Chained by Darkness (Sensor Series, Book 2.5) Page 12

  Lucas didn’t know what to think of that. Melena was always a more private person, but she’d bonded with Emily. The younger girl could usually draw a response out of Mel with little effort. “What about the dreams?”

  “It’s not pretty if you catch her while she’s having them, but once she’s awake she locks up tight. She wouldn’t talk to me about the dreams at all until I told her I got them too. I’ve been checking on her and so has Charlie. It might not be easy, but she’s strong. She’ll get through it.”

  Lucas looked up at the cavern ceiling. “I have to win this fight. She’s not going to survive sixty years otherwise.”

  “Don’t worry.” Micah squeezed his arm. “I may not agree with your choice in women, but I won’t let anything happen to her.”

  “I know you’ll do your best, but there’s something else I need you to do.” Lucas put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Access my accounts in Geneva and transfer the money I promised for Emily’s college fund to a separate account for her. Set some aside for Melena, too. She won’t want to accept it, but at least it will be there if there’s an emergency.”

  There was a bank in Switzerland that catered to supernaturals and their special needs. Lucas and Micah had been using it since it opened two centuries ago.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Micah promised.

  The two of them talked for a while longer until Kerbasi arrived to announce the duel was about to begin. Lucas stood up and stretched his muscles. He hadn’t practiced today, wanting to rest his body for the fight.

  Worry creased Micah’s forehead as he watched him. “Take care in there, brother. No matter what happens, I’ll be here when you get out.”

  Lucas nodded. It didn’t help his confidence to see his own twin doubt his ability to defeat the archangel. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he believed in himself enough to try. In all his life, he’d never had so much to lose—or so much to gain.

  Kerbasi led him over to the gate and freed him from his shackles.

  “Are you ready?” the guardian asked.

  Lucas nodded. “I am.”

  A sword appeared in the guardian’s hand. It gleamed under the radiance of the many torches lighting the cavern. Unlike the poor quality blades Lucas was usually given for his cage fights, this one was forged by an expert craftsman.

  “The nerou you defeated a few weeks ago made this for you.” Kerbasi handed him the sword. “Consider it his payment. He’s requested that you train him now that word has spread you’ll be staying for a while. The blade is impervious to magic and impossible to break. I’ll be taking it back from you after the duel, but it will be returned to you once your sentence is complete.”

  Lucas tested the weight of it and found the blade well balanced. The hilt fit his palm perfectly. It had also been wrapped in leather strips for a better grip. Lucas had a collection of some of the finest blades on earth, but this one could rival them all. Training the nerou would be a small price to pay the sword and at least it would help him pass the time.

  “You’ve agreed to this plan?” Lucas asked.

  Kerbasi shrugged. “There’s little to entertain us here. Watching you train the nerou should prove amusing.”

  A shrill whistle sounded.

  The gate in front of Lucas lifted up with a whoosh. He nodded at Kerbasi and stepped into the cage, meeting Remiel as he entered from the other side. They’d briefed Lucas the day before that the duel wouldn’t begin until a second whistle blew. The angels wanted things more orderly.

  He and Remiel took their positions, leaving about five feet between them. Lucas took several calming breaths, homing in on his opponent and pushing the noise from beyond the cage out of his mind. Here and now. That’s all that mattered. He’d fight for himself, for Melena, for Emily, and for Micah. He’d fight for every nephilim slain by an archangel just because they existed. But most especially, he’d fight for his future.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The whistle blew and he leapt forward. Remiel’s sword met his with a loud clang. They stood there for a second, meeting eye to eye before breaking apart. The next moments that followed pushed Lucas beyond anything he’d ever faced before. Remiel moved with the speed of light. First he was standing in front of Lucas, then he appeared on his left, then right. The archangel’s sword slashed up, down, diagonal, and in every other possible direction. He didn’t slow down once.

  Lucas protected his front well enough that he didn’t get more than a few superficial cuts, but when Remiel maneuvered behind him he couldn’t turn fast enough. The archangel’s blade slashed into his back with vicious strikes that tore through muscle and sinew. Sharp pains ripped through him. Lucas leapt across the cage, putting himself as close to the bars as possible, and spun around.

