The Gates of Paradise (24 page)

don’t believe it,” Kingsley said, staring at the emerald stone that yoked her to Lucifer. “I don’t believe it for a second.”

But Mimi was tired of waiting and tired of playing this game. He was so close to her and so dear, and if she did not do it now, she would never have the courage again, and so she pulled on his sword and brought it against her throat, wanting to end it all, to save him even if she could not save herself.

She waited for death.

But death did not come.

Kingsley was faster, stronger, and instead of letting his blade cleave her in two, he directed it toward the heart of the emerald.

“No!” she screamed.

The emerald burst into White Flame and disappeared.

Mimi blinked her eyes open. She was alive and Kingsley was alive. The terrible dark burden had fallen from her shoulders.

She threw herself into his arms and sobbed.

Kingsley clasped her to him and they fell backward to the floor, and he was kissing her, and she was kissing him with a passion that surprised even her.

He was smiling. He was so handsome and brave, and he held her as if he would never let her go.

“How did you do that?” she asked.

“The godsfire. We have equipped all of our swords with the power of the Holy Spirit. It destroyed Lucifer’s Bane. So what’s going on? Are you going to tell me?”

She told him everything, just as the door opened with a bang.

Oliver stood there, babbling and hysterical. He had used the Venator’s code that Kingsley had given him in secret to track them to the safe house. “Schuyler! They took Schuyler—they’re bringing her to the gate!”

hey had returned to the underworld, collected the rest of the pack in the passages, and returned to their former home. Bliss could see the smoke, smell the
fire, and breathe the ash of the barren lands, the forgotten world, where nothing grew and everything was dead. The eternally gray skies hung above them.

“I hope you remember your way around here,” Bliss whispered.

“Like it was yesterday,” Lawson replied. “Come on, the wolves are in their dens.”

“What about the trolls? And the masters?” Malcolm asked.

“What about them?” Lawson smiled.

“You are not afraid,” Bliss said.

He shook his head. “Your mother. The Angel of the Lord. Gabrielle. She called me Fenrir.”

Bliss realized he had never believed it before. Even after he had destroyed Romulus—even after everything he had been able to accomplish. Lawson hadn’t believed in himself. Could not accept that he was the one who would lead the wolves out of enslavement.

With a great roar, Lawson transformed into the great wolf, and Fenrir stood before Bliss. He was larger than Romulus; larger than any beast of Hell.

His strength will break our chains.

In his spirit we shall be reborn.

Bliss looked at the pack: they had transformed as well. The wolves stood in a circle around her. Their eyes were shining with the blue crescent sigils that marked them as Fenrir’s own.

She was alone.

She was no longer a vampire.

But as she discovered, she was no longer human either.

She looked down at herself. Her claws. Felt the sharpness of her fangs. Different from the vampire fangs. She felt the strength in her body, in her animal nature.

She was one of them.

Whatever her mother had done, she had done this. Given her the wolf gift. Given her the strength to belong.

Lawson nuzzled her.
You are truly one of the pack now. Run
with me.

The wolves howled, a battle cry, a warning:

We are coming. We are coming, my brothers and sisters.

Fenrir has returned.

We shall break your chains. We shall lead you into freedom.

We shall bring war upon our enemies.

Arise, arise! It is our time. The War of Heaven is upon us. Arise,
wolves of the den, wolves of the guard. Arise and defeat the enemy we
slew once before.

y father? Schuyler wondered, even as she felt her consciousness beginning to fade; as her lifeblood seeped out and death approached.

My father?

Why would Jack tell her that her father could help her?

How could he be so merciless to say such a thing?

My father is dead. My father is buried in the ground. He is no
help to anyone.

Then she realized…

Her father.

Her immortal father.

Charles Force. Michael. Her father. This was Allegra’s secret. This was the key of the twins, the
sangreal
. Schuyler had had a human father to create a new life, but somehow, she was also Michael and Gabrielle’s daughter.

Schuyler remembered those days at the hospital, at Allegra’s bedside, and her intuition, the thought that had popped into her head when she’d seen the gray-haired man kneeling in her mother’s room, asking for her forgiveness. What had she called him then?
Father
.

