Bound Angel, Book 4

Second in command of the most fearsome legion of fallen angels in Hell, Rook only cares about one thing—seizing control of the First Battalion and moving one step closer to the Devil. But a dark angel of Heaven keeps seeking him out, insisting a witch needs his help, and one glance at an image of the ethereal silver-haired beauty stirs powerful emotions long forgotten and rouses a deep need he cannot deny or understand—one that commands him to risk everything and save her.

Isadora has been a fool. Millennia alone, enduring an eternal life created by the bond she shares with the angel she lost, has taken its toll on her. Desperate to see a familiar face, she followed rumours to Paris and placed her trust in a group of witches, only to be betrayed once again. Now, they want the spell that has made her immortal and she’s close to breaking… until a formidable warrior with crimson wings comes to her rescue, awakening old feelings never forgotten in her shattered heart.

With the mounting threat of witches and an enemy of old in danger of tearing them apart, can Rook untangle the truth about the past he can’t remember and can Isadora convince her demonic angel the forever he desires is the one he promised her?

The angel was back.

Rook stood on the precipice of a spire of black rock, staring at the shadowy horizon in the direction of the Devil’s fortress, not seeing its spiky towers. Not seeing the cragged lands around him that shimmered in the heat. Not seeing the fiery rivers that forked like lightning across the obsidian earth below him, illuminating the endless cavern of Hell.

Not seeing anything.

His gaze was turned inwards, focused on the strange sensation that swirled inside him whenever the angel entered Hell and dared to leave the plateau overlooking the bottomless pit.

Rook had noticed it during their second encounter, when he had spotted the black-haired and onyx-winged angel scouting lands he had no right surveying.

It was one thing for Heaven to have a contingent of angels posted on the plateau, where a silvery pool recorded the history of the mortal realm.

It was another thing entirely for one of his foul breed to leave that place and fly where he didn’t belong, trampling all over the Devil’s territory.

Three times since then, Rook had dispatched the First Battalion to drive the male back.

Three times since then, the angel had gone quietly, retreating not just to the plateau but to a portal he could open between Hell and the mortal realm.

Which meant he was powerful.

Was that the reason Rook could sense him?

His eyes slipped shut and he inhaled slowly, filled his lungs with the sweet air of Hell and exhaled it all again, centring himself at the same time. The sensation grew stronger, swirled more violently inside him. Not in his gut, but behind the breastplate of his scarlet-edged black armour.

As he focused on it, it grew stronger still, setting him on edge. He shunned the unsettling emotion, refusing to let the angel rattle him again.

The last time the angel had entered Hell, Rook’s commander had been busy. Rook had led the men in his stead, flying to meet the angel head on, determined to drive the angel out of Hell.

Determined to prove himself worthy of his position in the First Battalion, both to his commander and to the Devil.

There were rumours the commander was falling out of favour. Rook was damned if another would take his place as leader of the First Battalion when he had spent centuries working towards seizing control of the elite legion.

When he had found the intruder, the male had dared to address him directly and calmly despite the threat of facing a hundred of Hell’s most powerful angels.

He had mentioned a witch and something about helping her.

It had given Rook pause, and that had left him cold, and furious. He had driven the angel out of Hell, pursuing him right to the plateau to ensure he left, because no creature of Heaven could sway him from his path.

The fiend had been trying to lure him from Hell. Rook was sure of it.

He just wasn’t sure why the male wanted him to leave the realm of shadows and fire that was his home, his entire world.

His left hand fell to the red-edged obsidian vambrace that protected his right forearm and he clutched it as a different feeling rolled through him, one he despised. It always left him off balance, filling him with uncertainty—both about himself and the realm he loved so much.

He focused to purge the sensation before it took hold. If he let it seize him, questions would flood his mind, slipping through his fingers like smoke, fleeing before they had even fully formed. He needed his mind in the present and sharp as a blade with the angel in his territory. He couldn’t allow the tangled flow of questions and indistinct thoughts to strip him of his awareness today, weakening him.

The angel was coming.

