Exodus (Imp Series Book 8) (4 page)

I felt Gregory’s hesitation, and his frustration. “
I can’t leave my brothers to fight on their own, and a group of the rebels will follow us—or you—if you teleport out of here
.”

“
Let them follow me
.”

I felt him grab tighter. “‘
Them’ would be hundreds of angels. You’re the linchpin in all of this, Cockroach. And you’re not lucky enough to escape a mob of hundreds
.”

In the meantime the eldest of the archangels, the Ancient Revered Asshole was doing the angel equivalent of hiding under a desk with me while his brothers were the ones facing off against hundreds of angels. “
Well, get the fuck out there and fight. I’ll be fine
.”

He hesitated. Clearly he knew me well. I wasn’t going to cower under a desk while
he
fought either. Gregory usually let me be me, knowing that there was no keeping an imp from reckless and often suicidal behavior. The fact that he was protecting me made me realize how serious this fight was—and how volatile things in Aaru had become.

“
I’ll be careful
.” I amended my response and even with the violence around us I felt him laugh.

“
Since when?”

I felt him leave, felt a moment of panic where I was incorporeal in a world that demanded physical manifestation. Right as the edges of my spirt-self began to unravel, I burst into physical form—glorious naked physical form because in spite of my many talents I couldn’t seem to be able to create clothing.

I might be naked but I had one thing more important than clothes—a sword. And not just any sword. I had the sword of the Iblis, lesser in power only to my beloved Asshole Angel’s sword. The weapon could shape itself into just about anything—barrette, purse, knife, sword, or shotgun. I sucked at sword fighting, so I willed it to become the weapon I sucked slightly less at using—the shotgun.

For once it complied. The Iblis sword was a fitting weapon for an imp, just as likely to manifest as a banana as what I wanted it to be. And sometimes it wouldn’t come at all. It must have felt this a particularly righteous—or interesting—battle because shotgun it was. I didn’t hesitate to begin unloading the unlimited shells toward any angel within range.

Gregory and his brothers had probably called in cavalry of their own. I was most likely hitting the angels that were on my own side, but I couldn’t tell them apart. Aside from Gregory and his brothers, most angels looked the same to me. I didn’t exactly have time to conduct a personal interview with each opponent, so I just strode through the mess of the demolished hotel and aimed the barrel at anything with wings.

Sometimes the Iblis weapon hit like a sleepy toddler with a cloth rattle, sometimes with the force of a megaton bomb. Now it seemed to wound. Red flew from angel bodies and wings as my opponents screamed in shock at the weapon and turned their swords on me.

I ran, firing blindly behind me. From the shrieks of pain, I must have been hitting something or someone. I wasn’t about to turn around to see. There was no way I was risking myself in hand-to-hand combat with hundreds of angels. I’d run until they gave up chasing me around and decided to fight some other angel, then I’d sneak back in and blast a few more.

By the time I made it to what had been the parking lot, I was fairly certain I’d outrun them. Just to make sure I ducked behind an overturned VW and looked back. Yep. No angels. Readying my shotgun, I trotted back out and into the melee, shooting as I went. Three angels fell, and I hoped they were the rebels. Just as I was wondering what kind of horrible report I’d need to fill out for a friendly fire incident, my arm was ripped from my shoulder.

The shotgun clattered to the ground and vanished. I ducked, but not soon enough as a sword sliced across the top of my head. Blood gushed into my eyes, and I reached out blindly and grabbed hold of someone, feeling the edge of a blade score my back.

It wasn’t easy fighting with blood in my eyes, but I’m sure it wasn’t easy trying to use a sword with an imp wrestling you to the ground either. I had no weapon, so I did the next best thing, I head-butted the angel. And I kept head-butting him as my arms wrapped around him like a vice and my legs tangled in his. I felt us fall and twisted to ensure I was the one who ended up on top. And once down, I kept bashing him with my head and fist until the blood cleared enough for me to see.

I was on top of an unconscious angel—one who was covered in blood. I wasn’t sure if it was my blood or his, but he was definitely down for the count. Wiping the red haze from my eyes, I fixed my scalped head and recreated my arm, then snatched the angel’s sword. I might suck at sword fighting, but I needed a spare weapon—especially since my own liked to come and go at will.

