Page 28 of Wolf of Ashes
I return my attention to the angel where she crouches opposite me. Tears of pain streak her cheeks and her blood is very slowly soaking her dress across her thigh and the top of her boot, along with both of her shoulders and her stomach.
I, on the other hand, have only sustained the injuries I chose.
“Your sword is broken,” I say matter-of-factly. “I could end you now.”
“No,” she whimpers, her focus flying from one broken piece to the next, her eyes narrowed in concentration, and I sense a tingle in the air.
Is she trying to call the pieces to her?I suppose she must have that sort of control since she commanded her weapon to transform at will.
The damaged pieces don’t move and her eyes widen.
I reach for one, noting the blackened edges where my claws tore it, and I hold it up for her to see. “Your weapon is dead.”
As I speak, the panthers gather around me once more. One of the males limps a little, but his wobble eases quickly, and I hope that means he has accelerated healing.
To the angel, I say, “With a single command from me, these beasts will tear you apart. Why should I stop?”
I don’t intend to kill her. The keeper was right about leaving a trail of blood. I don’t need more angry angels coming after me. All I want is a way to leave.
But the Commander doesn’t know that.
I expect her to have some angry response, some righteous rebuke, but she seems fixated on my legs now. I follow her focus to the inky blood sliding across my knees and down my shins. It’s from the cuts I sustained when I slid through the broken glass.
Actually, now that I’m paying attention, I discover that there’s a fucking glass shard still sticking out of my right calf.
I pull it out as she watches, hiding my grimace since I won’t give her the satisfaction of seeing my pain.
“You have black blood,” she whispers, her face very pale. “Whatareyou?”
A myth. A nightmare.
A rare combination of my father’s and mother’s disparate genes.
I’m not a hellhound like my mother and according to her, I’m not like my father, so the fact is… I don’t know what I am.
Fucking whatever.
I’m simply me.
I answer the Commander by baring my teeth at her and allowing them to grow sharp before her eyes.
Her focus darts to the keeper, as if she’s re-evaluating him now too. The strain around her eyes only increases.
“What areyou?” she asks him.
He finally steps forward, and I note that the tension has left his body. “What aren’t I?” he replies.
The Commander’s scowl returns and her pure scent is muddied with anger.
“Angel,” I say softly, demanding that her attention return to me. “You haven’t answered my question. Why should I let you live?”
The panthers edge toward her, punctuating the threat.
Her mouth works over her words. “Because I can grant you amnesty. On my command, no other angel in this city will stop you from leaving. You wished to pass, did you not?”
It’s what I hoped she would offer me, but the breadth of her promise gives me more hope than I anticipated.
No other angel…?
