Days of New: The Complete Collection (Serials 1-5) (28 page)

By killing, the demon had corporalized itself. It wasn’t smoke anymore, and Camille tracked its movement as it skittered along sideways around the walls. It was much slower in its physical form. She took off after it again, her wings churning the air into a windstorm. She tried to cut it off, but at the last second, the demon pushed off the wall and flipped backward, spinning head over tail and slicing another official’s throat before he could move away.

The blood spewed against the demon as it sat on the official’s chest. The human fell to floor while the demon lapped up the spewing blood like it was a water fountain. Zarachiel reacted first, lunging after the demon with all the speed and agility of an angel. Camille saw her chance and closed in on the creature. At the last second, the demon released its hold on the dead human and dove away from Zarachiel’s blade. But Camille was there, and the demon rammed into her instead.

Together, they spun across the room, Camille’s wings useless against the speed at which they catapulted through the air. The demon’s claws descended on her face, and it took every ounce of strength she had to hold it off of her. Its legs pummeled her ribs, and she heard crack after crack as her bones gave way beneath its furious heels. It screamed into her face and snapped its teeth, aiming for her throat.

They hit the wall and crumpled to the floor, huge pieces of rock raining down on their heads.

Camille didn’t dare loosen her hold, but her strength was waning against the furious demon’s struggles. Over its shoulder, Zarachiel raced toward them, raising his machete in the air. This was their only chance, Camille realized. They were the only two angels standing between this demon and everyone else in the compound.

As if it were happening in slow motion, Camille blinked and saw Clark slump forward in his chair. His body smoked, filling the air with the burnt smell of a day-old fire. More bodies lay on the floor around him. The massacre had happened so fast that the Descendants were just now raising their weapons, their eyes roaming to find the demon.

Looking back at the creature, Camille met its wild black gaze. Her grip tightened around its wrists and she wrestled her leg up between them.

The demon’s eyes widened. It struggled in her grip. Their strength was fading, but the demon saw its end.

Camille put her foot against its chest and kicked, keeping a tight hold on its arms. The muscles in her arms and legs immediately protested at the force and angle of her attack. But she gritted her teeth so hard that her jaw started breaking and pulled harder. A blood vessel burst in her eye, flooding her vision with gold.

In the same span of tiny half-seconds, Zarachiel jumped into the air, twisting over the demon, his hands wrapping around the creature’s neck.

There was a sick snap, followed by a crunch then a few more pops. And Camille felt a release. She fell backward, still holding the demon’s arms.

Zarachiel landed beside her with the creature’s head in his hands.

Blood—black and thick—sprayed like a loosened water hose.

Camille slumped backward, exhaustion seeping up from her marrow, and prayed that Clark was still alive.

Chapter Ten

T
he demon’s blood burned, Camille realized.

She rolled her head to the side and saw blood, bright red, inching across the floor in the middle of the room. Someone was sniffling in the corner, another gasping for breath. Zarachiel made quick work of the demon, his machete sure as it hacked through the slender limbs. Camille needed to start a fire. They had to bind the demon to the room. She shifted onto her side, groaning, and pushed herself up.

Clark sat slumped over in his chair. The only things holding him up were the restraints. Even though he looked slightly
well-done
, there wasn’t a scratch on him—just a sheen of sweat over his pale skin. He met her eyes, and she found the strength to stand.

“Clark!”

His eyes shifted over Camille’s shoulder and a smile spread across his lips. It was a bad smile because the expression was full of radiating heat and heart-wrenching love and utter devotion. The bad smile wasn’t directed at her either. She looked over her shoulder.

Maya hurried up to Clark, skidding to a stop in front of him and landing on her knees. She grabbed his face and pulled him to her. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” she murmured, bowing her forehead to his.