I’d barely risen to my feet when some fucker rammed a sword through me. It burned, and I felt the pain all the way through to my spirit self. Fuck, these things weren’t normal swords. Like mine and Gregory’s, they had the power to damage far more than just the physical. Which meant I was in trouble.

Gritting my teeth against the pain spreading through my midsection I threw myself forward, twisting as I went down on top of the bloody, unconscious angel. My momentum pulled the sword from my opponent’s grasp and gave me the chance to pivot around, swinging my borrowed sword in a wide arc. It slid through the angel’s legs like butter. Learning my lesson, I didn’t stop to admire my handiwork, but rotated around like a crazy tornado, slicing any angels who happened to come close. Two rotations and my Iblis weapon appeared in my other hand, this time in its sword form.

And now I had two. I danced off the bloody, unconscious angel, sword still protruding through my midsection as I spun my way around the debris, hacking away with the most inelegant sword play in this history of warfare.

The angels had clearly been trained in this, and in spite of my crazy two-sword attacks, I began to sprout red slashes all over my body. Blood once again ran into my eyes, and one of my opponents punched the sword sticking out of my gut, sending a wave of agony through me. I wanted to stop and pull the fucking thing out. I wanted to fix my physical wounds. I wanted to down a bottle of vodka and take a long drunken nap. But I knew this was a fight for my life. For some reason, these angels blamed me for all the woes of Aaru, and they were determined to end me here, in the ruins of a Marriott conference center. The only things stopping them were my two swords and the burly, six-winged angel I saw through the red haze of blood.

“Wings, Cockroach. Hit their wings,” he roared. Muscles bunched in his arm as he cleaved angels in half like they were wet napkins.

And now I had something else that I wanted to do instead of desperately fighting to stay alive. Have sex—with Gregory, specifically. Because seeing him so angry and determined, swinging that sword of his like the end-times had come…well, I was finding it hard to focus on keeping the angel in front of me from taking my head off.

Had he said something? Wings! They were the most sensitive part of an angel, the section of their physical form where they couldn’t withdraw their spirit self. A hit there would be far worse than the legs and torsos I’d been hacking away at. Of course, it was hard to reach around to the back of an angel who was facing-off against me and cut their wings.

Which meant I needed to not be facing-off. And I needed to dislodge this sword sticking through my middle as quickly as possible—which meant as painfully as possible.

There was a huge, waist-high slab of concrete to the left of me, a protrusion of rebar blossoming from it like headless flower stems. Ducking my opponent’s swing, I dove downward onto the concrete, pushing the blade of the sword back through my body.

Now I had a sword sticking nearly two feet from my back. I jumped up, feeling the weight of it angle the sword downward at the hilt and upward at the tip—driving it right through a whole bunch of muscles and lung tissue that had previously been undamaged. The angel I’d been fighting was frozen mid-swing, staring at me in astonishment. I figured I might as well take advantage of this momentary reprieve and swung sideways, trying to knock the sword out of my body by slamming the hilt against the concrete.

Everything went white. I staggered, dropping my borrowed sword and groping with my free hand along my back. If only I could reach the fucking thing.

When my vision cleared, I saw that my opponent now lay in a heap on the floor, a vision of male angelic loveliness standing in his place.

“Need help with that?” Raphael grinned, and I got the feeling he was finding this whole thing—battle as well as my predicament—vastly amusing.

“Oh no. I’m fine. Just go on about your business and leave me here with a fucking sword dangling out of my spine.”

He jumped forward and past me, impaling an angel just as he was beginning to swing. Then he yanked the sword out of my back. I fixed the physical injuries and took a deep breath, still in agony over the damage to my spirit self. I’d suffered worse. I could deal. I could still fight. There would be plenty of time for rest once I got out of this alive.

“Can I keep it?” Rafi held up the sword coated with my blood, then flipped it around with a flourish. Show off.

I grabbed the one from the floor that I’d dropped previously. “Have at it. Not like I’ve got three arms.”

He winked. “You should. That would be totally hot.”

