Finale (17 page)

Tears glistened in my eyes. Blakely was using one arm to pin me, but the other held a blade, and I felt it bite into my skin, a few inches above my hip.

“Not a single word,” Blakely repeated, his breath ruffling my hair.

Patch came to a stop, and I could see confusion written all over his face. He knew something was wrong, but he couldn’t figure out what. He knew I was stronger than Marcie and could break free if I wanted.

“Let Nora go,” Patch told Marcie, his voice quiet, wary.

“Don’t come another step,” Blakely commanded Patch, only this time he made his voice sound like Marcie’s. High and quivering. “I have a knife, and I’ll use it if I have to.” Blakely waved the knife to make his point.

Devilcraft,
Patch spoke to my mind.
I feel it everywhere.

Be careful! Blakely is possessing Marcie’s body,
I tried to tell him, but my thoughts were blocked. Somehow Blakely was shielding them. I felt them bounce back, as though I were yelling at a wall. He seemed to have complete and utter control over devilcraft, using it like an unstoppable and highly adaptive weapon.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Blakely hold up the knife. The blade glowed an ethereal shade of blue. Before I could blink, he plunged the knife into my side, and it was as though I’d been pushed into a raging furnace.

I collapsed, trying to howl and scream in pain, but too much in shock to manage a single sound. I writhed on the ground, wanting to pull out the knife, but e
very muscle in my body was in shock, paralyzed in unspeakable agony.

I
WOKE WITH A START, INSTANTLY TRYING TO GET MY
bearings. I was in a vaguely familiar bed, in a dark room that smelled warm and earthy. A body was stretched out beside mine, and it stirred.

“Angel?”

“I’m awake,” I said, a flood of relief welling up inside me now that I knew Patch was close. I didn’t know how long I’d been out, but I felt safe here in his home, with him watching over me. “Blakely was possessing Marcie’s body. I didn’t sense him and walked right up to him without the slightest clue it was a trap. I tried to warn you, but Blakely had me in some kind of bubble—my mind-speak kept bouncing back.”

Patch nodded, coaxing a stray curl behind my ear. “I saw him exit Marcie’s body and run. Marcie’s okay. Shaken up, but fine.”

“Why did he have to stab me?” I grimaced in pain as I lifted my sweater to see the wound. My Nephilim blood should have healed me by now, but the stab was still fresh, casting a bluish hue.

“He knew if you were hurt, I’d stay by your side instead of going after him. A move that’s going to cost him,” Patch said, his jaw rigid. “When I brought you here, your entire body was radiating blue light, head to toe. You appeared to be in a coma. I couldn’t reach you, even through mind-speak, and it terrified me.” Patch pulled me against him, curling his body protectively around mine, holding me almost too tight, and that’s when I knew just how worried he was.

“What does this mean for me?”

“I don’t know. It can’t be good that you’ve had devilcraft forced into your body twice now.”

“Dante is drinking it daily.” If he was okay, I’d be okay too. Wouldn’t I? I wanted to believe it.

Patch said nothing, but I had a good idea where his thoughts were going. Like me, he knew there had to be side effects to ingesting devilcraft.

“Where’s Marcie?” I asked.

“I altered her memory so she won’t remember seeing me tonight, then had Dabria take her home. Don’t look at me like that. I was low on options, and I had Dabria’s phone number.”

“That’s what I’m worried about!” I instantly winced when my strong reaction caused my wound to throb.

Patch bent down to kiss my forehead, rolling his eyes as he did. “Don’t make me tell you again there’s nothing between me and Dabria.”

“She’s not over you.”

“She’s pretending to feel something for me to antagonize
you

“Don’t call her up for favors like she’s part of the team,” I countered. “She tried to kill me, and she’d steal you back in a heartbeat, if you’d let her. I don’t care how many times you deny it. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”

Patch looked like he had a comeback, but he forced it down and rolled agilely out of bed. His black T-shirt was rumpled, his hair mussed, giving him the appearance of a perfect pirate. “Can I get you something to eat? Drink? I feel useless, and it’s driving me crazy.”

“You could go after Blakely, if you’re looking for something to do,” I said crisply. What would it take to get rid of Dabria, once and for all?

A smile that was equally devious and truly sinister crept over Patch’s expression. “We don’t have to find him. He’ll come to us. To get away, he had to leave his knife behind. He knows we have it, and he knows it’s evidence I can take to the archangels to prove he’s using devilcraft. He’s going to come looking for that knife. Soon.”

“Let’s turn him over to the archangels now. Let them worry about eradicating devilcraft.”

Patch breathed a laugh, but it held an edge. “I no longer trust the archangels. Pepper Friberg isn’t the only bad egg. If I turn this over to them, I have no guarantee they’ll take care of this mess. I used to think the archangels were incorruptible, but they’ve done a good job of convincing me otherwise. I’ve seen them tamper with death, look the other way on serious offenses of the law, and punish me for crimes I haven’t committed. I’ve made mistakes, and I’ve paid for those mistakes, but I suspect they won’t give up until they’ve locked me away in hell. They don’t like opposition, and that’s the first word that comes to mind when they think of me. This time I’m taking matters into my own hands. Blakely is going to come for his knife, and when he does, I’ll be ready.”

“I want to help,” I said immediately. I wanted to take down the Nephil who’d been foolish enough to stab me. Blakely was aiding the Nephilim army, but
I
was leading it. While I considered his actions gravely disrespectful, there were some who’d consider them treasonous. And I knew for a fact that Nephilim as a race don’t look kindly on traitors.

