Author's Note:
If you have not read "The Order" or "Daybreak", it is highly suggested that you go back and read those first as this chapter contains spoilers.
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There wasn't much time left. He'd taken too long getting inside; there were too many sentries on guard. Fighting them off had been harder than he'd imagined. He was the only one fighting. The sudden sound of approaching footsteps had him crouching, ready to attack. The dim candlelight in the barren hallway didn't allow him enough of an advantage to assess how many he had to fight this time. There were three - no, four - and each one of them were heavily armed; the familiar clanging of metal weapons made him sigh in relief. He used his back to slide back upward into a standing position seconds before he made his presence known.
He didn't give them time to reach for their weapons. He didn't give himself the chance to look at their faces. He lifted his hands allowed the bolts of electricity to burst forth from them. His enemies seized violently as the unbearable volts of bright blue energy consumed them. They couldn't scream; the intensity of the voltage paralyzed them into silence. Within seconds, the only evidence left was charcoal dust.
He grunted in frustration when he was attacked from behind. How could he have been so careless as to forget to mind his surroundings? That was an easy enough question to answer; he had to get there before it was too late. He turned in time to receive the powerful uppercut his opponent threw. He stumbled backward a few steps before regaining his balance and made quick work of throwing his hands up to launch another series of electric bolts. The move only succeeded in having his hands pushed to the side. Shit, his attacker knew what he could do. While that only meant that he was close to his goal, he also had to revert to classic combat, a form that might take too much time. It wasn't as if he had a choice, the charcoal colored demon used its fearsome looking talons to slash at his chest. The demon made his mark; he clutched his chest in pain for only a second.
And then he heard her scream.
Rage and determination coursed through his veins as he balled his fists. One solid punch to the demon's horned face had his opponent flying backward. He didn't allow the demon a chance to gain its feet; he continued his attack. He didn't care that the demon's horned face cut into his hands or that the hardened skin comparable to a ceramic pot bruised his legs; he would not stop until he'd cleared this obstacle. When the demon dropped to its knees in exhaustion, he used the opening to electrocute the enemy. The bolts of electricity burned his raw, open wounds, and it felt as if he'd placed his hands in hot acid. He didn't stop until the demon was nothing but a pile of dust at his feet.
He remained still for only a moment to ensure no other surprise attacks. The sound of another scream made him throw caution to the wind. He ran in the direction of the pained sounds, praying that there was enough time. His heart felt like jackhammer in his chest and had he taken a moment to stop, he would have seen how much his hands shook. He was dizzy with fear and panic; he didn't even stop running as he shot approaching demons with electricity. His goal was to make it to the large double doors at the end of the barren hall. Nothing was going to stop him. He used an electrical surge so intense that it was white to blast the doors open. And has he ran into the room, he stopped tat what he saw.
There at the head of the room, a large demon, much like the one he fought in the hall, stood, shifting color as it grew in size. In its hand was a half eaten heart. A human heart. He could only stare in horror as the demon completed the shift and retained its charcoal color. He knew, even from the distance between them, that its skin would feel like ceramic. And when the demon shifted eerie yellow eyes to him, he knew that he was too late.
He'd wasted too much time.
He gasped for breath as he came awake. A thick layer of sweat covered his bare chest and caused his wild hair to cling to his face. He surveyed his surroundings; three white walls led to the large glass doors that took up the length of the fourth wall. The drapes had been drawn, leaving him with a view of a star-filled sky over bright city lights. He looked up and sighed at the familiar steepled ceiling and wooden ceiling fan hanging from the apex. He was in his bed. He was home.
He'd been dreaming again.
"Shit," he mumbled as he rolled out of bed. That made four times this week that he'd had the same dream. With each dream, he woke up in a cold sweat, disoriented and anxious. He hadn't thought about it since... He groaned angrily as he padded toward the kitchen. Alcohol. He needed massive amounts of alcohol to stave off the oncoming headache he was getting. As he walked, he considered which form of poison he'd go for; whiskey made him emotional, and considering he was looking to numb himself from the pain coursing through him, that option was out. Brandy made him calm and relaxed; it would soothe him enough to at least get some rest if he couldn't go back to sleep. But he didn't want to relax. Relaxing made him think and he didn't want to think. He wanted nothing more than the dark abyss that forced him to lose himself.
Tequila. It was hard, and it was the fastest route to finding that abyss. Yes, tequila was his weapon of choice tonight.
He'd just crossed the threshold that led to the kitchen when he noticed the light coming from the living room. He hadn't left that on when he went to sleep. He really wasn't in the mood to deal with incompetent thieves tonight. He considered launching a sneak attack on the bastards, but changed his mind at the last minute. Walking proudly into the living room to face his adversaries, he stopped at what he saw.
A lone man sat in his plush and overused reading chair, an over-worn copy of Mary Shelly's
Frankenstein
in hand. His dark brown hair was mussed and looked windblown, though it was obvious that that was his preferred style. The man's dark brown eyes were intense and seemed to bore into the surprised man standing in his underwear. He would have smiled, but he didn't like the way the action pulled on the sickle-shaped scar on his cheek. Instead, he merely nodded his head in greeting.
"What are you doing here?"
The man in the chair tilted his head to the side curiously as he replied, "Is that any way to talk to your older brother?"
"Don't give me that big brother bullshit, Alexis. What are you doing here?"
Alexis stared at his brother and felt the sides of his mouth turn up in the beginnings of a smile. His brother's brilliant green eyes were narrowed in annoyance and his thin lips were pursed in annoyance. "I thought it was obvious that I'm reading a book."
"You know what I mean."
"Lindsay, can't a man visit his brother?"
Lindsay felt his eyes narrow even more at the statement. Though he was somewhat happy to see his brother, he did not appreciate the unannounced visit. "I told you bastards never to come here unless-"
"Someone died?"
Lindsay stopped cold at his brother's words. Alexis couldn't be saying what he thought he was saying. But he had to be; he'd told every single on of his brothers never to visit him unless there was a death in the family. "Who?"
Alexis sat back and watched as Lindsay took a seat on the large maroon couch docked against the far wall. He hated to be the bearer of bad news, but as the head of the family and unofficial leader of The Brethren, an elite group of demon hunters, he felt compelled to inform Lindsay of what had happened.
"Out with it already." Lindsay knew that Alexis was infamous for his quiet nature; the brunette rarely ever spoke as he preferred to observe what went on around him. While it made his brother quite the perceptive person, the trait did nothing to ease his growing anxiety. "Who died, Lex?"
