A Matter of Time (The Angel Sight Series) Read online

  Chapter Eight

  Rayna

  I had never been so cold in my life. Death couldn’t be quite so cruel. Which made me almost certain I was still alive.

  The cold confines of my new cell tucked just outside Lucifer’s ice castle weren’t as bad as its size, or its complete absence of light and sound. My cell was little more than a sensory deprivation chamber. Designed to help those in fairly decent mental health explore their minds, unblock their emotions, and relax. For those beings way beyond the normal range of mental health, it would drive. Them. Mad.

  Mad was a good word to describe me. Crazy, yes, but also filled with so much anger and hate. In my time alone in Hell, I’d come to a realization. When I almost died at the hands of Az and his sword in Lucien’s chambers, Lucien’s essence had saved me—but it was also killing everything inside me that once made me, me. Rayna Evans, the garden-loving, sci-fi-learning nut who loved to draw, was quickly disappearing into the murky darkness of a deep, icy grave.

  The need for revenge and payment overtook any desire for freedom.

  I’d never been so very, very mad.

  A loud knock reverberated off the walls, into my head, out of my head, into my head. The creak of the door opening sent me to my knees, shielding my ears from the torture. The light that flooded in blinded me, seared my eyelids closed, and singed my retinas. I tried to scream, but it came out as a hiss.

  “Good to see you looking so down, pet.”

  Even with my ears covered, his voice pinged off my exploding eardrums.

  “To your feet.”

  I balled myself up in the corner, my hands still over my ears.

  “Come now, you should recover from the time spent in here quicker than this.”

  A whine broke from my throat. I huddled tighter into myself.

  “Maybe what you need is more of my essence in your veins.”

  No more. Anything but that. My eyes shot open. I blinked twice against the brightness of the low light behind him, and squinted as they adjusted.

  “Ah. There are those pretty human pupils.” He dropped a protein bar at his feet.

  I lowered my hands from my ears. Other than that I didn’t dare move, even though all I could think about was crawling forward and inhaling the food.

  “Pick it up,” he growled through clenched teeth. When I didn’t scurry to his side, he closed the two feet of distance between us. “NOW!”

  Fear spiked inside me at his command. I stretched around him for the meal bar. His pointed-toe boot wound back and drove into my side. I twisted on the floor, the cell not big enough for me to avoid his shoes again. Pain flared in my body, and then dissipated, like the kick had never happened.

  I sat back against the corner, opening the bar and shoving it into my mouth in three bites.

  “Good. Eat up. Something very exciting is going to happen.”

  I looked up from the shiny wrapper. I hated his face, his hair, his boots. But I couldn’t let myself go. I couldn’t let Lucien win in this too. I had to find a way to hold on to myself. Somehow.

  “You’re going to put on a little show. Father has built you your very own chamber of ice.”

  The steady beat I first thought was my heart slamming into my ribcage changed tempo. It almost sounded like drumming.

  “Wha—what’s happening?” I asked around the tasteless bar.

  “Get up.”

  I stayed where I was, gritting my teeth for the next strike.

  It didn’t come. Lucien’s voice was calm, almost eager. “You are going to show everyone out there what you can do.”

  He wanted to prove to Lucifer that he hadn’t messed up. That he could control me. That must have been why he’d kept the truth of my powers from his father. He wanted a show.

  One he wouldn’t get while I was still breathing.

  “No.”

  “I could threaten you, but you’ve heard it all before. I won’t drain you of your energy by bleeding you. You already know the consequences.” He stepped back out of the small room. “Forneus, take her.”

  Fornicator’s tall silhouette invaded the doorway, dressed in a long, dark robe and a grotesque mask hanging by a black satin ribbon around his neck. With one move he pulled me up and dragged me into the lit hallway on my knees, where another Fallen waited, wearing the same robe and mask.

  Lucien crossed his arms, the amusement usually plastered on his face when he tortured me gone. He looked so much more like Lucifer now that I shuddered. “It’s time, pet.”

  It was time … to stop Lucien.

  The crisp scent of the ice flipped the switch on all my senses. My hate for the man in front of me burned so hot I could finally feel the tips of my fingers again.