Patch locked eyes with me, studying me wordlessly as though judging my ability to go up against Blakely. To my deep satisfaction, he gave a nod. “All right, Angel. But first things first. The football game ended two hours ago, and your mom is going to wonder where you are. Time to get you home.”

The lights were off at the farmhouse, but I knew my mom wouldn’t fall asleep until I’d made it home. I knocked softly on her bedroom door, nudged it open, and whispered into the darkness, “I’m home.”

“Did you have a good time?” she asked, yawning.

“The team played really well,” I said evasively.

“Marcie came home a few hours ago. She didn’t say much, just went straight to her room and shut the door. She seemed . . . quiet. Upset, maybe.” There was a hint of inquiry in her tone.

“Probably PMS.” Probably she was doing everything in her power not to launch into a full-fledged panic attack. I’d been possessed before, and words couldn’t describe how violating it felt. But I wasn’t feeling especially sympathetic. If Marcie had done what I’d asked, none of this would have happened.

In my bedroom, I shucked out of my clothes and examined my stab wound once more. The electric blue tint was fading. Slowly, but fading nonetheless. It had to be a good sign.

I’d just crawled into bed when there was a tap at the door. Marcie opened it and stood in the entrance. “I’m freaking out,” she said, and she genuinely looked like she meant it.

I motioned for her to come in and shut the door.

“What happened back there?” she demanded, her voice cracking. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “How did he take over my body like that?”

“Blakely possessed you.”

“How can you be calm about this?” she shrieked in an undertone. “He was living inside me. Like some kind of . . .
parasite!
”

“If you had let me take down Blakely like we agreed, this wouldn’t have happened.” As soon as I said it, I regretted sounding so harsh. Marcie had done a stupid thing, but who was I to judge? I’d made my fair share of impulsive decisions. Caught up in the moment, she’d reacted. She wanted to know who killed her father, and who could blame her? Certainly not me.

I sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

But it was too late. She gave me a wounded look, and left.

I
AWOKE WITH A JOLT. DANTE WAS LEANING OVER MY
bed, his hands straddling my shoulders. “Good morning, sunshine.”

I tried to roll away, but his arms had me pinned in place. “It’s Saturday,” I protested wearily. Training was all fine and good, but I deserved
one
day off.

“I’ve got a surprise for you. A good one.”

“The only surprise I want is another two hours of sleep.” The window showed that the sky was still full dark, and I doubted it was much later than five thirty.

He flung off my covers and I squealed, grabbing blindly for them. “Do you mind!”

“Cute pj’s.”

I was wearing a black T-shirt I’d swiped from Patch’s closet, and it barely reached mid-thigh.

I simultaneously tugged the shirt down and the sheets higher. “Fine,” I relented with a huff. “I’ll meet you outside.”

After dragging on my running clothes and lacing up my shoes, I trudged outside. Dante wasn’t in the driveway, but I sensed him nearby, most likely in the woods across the stre

Sure enough, Dante had brought a friend. Only, by the look of the friend—two black eyes, a cut lip, a swollen jaw, and one painful-looking goose egg on his forehead—the two were on anything but good terms.

“Recognize him?” Dante asked cheerfully, holding the injured Nephil up by the scruff of his neck for my appraisal.

I stepped closer, unsure what kind of game Dante was playing. “No. He’s too beat up. Did you do this to him?”

“Sure this handsome mug doesn’t ring a bell?” Dante asked again, jerking the Nephil’s jaw side to side, clearly enjoying himself. “He was shooting his mouth off last night about you. He bragged about giving you a serious beating. Of course, that’s when he caught my interest. I told him he’d never done such a thing. And if he had, well, let’s just say I don’t take kindly to Nephil underlings disrespecting their leaders, especially the commander of the Black Hand’s army.” All lightheartedness had faded from Dante’s tone, and he eyed the injured Nephil with open contempt.

“It was a prank,” the Nephil said sullenly. “Thought we’d see how sincere she is about following through with the Black Hand’s vision. She wasn’t even born a Nephil. Thought we’d give her a taste of what she’s up against—”

“Cowboy Hat?”
I blurted aloud. His face was too disfigured to bear any resemblance to the Nephil who’d hauled me to a cabin, tied me to a post, and threatened me, but his voice rang true. He was definitely Cowboy Hat. Shaun Corbridge.

“Prank?” Dante chuckled with venom. “If that’s what constitutes a prank in your mind, maybe you’ll find something to laugh about in what we’re going to do to you.” He slugged Cowboy Hat in the head so viciously he collapsed to his knees.

“Can I talk to you?” I asked Dante. “Privately?”

“Of course.” He pointed a warning finger at Cowboy Hat. “You budge, you bleed.”

After I was sure we had walked out of Cowboy Hat’s hearing range, I said, “What’s going on?”

“I was at the Devil’s Handbag last night, and that numskull buffoon over there was bragging about using you as his personal punching bag. At first I thought I was hearing wrong. But the louder he talked, the more I realized he wasn’t, in any way, shape, or form, making up his story. Why didn’t you tell me some of our soldiers attacked you?” Dante demanded. His tone wasn’t angry. Hurt, maybe, but not angry.

“Are you asking because you’re concerned about what this means for my ratings, or are you concerned about me?”

Dante shook his head. “Don’t say that. You know I’m not thinking about your numbers. Truth is, I stopped caring about them almost instantly. This is about you. That punk over there laid his hands on you, and I don’t like it. Not one bit. Yes, he should show you respect as commander of an army he claims to belong to, but it’s more than that. He should respect you because you’re a good person, and you’re giving this your best sho yo I talk tt. I see it, and I want him to see it too.”