and what remained of this world? Grigori was a part of her essence, but she was an innocent. The briefest of glimpses had proven that.

Maybe Ithuriel was already Falling.

Ren wiped under his eyes and nodded towards the woods on the opposite side of the broken road. “I saw her go that way.” He pointed past the blackened shell of the car. “Brad led her in there.”

Ithuriel paused. “Brad?”

Ren nodded. “Your blessed man. The bastard took my little girl.”

A sense of unease crawled over Ithuriel, dug into his skin like warped claws. He stared at Ren, reading him, but could see no lie on his face. Which could only mean one thing. Brad no longer served him, no longer served Haven and the Malakhi. He had been corrupted.

Ithuriel saw it now. The attack on Haven had only been meant as a diversion, a distraction from the real target within the compound. And he had not been there to stop it.

He was no longer certain it had been a good idea to let the girl live.

“I will find her.” His eyes fell on the pendant that hung from Ren’s neck. He took the pendant in one hand and yanked it sharply. Ren winced as the chain snapped from his neck. Ithuriel held the pendant in front of Ren’s eyes. “And you are not worthy of this.”

“And Brad was?”

Ithuriel let go of Ren’s arm. His chest hurt, the bared truth biting into him like it had teeth of its own. The man was right. Ithuriel had chosen Brad, called him one of his Blessed, and given him a relic weapon. He had trusted him, and others had paid the price for the Malakhi’s misplaced faith.

How many more would pay?

A sudden motion behind him caught Ithuriel’s attention. The woman had regained her senses, and she charged across the pitted road. He could feel the corrupted hate radiating from her, washing over him like a diseased tide, and he saw it inside her now, a flash of red and darkness.

Not just a woman. A Grigori within the woman’s flesh, possessing the body like a plaything, and he knew who the demon was. The same one he had seen in Ren’s dream.

Lilith
.

Ithuriel shoved Ren aside, the man staggering a few steps before he fell on his backside.

The woman screamed, her teeth bared. Ithuriel waited for the woman until she was nearly on top of them, and flexed his hand. The spear formed along his grip and he thrust it forward in one smooth motion.

The woman turned away too late from the blinding point, her arms crossing her face as he snapped it forward. She gasped as the point pierced her chest and punched a hole through her back, streaked blood hissing and smoking on the spearpoint. Her momentum carried her two more steps before she stopped to look down at the shaft of the spear sticking out from her chest. She peered up at Ithuriel, a hollow smile on her face.

“You can’t
have
her, Ithuriel,” she whispered. She licked her lips, flecks of blood on her tongue. “The girl is
mine
. You’re too late…”

Ithuriel jerked the spear and the woman opened her mouth wide in a soundless scream. She gripped the spear, energy biting into her hands. She bit her tongue and whispered something under her breath, then slumped forward on the spear, her eyes staring vacantly ahead.

The Grigori was gone, her message delivered.

Ithuriel focused and the spear disappeared in a flash of harsh light. The woman stood there for a moment before she fell to the side. Her head cracked against an upraised chunk of asphalt and she lay still, her eyes staring past Ren, one arm splayed out like she was pointing towards the woods beyond them.

Ren pushed himself to his feet. He stood still for a moment before walking away from Ithuriel, his gaze on the dead man. He leaned down and yanked the jutting knife free from the man’s jaw.

He didn’t look at Ithuriel as he shoved the blade through his belt. “I’m going with you.”

The Malakhi shook his head. “You will only slow—”

Ren swung around to face Ithuriel, his face red as he glared at the angel, blood seeping from the puffy gash over his eyebrow. “No, Ithuriel. My daughter, my rules. I won’t sit back. I’m
done
sitting back.”

Ithuriel could have left him standing there. He would slow the Malakhi down, hinder his pursuit of Brad and the girl. He was a battered and bloody man, barely able to walk straight. All it would take was a hard knock with the spear, and Ren would stay put. Ithuriel had to leave him here, or make him go back to Haven.

Had to.

Instead he nodded. “Come then, let us find your daughter.”

He didn’t know what spurred him, but he couldn’t leave the man behind now. Maybe it was the first real sign of defiance, Ren’s refusal to back down to the angel. Maybe it was because Ithuriel had chosen Brad, and had not chosen a man like Ren.