  All the emotion I’d been void of while in Lucien’s cell hammered into me. I clenched and unclenched my fists to fight off the tides. Every muscle around my stomach tightened. Mountains of tension gathered, funneling through me all at once.

  It was enough to drive me out of my head all over again. If I let it.

  Focusing on my anger, I centered myself and let everything else—the pain, the sorrow, the hopelessness—disappear.

  Fire raged inside me, hot and cold at once. Oceans of pressure built up in my head until the only place for it to go was out. A bright light burned my retinas through closed lids. It exploded outward along with every bit of energy I had to give. I didn’t even feel myself hit the floor.

  ***

  Later, the scent of ashes and cinder wafted to my nose.

  My eyelids, gummy and dry, stuck together the first time I tried to open them. On my second attempt, I scrubbed the back of my hand along them and sat up. Water colder than should be legal created an indent around my body, soaking my clothes through. Chills racked me. My head swam. A copper tang coated my tongue like a layer of heavy leaden paint. I repressed the urge to spit. Around me the Fallen lay on the ground, unmoving. Unconscious.

  Not more than five feet behind me, the front of what I thought was Shirtless’s robe was covered in black dirt. At least I guessed it was Shirtless. His belt thing was still attached around his waist with the sword in it, but the black dirt covering the front of him from face to feet was like no dirt I’d seen before. As a gardener, I knew dirt.

  I glanced around the room again, everyone still unconscious.

  I did it. I actually did it.

  Whatever had affected Shirtless had also somehow damaged Fornicator’s left arm, covering it in the same dirt. Blood leaked around his head, making a crimson halo on the ice.

  Lucien, who had collapsed where he stood, was unaffected by this black dirt the way the Fallen were, and he had been the closest to me.

  Fatigue and shock started clearing from my brain, allowing me to scramble to my feet. My knee gave out beneath me on my first try, bumping my hip hard into the cold, slippery pool of ice water. My body heat must have melted some of the ice, though with my teeth chattering and the chills burrowing down to my bones, I wouldn’t have thought I had any heat left. The second time, I stood on shaky legs and angled out of the indent. Then I held still, my breathing so snail-like a tortoise would be jealous. Still no sounds of movement, only the distant drumming.

  The door at the end of the hall caught my eye.

  Two slippery steps later, I skidded down the icy slope Shirtless’ body warmth had created around him. I reached in his belt and slowly slid his sword out. The entire front half of his body collapsed in on itself, sending the black dirt into a puff of smoke. The sword clattered to the floor when I realized the black stuff wasn’t dirt, but ash. The rich, heady scent of fireplace suddenly made sense. My power must have somehow burned only his front half.

  The ashes wafted toward me. I blinked them away, knelt to pick up the sword, and finally looked to Lucien. Unconscious. Unguarded. And me with a sword. Beyond the echoing clank of the sword on ice, another, softer sound drifted. It could almost be footsteps. The way the ice echoed, I couldn’t tell which direction the noise came from, but
I had to assume they were headed my way.

  I gripped the heavy blade tight in my hands, lifted it over my head, and slammed it down over Lucien’s throat. His skin parted, and coral-colored smoke wafted out from the small gash. Lucien himself didn’t move. I heaved the blade up and back. Lucien’s head dropped back, giving me better access to his still-intact neck. I wasn’t sure decapitating him would end his life the way Kade explained it did to an angel or a Fallen, but it had to do something.

  I arced the sword up again, slicing through the air. An image of Lucien cracking a whip over my bare back appeared as quickly as it went. The blade lodged deeper into Lucien’s neck. Still not clean through. The top of the blade created a crater-sized divot in the ice beside him. More coral smoke wafted out, floating just above the puddle he laid in. I jerked the blade out again, so much red and white showing through the now-butchered slice in his neck.

  Fatigue bored into me. My arms burned from the effort of swinging the sword which must have been forged out of a hundred pound barbell. My legs quaked and slid beneath me. With every ounce of physical strength remaining, I lifted the sword again. When I brought the blade down this time, I saw the image of Lucien’s face, his mouth twisting up into a smug grin as he peeled the flesh from my bones. The blade made contact, digging deeper into his vertebrae, but still not all the way through.