  Remiel could still attack from the front or sides, but he wasn’t getting behind him again. Sneaky bastard. Keeping his back to the wall limited movement, but Lucas couldn’t risk too many more wounds or the pain would affect his ability to concentrate. All he needed was a little time to heal and then he could consider moving out to the center of the cage again.

  “Getting tired already, nephilim?” Remiel asked. The archangel didn’t even breathe hard.

  “I never took you for a backstabber, but…,” Lucas shrugged a shoulder, “everyone has their own style. If that’s the only way you think you can take me, by all means, do what you have to do.”

  Remiel twisted the sword in his hand. “I’m just getting you warmed up. Your back wounds aren’t severe enough to take long to heal.”

  Damn. Lucas should have known the archangel was playing with him first.

  “Ready for the next round?” Remiel asked, golden eyes glowing.

  Lucas spread his feet a little farther apart. “Anytime.”

  Remiel lunged straight for him with his sword pointed directly at Lucas’ heart. With only half a second to move, Lucas leapt up and grabbed the bars of the cage at the top. Remiel’s lips twitched when he looked up. He willed his wings to appear and beat them hard to rise up, but they nearly spanned the cage. It slowed his ascent considerably.

  As soon as he got close, Lucas kicked him hard in the face. Remiel slammed into the bars behind him, audibly crunching his wings, before falling to the stone floor. He wouldn’t be able to will them away until they healed—something Lucas had counted on when planning for this fight. The archangel glared at him in much the same way as the nerou had when he’d found himself stuck on the ground. It appeared angels couldn’t jump either. He’d have to get Micah to write a song about that.

  Lucas swung his body over and leapt behind Remiel, slashing at him as he did so. Feathers flew as he scored a direct hit along the center of the left wing. The archangel spun around.

  “And you accuse me of backstabbing?”

  “When in Rome.” Lucas adjusted the grip on his sword.

  Remiel surged forward with a series of strikes that were impossible to anticipate. A gash appeared on Lucas’ left arm, then his right. He didn’t leap back fast enough and felt another one on his stomach. Before long even his legs were covered in deep cuts. Blood drained out of him faster than his body could seal the wounds. He blocked every thrust he could, but the archangel slashed and hacked with brutal quickness.

  There were no openings for him to make his own move. Everywhere Lucas looked it seemed as if the blade was there. It left him only one choice—risk a limb to get through. After receiving what must have been his fortieth gash, Lucas thrust his free hand through the flurry of blade strikes to grab the archangel. Sharp pain lanced through his arm from a new cut in his bicep, but the limb was still intact. He curled his fingers around Remiel’s throat and shoved him into the side of the cage. More bones in his wings crunched.

  For a moment, he had him. The archangel’s face turned red and he yanked on the wrist holding him. Then the sharp point of a blade pressed into Lucas’ stomach. It cut through his skin and tore into his organs, pushing onward toward his heart.

  Agoniz
ing pain seized his gut. He let the archangel go, but not before the sword reached its target. The best way to slow an immortal down was to go for their heart. All Lucas could do was grip the blade with his free hand and push his foot into Remiel’s leg, shoving away to give him the momentum he needed to fall back.

  As soon as the sword left his body, he crumpled to the ground. What happened to his own weapon, he didn’t know. He couldn’t think or move, the pain was so excruciating. Even Kerbasi rarely messed with his victims’ hearts because they wouldn’t be able to feel anything else the guardian did to them.

  A dull roar came from all around him as he lay there on his side. Remiel’s pale features appeared above him. His lips were moving. It took a moment for Lucas to figure out what the archangel was saying.

  Shit. He tried to get up and failed. Lucas only had ten seconds to get back up or he lost. He put a hand against the stone floor and pushed, but he still couldn’t lift his body far enough. His chest hurt too much and it wouldn’t be healing soon enough to do him any good.

