Fallen Darkness (The Trihune Series Book 2) (15 page)

Chapter 33

Kate sat on the bed. Would he really let her go? Just like that? She’d be stupid to believe it. And she’d already been stupid way too many times to count.

Why had she told him her secret?

He already figured out most of it, though. She touched her temple. Was it true? Did her eyes change? Wouldn’t she know if they did?

The image of his glowing eyes and fangs sprang in her head. She shuddered.
Holy fuck.
He was no longer Rich Guy when he changed like that. The man could tear her frickin’ head off with those fangs. And his eyes. They were like mini flashlights. The light warm when it landed on her.

Her hands clenched. She wasn’t afraid, though. She could take care of herself.

He touched her. Outside the bar. Skin on skin. No one had touched her in years. His hand had cupped her cheek. So gentle. Almost like a caress. Something else she wasn’t used to.

Shock had stilled her. Then her power had sprung to life, reaching for a memory, but something changed. Instead of a flashback, her power grabbed . . . What had it been? Suddenly she’d been so tired. Couldn’t keep her eyes open. Then everything faded and she woke in the church.

He hadn’t explained what he did to her.

Kate cupped her cheek. His hand hadn’t been soft. Not like a rich guy’s would be. It was calloused, rough from hard work, but so gentle.

A noise of disgust left her and she dropped her hand.

What had he said? He was a Bens-ma? Whatever. That didn’t tell her anything.

She heard the word Trihune before. In the church. Still didn’t understand what it meant, though.

He was a cop, of sorts. That she did understand.

That fact scared her more than the fangs and flashlight eyes. How messed up was that?

It didn’t matter, though. Unless she decided to work at his Headquarters. She’d cleaned office buildings before. It was an okay job. Similar to cleaning houses.

He mentioned preparing meals, too. Maybe that was like getting coffee and donuts ready for conferences or something. She worked at a donut shop before.

Her heart thudded. He knew her secret. If she were smart, she’d sneak out the window, leave town, and never see him again.

But she knew his secret, too. A bit bigger than hers. He wasn’t even human. Had said so himself.

Kate paused. Was she human?

Lucas might know someone like her. How often had she wished to find someone with her ability? But it’d been a dream, like the one of her parents coming to take her home. Infantile and useless. A hopeful delusion unable to provide food or warmth.

But what if?

If she worked for him, she wouldn’t have to hide her ability. Wouldn’t have to quit when the boss found out she wasn’t wearing gloves to hide burn scars.

He’d get her out of town, which was a must, and she’d have a job.

Oregon was farther away from Chicago, though.

But she had no ID. Couldn’t buy a ticket to Chicago even if she did have the money.

Kate leaned her head against the wall. One foot still dangling off the edge of the bed, the other curled under her. Exhaustion settled in her body. She closed her eyes.

It was decided. She’d work for him. Make some cash. Then take off for Chicago. Maybe he knew where to get a fake ID?

Her eyes flashed open. No. She couldn’t ask him, was already relying on him for too much. Had been ready to spill her guts to a man—could she still call him that?—she barely knew. Oh, he liked scotch, rare burgers—fangs, raw meat. She shuddered. Don’t go there. Just don’t—wore really expensive clothes, was rich, and had work troubles. That was it. They weren’t friends. He was using her. She’d use him. As soon as she was done, she’d be on her way.

Kate patted her pocket. She’d keep the watch for now. Might need it at some point. And if not, she’d return it.

She wasn’t a thief.

“Hang on a bit longer, Stacy,” she whispered. “We’ll be together soon.”

Chapter 34

Sonneillon walked in darkness toward Apollyon’s hidden room. It was miles away from the newly turned recruits. If anyone tried to find it, well, they wouldn’t make it. The absence of light, many twists and turns, and the hidden holes that dropped unsuspecting victims twenty feet to meet the protruding stakes made sure of it.

