The Bound Angel (Sacrilege Rising: Book 1)

Mike was in awe of Elijah’s determination. He was relentless. He became a blur as he hacked and slashed at the woman in black. His footwork was equally impressive as he danced to the song of death.

But the woman he called the Dark Lady was somehow even faster. She stayed a breath ahead of his attacks, moving like a snake. Each time it looked like his sword was finally going to catch her, she disappeared into a shadow or slipped aside with impossible speed.

No, not slipped. Lunged. Her reaching fingers turned to claws as they jabbed for Elijah’s throat. At the last possible second, he caught the blow on his shield. Sparks flew, illuminating their faces. His was grim resolve. Hers held snarling fury.

It may have been a mirage, but it looked like Elijah was beginning to tire. His next flurry of attacks was just a little bit slower, to the point Mike could actually follow them. The knife wounds from the men in the shadows were puckering at the edges, and he was starting to sweat.

After a thrust met empty air, he panted, “What foulness have you handed these castoffs?”

“Do not blame me,” the woman purred in response. Unlike him, she was perfectly relaxed, her every step light and quick. “They devised their weapons all on their own. Forged in black flame. Anointed in the blood of the sacrificed. Crude,” she smiled, “but effective.”

Elijah attacked with a staggering sequence of blows, but she danced away from each one. “They are one with the darkness,” he said, breathing hard. “No device engineered by the hands of men can accomplish that.” Panting, he dropped the shield. It crashed to the floor with a resonant tone.

“Oh. Well, yes,” the woman smiled. “That one’s mine.” She sprang from the shadows like a coiled viper. Claws raked and teeth snapped. Elijah managed to turn aside each blow or catch it on his armor, then struck back, driving a fist into her stomach. Finally, something landed, and Mike wanted to cheer with excitement. The Dark Lady doubled over and wheezed. Triumph seemed at hand. Elijah’s downward stroke, meant to decapitate, missed by a hair’s width as she leaped back. The dance resumed.

Even with Elijah weakened, they moved too fast for Mike to follow. Each exchange lasted less than a second. He wanted to help, and it was clear whose side he should join. Bad guys wore black. They were just so damned fast. Whatever he tried was as likely to hit the warrior in gold as the terrifyingly beautiful woman.

Behind this preeminent battle, the second golden sword-bearer was stretched to his limit. He slapped a dagger aside with the flat of his blade and lunged forward, burying his weapon in the throat of another robed figure striking from the other side. But a third came at him at the same moment, slashing another line of crimson along his calf. That one went down in two blows, but the warrior’s movements were becoming clumsy. As he tried to straighten, he stumbled.

A robed figure darted out of the darkness to bury a knife into his side just below the ribs. The warrior grunted and drove an elbow down, cracking the arm at the wrist, then raised it sharply, shattering the robed man’s face with a sickening crunch. But he looked exhausted. He dropped to one knee next to his female companion, too tired to remove the knife protruding from his side. Smoke from the burning corpses on the ground choked the air.

The kneeling woman continued her prayer. “Compel her to speak truth to her jailer…”

“My, my, see how the mighty have fallen,” the woman in black taunted, drawing Mike’s attention back to the other side of the nave. Her voice made him shiver. It was the promise of warm blankets in the winter.

Elijah gripped his sword in two trembling hands. He was hunched over with pain and fever. Corpses lay at his feet. His left leg wouldn’t respond, and he moved with the shuffle-step of the elderly.

“To be honest,” the woman continued. “I did not think this would work nearly so well. Is it not amazing what mortals can achieve when they put their minds to it?”

She struck, and Elijah didn’t react in time. Her claws slashed his wrist and he dropped his sword. The clang of metal on wood rang high and clear above the chaos. He fell to one knee, unable to mount a defense. She bent down and lifted his chin with one taloned finger until their eyes met. His breathing was broken and ragged. Wounds crisscrossed his body and oozed black puss.

It was over. Elijah was down and vulnerable. His weakened condition made Mike feel sorrow like he’d never experienced. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. Someone needed to do… something. That sorrow turned to righteous anger. He didn’t know what the hell was happening, but it was clear who was good and who was evil. He’d seen enough. He refused to hide any longer. But what was he supposed to do? What could he even do? This was insane.

“I have never seen your kind fall,” the woman purred. “Can you die? Truly? Or does the Almighty lift you up to serve again? I suppose we shall find out.” She pulled her hand back, claws clenched into a spear tip, and tensed for the killing stroke. Elijah held her gaze, forcing his head to stay up.

The Dark Lady thrust, her aim swift and true.

Laughing deliriously, Mike broke into a dead sprint, swinging a full can of paint in a wide arc. It smashed into the side of the woman’s head, knocking her back. Her thrust went wide of Elijah’s chest. Mike’s follow up caught her in the shoulder and spun her around. The third strike missed, and she lashed out with an honest-to-god tail, pulling his legs out from under him. But then Elijah was up and charging. Without the muscle control for finesse, he became a roaring brawler.

