Days of New: The Complete Collection (Serials 1-5) (30 page)

He was done with demons.

But the front lawn wasn’t. Demons crawled all over the place, sticking to the shadows and tittering like goblins. Clark twisted around and looked up the front of the mansion, where some scuttled up the walls, their claws digging into the brick. Another loud crash came from the eastern wing, and Clark prayed it wasn’t the building collapsing on top of the Nephilim’s heads.

Just then, the demons noticed him, their necks turning like a hundred twigs snapping in his direction. Red eyes stared at him. Some continued their climb up the front of the building, and others went on around the corner of the building. They were the smart ones. When the others, nearly thirty of them, came at him, leaping across the ground like horror-film rabbits, Clark crouched. He put his hand on the ground and started another holy fire.

These flames stayed beneath the ground, burning the demons as they moved. They drew up in confusion, red eyes squinting stupidly at one another. When they realized it was holy fire creeping up their twisted arms and legs, the demons reared back and squealed. They hopped on one foot and then the other, back and forth, like the ridiculous dance would save them. Clark added a little extra burn into the ground before he stood. When he broke contact, the fire beneath the grass fizzled out and soaked upward, turning the front lawn into an entire swath of seared black earth, forever scarred with Clark’s magic.

Not waiting around for more demons to find him—or worse, fallen angels, Clark raced toward the front wall, angling away from the main gates and toward the woods. Camille would have gone there, he knew. Of course, what he hadn’t thought of was getting over the wall. He drew to a stop and looked up at its massive height. Circling back to a guard tower would take too long.

He was about to try the holy fire again when he heard a deep ripping noise coming from the west side of the estate, like a great train rumbling down the tracks. Vibrations quaked up Clark’s feet and deep into his shinbones. As he watched, a small crack snaked between his feet and kept going deep into the shadows by the wall. The ground shook and screamed, like a great monster was clawing its way out of the earth’s core.

Frankly, Clark was not impressed. He rolled his eyes and stepped back from the crack, shooing it toward the wall like it was a smelly dog.

The earth gave way, crumbling into hollow pits beneath the ground. The wall went with it. The crack, which went farther in each direction than Clark could see, was like a great magnet, pulling everything into its growing, gaping mouth. He didn’t wait until the sink hole was too big. Taking a few steps back, he got a running start.

He didn’t make it all the way across. Scrambling up as dirt tumbled down, he used the destroyed wall as stepping-stones. He didn’t slow down long enough to lose his traction, and he didn’t let himself think about what he was doing. He just went.

He hopped the fence and ducked into the woods. The ground, though shaky, wasn’t falling apart beneath him. He didn’t know exactly which direction Camille had gone, but he tried to stay as even with the front door as possible, guessing she would’ve flown straight away from the compound. What he didn’t know was how far she’d gone or why she’d left. He didn’t dwell on either.

“Camille?” he hissed into the woods, straining his ears to listen.

He heard nothing but the rumbling complaint of the trees’ roots beneath him and the eerily quiet sky above him. The morning sun trickled down through the dense limbs above his head. The shadows were still and voiceless. No one answered him back, so he moved deeper, calling her name every few steps.

“Camille!” he shouted into the darkness.

Nothing.

His heart torqued in his chest and ripped his insides apart. Something was terribly wrong. She wouldn’t have disappeared for this long and just left everyone behind. She was an angel, a good one, and a fighter. She wouldn’t have missed this battle for the world. And she certainly wouldn’t have left the man she loved behind.

Loved
.

“Shit,” Clark raked his hand over his scruffy, filthy face. He loved her: the thought still crashed into him every time he admitted it to himself. He’d been so stupid to hide from his feelings, to treat Camille like she was just a booty call. He couldn’t let anything happen to her, especially now, before he told her that she meant so much more to him. Happiness—in whatever form it existed in this new world—was so close for both of them. He wouldn’t lose her.