To lure him through the portal into the mortal realm? For what purpose?

To kill him?

It wouldn’t be the first time that an angel of Heaven had lured one serving the Devil away from this realm to kill them, forcing them to return to Heaven.

Rook had no interest in dying, so he wasn’t interested in the angel or anything he had to say.

The bastard was persistent though.

He had returned quicker this time, and seemed to be heading swiftly in Rook’s direction, as if he knew where he stood.

Impossible.

Hell was vast, blurred into shadows as far as the eye could see, no matter how far he flew. It was filled with angels like him too, ones who served the Devil, and countless demons. It shouldn’t be possible for the male to single him out in the web of signatures.

Yet when Rook opened his eyes, a speck formed on the horizon, a glint of gold in a sea of red and black.

He rolled his head, stretching his neck, and flexed his fingers as he lowered his hands to his hips. He rested his left hand on the black hilt of the scarlet blade hanging at his waist and extended his crimson wings. His gaze darted to them and he swiftly checked his feathers were lined up perfectly and his wings were ready for when he needed them. He casually furled them against his back as the angel drew closer, so they brushed the pointed slats of armour that protected his hips and the backs of his greaves.

His heart beat harder, muscles coiling beneath his skin as he waited.

Waited.

For a moment, it looked as if the angel would fly straight past him and then he diverted course, banking to his right and descending towards a flat section of the hill that rose to Rook’s left.

The male landed gracefully, neatened his ponytail with a steady hand, and gave a few more beats of his onyx wings before allowing them to settle against his back. He turned towards Rook, lifted his head and pinned him with bright blue eyes that glowed against the darkness of Hell.

Rook refused to move from his spire of rock.

He glared down at the male, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. “Not learned your lesson yet?”

The male regarded him silently, no trace of emotion crossing his features.

Rook growled through his fangs at him as all of his teeth sharpened and turned crimson in response to the anger that blazed in his veins.

The angel was trespassing, should at least have the decency to harbour even the smallest flicker of fear or doubt in his eyes. The way the angel treated Hell as if he was allowed to roam it freely, without consequence, had riled Rook the moment he had met him centuries ago. It had only irritated him more each time he had seen the angel after that.

Coupled with the fact this angel seemed able to withstand the Devil’s voice, even went as far as challenging his master at times, throwing curses back at him, the male really pissed him off.

Rook rolled his shoulders and didn’t hold back the rage pouring through his veins. He let it flow over him and carry him away, stoked it as he narrowed his now-crimson eyes on the male. The angel dared to stand before him, to linger in his presence without fear. Worse than that, he dared to do it unarmed.

The bastard was taunting him.

Rook wasn’t going to stand for it.

The male thought himself powerful, believed himself able to handle Rook without a weapon to aid him.

Rook would show him what a mistake all his beliefs were.

His bones lengthened as hunger to eradicate the angel that had become his nemesis rolled through him, born of a desire to return his focus to claiming command of the First Battalion. A shadow swept over his skin, turning it black, and he growled through his all-sharp teeth. The angel appeared to move further away as Rook continued to grow, shifting into his demonic form.

As the crimson rolled down Rook’s feathers like blood to drip from their tips, leaving them onyx, the angel reacted at last.

A flicker of something that looked like remorse danced across his blue eyes as they shifted to Rook’s wings, as he watched the feathers fall away to reveal the dark dragon-like form they concealed.

Rook spread those wings and bared his teeth at the male as he drew the weapon hanging from his waist. It transformed as he swept his hand over it, going from a short crimson blade to a mighty broadsword, one capable of cleaving the angel in two with a single stroke.

The angel’s eyes leaped to it as Rook wrapped his other hand around the elongated hilt and brought it down before him, a pounding urge to relieve the angel of his head rushing through him.

That remorse lingered in their blue depths.

Rook snarled again.

Fear should be the only emotion the angel was feeling. Sheer terror that his life was about to end now that Rook stood before him in his demonic guise, a form that granted him more power than he commanded in his angelic one.