“DEMON!” he bellowed, driving a fist into her stomach and making her gasp. “Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength!” A two-handed hammer-blow sent her reeling. “They will soar on wings like eagles!” He gripped the back of her head and brought her face down into his gilded knee. Bones crunched. Blood sprayed. She staggered back, reeling from his assault.

“They will run and not grow weary!” He stooped to retrieve his sword while she stumbled. But he wobbled when he stood. His next attack was slow, and even in her wounded condition, the Dark Lady easily avoided it. But Elijah would not be discouraged. He swung a closed fist with his other hand, clipping the woman in the hip, and she spun and crumpled to the floor.

He struck overhand.

She rolled to the side.

He tried to stomp on her, and his armored boot connected. The Dark Lady screamed in pain and fury. “Stand firm in the faith!” Elijah roared over her outrage. “Be courageous!” He swung, his blade a gleaming arc of silver in the dark. “Be-”

The woman grabbed Mike and pulled him on top of her to use as a shield. His heart was in his throat as the sword came for his chest, and saw a moment of indecision in Elijah’s eyes. He could end them both. At the last possible second, his sword turned aside. It struck the floor next to them and bit a deep furrow into the wood. The woman in black reacted instantly, shoving Mike away and driving her taloned fist into Elijah’s chest, piercing the armor. The golden warrior’s only reaction was a breath of surprise.

The Dark Lady watched the life fade from Elijah’s eyes until they became dull. She tilted her head in fascination for a long moment. When his body finally fell limp, she sneered, “Hypocrite.”

For a second, Mike was terrified she was going to turn her wrath on him next. But from the other side of the room, the kneeling woman said in a high clear voice, “Keep her from harming her captor….” It drew the demon’s attention.

Discarding Elijah’s corpse, she rose and scanned the room. Mike watched her eyes fall on the bodies of the robed figures, all dead and burning. He couldn’t look away from her as her gaze settled on the third golden warrior lying face down in a spreading pool of blood, knives sticking from his back like a pin cushion.

He was drawn to this hypnotically gorgeous woman like a moth to a flame. She was covered in blood. It drenched her face and matted her hair and stained her dress. And it did absolutely nothing to mar her beauty. Not beauty. That word made him think of a smile from the other side of the bed in the morning, or a rose in summer’s bloom. But there was something darkly, devastatingly, overwhelmingly erotic about the woman that summoned sinful fantasies.

Her dress was torn in places, and the straps had fallen from her shoulders again. The way she moved drew his eye to every sinful curve and the outline of her silhouette against a backdrop of fire. When she leaned, he had a torturous view of deep pale cleavage. When she gathered her strength to stand, the short dress bunched at her hips, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her ass. This woman was a goddess. Every fiber of Mike’s being was screaming to rip the rest of her clothes off and take her.

Images came to mind, unbidden.

After a pair of quick steps, she fell to one knee clutching her wounds. All he could think of was standing over her, bunching her hair in his fist and using her gorgeous mouth.

She hunched over as she tried to stand, vulnerable and clearly in pain. It called to something dark lurking inside him, and he imagined bending her over the altar and taking her from behind while she struggled.

She stumbled as she tried to walk, and Mike pictured himself lying atop her on the ground and forcing her legs apart with his knees.

Then she straightened in all her dark glory, weakness melting away, and lifted her arms. The shadows swirled, then seemed to stretch toward her from every corner of the church until she was wrapped in darkness.

The woman in black glided forward, through the heat and the smoke, while the kneeling woman in gold continued her chant. “Bind her to the will of her master.”

The Dark Lady gasped and stumbled again. Her cloak of shadows dissolved. She reached for her throat. When her fingers touched a black collar, her eyes widened in surprise.

“What is this?” she asked, an edge of fear creeping into her voice for the first time.

“This, Father, I pray…” the crystal sphere was bright in the golden woman’s hand now.

The Dark Lady’s fear quickly turned to anger as she spat, “You will tell me what this is, hag!”

“In the name of the Father…” beams of light shone through the gaps between the kneeling woman’s fingers.

“Answer me!” the woman in black raged, frantically clawing at her throat. “If you do not answer me, I will flay you alive! You will have no eyes, no ears, no tongue to plead to your self-righteous patriarch!”

“And the Son…” the hand holding the orb was eclipsed by the bright glare.

“Remove this. Now!” The gorgeous demon’s voice trembled.

“And the Holy Spirit.”

The sphere was so bright it drove the woman in black back a step and forced her to shield her eyes. With a ragged scream, she lunged. Black shadows that looked like wings propelled her into the blazing light. Her talons extended, pointing, reaching for the other woman’s throat.

“Amen,” the woman in gold said softly, and the crystal shattered.

For an instant, smoke and ash were caught in a spinning vortex, spiraling in toward the woman’s outstretched hand.

Then it detonated. Light and heat and force exploded in a blinding luminescent sphere. The stained-glass windows blew out. The flames, concentrated on the floor where the black-robed corpses lay, were fanned throughout the church. Mike flew back, tumbling through the air until the back of his head collided with a post, and everything went dark.