He’d just finished cleaning the chamber where the turn took place. The once gray cement floors and walls had been stained to almost black over the centuries.

His clothes, smeared with blood and other Follower excrement, were now burning in a metal can.

The three recruits who hadn’t survived had been disposed of. Newly turned Fallen were still unconscious in their large room.

Sonneillon paused outside the metal door. Silence reigned on the other side. Perhaps Apollyon was already sleeping. It’d be easier that way.

This was one of the more unpleasant tasks, but he’d do it. As he’d completed most everything else Apollyon requested of him these past centuries. The end result was worth the price.

He opened the door slowly, aware of every creak. The rusty hinges were its own alarm system and wouldn’t be oiled or replaced for something newer or stronger. Whoever dared entered these premises without an invite would be leaving in garbage bags. Even in his weakened state, Apollyon could tear shit up.

The light in the room was no different than the hallway before it. No matter. Sonneillon’s sight allowed him to see just as easy in the dark as in sunlight. It was the being inside this room that had him treading carefully.

The loss of three recruits was one of the better outcomes of a turning, but it still angered Apollyon. Sonneillon would rather avoid Apollyon when he was angry.

The room’s lavish furnishings weren’t much of a shock anymore. Though stepping from cement tunnels through a rusted metal door onto plush carpet with his stained black boots just seemed farcical at times. The bed—more than likely, stolen from some 16
th
century king—was the most prominent piece of furniture. A large oval mirror with a gold border stood in the corner. The wooden door on the opposite wall opened to Apollyon’s wardrobe—embarrassingly large for a male.

Unexpectedly, Apollyon wasn’t lying on the bed. He sat in a large leather loveseat that didn’t fit in with the rest of the King Henry the VIII décor. Chin on fist, he stared at his reflection in the oval mirror.

“Are you well?” Sonneillon asked, closing the door behind him. The back of the rusted metal door was wood and contained hand-carved ancient symbols.

He shifted his gaze in the mirror to meet Sonneillon’s. “I need more.”

Apollyon’s human form, aged about thirty years, had dark brown hair, blue eyes, and was in peak physical condition. In this form, he didn’t need to eat or drink to sustain his life. He healed himself from any injury except those caused by the sun. Like the Fallen, he couldn’t be outside while the sun shone.

Today, he was paler than normal. His white robe stained with fluid, some of it his own.

“More?”

“Yes, more.” His head whipped around, narrowed eyes flaring red for a quick second, lighting the interior of the room. “Night after night the Trihune slaughter my children while I’m stuck in here.” He waved a hand to encompass his room. “Unable to protect them.”

“It’s for your own safety that you stay hidden,” Sonneillon reminded him quietly. He walked around the bed and opened the closet. He chose a pair of loose fitting slacks and a shirt.

“I know that,” Apollyon snapped.

Sonneillon set the garments on the bed and turned to face him. “Come. Let me help you change. You’ll feel better after you’ve rested. You can greet the new Fallen. I know you like to be the first person they see when they wake into the new life you’ve given them.”

“Stop handling me, Sonni. It’s annoying. I’m not addle-brained. And I’ve told you what will make this better. More! More recruits. More Fallen. More children to fight the Trihune.”

Sonneillon moved to the middle of the room. Apollyon braced both hands on the arm of the chair and pushed to his feet. He swayed and grasped the fabric of the chair. Sonneillon knew better than to offer assistance. Once balanced, Apollyon shuffled forward.

Back straight, chin high, he allowed Sonneillon to undress him. The task was performed because Apollyon was too weak to do it himself, but nothing in his demeanor indicated his feeble status. To show weakness was equivalent to being weak.

“Nothing to say?” Apollyon asked.

Sonneillon gently pulled the shirt over his head. “You know my opinion on this matter. The last time we spoke you were in agreement.”

Apollyon yanked the garment out of Sonneillon’s hands and pushed it down over his chest and stomach. “Well, my opinion has changed.”

