The Bound Angel (Sacrilege Rising: Book 1)

Chapter Thirteen

Lana leaped atop a pile of crates and drew her sword. She closed her eyes and looked up, thrusting the sword into the air and speaking words too soft to hear. Fire wreathed the blade. But instead of the pure white blaze like the warrior angel at the church, hers was a dirty flame of smoking reds and burnt oranges.

“People of Baltimore!” Lana declared high and clear. Faces turned when the glow of her sword fell upon them. Heads shook as if waking from a dream while others stood in stunned silence.

“Many claim to be your salvation, but only He can grant you deliverance. These men seek to poison your hearts. Do not be deceived! Stand strong! The wicked shall be destroyed, but those of God shall be righteous!” Once all eyes were upon her, she descended the sloping pile of crates. With each step, her flaming sword pushed back the gloom. As her gaze settled upon the two figures that came through the portal, she wore a predator’s grin. “Do not fear, children of the Lord. For I am with you now.”

Lana became a streak of light as she shot toward the demons. The smaller female snarled and backpedaled in an attempt to put space between them, but Lana was a freight train. Flaming steel was turned aside by raking claws. Lana’s sword was a blur of light, constantly on the attack, pressing the demon back with each blow.

The bigger demon joined the fight, trying to throw its shoulder into Lana. Without taking her eyes from the temptress, she twisted, and the mafia boss went stumbling past. Blow after blow reigned down on the female, and she barely managed to stay ahead of it. Her eyes narrowed in the sword’s dancing light.

“So self-righteous,” the temptress sneered as she danced away from Lana’s blade. “So confident she knows the way of the world. So naïve.”

At first, the robed figures were stunned by the angel’s appearance. Now they were backing away.

Lana’s sword finally connected, its tip slicing a crimson line across the temptress’ thigh and drawing blood. The demon shrieked and leaped back, but there was nowhere left to run. She was backed into a corner.

The bigger male demon finally regained its footing. It swung meaty fists faster than someone that size had any right to. Its attacks were wild but relentless, blow after blow coming faster and faster until it was a blur of motion. Lana casually dodged each one. She sidestepped and ducked with ease, using the least amount of movement necessary to avoid each attack. Then she moved so fast she vanished, only to reappear behind the mafia boss an instant later. The flat of her blade slapped it in the ass and she taunted, “Slow.”

The temptress’ voice cut through the sound of battle. She shouted, “Come to me! Stand by my side and you will be rewarded.” There was an odd pulsing to her words. “Do not let this intruder claim your glory. Save me. My most faithful servants will be lavished.”

Some of the robed figures stopped retreating. Their eyes glazed over as they listened.

“Yes. Come to me. Save me.”

The mass of hooded monks began shuffling toward the temptress.

“I will be so grateful. I will show you how much you mean to me.”

They broke into a trot. Even Mike was drawn to the sound of her voice. There was so much pain. So much need. Her eyes were wide and vulnerable. When she moved, her chest swayed under the thin tee shirt. Her soft pale skin glistened with sweat as she dodged Lana’s attacks. The gash on her leg made her stumble. This woman needed help. His help. Could he even call himself a man if he stood by while a defenseless woman was attacked? His feet started moving all on their own.

The light from Lana’s sword caught his eye, and Mike stopped. What was he doing? Moments ago she was a slimy black thing crawling from a flaming circle. She didn’t need his help. She deserved an angel’s justice.

Lana snarled and turned to the temptress, her sword becoming an arc of steel and flame. Inches before cleaving the demon in half, one of the monks threw himself into Lana’s side. Then all hell broke loose. The robed figures were on her, and Lana was forced to backpedal. Wide, flaming sweeps of her sword made the horde pause. Eager as they were to come to the woman’s rescue, fire was fire.

Given a chance to catch her breath, the temptress’ forehead creased. She looked around, sniffing the air. Her eyes fell on Mike and narrowed in confusion. Realization dawned on her beautiful face, and she pointed at him. “He is with the enemy!” Again, her voice cut through the noise with that hypnotic pulsing. “Stop him. Save me. Any desire will be yours to claim.”

A few hoods in the crowd slowed and turned to Mike. Their blank faces sent a cold shiver down his spine. Even the people on the mattresses were straining against their bonds as they yearned to obey. Hands broke free and ankles were untied.

Lana fought man and demon at the same time. When facing the robed figures she held back, resigned to keeping them at bay with wide strokes. When facing the demons, indignant fury strengthened her. She snarled, “Without the strength to fight your own battles, you resort to cowardice. How predictable.” The temptress just smiled as she backed away and let the humans throw themselves in the middle. Even to Mike, Lana sounded frustrated.

Then a group of monks was on him. He didn’t have Lana’s issues with hurting people, and the robed figures were clumsy. He punched one in the face and it went down holding its nose. He stomped on the inside of another’s knee, feeling a sickly crunch. But there were too many.

A man’s hand clamped on his arm and spun him around. He used the momentum to finish the spin and jam his elbow into an exposed throat, sending the man reeling. His open palm punched up underneath another’s chin, breaking teeth. But he was soon surrounded by grasping hands and a wall of robes.

Lana landed next to him with a thunderous crash. Her arrival drove the monks back. In one smooth motion, she circled her arm around Mike’s waist and leaped high into the air. They landed on a catwalk with a heavy crunch of golden boots.