Camille knew Clark well enough to see the shudder of realization pass through him. He blinked to clear his vision, his lips parting. In his exhaustion, he’d thought Maya was Sophia again. That smile had been for a dead girl. Not Maya. Not Camille. Not even Michaela. But he weakly smiled again, his eyes nearly crossing as he stared back at Maya. He put his hand over hers, which rested against his cheek. He eased into her, letting her support some of his weight.

“I’m fine,” he whispered.

They were so close, so intimate, that Camille had to take a step back. Then another and another. As she stumbled backward, the scene in front of her came into harsh relief. She finally understood, finally truly
saw
.

There would always be a part of Clark’s heart that loved Maya. Maybe it was an unwilling, unconscious love, but it was there. He’d loved Sophia too much, lost her too soon. So he couldn’t stop himself from loving her sister because he’d love anything that reminded him of his precious Sophia.

And there would always be a part of him that rejected the idea of Camille, even though he said he loved her. His Nephilim blood roared in his ears when they were close, and he couldn’t completely suppress the notion that they shouldn’t be together. That their relationship was dirty, contaminated. She shuddered, thinking of all the times she’d gone to him, practically begging. He’d never come to her. Not once.

Her eyes flicked back to Clark and Maya in time to see her pull him into a bone-crushing hug just as Iris rushed up and hugged them both. They rocked and swayed together, like the earth was finally rotating again beneath them. They looked so right, so whole, that Camille couldn’t feel anything but the crushing weight on her chest.

She nearly went to one knee, the blow of seeing them all together devastating her. Her weakness repulsed her. Because, right then, she really wanted to cry.

She turned and stumbled out of the room, feeling like she finally understood everything now.

She could never be with Clark, not really. They were two different worlds. There was a reason angels shouldn’t love humans, even someone as un-human as Clark. What she felt for him—this eternal, celestial love—he could never feel. Hadn’t he already loved one girl so completely that he couldn’t go a day without thinking of her? How was there room for Camille in that chaos?

She was outside the meeting hall quickly, slipping through the back doors like a ghost. No one noticed her leave. When she was alone in the compound’s main entry, she allowed herself to run. She slammed through the front doors and raced outside.

The morning sun was still mostly hidden; the cool air threading through her hair. But she felt none of it as she took to the sky, flying over the main wall toward the stand of trees beyond the compound’s reach.

But she felt everything.

This is what it felt like then. To have a heart break. It came by its name honestly. Something was shattering inside of her. The pain radiated out from her chest, incapacitating her so completely that she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. The wreckage spilled into her back, pulsing into her wings. Every feather tingled, twitching with the emotions coursing through her body. The light around her shined brighter as her wings spread to catch her as she fell through the trees.

To both knees.

An angel rendered helpless by love.

She should have more pride than this. But she didn’t. She fell forward onto her hands and let out a wretched sob. The trees around her rustled in the breeze, like whispering answers to her tears, which came so forcefully that she didn’t have the strength left to stop them.

She stayed like that for a long while. Crying alone in the woods. On her knees, bent forward like she was praying, and she was praying. For the pain to stop. For her to get her shit together.

As soon as she could, she was leaving this horrible place. She was going home. To Heaven. Where she belonged. With creatures that didn’t break her heart. Where she had a purpose. That’s where she was supposed to be. She needed to get there.

“Look what we have here.”

The breeze stirred, and too late she heard the sound of wings. She looked up, then reared up, springing to her feet, her hand going for her sword. But it was on the floor of the meeting hall, soaked in demon blood. She was a soldier who had forgotten her weapon in a moment of weakness—the greatest sin she could commit.

“Lucifer,” Camille growled.

He landed lightly in front of her. Emim and Irin—the fallen Archangels—fanned out to cover Lucifer’s flanks. Camille smelled demons in the air and knew they were behind her. She was completely surrounded.

Her tears dried up. Her heart dried up. Everything she’d once thought was possible dried up. She was hollow on the inside.

“Sweet Camille,” Lucifer said, his voice like sticky sugar. “How good it is to meet again.”

