MARCUS

With a roar, I attacked the worthless weapons on my walls, sending them crashing to the floor. I upended my mattress, tearing into it with my now fully-grown claws, feathers flying into the air. My tail lashed behind me wildly, taking down shelves and causing even more chaos. With every strike, feral battle cries and roars ripped from my chest and throat, until I sat in the center of my destroyed room, naked and panting and positively beastly.

“Marcus?” I closed my eyes as the voice of Lacedaemon; A.K.A. Benjamin, came from the now shattered doorway.

“Yes, Lace-Ben?” I cursed myself inwardly. The Spartan war general was no fool, and I couldn’t afford such slip ups.

One of the most dangerous aspects of this life was the weakness of the daemon form. And, as Death, I had gained myself many enemies. Thanatos hadn’t cared; no being could possibly touch him, much less harm him. But Marcus was vulnerable. If the powerful enemies that Thanatos were to catch wind of the state I was in…well, I simply could not allow it to happen. So, I’d spent centuries slowly eliminating the Greek accent from my speech, bit by bit, until I had an accent similar to Lucifer and the other angels. I hadn’t spoken my mother tongue in centuries, and it made my soul ache. But I could afford no ties to my homeland. To repeat Lacedaemon’s name aloud, with my pronunciation and accent…it would have exposed me immediately as a native speaker. Only God and Lucifer knew of my past, and I wanted, no, needed, to keep it that way.

I turned to see the Spartan’s eyebrow quirk up, which was an expression he’d only recently adopted, most likely due to Ammi’s terrible influence.

“You almost attempted my name, daimon. That would have been most entertaining.” I tried not to flinch at the hauntingly familiar term. He thought of me as a daimon, a Greek spirit or demon. Hearing the term filled me with a sharp pang of longing and homesickness that I tried hard to suppress.

They said time healed a broken heart. Yet, after all these centuries, Greece still held mine in the palm of her hand.

There isn’t much that I wouldn’t give to engage in small talk with that big, loveable Spartan oaf in Greek. I’d discuss the fucking weather if I could. That’s how I knew I’d fallen from the old days. I had no godly pride anymore.

“And I’m sure you would’ve never let me live it down, Ben.” I attempted to smile, but considering the state of both myself and my room, I doubted I pulled it off. “Was there something you needed? Or was Ammi just giving you more trouble?”

The soldier’s lips quirked up at my last statement. He’d been the Queen’s personal guard since she’d first come to Hell and received his fair share of inconveniences because of it. Yet, somehow, even he was still fond of her. She was a more powerful witch than even Megara in that way. None were immune to her spell.

“You’d think that once she’d accepted the king she would mellow out-”

“You’re the only one who thought that,” I interrupted with a snort, “nothing will ever ‘mellow’ that hellion out.”

Benjamin’s eyes narrowed, but he let my rudeness slide.

“I realize that now, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. But to your question, no, this isn’t about Ammi.”

He took a deep breath, and my eyebrows hit my hairline. It was a surprising show of emotion from the battle-hardened General.

“Megara made contact. She’s found another one.” His voice was solemn and grave, like he expected this revelation to be devastating.

After the nuclear bomb God had dropped, this was nothing. In fact, I didn’t understand why he’d bothered me with such a mundane development. There were literally thousands of Nephilim still at large. If Benjamin informed me of every single grunt we captured, I’d never get any peace.

I stared at him for a moment, blinking slowly, before replying, “And this concerns me…how? Meg is more than capable of taking care of a rogue Nephilim.”

But Ben was already shaking his head.

“Meg says this one is…different. Powerful. She believes this one was Michael’s right hand.”

I froze, dark glee filling my being at the words.

After the death of Michael, his army of Cursed Nephilim scattered across the countryside, causing mayhem and destruction in their wake. They spread their decay and death throughout the globe, and Lucifer had tasked me with taking care of them. By “any means necessary”. The King of Hell would allow no threats to his mate to remain uncontested. So, over the past year, I’d been hunting down Nephilim after Nephilim, often times eliminating them immediately. They were usually too much of a hassle to deal with otherwise. But some I barely managed to capture and bring down to Hell with me.

With my stunted powers, everything about this assignment was a royal pain in my pale ass.

The scum that I did drag down with me tended to be lower on the totem pole. Ugly, belly-to-the-ground pieces of shit who were more than happy to spill their guts when I, well, spilled their guts.

They all spoke of a “Golden child”, a Nephilim that Michael kept close to his side. An assassin of incredible power and grit. Michael’s favorite. The one he had to pick off his enemies. The general feeling about this Nephilim was that of jealousy and hatred. No one liked a goody-two-shoes, and they were more than happy to throw him under the bus when I applied some pressure.

I’d been hunting for that sonofabitch ever since.

“Where?” I stalked forward, now giving Lacedaemon my full attention, “what evidence does she have? And where the hell is she?”

“She was held up by a very possessive and very neglected archangel and holy shit why are you naked?”

I closed my eyes, slowly counting to ten in my head. It seemed everything these days was designed to try my limited patience.

“I was just finished with a shower and I haven’t had a moments peace since!” I grumbled in irritation, crossing my arms and narrowing my eyes at the small woman now standing next to Ben. “And Raphael needs to keep it in his fuckin’ pants.”

“The only one I can see who needs to keep it in his pants is the arrogant daemon who doesn’t have any on!” Meg snapped, peeking from between fingers, “don’t you go insulting my mate!”

“This assignment concerns the safety of both you and Amirykal. You’d think he’d understand.” I was well aware that I sounded like a petulant child.