And then he was off, leaving me with a second to breathe and take in my surroundings. The dust was so thick I could barely make out the groups of angels fighting in front of me. What I could see was Gregory, single-handedly slicing the fucking shit out of six angels. He moved so fast that he was a blur of wings and sword. Every time one tried to break free to come at me, he blocked them, herding the group together where each swing of his blade carved through multiple opponents.

Yep. Totally hot. But I couldn’t let him have all the fun. With a scream that would have done a banshee proud, I raced toward them, finally in a position to take my angel’s advice and go for the wings. It was like the games we’d played in the forest as demon-children, catching piesars and trying to tear the wings off them. The only difference was this time I had more than claws and teeth, and my opponents weren’t spewing acid into my eyes. I hacked away with both swords, ignoring the pain in my arms, legs, and especially in my chest. The angels fell before me, screaming. Their wings tore with each blow as if they were gossamer. And when they were down, I kept stabbing. Someone else could be the angel of mercy today because I sure as fuck wasn’t going to be. I was done with these rebels in Aaru fucking things up for my beloved. I was done with them attacking us in the middle of a Ruling Council meeting, blowing up one of the better hotels we’d been at and killing the humans. Bacon. The hotel staff had been bringing me more bacon and no doubt that was blown up too, charred bits scattered among the plaster and twisted metal.

Nobody
destroys a tray of bacon and gets mercy. Nobody. In revenge for the decimation of perfectly good pork, I stabbed the nearest angel a few more times, happy to notice that he didn’t even twitch.

“Cockroach.” Gregory’s voice was warm and deep, full of concern. “Stop. We’re done. The other rebels have retreated.” I ignored him. “Stop stabbing. I know you’re upset about the humans who died needlessly, but there is no sense wasting your energy chopping up that corpse.”

Well, yeah I
was
upset about the humans. And the bacon. Especially the bacon.

I dropped the borrowed sword, dismissing my Iblis weapon. Then I turned to Gregory, burying my face in the bloody, torn mess of his polo shirt as I wrapped my arms around him. He did the same, soothing my non-corporeal wounds with his own spirit being.

When he was done examining all my non-visible injuries, he sighed. “I’m relieved that you’re okay.”

No, I wasn’t okay, but I wasn’t anywhere near as damaged as I’d been after exploding myself and nearly dying on Oak Island. I guess that was a plus. It would take a while for me to heal and there would be more scars to add to my collection. Good thing this angel didn’t love me for my beauty.

It seemed like forever before I pulled away, his arms holding on just a second longer as if he was reluctant to let me go. That’s when I realized we had an audience. Gabe. Rafi. And about five hundred battered angels who ringed us and watched the outskirts of the battle zone with steely eyes.

And then there were the dead. Empty bodies whose blank eyes stared at the sky. I wondered how many of those had been Gregory’s friends, members of his choir who’d died coming to our assistance. This shit needed to stop now. I only wished I knew how to end it in some fashion that didn’t mean an eternity in Hel for me.

Besides, the rebels might point the finger at me, but I got the impression that even if I packed up my household and returned to Hel, they’d find something else to base their rebellion on. This was about far more than me, and in spite of what others said, I got the feeling this had been simmering for millions of years.

I looked beyond the crowd of angels and saw what lay beyond the wreckage of the hotel. Dust-covered humans cried and stared, hands over their mouths. It was a horrible tragedy for them, but I was sure they were just as shocked at the crowd of winged beings standing in the ruins as they were the loss of human life.

One uniformed man came forward, his face pale. I’d never seen a first-responder so nervous. He approached the nearest angel, kneeling and lowering his gaze. “Could we search for survivors? There were hundreds in this hotel…”

“There are no human survivors,” the angel replied with a bland unemotional tone. Most of them had probably not been out of Aaru in centuries, if at all. I’m sure he had no idea how callous his tone was.

“Let the humans come in and search,” I told Gregory. “They need to know. These people’s families need to bury their dead.”

He nodded and the crowd of angels parted. Humans with shovels and pick axes came into our midst. I looked at their tools and thought that given the fact we were standing on six to eight feet of rubble, they might need more than a few shovels.