“I cannot fight them and protect you.” She wasn’t out of breath at all. Her eyes met his and turned from furious to sad. Her face softened. “You must release me, Michael. Leave this place. I will clear a path. You will not be stopped.”

Release her?

The thought made something shift in his chest and he remembered their shared walk home. Watching movies together on the couch. Eating Chinese food. The way she looked when she thought he was making fun of her, and how she felt tucked against him at night.

But then he looked around at all the pain and suffering. At the things that had just crawled out of the floor. At the people reaching for a ladder that would take them up to the catwalk. Momentary disappointment hardened into resolve. Of course he would release her.

Lana’s hands cupped his face, turning him to meet her eyes. It took a moment to refocus. “Michael,” she said firmly. “We must hurry.”

“Okay,” he breathed to himself mostly. He said again, “Okay,” steadier the second time. “What do I do?”

She hesitated. “I cannot be certain, but we shall try what I know. Close your eyes. Clear your mind. Focus on your breathing. Feel the air pass through your chest as you inhale, and,” she waited a beat, “exhale. Block out everything but my voice.”

Mike tried to do as she directed, closing his eyes and focusing on breathing. He pushed away the sounds of shouts and scraping metal like he was used to doing with the background noise of the city. He concentrated on Lana’s voice.

She continued, “Forget where you are and what you hear. There is plenty of time. As thoughts rise to the surface, release them in the wind like flower petals. Inhale, and exhale. Concentrate on the sound of my voice. Breathe.”

It felt like he was being wrapped in a cocoon.

“Once your mind is clear, begin to search. Not with eyes or ears, but from here.” She touched his chest. “Let your thoughts drift. Reach out with your mind and spirit. Look for me. Follow my voice like footprints in the snow. Do not grip too tightly. Let the current carry you with it.”

He tried to do what she said, but how were you supposed to reach with your mind? What did that even mean? How did you let yourself get carried away by a voice? Anxious thoughts began to breach his cocoon. What if he couldn’t do it? What would happen to all those people? What would happen to him?

No. Now was not the time to panic. Mike pushed the unbidden thoughts away.

As Lana spoke, he concentrated. Not on the words, but on how she said them. He noticed the way her phrases rose and fell. How she sounded when she took a breath. The round softness of her tone and the lilting rhythm of her words, so different from the focused intensity she sometimes carried.

Then he felt something. Something with soft edges. He pushed against it, but it wouldn’t budge. His thoughts parted like a stream around a boulder. He circled it, brushing against its border, and images flashed in his mind.

The story of Jacob’s son Joseph came to him. He was sold into slavery by his jealous brothers but rose to become an Egyptian official. Not images. Memories. Emotions. He recognized that one as hope.

Then the whisper of silk on skin. The feeling of closeness. Real, genuine connection, and the emotions now tumbling through him. Sadness at the thought of never being free. Fear of what freedom would even mean. Disgust at the things that had crawled through the portal. A flash of white hot fury, held in check, reined in by a bridle.

He was the bridle. The restraint on Lana’s ability to act. How did he remove it? How did he remove himself?

“I feel it.” His throat was dry and his voice cracked, like he hadn’t spoken in hours.

There was a heavy bang, like a ladder being set into place. Lana’s voice remained steady. “Good,” she said from very far away, but he noticed a new, nervous energy. “Now, relax. Loosen the shackle. Release the bond.”

Mike relaxed every muscle in his body. He imagined a padlock, hard steel and looped metal filling his mind. When he saw the keyhole, a key was suddenly cool in his hand, sliding into the lock and bumping along the ridges. With a jerk, he twisted and waited for the loop to release. But it didn’t budge. He tried again to the same result. His cocoon shook with the failure.

It didn’t matter, he would try again.

Mike thought of a belt buckle, bright metal glinting against dark leather. The leather being fed through the loop, the clasp undone, the belt coming free.

Nothing happened.

He thought of a harness being removed. A door opening.

“I can’t. It’s not working.”

“Keep trying.” Lana’s voice was urgent.

Mike pictured himself as the key to the lock, turning, releasing. Then eyes opening. As his attempts and metaphors became more desperate and outlandish, a rumble shook his cocoon. The pages of a book, turning. What if he couldn’t do it? He focused harder. A blooming flower. A rising drawbridge. They would be overrun in moments.

The stream was draining away around him, falling through holes in the creek bed while the ground shook. The tighter he tried to hold on, the faster it slipped away.

His eyes opened. He felt dizzy and gasped for breath.

“I…” was all he could manage.

The warehouse came back in a rush, along with the nauseating taste of sour milk and the sound of feet and hands clambering on a metal catwalk. He doubled over and vomited over the edge.

Then Lana was there, holding his face in her hands. They were cool on his skin, re-grounding him in the present. He realized he was shaking. “Shhh,” she whispered. “It is alright, Michael. It will all be alright. But now we must go.”

“What about-”

“Shhh,” she said again. “It is not your fault. We will try again another time.”

Lana wrapped her arm around him and leaped again. This time, they landed next to the door they came in with a crash of metal boots on concrete. With a swing of her sword, Lana sent the wooden crates tumbling to the floor. She thrust the burning blade into each one until they caught fire.

He’d failed. He’d failed Lana. He’d failed all those people. The nausea in his stomach was replaced by despair.

With a pile of burning wood blocking the demons and monks from following, they fled through the same door they entered, this time escorted by the sound of taunting laughter.

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