  Did Remiel just count to seven? No, Lucas couldn’t let it end now. He had to do something or he’d lose everything. There was no way he’d be able to stand up in time, but another idea formed in his head. He’d only have one chance to do it.

  Gritting his teeth, Lucas grabbed the archangel’s legs and wrapped his arms around them. He poured every ounce of energy he had into pulling Remiel off his feet and flat onto the ground. If he was down too, he couldn’t count.

  The archangel landed hard enough for several more of the bones in his wings to crack. Good. That would definitely require some time to heal. Taking a deep breath and pushing past the pain, Lucas rolled himself over until he straddled Remiel’s waist. The weakest position an angel could be in with their wings out was on their back. They couldn’t maneuver well at all, which is why they usually avoided it.

  Lucas punched the archangel several times in the face. It hurt him to move even that much, but he had to do whatever it took to knock his opponent out. Then he saw a blade glint from the corner of his eye. Remiel was angling it toward him. Just as it began to cut into Lucas’ side, he glimpsed his sword. It was within arm’s reach.

  He leaned over, avoiding getting cut deeper and seized it. Coming back up, he knocked Remiel’s blade away from him. Lucas got a fresh cut on his hand for his trouble, but he ignored it and struck down on the archangel’s arm. He nearly severed the limb.

  Lucas took hold of both swords and threw them across the cage. No more of that shit. There was a reason the archangel had wanted to use swords. He didn’t have as much experience with hand to hand combat. That didn’t stop the winged man from trying, though.

  Remiel reached up with his good arm and wrapped his hand around Lucas’ throat. Even immortals needed blood to reach their heads or they’d pass out—eventually. Lucas had watched Melena practice her jui-jitsu enough to have learned an easy way out of this.

  He took hold of Remiel’s wrist with both hands, flipped his right foot around his opponent’s head, and twisted his body to the side. Once Lucas was on his back perpendicular to the archangel, he locked down on Remiel’s arm held along his chest. Then he pulled on it until the elbow snapped. Angel bones were practically made of steel, but between the leverage he’d created and his own strength, the martial arts move made it easy. Maybe Lucas should have paid even more attention to the things Melena practiced.

  With both arms out of commission, Remiel was done. Lucas let go of the archangel and struggled to rise up. He was covered in blood and unable to stand straight, but he managed to get both his feet under him and grip his knees to stay upright. He started counting.

  “One. Two. Three. Four.”

  Remiel bent his knees and tried to push off with them, but his wings weighed his body down and he couldn’t find the leverage to rise up without his arms.

  “Five. Six.”

  The archangel tried rolling onto his side, crunching more of the small bones in his wings. He weighed a ton and they weren’t designed to take his weight in such a fashion. Still, he kept going in an effort to get on his stomach. Lucas watched, knowing it was too late for him to succeed.

  “Seven. Eight.”

  Remiel made it to his stomach despite having to ruin a wing to do it. He bent his knees underneath him and set his forehead to the ground.

  “Nine.”

  With his broken arm, he tried to push himself up, but collapsed back down.

  “Ten.”

  It was over. Lucas dropped to his knees, unable to keep standing any longer. His chest and sides hadn’t come close to healing yet and probably wouldn’t for a while. The fact he’d managed to fight for as long as he did was a miracle and most likely a testament to Kerbasi’s torture sessions teaching him how to endure intense pain.

  The gates on both sides of the cage lifted. Zadkiel and Haniel came rushing inside, going straight for Remiel. Both of their faces were white with shock. They carefully took hold of the archangel and carried him out. Remiel’s pristine white robe was now slashed and covered in blood splatter. Had he really thought he could keep it clean?

  Lucas bowed his head and concentrated on breathing through the pain. Now that the fight was over, the pain from every wound had intensified tenfold. He’d used up every ounce of his energy to keep going until the end—but he’d won. Melena would have a chance at survival now. She was the one who made it all worth it.

  A pair of hands came under Lucas’ arms and lifted him up. “I’ve got you, brother.”

