To Hell and Back by L.B. Gilbert
Chapter Forty-Seven
Michael spit on the ground, the saliva tainted with his blood. “Do you see now? Do you see the demons for what they are?”
He tried to rise, but Naveen had pulled up his spear and pointed it at his neck. Michael settled for waving a hand at Rhys.
“My cadre and I came here because we were asked,” he said, pointing an accusing finger at the black-winged apparition. “The demon dragons had invaded this place, trampling the populace. We liberated them.”
Dazed. she peered up at Rhys. His expression was fixed, remote. She knew then that it was the truth. “The one holding you so tenderly is infamous. His name is Berith,” Michael sneered.
Her lips parted. Berith. That was one of the infernal names. Berith was Rhys.
Rhys stood frozen, gazing at her as if he were waiting for her judgment.
For a long moment she stared at his stricken face, trying to take it all in. ‘Angels and demons’ her mind repeated on a loop, blotting out rational thought in a rising panic that had her heart drumming in her ears. How the hell had she gotten caught in a war between an angel and a demon?
And then she remembered all that Rhys had done for her—not the big gestures like saving her life, but the little ones. The way he had tasted all the food and drink in the beginning, until she grew comfortable with him to take what was given. And not all the fancy clothes he had bought her, but the drawing pencils he’d given her after learning she loved to sketch.
There were dozens of other examples.
Valeria’s shoulders slumped in relief. She had spent enough time with both of these men, these creatures, to know their hearts. She had to trust herself, to trust in Rhys. Reaching up, she took his hand.
The ice that encased her dragon cracked. He squeezed her fingers back.
“Yes, you liberated them,” Rhys began, addressing the angel. “But it was a millennium too late. We were living in harmony with the Dareia by the time you came to free them. Our war with them had been bitter but brief. We made peace, and we willingly intertwined our lives. Then you came, offering them a rescue they no longer wanted in exchange for subjugation.”
He turned to Valeria. “They told him no, rejecting the Host’s offer. They ended up begging us to save them from the angels.”
The men around the angel holding the spears stayed silent as Rhys stood straighter. “We fought off the Host, expelling them from our territory and winning the war, but losing everything else in the process. As for the Dareia, they were much frailer than us. They died in droves, especially after the Host poisoned the land. Only a handful survived.”
“Justice is eternal,” Michael said, his voice weakening even as he continued to struggle against the spears pinning him down.
“Close your eyes, little love,” Rhys murmured, but Valeria kept them wide open. She had to see.
Bearing witness was the last thing she would do for Michael.
Rhys’ nod was reluctant, but he understood. Naveen raised his spear, then slammed it down, plunging it into his enemy’s chest.
The angel’s scream was terrible.
She pressed back into Rhys, trying to escape the sound. He tightened his hold, cradling her to his chest. But something was wrong. The hand she had pressed against his sparked with energy.
And it was growing brighter.
Valeria gasped in pain as the light began to open cracks in the skin of her hand and forearm.
Michael’s power was running rampant in her. Too strong, too potent, her body wouldn’t be able to contain it. No witch could.
Rhys slapped a hand over the crack. “What you kill, you keep,” he breathed, horror dawning in his eyes.
He knew. Ravenna must have told him. A trickle of shame managed to work through the pain, but it didn’t last. This wasn’t something she would have chosen in a million years. But it didn’t matter.
Michael didn’t have to die by her hand for her to get his power. He just had to die.