When another emotion joined the remorse in the angel’s eyes, Rook launched from the spire of rock with such force it shattered. A sound like the crack of lightning echoed around Hell as he shot towards the angel, determined to end him.

Because no one pitied him.

He was strong. He beat his wings. He had worked his way through the ranks of the Devil’s angels. He beat them harder. He had commanded the Second Battalion, led them in wars against Heaven and in the mortal world. He beat them harder still. He was second in command in the First Battalion, close to his goal of leading the most fearsome legion in Hell.

He drew his sword back, his gaze focused on his target.

He would prove it to this angel. Right here and right now.

The last feelings the male would know were pity and remorse for questioning his strength.

He swung hard, his aim true, and grinned as his blade closed in on the angel’s throat.

“Rook.”

That word, uttered in a calm way that was such a contrast to the maelstrom of emotion whirling inside him, halted him in the air as surely as a sword through his heart might have. He stared down at his chest, sure he would find a blade piercing it as pain rolled outwards from the centre of it, had his hands trembling and broadsword rattling just inches from the angel.

“What the fuck?” he snarled and beat his wings, shot backwards to regroup and get the sudden flood of feelings that poured through him under control.

They swirled and collided, all of them birthed by hearing this angel utter his name. He understood none of them, not where they came from or what they meant, couldn’t untangle the web of them no matter how hard he tried.

Rook swept his blade down by his side and growled as he realised the angel was playing him for a fool. It was all a trick. An elaborate one. The bastard wanted to lure him into a trap. How many others like Rook had this angel killed and returned to Heaven, taking their free will from them?

He served the Devil because he wanted to serve him.

This realm was his home, his entire world.

The hilt of his sword clanked against his armour as he instinctively reached for his forearm in response to that and the niggling sensation that something else had been his entire world once.

Heaven?

He shunned that thought. Even if somewhere else had been his entire world once, Hell was that place for him now. Nothing would change that.

“I know you.” The angel took a step towards him, the fires of Hell reflecting off the gold edges of his black armour that moulded to his upper chest, forearms and shins, and the pointed strips that protected his hips. “I know you, Rook. It was long ago, many centuries now. I thought you dead… foolish, I see that now. Or perhaps you did die… a part of you died and it led to you serving this place.”

Rook spread his wings and beat them again, not to move away from the angel but to hold a position in the air above him. He wouldn’t run from this male, wouldn’t allow his poisonous words to taint his heart and dissolve his strength. They were all lies, designed to weaken him.

“Any angel could discover my name,” he spat and narrowed his crimson eyes on the male. “Don’t think yourself clever in your approach to attempting to be my downfall.”

“Downfall?” The male’s lips curled slightly, a rueful edge to his smile. “Your downfall is not me, and it is not now. It happened all those centuries ago… the night you chose to serve this wretched realm.”

Rook growled at that, flashing his fangs. “You know nothing of me… your realm is the wretched one, and your kind are foul fiends, determined to place my kind in Heaven’s shackles again.”

“I do not want to kill you, Rook.” The male shook his head, a slight frown furrowing his brow. “It would defeat the purpose of my being here.”

There was a glimmer of something in the male’s blue eyes that said he had considered killing him at one point though. For what reason? And why hadn’t he gone through with that plan?

“Why are you here then?” Rook let his demonic form fade away to conserve his strength. It was taxing to use it, wore him out even when he was in Hell, a place that was his home. His entire world. His fingers twitched with a need he suppressed. “If not to taunt me and lure me somewhere you can murder me?”

“I needed to speak with you.”

Him in particular?

“So speak, and then leave.” He swept his hand back up his blade to shorten it, but kept it out, gripped at his side in case he needed it.

He tried to deny the curiosity growing inside him, but its grip on him was as fierce as his on his sword, and he found himself wanting to hear what had brought the angel into Hell and to him.

“The witch—”

“Again with this witch?” Rook cut him off.

Why did the angel keep bringing up the female?

His free hand twitched.

He ignored it.

“She needs your help, Rook.” The male took another step forwards, closer to him, and tilted his head up, causing his ponytail to slip from the shoulder of his black armour.