They had the same dark hair, though his had gone gray. They shared a bond that neither of them had acknowledged. For Allegra’s secret had been hidden so deeply when she’d broken the bond, when she’d married her human familiar.
The truth of Schuyler’s heritage had to remain a secret, even from her own father.

Father.

Help me.

Help me.

Father.

From the White Darkness, a sword appeared in her hand.

Michael’s sword.

The Blade of Paradise. The Golden Sword of Heaven.

Her father’s sword.

She gripped its hilt and slashed at the invisible bindings that held her, and she could feel the strength returning to her body, could feel the wound on her neck begin to heal. She leapt from the stone table, holding her sword aloft.

Lucifer roared and urged his dark armies to her destruction, and Schuyler cowered as the Dark Prince lunged toward her with hatred in his eyes, his own sword blazing white with the fire of Heaven.

But the blow never landed, as Jack threw himself upon her to shield her from the attack.

“Jack!” she screamed.

He looked at her tenderly, and she knew that he had never been false. That there had been a reason for his actions. He had drunk from her, she realized now, to keep Lucifer from doing the same.

“Hey you.” She smiled and traced a finger on his cheek. “Where have you been?”

“Right here, always,” Jack murmured, kissing her all over her face, her neck. But there was little time for tenderness.

Lucifer reared up with ferocious strength, and the Dark Prince loomed over them. His fangs bared, he was no longer beautiful, no longer bright as the sun, but revealed as Hell’s eternal king, as the horrific monster he was, dark and twisted and evil. Schuyler held on to Jack and prepared for Lucifer to do his worst.

But out of the shadows, out of the darkness, powerful beasts emerged, ready for blood. The wolves of the guard.

he wolves crashed into the battle, meeting their former masters with tooth and claw. With froth on their lips and blood in their mouths. For revenge. For victory. For freedom.

They had followed Fenrir as he raced back through the passages, toward the Gate of Promise, which Gabrielle had shown him, and appeared at the stone tablet just as Schuyler held Michael’s sword aloft.

“Destroy our enemies!” Fenrir roared. “Make them feel our wrath, our revenge!”

Bliss saw Schuyler through the chaos and wanted to run to her, but there was no time. The battle was upon them. They would fight or they would die. The wolves had thrown off their chains; they were savage and ferocious. Demon-fighters. Demon-killers.

Silver against flesh, the White Fire of Heaven against the beasts of Hell. The wolves fought bravely and courageously, but their numbers were no match for the godsfire, for the flame that seared their very souls.

They ran howling to the edges, howling in retreat.

Until a blaze of light shone from the darkness.

A light that was just as bright as the godsfire—even brighter—this was the light from the Holy Grail, blessed by the spirit of the Son of God. The true light of Heaven.

The Venators had come.

he Angels Araquiel and Azrael had come to fight for the Light, to defend Heaven’s Gate against its enemies. They flew into battle with a team of angels, arrayed in their golden armor, while everywhere, horns, horns, horns rang in triumph, just as when Michael had led the angels so long ago.

Their swords were aflame with the godsfire, and their hearts were pure and joyous as they fell upon the demons and their Silver Blood brethren.

They said there was no more beautiful sight that day than Araquiel cleaving the demon Leviathan in two, and bringing death to the death mongers. Azrael was a mighty valkyrie, her talons aflame with the light, and the demons cowered and fell upon their swords and scattered.

With the wolves at their side, the angels fought valiantly, and the stone tablet ran red with the blood of their enemies.

Azrael knelt down, taking a breath.

“Victory is ours,” Araquiel said.

“Yes,” Azrael whispered. But she stumbled, clutching her stomach, where she’d been wounded. The Black Fire had worked its way into her blood. It would consume her—she could feel its poison eating into her soul.

“You are Azrael. You are stronger than this,” Araquiel said in despair. “You cannot leave me now.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” Azrael whispered, but her lips were cold on his cheek, and he knew she did not have much time left.

His tears fell upon her face, bathing her with his sorrow.