  Micah kept a tight hold on him as they stumbled out of the cage and toward the bench Lucas had been sitting on before. Kerbasi stood next to it, grinning.

  “Never would have seen that coming,” he remarked.

  Lucas groaned as he settled onto the bench, ignoring the guardian. Every inch of his body hurt.

  “Remove my shackles,” Micah said to Kerbasi, holding his arms up. “I can heal him.”

  “I don’t think so, nephilim.” He shook his head. “I’ve had to go two weeks without a session with your brother. He’s going to feel every bit of this.”

  Micah grabbed the front of the guardian’s robe. “For fuck’s sake let me heal him!”

  Kerbasi lifted his brows. “Take a look around you. One word from me and you’ll have every immortal in this room on you.”

  Micah’s jaw ticked. “He’s lost too much blood. It will take days to fully heal from those internal wounds. What do I have to do for you to let me heal him?”

  The guardian’s eyes lit up. “Agree to remain here as my prisoner for one week. I’ll even throw in staying away from your brother until after he visits his woman.”

  Kerbasi had figured out Lucas’ prize for the fight. Not surprising. But the guardian couldn’t be allowed to hurt his brother for an unnecessary deal.

  “Micah, don’t,” Lucas reached out and put a hand on his brother’s arm. He couldn’t let someone else suffer on his account. “This is my burden to bear.”

  “No, it’s not. I can’t do much for you, but I can do this,” Micah said with conviction. He shrugged Lucas’ hand off and turned his attention back to the guardian. “You’ve got a deal.”

  Kerbasi produced a key and unlocked the shackles. Micah moved as soon as they left his wrists and put his hands on Lucas’ chest. They each had their skills and this was his brother’s. Micah had spent more than two millennia getting good at it. His brother closed his eyes and focused all his power on pushing healing energy into Lucas.

  A shot of heat surged into his chest and seared his organs as they began the accelerated process of mending. Lucas had to grip the bench to keep from crying out. Oftentimes, healing hurt worse than the wound itself.

  Minutes ticked by as Micah worked on each part of him until no sign of injury remained. His brother’s face was pale by the time he was done. He’d burned up a lot of energy—not the best way to start one’s stay in Purgatory. Damn. Lucas didn’t want his brother to suffer for him, but there was a reason the
y’d been so close all their lives. They’d do anything for each other.

  No words needed to be spoken as Micah stood. Kerbasi put the manacles back on him and drew out a second pair from his robe to put on Lucas. He snapped them into place and led them over to Remiel.

  The archangel stood across the room, proud and strong now that he’d been restored back to health—no doubt by his own cohorts. His face was an emotionless mask, though, and he stiffened when he saw Lucas coming toward him. How much had it cost Remiel to lose? Lucas was fairly certain archangels couldn’t see their own futures or he’d have never agreed to the duel.

  “You fought well,” Remiel said after they stopped in front of him.

  “I couldn’t afford to lose, but you proved to be a worthy opponent.”

  Lucas might have his flaws, but he wasn’t one to gloat.

  The archangel stared at him for a moment, but he didn’t give any sign of what he was thinking. Would he respect Lucas more now or see him as a greater threat?

  “I’ll return in three days so that we may carry out the rest of our bargain,” Remiel said. “As for your brother…”

  “He’s requested to stay here for a week,” Kerbasi interrupted.

  “Did he?” The archangel narrowed his eyes at the guardian.

  “Sixty years is a long time,” Kerbasi said, unflinching under the hard gaze directed at him. “They weren’t ready to part ways with each other just yet.” He almost sounded sincere when he said it.

  “You’re sure of this?” Remiel asked Micah.

  “I am.”

  “Very well.” Remiel looked at the guardian. “It will be up to you to return him to Alaska. I’ll have other matters to attend at that time.”

  “Of course.” Kerbasi gave a mocking bow to the archangel. “I imagine you have much to handle after the events of today.”

  Remiel narrowed his eyes. “Watch yourself, guardian. There will come a time when an adversary will come along and defeat you just as soundly. You can be sure I will offer no sympathy when it happens.”