  The echo of footsteps closed in. While I still had time left, I lifted the blade half as high, angled the tip down straight over his neck, and dropped to my knees, adding my body weight to the blow. An eerie thwack reverberated through the room, followed by several smaller clicking sounds. I used the handle of the blade to help me to my feet, driving it further through Lucien’s neck. The clicking continued, spider web cracks forming in the ice around Lucien. The footsteps quickened and multiplied, along with the shouts seeming to come from every direction and none at all.

  Shifting the sword to one hand, I pulled the tip away from the fractures in the ice. With the other I grasped onto Lucien’s hair and wrenched his head free from his shoulders. The sound of his skin ripping nearly did me in. Dragging Shirtless’s sword behind me and with Lucien’s head in my other hand, I hauled myself toward the door.

  I managed four painstaking steps before the world spun. My chest fractured and my protein bar betrayed me. Before I knew it, the cold sweat on my forehead nearly froze my entire body. Red swam in the puddle of partially digested protein bar at my feet. I spit and wiped my mouth with the sleeve of Shirtless’s old shirt. It too came away red. I pitched to the side, the spins taking me again. Either Lucien’s essence was killing my human body, or I was doing that all on my own by continuing to use his power.

  On tired, shaky legs, I avoided my puddle and slung on the layered robes and mask hanging behind my cell door. Then I started my long journey down the hallway, leaving the sword behind.

  I didn’t need a weapon. I was one.

  Chapter Nine

  Rayna

  The soft, steady rhythm of the drum’s calling sharpened by the time I reached the doorway at the end of the long hallway. Bright lights illuminated the large cavern, all pointed toward the wide platform in front of Lucifer’s ice castle. Beyond the platform, an army of Fallen stared back at me. Their numbers must have been in the thousands. Eager black-winged soldiers of all shapes and sizes waiting for what I had to assume were orders from their leader.

  The gathering of so many had to mean Lucifer had something up his sleeve.

  I too had a secret. The head of his only son beneath my robes.

  With the white mask secured snugly over my face, I pulled the robes tighter around my shoulders and tucked my wings under my arms in an effort to keep them concealed. I had no mirror to tell me if it had worked or if they were misting through the back of the robe. But I had hope and Lucien’s head, not to mention his power pulsing through my veins.

  My body was still weak, too weak to move much faster than a very slow walk. That was probably in my favor, because if I could run, that was exactly what I’d be doing—and that would cause attention.

  As I neared the bridge to cross the iced-over river, I spotted water flowing beneath the bridge freely. Not a hint of ice hardened the surface. In front of the bridge, people—humans—worked, piling huge blocks of ice onto a flat structure. Their limbs were thin, gray, pallid skin stretched over bone, their bodies the same, showing hints of ribs and spines under their shredded clothes.

  These were Lucifer’s workers from the river. His tirelessly working souls. The ones that must have led such unredeemable lives on Earth to endure whatever torture Lucifer himself deemed worthy.

  I stopped where the corner of the bridge met the ledge. The drop-off down the canyon to the river turned my stomach. Beneath my robes I extended my arm that still gripped tight to Lucien’s head. His eyes were open, rolled back in his skull. His face was dead, every muscle slack.

  As I dangled Lucien over the canyon, one of Lucifer’s workers across the bridge turned to look at me so suddenly I ceased to breathe. The hair on her head was sparse and her skin drooped so far down her face it was a miracle her eyes remained in their sockets. When she didn’t immediately call out a warning or move to get someone’s attention, I knelt beside the drop-off.

  “He is Lucien, son of Lucifer,” I whispered barely loud enough for myself to hear. I put faith into believing this soul hated Lucifer as much as I did Lucien and would help extend his suffering. “Can I entrust you with his head?”

  The woman’s whisper carried up from the bottom of the canyon instead of across from it where she stood. “We will take care that no one will ever find him.”