“Camille!” he screamed, the desperation evident in his voice.

He would’ve stepped over it if its gleam hadn’t suddenly caught his eye. He jerked back and looked at the ground. A white feather dotted with gold blood lay beside his boot.

With a familiar sense of dread, Clark leaned down and picked it up. Somehow he
knew
it was Camille’s. Countless feathers lay in a thick patch in front of him, much more blood blinking iridescent in the eerily lit woods. Sulfur and a familiar metallic burn thickened in the back of his throat, which meant demons and fallen angels and most likely Lucifer had been here recently. Been here with Camille’s feathers and blood.

Clark gripped the feather tight in his fist. His dream. His vision of Camille pinned to the Watcher’s cave. It was here. It was happening.

He spun around and took off back toward the compound.

* * *

Lucifer’s angels and demons made quick work of breaching the compound’s doors and windows. The Descendants’ weak protection measures were laughable to Lucifer’s small army. The helpless humans were strewn about in the halls, shooting guns and swinging swords at anything that moved. No order. No coordinated attack. Even though they had the numbers over Lucifer’s smaller army, the battle wasn’t going to go well for the Descendants.

He landed in the compound’s back quad and crossed the quiet courtyard as he straightened his shirt. All around him guns were firing and people were screaming. The sounds were like a soothing balm to his soul. With a smile on his face, Lucifer stepped through the splintered shell of a door and smoothed his styled dark hair back into place as he regarded the wild chaos. He didn’t really know where he wanted to go, but the desire to see his destruction was too great for him to wait outside the walls. No, he wanted to witness what he’d caused.

What he always caused.

Pain lanced through his head, but the flash was gone just as quick as it’d come, and he couldn’t remember what had bothered him.

“You! It’s you!”

Lucifer turned toward the enraged voice. A Descendant barreled downstairs, sword slick with black blood. The human was big and burly, with massive hands and hairy fingers. Lucifer shrugged.

“It’s me.”

“I’ll kill you!”

“I doubt that.”

But the Descendant lunged anyway, clearly intent on trying. Lucifer sighed and dusted off an imaginary speck of dirt on his pants while he watched the Descendant quickly close the distance between them. Hoping to keep his shirt clean, Lucifer twisted to the side as the Descendant’s sword lashed out, narrowly missing Lucifer’s heart.

Lucifer latched onto the Descendant’s sword hand, his grip crushing the poor human’s bones. He pushed off the ground, wings beating once, and flipped himself over the big Descendant’s head, taking the guy’s arm with him. The shoulder joint complained fiercely, and Lucifer heard tendons and muscles ripping apart. The human screamed and would have fallen to his knees if not for Lucifer holding him up.

Landing on the ground behind the human, Lucifer twisted the guy’s hand, breaking the wrist, and plunged the blade the Descendant was still holding through his right lung. Only then did Lucifer let the human, who let out a horrible gasping, sucking sound, fall to the stone floor. He kicked over the body so he wouldn’t have to see the human’s eyes.

After a quick consideration, Lucifer bent down and ripped the guys jacket from his twisted limbs. He put it on, tucking his black wings underneath. The army coat stank of sweat and beer, but it would have to do. Settling his hair back in place once more, Lucifer started up the main stairs.

The second floor was chaos. Hundreds of people pushed and shoved, their screams thicker than the air itself. The panic on their faces told Lucifer all he needed to know of his destruction. Demons and angels cut through the air above the human and half-human heads. Occasionally, the fallen angels would swerve downward and swing their swords. Lucifer had told them to kill who they must, to spare no one. They’d taken his advice to heart, Lucifer noted, stepping over one particularly pretty young Descendant. With a pounding head, he angled along the back wall and followed it until the crowd had thinned out.