“Oh, he understands. What he cannot get behind is me throwing myself into the ‘front line of the battle’ against the very creatures that want to kill me.” Meg smiled coldly, her eyes chips of ice as she finally dropped her hands.

Sometimes, she truly unnerved me.

“Your mate has a point,” Lacedaemon rumbled, “your involvement is certainly unwise, mage. I do not understand it.”

That, right there. That was why women like Megara and Amirykal loved Lacedaemon. He voiced his opinion, yet he did not suggest she remove herself from the assignment. He simply told her it was “unwise” and left it at that.

That motherfucker made the rest of us look bad.

It’s not that Lucifer, Raphael and I doubted the women’s abilities; since they were often used against us, we were well aware of them. But angels were literally designed to be protector-types, and I was all too aware of how easily death claimed mortals. After all, I was always the one that had done the reaping.

As expected, Meg melted like Lacedaemon had thrown water on her. Even the wicked witch had a heart.

“I’ll grant you that, Spartan,” Meg grinned at him fondly. “But sometimes even wisdom must be ignored.”

He inclined his head, and the conversation was over.

I narrowed my eyes. I didn’t buy that shit. If Lacedaemon found a creature he cherished in the way Lucifer cherished Ammi or Raphael cherished Meg, he’d be the most pain-in-the-ass, overbearing male here.

I’d look forward to seeing that when it happened.

“Want me to run through the encounter, boss man? Once you put on some damned pants, that is?” Meg asked, giving me a shit-eating grin. I growled, giving her a sharp look in response.

We’d always given each other shit, but she’d become insufferable since we’d been on this assignment together. Nevertheless, I did as she requested, pulling on a white sweater and a random pair of pants to appease her.

“Please, give me the details on this fucker.”

Meg snorted, her eyes gleaming.

“Well,” she purred, “don’t tell Ammi or Raphe I said this, but she was at least a solid eight. Not to be unprofessional, but she had curves for days. Plus: total badass.”

I started. The assassin was female? I was surprised. For all I’d heard of this “golden child”, I hadn’t heard a gender. I’d simply assumed the piece of scum to be male.

Oh, if Ammi heard that, she’d eat me for fucking breakfast. Maybe literally. She loved her food, and she could turn into a wolf, after all.

Megara’s eyebrow quirked up at my silence.

“What? No grumpy retort? No ‘focus on the fucking mission, witch!’” She attempted to mimic my deep baritone, failing miserably.

I rolled my eyes.

“Hardly, Meg. I was simply waiting for you to continue onto the more relevant information.”

She didn’t believe me, but she also didn’t call me on my bullshit.

“Her name is Kaiah. Human mother dead, no human occupation.” Meg frowned, “she’s difficult to pin down. She bounces from town to town to town. Obviously on the run, and damned good at it, too. Even with my magic, it was difficult to track her movements.”

My eyebrows hit my hairline.

“How is it that she evaded you?” I asked, struggling to keep my tone even. If this Nephilim-this Kaiah-somehow possessed magic to rival or even best Megara…then it changed everything.

“You want me to spell it out for you?” The mage growled, now thoroughly irritated by me. “She had me following a decoy for a week! I followed fucking Rihanna for a week! Now, normally, I wouldn’t complain, but-”

“But you did find her. Did you apprehend her?” I interrupted, knowing Meg could talk about Rihanna for days. It had happened in the past, an experience I had no desire to repeat. I still had fucking nightmares about that.

“Of course, I found her. I’m just mad it took me a whole damn week.” She pouted, fishing for sympathy. She was unlikely to find it with me. She could turn that puppy-dog look on Ammi or her mate, if she so desired.

“So you dragged her ass down here?” I pressed, narrowing my eyes at her avoidance.

“Nope.”

I exploded.

“Nope? The fuck you mean, nope?” I roared, towering over the small, infuriating human mage. Fuck, when I was a god, I could’ve crushed her so damn easily. And I’d done it for less serious offenses.

But, in the face of my ire, Meg just shrugged unapologetically.

“I meant what I said: Nope.”

I ignored Lacedaemon’s silent smirk at our byplay. Screw them both.

But before I could further lose my shit, the mage lifted a hand, and the words froze in my throat.

Oh, if I had been a god, she would have been nothing more than ash.

“Keep your panties on, Marc. What I meant was: No, I didn’t catch her. She almost took my head off, and I’m quite fond of my head. But I slipped a tracking charm onto the dagger she carries on her person-the very instrument by which she almost took my head off, I might add.” Meg grinned cockily, “so, in summary; you’re fucking welcome, you oaf.”

I wanted to tell her to go fuck herself. What I wouldn’t give to introduce her to Medusa. She’d intentionally pissed me off, after all. But I had to work with Meg, as much as it rankled. I wasn’t her boss here, she was my equal. The power dynamic was unfamiliar and uncomfortable for me.

“Thank you for your help, Megara.” I forced from between clenched teeth. And because I couldn’t help it, “but, do go fuck yourself.”

Then, because it was my own damn room and because it was one of the few things I could still manage, I snapped my fingers and removed them from the room. It used to be the most basic of my abilities, something I’d never thought to be grateful for. That would be like being thankful for my heart pumping on its own. How things had changed.

The moment they vanished, I sagged against the wall between a still-standing spear and halberd. As was my ritual, I held my hand in front of me, flexing my long fingers as if my power would suddenly return. As if my scythe would finally, after thousands of years, heed my call.

But nothing happened. Thanatos was still well and truly dead.