“I’m not,” she said. “I don’t want to prove anything, Darien—not anymore. That’s not why I’m doing this.” She gave him a sad smile. “I want to help my family.” Her throat bobbed, her eyes flicking to the floor at her feet. “I just wish…I wish we would’ve had forever.”
Forever. They’d come such a long way to consider that it may not be an option anymore—that this could be the end of everything they’d built.
All this way…only for nothing.
The space behind Darien’s eyes burned. “Lola,” he rasped. He drew in a steadying breath as he reached out and trailed the curve of her jaw with his thumb. She shuddered under the contact, leaning into him like she had that night at the Devil’s Advocate. “Even if we don’t have forever, we do have today. And I believe that alone is worth celebrating.”
Tears pooled in her eyes as she looked him over. Slowly and thoroughly, as if she feared it might be her last chance to do so. A tear slipped free, sliding down her cheek. He swiped it away with the pad of his thumb, a burning sensation pushing at the backs of his own eyes. The last time he’d felt raw emotion so deep, he was no more than fifteen. A boy whose heart had been broken by the passing of the first woman he’d ever loved.
“Loren, I…,” Darien pushed his hair out of his face. His hand was shaking so badly that the weapons hidden within the arm of his bodysuit gave a metallic rattle. “There’s something I wanted to say. In case I might not get the chance.”
The space between her eyebrows scrunched with concern. “Don’t talk like that, Darien.”
“It’s important.”
“Okay,” she whispered. “Then what is it?”
Darien stepped toward her, taking her hands into his own. He willed his grip to be steady. He needed to be strong—for her.
He opened his mouth to say it—to say those three words, the three he’d never said to anyone before, except to his mother, sister, and occasionally his Devils.
But footfall echoed in the entrance hall as Maximus and Dallas, followed by Conrad and Dominic, clomped down the stairs.
They were ready. All of them were ready. To fight for this city—and to possibly die trying to save it.
“Kalendae festivities have begun,” Max said as he strode into the kitchen, tranquilizer rifle in hand. “When are we heading out?”
“As soon as the others are ready,” Darien said. He looked down at Loren, who was still looking up at him, her ocean eyes beseeching. Squeezing her small hands gently, he whispered, “I’ll tell you. When we come back home, I’ll tell you.”
Her eyes were shining with agony, but she smiled, her mouth wobbling. “Okay.”
Cupping her face with his hands, he bent down and kissed her, long and deep.
He only hoped it wouldn’t be the last time he would get to do it.
56
The network of tunnels below the city smelled like death, like Ignis’s hellish realm.
Corpses torn to bloody ribbons littered the floor—Randal’s cronies, thank the Star. One less problem to have to deal with. The tunnel walls had been gouged by brutal claws—what was left of them, anyway. It seemed Christa had been telling the truth about the Well having set off Randal’s grenades. Crumbled and charred stone covered every inch of the floor, the acrid smell of smoke permeating the damp air.
Darien kept his feet light, his finger poised on the trigger of the tranquilizer rifle, as he and the others crept through the sewers. Conrad was at his left, Jack his right. Lace and Ivyana brought up the rear, while Arthur shuffled along in the middle of their tight group. At their left, the wide channel of the stormwater runoff was red with blood.
The Kalendae festivities were underway. On the streets above, people had gathered in the square to watch the floats and performers parade down Angelthene Boulevard, protected by the city’s law enforcement and the HID lamps that fended off the demons—entirely unaware of a new danger lurking just below the soles of their shoes.
By now, Loren would be stationed with the others on one of the many skyscrapers near the Control Tower. It had taken a lot of convincing on Loren’s part to make Darien agree to her role in this. He understood what it meant for her to help them, to not have to stay at Hell’s Gate alone while she waited for their return. But that didn’t mean he liked it—not one bit.
The sooner they either moved the bomb to another location or dismantled it—and the sooner Doctor Atlas finished cooking up the antidote, allowing Dominic to fly it up to the peak of the cristala tower and plug it into the forcefield projection—the better.
The sooner Loren was safe in his arms, the better.
They passed by the underground series of cascades that marked the entrance to the heart of Randal’s lair, the rushing of water deafening in the otherwise silent tunnels. Considering the number of grenades that had detonated, it was a miracle the HID lamps mounted upon the walls were still functioning. A few buzzed and flickered, barely hanging on, but the handful that maintained a steady, glaring glow were a godsend. The demons that had escaped…
Darien could smell them.
The distant pop and sizzle of fireworks floated to his immortal ears. Cheers and whoops of joy set the street above their heads rumbling as the clock struck Witching Hour.
This night was a first for Darien: spending Kalendae below the city, instead of at a rowdy Darkslayer house party, counting down the minutes with drunk and bleary-eyed revelers, fucking the hottest chick he could find in a closet or some stranger’s bedroom.