Armour that so closely matched Rook’s own. Strange how an angel who served Heaven could be given such dark armour and wings. It hardly seemed fitting. All the angels who worked near the pool were of this male’s kind though. Rook had only seen one mediator, angels with white wings, in his time. That male had come with this one a few months ago, and Rook had watched them until the Devil had grown furious and had ordered him away from them.

“You help her. I’m not interested.” He went to turn away as a pressing need to leave built inside him.

The Devil exerting his will on him.

He felt it as a tug in his chest, one that had him wanting to move to a distance and call on his legion. He didn’t need to call to them. They were already coming. He could feel it in his blood. Soon, this angel would face the strongest battalion serving Hell.

This time, Rook wouldn’t let the angel flee.

“I cannot find her.” The angel shifted his foot forwards, looking as if he might risk another step, and then clenched his fists at his sides and loosed a black curse. “Listen to me, Rook. She needs you. Only you can find her. I believe that.”

Rook chuckled at that. “You believe it? I am expected to go along with your beliefs? I don’t think so. I recommend you leave now.”

The male stared him down, his blue eyes sober. “You believed in her once.”

He froze again, the collision of feelings he couldn’t grasp sending his mind swirling. Had he known the witch the angel spoke of? His free hand twitched, and this time he didn’t hold it back. He brushed his fingers over the raised crimson crossed axes on his vambrace and down over the skull below them.

He searched his memories and found none of a witch. He had never met one of her kind before. The angel was mistaken.

Dark words rang in his head, his order clear. Make the male leave now or face the consequences of disobedience.

Rook swept his palm down the length of his blade again, transforming it back into his crimson broadsword. He beat his scarlet feathered wings, focused his mind and readied himself.

“Will you listen to me?” the angel barked. “Do not listen to him. He wants you here for some reason. Rook, you must listen to me.”

He growled, baring his sharp teeth, and gripped his sword in both hands. “I know no witch. I have never met one of her kind. I don’t have to listen to you because you mean to deceive me.”

“Fine, Rook.” The male rose to his full height, tipping his chin up as his blue eyes brightened, glowing in the low light. He held his hands out in front of him and twin curved golden blades appeared in them. “We will do this the hard way.”

Rook readied his own sword.

The angel unleashed his black wings, twisted away from him and beat them, hurling a wave of dust at Rook as he shot into the distance.

Rook snarled and gave chase, his wings beating furiously as he fought to catch up. He was damned if he would let the angel escape again. This time, the male was going down. He would capture the creature and present him to the Devil, and his master would recognise his strength and skill.

The position of next commander of the First Battalion would be secured.

Everything he had ever wanted in life would be his.

His wrists burned and he grunted as a wave of fire encircled them, chasing around them beneath his vambraces and searing his bones.

It was all he wanted.

This realm was his everything.

He gritted his teeth against the ribbons of fire as they blazed hotter.

His entire world.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

A feminine voice echoed in the darkness, cutting through the pain.

It reached to him and wrapped him in comforting arms that stole it all away, left him drifting in the shadows, feeling light inside.

“I’ll be with you forever.”

Heat streaked down his cheeks as tremendous pain welled up inside him, agony he couldn’t contain.

He threw his head back and roared.

A single thought crystallised as he emptied his lungs in a desperate attempt to purge the pain that was tearing him to pieces, threatening to consume and destroy him.

The owner of that voice was his entire world.

It shattered as quickly as it had formed.

Rook frowned down at his wrists as he beat his wings to keep him in the air. The breeze from them cooled his face for some reason. He lifted his free hand and brushed his fingers across the wetness on his cheeks, canted his head and studied it as he brought them away.

It meant nothing.

He shifted his gaze from them and fixed it on the retreating angel.

A male who would be his prize and would secure his elevation in the ranks.

He flapped his wings and shot after him, because achieving the position of commander of the First Battalion and the power it would gain him was the only thing he cared about.

It meant everything.

It was his entire world.

The only forever he desired.