The corridor in the east wing was quieter, with only the echoes of death in the background. From somewhere on the compound came another great crash, signaling that the twins were up to more destruction. His little eels—

More pain pulsed through his head. He reached for the wall and had to lean against it until the dancing stars cleared from his vision. His breathing was shallow as he looked to the window beside him, where a weird orange light streamed through the gilded glass. Outside, rows and rows of refugee tents were burning to the ground. The flames shot up into the sky, burning out the morning light.

“I don’t care what you do! Lock it behind me if you must, but I’m leaving!”

Lucifer turned toward the sound of an argument at the end of the hall. Even muffled through the doors, the voice was the prettiest sound he’d ever heard. A large set of double doors opened and a petite, brown-haired Nephil stepped out. She wore a simple long dress that covered almost every inch of skin on her except for a swath around her neck and collarbones. Her skin was creamy in the firelight streaming through the wall of windows. An angry pulse thrummed in her throat, the stubborn glint flashing in her big, round eyes. Too big. Too round. Her nose was too pert, too refined. Her face too heart-shaped. None of that mattered. She was beautiful.

Lucifer stared like he’d been rooted to the ground, like he wouldn’t be able to look away if his life depended on it.

“We can’t let you back in!” a Nephil shouted as he clung to the doors. No one noticed Lucifer.

The gorgeous girl shouldered her way between the guards. “Did I ask you to?”

With that, the doors slammed and the girl was alone in the hall with him. She didn’t notice him until she turned around, eyes locking with his, and drew to a quick stop. Her hand fluttered up to the slender column of her neck, her eyes going even rounder. She looked from his dark features to the Descendant’s coat, clearly confused on whether she could trust him.

“I was just clearing this hall.” Lucifer blinked at his words. Why had he just lied? His headache roared in his ears.

“Oh!” The girl shot him a shaky smile, and everything went quiet in his head. Just like that, headache gone. “The Nephilim are locked up inside. The windows are barricaded and the door, well, the door is too now.”

Lucifer didn’t miss the glare she shot over her shoulder toward the people who had locked her out. “Why are you out here then?”

The girl walked closer, her eyes darting to the windows where the fire bloomed outside. Her smile quickly faded. She pressed her mouth into a scared, thin line. Even terrified, she looked delectable. Perhaps her fear made her even prettier because it let her bravery show through. Her energy pulled at Lucifer, sending him spiraling into a frenzy of unfamiliar emotions. He felt damn near giddy in her presence, excited and needing nothing more than to get closer to her, but he remained rooted in place, suddenly more uncertain with himself than he’d ever been.

“I’m looking for my friend. He hasn’t come back yet,” she said in that beautiful voice. In the few words she spoke, he could tell she cared greatly for whoever this person was. Lucifer wondered what kind of man he was. Was he her lover? He cringed at that thought. What did he care if she had a lover?

“He’s likely dead.” Lucifer responded gruffly.

“No!” The girl’s tiny hands fisted. “Don’t say that.”

Her anger stabbed into Lucifer’s numb heart and churned it like reluctant butter. He recoiled at the onslaught, even as he loved every second of it. But he didn’t want her to stop talking to him, so he said the first thing that came to mind. “I’m sorry.”

Simple words really, but Lucifer couldn’t remember when he’d ever used them. They had an amazing affect on the beautiful creature before him. Her face softened. She came closer, but Lucifer dared not move away from the window, lest she see his black eyes. When she was within a foot of him, she stopped, her gaze searching his face.

Her eyes on him were like a cool balm to his soul. The pain ebbed away, leaving his head and heart at peace for the first time since he’d returned from death. The fevered madness inside him chilled and stood still, humming just slightly in the background, but not enough to command his complete attention and rule his every thought. He took a deep breath for the first time in days.

And then he smiled down at her.

“Who are you?” the girl asked, her eyes slipping down, seemingly fixated on his mouth. Her lips parted in surprise as if she was struck by his beauty. Lucifer knew he was a handsome angel. His dangerous beauty had always been a tool to lure prey, but now he appreciated it for an entirely new reason if it made this girl happy.

“A Descendant.”