  I nodded my thanks and forced myself to release Lucien’s blood-soaked hair. We both watched as he tumbled down and disappeared into the river that would eventually freeze.

  Hopefully, with the souls’ help, Lucifer would never find him. Hopefully Lucien was still somehow alive and the souls below could torture him the way his father had been torturing them for who knew how long. Hopefully I’d sentenced him to a fate worse than death.

  I took my time crossing the bridge. The ground was cold and slick, and there were so many eyes on me. All I had to do was make it past the platform—the stage—and through all the Fallen; the angels that once were. Most of them carried a weapon of some kind strapped to their hips or backs.

  The sour taste of blood still permeated my mouth. My feathers were slick with sweat. But all I had to do was push forward. I kept my head down, stuck to the far side of the canyon wall, and just kept moving.

  The drums centered on the stage pounded punishingly. The Fallen beyond the stage chattered quietly amongst themselves, all wondering why the gathering was called. That little nugget of curiosity swam around in my head too. The further away I moved from the stage, the thicker the cluster of Fallen became. I noticed several masked heads turn my way, but no one stopped me. Hopefully they assumed I was Lucien, the only being down here I’d seen with a human body and no wings. Then again, I was about a foot shorter than him.

  Just keep walking.

  One Fallen directly in front of me stood alone, not in the crowd, but not moving either. A long sword swung beneath his robe. I swallowed and skirted around him with all the bravery I could summon. He turned and followed me; I could hear it in his footsteps.

  My chest rattled the sound of a sick, scared heart.

  I kept an ear out, timing his steps. He couldn’t be certain of who I was, and I’d use this power until it killed me if it meant a chance to claw my way out of this hellhole.

  The Fallen closed in on me fast, walking so he was almost clipping my heels.

  A hand touched my back, broad fingers splaying over my shoulder blade, and my wing. I jerked up, straightening my shoulders, but never stopped walking.

  I edged to the right, almost brushing the cave wall with my arm so he could pass. Instead, he turned and faced me. The whitish mask elongated his face. The black accents around his eyes that were meant to look like his eyebrows w
ere permanently quirked. The creased lines beside the mask’s exaggerated mouth seemed to be mocking me, waiting for me, telling me I’d been captured.

  I clenched my fists, but nodded once at the Fallen, hoping he’d take the hint of my acknowledgment and move on.

  He didn’t.

  “Ray?” His voice was below a whisper, so low I swore I’d imagined it.

  But the sound, the deep, familiar tone … no. I’d imagined it.

  I angled my shoulder toward the wall and squeezed between him and the rock, always moving, but could feel his body behind me.

  “Ray,” he said again. This time it stopped me dead. My stomach clenched. My knees turned to rubber, and my eyes watered. I turned to meet him straight on.

  “Kade?” I kept my voice low with so many of the Fallen nearly on top of us. But I could already hear the tears in my voice.

  He nodded once. His mask tipped only slightly. Keeping my arm low to ensure my wing stayed tucked away, I leaned against the rock wall for support. Little good it did with my world crumbling around me. My resolve faded much like the lives of Lucifer’s souls, gray and bone thin.

  “Keep walking,” he grunted.

  I used the wall again to help me turn, then to help me walk, still keeping the upper part of my arm clamped down on my wings.

  A shout loud and deep enough to rattle the walls exploded behind us. I picked up my pace, Kade still at my heels while surveying the Fallen around us. They had become quieter, curious, some craning their heads up above the sea of ink-black wings.

  Several sloppy thuds boomed on the drums before the rhythm died. Quiet stillness blanketed the cave. Kade tugged my sleeve once in warning. I looked back to find he had turned. The Fallen drummer collected what was left of his drums, hollow shells with holes along the top, and dragged them offstage.

  Lucifer clutched a microphone in the center of the stage, the skin from the drums still in his fist. “The girl has escaped!” His voice bellowed up the cavernous walls toward the ceiling, carrying back to the last row of Fallen. “I summoned you all here to experience the scope of our new weapon.” He gestured behind him where six gray-skinned souls carried a car-sized block of ice on their backs. “To witness our future victory in action.”