“Why are you here?” She glanced over her shoulder. A small legion of higher born demons closed in behind her, some slinking over the ground, others playing through the trees’ limbs. Their eyes were bright red staring down at her.

“When I sensed my demon’s death, I knew Clark had won. I came to collect what I’m owed. But now…” Lucifer grinned, tucking his chin against his chest as he approached her. The shadows covered half his face, revealing him to be as mad as he was. “Now I’ve found something much more desirable. I think you and I could really help each other.”

“How’s that?” Camille hissed. The air around them had gone arctic. The fallen leaves on the ground were covered in frost.

“Because Clark will give me anything if I have what he loves,” Lucifer said, still smiling.

Camille shook her head, her throat tight. “You’re wrong. He doesn’t love me.”

“Oh, dear.” Lucifer cocked his head to the side, his grin widening. “Is that why you’re out here all alone, crying?”

“No.”

“I think it is. Has he broken your little heart? Well, maybe we really can help each other. You and I, we can break him right back.”

“No,” Camille repeated, backing away. She felt a demon’s touch brush across her calves. Another’s hand stroked through her hair. They were all around her, closing in, breathing their putrid breaths against the back of her neck.

“We can crush him together.” Lucifer advanced, and Camille had nowhere to go. The demons clutched at her, pulled her backward as she tried to move forward. She was caught in a web, and the spider closed in. Lucifer stopped inches from her face. “Isn’t that what you want? To hurt him like he hurt you?”

“No.” Her voice broke. He was too close. The air was too cold, the morning still too dark. She was scared.

Lucifer saw it too. He leaned in close and took a deep breath of her fear. Finally, he straightened and stepped back. “Maybe you will change your mind.” He turned and motioned to the fallen Archangels.

Together, Emim and Irin approached, their steps in unison. They pulled slender golden daggers from narrow sheaths on their hips. Ice formed along the metal.

Camille tried to fly, but the demons latched onto her wings and pulled her down, ripping her feathers from their delicate bindings. For a horrible moment, when she saw a group of the white plumage floating in front of her, she thought she was dead. But then her legs were kicked out from under her and she fell face-first onto the frozen ground. She didn’t feel the daggers as they pierced her wings.

She only felt the icy bite of coldness spreading deeply through her body. The fire in her damaged wings. The emptiness in her heart.

Her body was lifted into sky, melding into the darkness, as the fallen angels carried her far away.

BETTER THE DEVIL YOU KNOW

A DAYS OF NEW SERIAL

VOLUME III

MEG COLLETT

Chapter One

O
nce upon a time, Lucifer had been a holy angel.

He’d been a good angel up to a point. Then fate—the dastardly rabbit—had twitched its nose, and down the rabbit hole Lucifer tumbled. Being the first angel cast out of Heaven and the newly appointed General of Hell had been fun for a while, but then, slowly and without him recognizing it until it was too late, he’d begun to hate himself almost as much as everyone else did. Lucifer—the people’s unanimously elected devil—had never wanted to be hated; he’d just wanted to stand his ground against Michaela, make his own rules, answer to only himself.

Fate be damned.

But then Clark had come to Hell, and Lucifer caught his first glimpse of the ancient Watchers’ magic that he’d spent his entire existence looking for. The power had been a dream to see, but then Clark had lost control of it. The magic had come to life on its own, growing into a great, glowing mass of holy fire. The flames were all-consuming, all-devouring. And when it had pulled Lucifer in maybe, just maybe, he’d wanted to go. Thinking about it now, as he stood in the woods outside the Descendants’ compound, he couldn’t quite remember that night anymore. He recalled the fire, but not what it felt like to be burned. He knew what smoke smelled like, but he didn’t know what the scent of his burning flesh was like. And then, months later, when he’d woken up in a vast desert out in Nevada, all he knew was that he had wings again. And the only thing he could think about was revenge.