Angel's Mark

Thirty-three

"It's funny," Nick went on, folding his arms. "You take after your older brother. He had the same look on his face the first time I met him as you do now. How is he these days, anyway?"

When I opened my mouth to speak, all that came out was a sputter.

Nick frowned at me, then waved his hand. "Easy."

The demon released me; air flooded back into my chest. I rolled on to my side, coughing, water slicking hair against my forehead, sticking my clothes to my skin. I never should have left the house. I never should have—

Nick's shoe struck me in the side. Another wheeze escaped me. "I don't believe we're done here. Try to run away and I'll slice you to pieces. You won't make me do that if you're smart."

I struggled to a sitting position, my knees bent, arms shakily holding me up. "What," I began, "do you want from me?"

Nick harrumphed, kneeling in front of me. His face was thinner than I remembered, cheeks more sunken, eyes darker. The clothes he wore hung on his frame loosely. He didn't look like he'd have much power at all, but his very presence seemed to tremble with vigor. "You already know that. You already know who."

I pushed a breath through my teeth, turning away from him. "Cian."

"Smart cookie."

"I don't understand," I said, peering at him. This was the face of the man who'd changed Lucie's brother into a monster, who had shot her without hesitation and rendered her unconscious. This was the face of the man who'd ruined us—and it was even worse knowing I was powerless against him. "He's of no use to you anymore. His link—it's gone. He's just a human like everyone else."

"Except he's not. Everyone else hasn't destroyed everything I've stood for. Everyone else hasn't humiliated me; everyone else isn't the reason I spent so long imprisoned by the very people I hate the most," Nick hissed. He got to his feet again, swiping hair from his face with a heavy sigh. His voice shook with rage. "Cian Horne is the bane of my existence, which is why he has to die."

My wings hung limply from my back. Their energy seemed duller, somehow, a subtler pulse underneath my skin. Dim and gray as the city around me, as the situation I'd been thrust in.

There was one thing, however, that never faltered.

"I can't let that happen," I said. "I can't, Nick. You can go after him if you want, but just know you'll have to go through me first. And a whole lot of others, too."

Our little sister. Lucie. Zev. Even Mom wouldn't let Nick touch him. Neither would Alan. We had our own little army, and we would guard Cian with our life, because he'd do the same for us. Because he had done it all before.

For a moment, Nick's expression grew frustrated, but it was just a moment.

His face flowered into a laugh. "I thought you'd say that, little Horne."

He nodded his head at the demon, who, until then, had stood by his side like a personal shadow. As soon as Nick commanded, however, he tackled me before I could fight back—holding my arms firmly against the roof until I could feel each shingle make an imprint against my skin. It didn't matter how much I struggled; his hold only grew tighter.

"You're all so predictable, so ignorant. Why do you think you've had that constant feeling that your brother's in danger? I bet you thought it was intuition, a hunch."

I narrowed my eyes. "You haven't—"

"I have. My fellow fallen angels, my Silhouettes, are wherever your brother is, all the time. They've been watching him and they've been watching you. I know everything," Nick told me, his eyes alight with a taste of vengeance, a taste from which sprung insatiable hunger. "And now that I'm out of the Order's hands—it was easy once I thinned the numbers enough—I can take care of what I need to take care of."