I know he heard every word.
He strides up behind me and looms there, framing my small figure. I know he’s staring at Malek like he’s prey, but I force myself to stay exactly where I am, even while my eyes are telling Malek to leave.
He, of course, doesn’t listen.
It’s the wolf in him. He feels the need to assert his dominance, to protect his mate, and I love him dearly for it. Even when I want to yank on his ear and call him out on that alpha male bullshit that has the worst timing possible.
A big hand clamps down on my shoulder, and I try not to wince at the contact.
“Well done, little sister,” the Messenger says in his grating voice. He’s speaking Ifrit, and my fully accepted Prod has no trouble understanding the wordsnow.
Fucking traitor.
“Go away,” I reply in my own language. My whole body has tensed at his presence.
“Why would I do that when I found a delicious-looking traitor for our father?” He starts to sidestep me, and my wings flash out, blocking his way. I don’t have to turn and face him to exude command.
“You will not touch him. My men are off limits. Father has decreed it.”
Malek looks like he’s ready to burst with violence and rage. I can see welts rising over his skin and the sharpness of canines pressing against his lips. His whole body trembles and threatens to change, and I know just how dangerous this whole situation is.
A wolf shouldn’t change on any day besides the full moon. To force your body to change at will merges the two entities together, beast and man, and causes the more dominant one to take over. It’s what makes all the shifter Prods so violent and uncontrollable.
The change is upon him. Coarse hair sprouts against his arms, and his skin bubbles like something is pushing its way past his body.
“He will make an exception for this mutt. He is plotting father’s demise.” He shoves my wings unkindly aside. I think of all the demons here, he is the one who respects me the least, and I wonder if it’s simply because we share the same father and he feels older, superior.
I don’t give a fuck what it is.
I’m not letting him hurt Malek.
A snarl rips from Malek’s throat when he sees my half-brother shove my wings aside. He drops to all fours and arches his back just as the change rips through him. Skin and blood explode around him, and the sight is nauseating to witness. I’ve never seen something so primitive before. All the bones in his body seem to break and reform until he’s a massive brown wolf, baring his teeth at his enemy.
The Messenger chuckles at this and steps up beside me. “You think you alone can take me?”
Malek snarls in response.
I want to beg him to leave.
No words have a chance to come out of my mouth before I hear the unmistakable sound of wingbeats against air. Branches crack and cascade around us just as a figure falls from the sky and lands in front of us.
Fucking superhero landing style.
I can’t avoid the thrill that tingles between my legs.
Syko stands beside Malek’s snarling form, a cocky, tight smirk splayed on his mouth. “He’snotalone.” Those heavenly wings spread wide at his back, glowing in the darkness of the forest. They cast his whole body in an ephemeral halo of light.
He’s an avenging angel in all his glory, and I am reminded of those images depicted in churches. Of angels flying down from the parting skies of the heavens, sword in hand, to vanquish demons from earth.
Is it silly that my fingers itch to paint this moment?
Black eyes flick over to me, dismissing the Messenger like he’s completely beneath this heaven-sent angel. “Izzy.” The greeting is warm and sad. “I’ve missed you.” There’s so much implication in those three words that I know there’s more to it than that. He misses who I was before this.
The Messenger emits an annoyed noise and stomps forward a step. “Nephilim. I will break your bones and shred your bloody corpse.”
Syko squints at him. “I’m sorry, what was that? I don’t speak rockslide.”
It’s such a fucking Saint-like thing to say that I want to laugh.
