As he threw his head back and screamed.
Tears welled in Loren’s eyes as she watched him break. There wasn’t a hint of the man she’d come to know these past few months. There was no strength left in the way he held himself in that moment, none of the cocky and cool-headed killer she’d gotten so used to. Whatever had happened in that house had reduced him to a shell of his former self; had stripped him down to this raw and vulnerable being.
If it weren’t for that camera, no one would’ve seen it. No one would’ve had a clue of the emotion that broke him in that moment. The rippling barrier of magic he’d dredged up blocked out every sound that came from his mouth.
Not a single person said a word as they watched the leader of the Seven Devils, who’d just led his own father into a death trap, break down on that lawn.
Tanner snapped the laptop shut.
Nobody said anything. For a long time, there was nothing to fill the silence but the sound of everyone’s breathing.
And then Darien came into view. He was striding toward the vehicles with his head high, shoulders back. Not a trace of emotion showed on his face; he wasn’t even limping anymore.
Loren scrambled over Sabrine’s legs and fumbled with the door handle, nearly falling out onto the pavement as it swung open under her weight. She pushed off the cold pavement and sprinted for Darien, the road beneath her shoes eaten up as she ran and ran.
As soon as she was close enough, she leapt into his arms and hooked her legs around his waist. He caught her, crushing her body to his as he embraced her. His arms trembled as he buried his face in her hair, breathing her in.
“Darien, I’m sorry,” she sobbed against his chest. “I’m so,sosorry. I didn’t mean anything that I said. I swear I didn’t mean a word of it.” He tipped up her chin and slammed his lips into hers, as though he’d thought he would never get to kiss her again.
“Lola,” he sighed, kissing her cheeks, her brow, her nose. “Are you hurt?”
Loren was vaguely aware of the others exiting the SUV.
“I’m fine,” she panted. Darien had pulled back far enough to survey her. She said again, “I’m fine.”
“How did you do it?” Max said. “How’d you manage not to be killed by that…thing?”
Darien set Loren on her feet but kept an arm wrapped snugly around her waist. “I’m not afraid of it,” he said simply. “Monsters are only what you make of them.”
Loren remembered back to that night Darien had taken her stargazing; how he’d told her not to fear the Nameless creatures roaming the landscape—how he’d claimed it reallywouldhelp if she betrayed no hints that she was afraid. She hadn’t known then how literally he’d meant it.
Sabrine said, “What do we do?”
Everyone looked to Darien for the answer. Loren leaned into his side, tipping her head back to drink in his handsome face as she waited for him to speak.
“We take down Calanthe,” he said at last. “And we fix this mess once and for all.”
55
“If what Calanthe told Loren is the truth, and the Imperator is behind all this,” Darien began, stroking a comforting hand across Loren’s back as he spoke to the roomful of people gathered in the kitchen at Hell’s Gate, “we need to tread carefully.”
Where she sat at the island, Loren sipped on her juice. Surrounding her were the Seven Devils, the Vipers, and the Angels of Death, along with Dallas, Sabrine, and Logan. Arthur sat on a stool at Loren’s side, looking as troubled as she felt.
She wasn’t sure how it was possible that Dominic Valencia looked more intimidating in the kitchen light than he had in the shadows of the Umbra Forum. Perhaps it was the impressive sword strapped to his muscled back.
Or maybe it was the other two Angels on either side of him. Conrad Valencia and Hanli Shadid had the same gleaming black wings as Dominic, the same magic-enforced bodysuits. Conrad looked very much like his brother: brown skin and black hair, though his hair was cropped short. Hanli’s curtain of midnight tresses fell to her waist, her upturned eyes—black against her smooth, amber skin—sharp as an eagle’s.
The three Vipers that were present were Jude Monson, a blond and tan middle-aged man with a kind smile; Race Hunter, ivory-skinned and brawny, one side of his long, red hair shaved; and Jessa Gilchrist.
Loren tried her best not to stare at Jessa, but it didn’t help that the copper haired, blue-eyed Darkslayer kept looking ather.
It didn’t matter. Now certainly wasn’t the time to care about something so trivial.
The Darkslayers were going over their options on how to handle this situation with the least likelihood of being killed, when the doorbell rang, echoing throughout the sprawling house. Mortifer, who was munching on ice chips in his usual spot behind the cereal boxes, fell silent.
On the surveillance feed mounted on one side of the island, there stood a raven-haired young woman. And when she turned to look directly into the lens, her stunning face becoming clear, Darien’s hand stilled on Loren’s back.
“Mortifer,” Darien said to the Hob, who peered around the boxes of cereal to look at his rescuer. “Lower the audio-blocking spells.” A pause, and then he added, “After tonight, she’s not allowed through those gates unless I say so.”
