In the distance, the island’s alarm bells rang out. Reinforcements would arrive within seconds. But that was too long.
Oh, Scotty, please, please be okay…
Frantically, Harvester scoured the beach for any sign of the child, picking through the broken bodies of the dead and dying ghastbats and the shredded remains of the unfortunate hellhound.
Nothing.
Nothing, dammit!
But over near an outcropping of boulders, another hellhound crouched on the beach, injured and bleeding, snapping at the eagle-sized bats as they attacked from above. And sticking out from beneath the hound’s massive body, a skinny, pale arm, lying limp on the hot sand.
No!
Harvester banked hard and crash-landed on the beach next to thebeast. It swung its shaggy head around with a surprised snarl, its jaws dripping with ghastbat blood and ragged bits of their black flesh.
“It’s just me, you mangy mutt!” Hastily, she zapped ghastbats out of the sky with bolts of lightning, clearing the airspace for a protective force field. It only took a couple of heartbeats to secure an evil-proof dome above them, but it wouldn’t last for long.
The hellhound, whose name she thought was Ogre, lurched to his feet on unsteady legs, lifting his body off the tiny one he protected.
Scotty lay lifeless on the ground, the sand soaking up her blood as it drained through dozens of deep, gaping wounds. Shattered bone and organs spilled out of the gashes. But as bad as all the injuries were, one wound stood out, filling Harvester with icy fingers of dread.
The ragged punctures in her ribs, oozing with green fluid, were from themordaemon.
A cry escaped Harvester as she fell to her knees and gathered the child’s limp body into her arms. Scotty’s life force, so weak that Harvester could barely feel it, faded to almost nothing and began to flicker.
There was no time. Not even enough to get Scotty to Underworld General. Not that they could do anything.
She was going to die. Themordaemonhad seen to that.
“No, baby,” Harvester croaked. “I won’t let you.”
Ruthlessly ignoring the sounds of battle all around her, Harvester reached deep inside herself and seized her very essence. What she was about to do was forbidden. A grievous offense.
She didn’t care. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for Reaver and his family.
Tears rolled down her face as she drew out a tiny strand of her Grace and channeled it into Scotty.
For a moment, nothing happened. The Grace seemed lost, meandering around inside the girl’s spiritual body, unable to connect with her soul. Was it too late?
A hellhound released a mournful howl, its haunting call sending a chill up Harvester’s spine. Was it sad about its dead packmate, or did it sense that Scotty was on the verge of death?
Please, no. Please!
As if she’d heard Harvester’s plea, Scotty gasped, and her bloodless face filled with color.It worked.
A sob of relief escaped Harvester as she cut off the flow of Grace. She’d given Scotty a minuscule amount—a mere hundredth of a percent of Harvester’s total well of power, perhaps.
Not enough for any other angel to sense it inside the girl. She hoped.
Reaver would likely sense the loss inside Harvester, but he’d approve of what she’d done. Scotty would have died without the infusion.
Now, Harvester’s Grace was part of her, woven into her life force. Scotty would be more powerful and resilient than before.
But…and it was a bigbut, should Harvester’s Grace ever be taken from Scotty, she would die. Amordaemon’sbite was always fatal.
In Harvester’s arms, the child stirred as her body healed. Loud groans turned to soft whimpers as her bones knitted together, and the gashes in her flesh sealed. Harvester knew too well that the healing process was sometimes more agonizing than the initial injury, and she held Scotty tightly, doing her best to ease her thrashing.
Eventually, Scotty quieted, and her big, hazel-green eyes blinked open.