Once the clean pair of pants had been tied around Apollyon’s waist, Sonneillon picked up the discarded clothes and set them outside.

“Who has replaced Vetis?” Apollyon asked once the door was closed again.

Sonneillon froze for only a fraction of a second, but he knew Apollyon saw it, more than likely had been watching closely for a reaction. He turned, forced himself to offer nothing else, to have no expression. How had Apollyon learned of Vetis’s death? “One of the newly turned has been chosen to work alongside Kobal. His nickname is Serial. He shows great promise.”

“Really?” Apollyon inquired, voice low, full of curiosity.

That was worse than his anger. “Yes.” Sonneillon met Apollyon’s gaze, kept it there, forcing his tone to remain level. “He’s been extremely successful in choosing appropriate recruits.”

“Like recognizing like.” A small smile curled his lips.

“I’m sure.

Apollyon’s gaze moved back to Sonneillon, watching, examining. The smile vanished. “You’ll bring me more recruits in one months’ time.”

“One,” Sonneillon echoed with no inflection in his voice. Apollyon eased into bed and Sonneillon lifted the covers over him.

“Yes. And bring twenty more recruits than usual.”

“So seventy recruits in one month.”

Apollyon arched an eyebrow. “Is that a problem, Sonneillon?”

He smiled. “Of course not. You’ll be able to perform the turning on such a high number in such a short time?”

“Are you questioning my strength!” The words echoed around the room, deafening.

“Of course not,” he responded. “But I do question your reasoning.”

Apollyon punched the mattress. “I’ve told you. The Trihune have slaughtered too many.”

“No more than what occurred in the last year or even in the last decade.” He appraised Apollyon’s face, searched past the always-ready temper. Something else was there. “Why now? What has happened to cause this worry? This need?” It couldn’t just be about the demon Vetis’s death.

Apollyon quieted, his expression smoothing. “How long have I been stuck here, Sonni?”

“In this lovely abode,” he asked, with no trace of sarcasm as he gazed around the room. “Or on earth?”

“The latter.” Apollyon’s eyes narrowed again.

“Five hundred years, give or take a century. Same as I.”

“And what has been my plan?”

“Vengeance.”

“Yesss.” The word ended on a hiss. His eyes flared red again. “And it will be mine.”

“I have no doubt.”

Apollyon studied him. “I can trust you, Sonni, can’t I?”

“Of course. Why would you think otherwise?”

“Your refusal to bring me more recruits. To bring me what I need to finally put an end to this imprisonment.”

“I only object out of concern for your health.”

It’d been the same routine for centuries. Every six months, create new Fallen to replace the ones the Trihune killed.

When Apollyon first learned he could create beings, he’d tried to build an army in the course of three days. One hundred and fifty humans had been recruited. The experiment had almost cost him his life and would have if Sonneillon hadn’t stopped it.

In order to turn a human into a Fallen, Apollyon had to remove a part of himself and inject it into the human’s soul, changing him from a Follower of the Creator into a being who mirrored Apollyon, the first one ever to fall.

It’d taken almost two years to build back his strength and another year before he was able to turn humans again. Sonneillon had been the one to nurse him back from death. It was Sonneillon who managed the Fallen after their turn. And it was Sonneillon who brought Apollyon new recruits every six months because that was how long it took for Apollyon to recover.

“I’ve been gaining strength over the years stuck down here with nothing to do ten months out of the year. I may even see the sun again.”

“Gaining? How?” Red light landed on Sonneillon’s frame. He could feel the heat of Apollyon’s gaze, but the temperature did not affect him.

“None of your concern. Now I wish to rest. Wake me when my children rise.”

Sonneillon left, gathering the stained laundry to add to his own in the fire pit. What was Apollyon up to?

Questioning him didn’t always bode well.

Seventy recruits in one month. Sonneillon would leave it alone for now. Bring seventy humans to Apollyon in four weeks, but afterward he wouldn’t leave until he learned of Apollyon’s plan.