You better run, trollop! He was done with them all.
There was no Aesir left in him now. None whatsoever.
Devyl swept his gaze over the battle, seeking Vine. It was an even split as to who was winning. His Deadmen were holding their own. But the demons were fierce.
As one of Gadreyal’s men ran at him, he shot a mage blast at the moron and disintegrated him.
“Vine!” he snarled, wanting her head.
“She is here.”
He hesitated at the feminine voice in his head. “Strixa?”
“Aye. And it’s not a trap.”
“Why would you help me?”
Strixa hesitated before she answered. “Vine has broken the code of sisterhood. I will not tolerate that. She has the harthfret and is planning to plant it to kill your Marcelina.”
Devyl let out a curse as she pierced his brain with an image of where Vine was. Damn, that hurt.
But he was grateful beyond measure.
And it was too bad the stupid twitling didn’t have his stone instead of Mara’s. Where she was burying it would have fed his powers even more. But he had no idea what it would do to Mara.
Tiveden, or Tyr’s Wood, was said to be some of the most fertile land here. It’s where the god had once planted his own seeds to grow his warriors. Those preternatural soldiers who’d been born of Tyr’s brook now comprised the bulk of his uncle’s Royal Guard.
That gave him an idea. Pulling the Seraph medallion out, he placed it in the same cage as his own harthfret. The moment the two touched, it sent a jolt through his entire body. One that left him breathless and warm.
Heat spread throughout his body, and for a moment, he heard more than just the aether around him. He could taste it, even.
It also brought him to Gadreyal’s full attention as she felt the awakening of the Seraph blood mixing with his. That caused every member of her horde to disengage from their opponent and head toward him.
Which was great for his men.
For him? Not so much.
Belle wiped the blood from her sword before she and Sancha came to take up positions by his side. “What’s it to be, Captain?”
“All-out bloodletting. No prey, no pay.”
With that, Bart threw out his hand and raised his own army of soldiers made of blackthorns. They twisted up from the ground and into monstrous beasts, complete with thorny swords, standing ready to fight to the end.
Valynda summoned Ghede Nibo—the Vodou loa. He was the leader of the spirits of the dead, and the one Thorn had bargained with for Valynda’s parole.
They were also close friends. How close, Devyl wasn’t sure. But he’d heard Valynda speaking to him whenever she thought no one else was around. And obviously, Nibo thought enough of her that he’d negotiated with Baron Samedi to bring her back to life so that she could join their crew. It wasn’t something either of them did lightly. Or anything they were known for.
Dressed in a black coat with a bright purple sash and shirt, Nibo was in his human form—ethereally beautiful, with dark curly hair and chiseled features. As usual, he was accompanied by his “twin” companions, Masaka and Oussou. Yet for being called twins, they were complete opposites of each other. Masaka a tall, androgynous woman who wore a small white tricorne emblazoned with skulls that matched her jacket and breeches, and a black ruffled shirt. Her skin was as dark as Oussou’s was pale. And while her hair was black, Oussou’s matched her bone-colored coat. Dressed in a black gravedigger’s jacket that held a white cross on each sleeve, he had his pale braids covered with a black tricorne that was festooned with mauve feathers.
A smile spread across Oussou’s handsome face that said he was savoring the coming battle as he handed Nibo his skull cane. In turn, Nibo passed to Oussou his bottle of white rum that held medicinal herbs. Oussou took a deep drink of the rum while Nibo pulled the head of the cane to reveal the sharp saber inside it. He handed the scabbard to Masaka. She held it up and bent it in the center. It immediately broke apart and crawled down her sleeves like twin snakes to form a thorny set of knives along her forearms.
Though they were members of the Ghede loa nanchon, they had much more in common with their warring Petro cousins. Fiery to their bones. There was nothing the three of them liked more than to raise hell and brawl.
Well, there was one thing they liked better. But the fury in their eyes said that their passion right now wasn’t carnal. They craved the same blood Devyl could taste.
And their combined presence here made Gadreyal shrink back. She hovered over the ground with a jaundiced eye at the increase in their number.
“You can’t wield Michael’s blood,” she snarled at Devyl. “It’s more likely to kill you than serve you.”
