Demon Forged

remembered cutting off her braids, vanishing the blood-spattered iron, and telling him to burn it all.
    Then she’d flown, and hadn’t stopped until she’d crossed an ocean, mountains—until a great forest passed beneath her.
    She’d landed between the pines and sobbed until she had no more tears. When she was done, she’d begun to walk. She’d traveled between the two continents almost six times in those two hundred years. And when she’d seen that so much of it had become as Europe had been—when the same languages had been spoken—she’d flown back.
    The devastating weight had still weighed on her, but not as heavily. And she’d been so careful when she’d seen Olek. She’d spoken to him, not as mentor and novice, but on equal terms and in the language of the city they were in—and in a language that had always forced her to consider her words, to think about their sound and order before they left her mouth.
    But despite that care, despite the need, anger, guilt, and shame stood between them like an enormous wall. The blow to his pride had been too great—as had the stain on her soul.
    And so the demon had won.
    Irena sighed and opened her eyes. Yes, the demon had ruined something good. Something right. That was all demons offered—ruin, pain—no matter the faces they presented. Their kind corrupted everything they touched. Good might come out of an agreement with one—such as saving Alejandro’s life—but something else was always destroyed in the process.
    She didn’t know why Alejandro couldn’t see that the alliance with Rael would taint them, and that they should kill the demon before it was too late. Eventually, the demon would exact a price—one that she feared would be too dear to pay.
    The whisper of feathers added to the sounds from the city. She glanced left. Michael touched down on the ledge beside her, the wind blowing at his white tunic and loose pants. His black wings folded and disappeared.
    She hadn’t expected him. “How did you find me?”
    “I came to the highest building in the city.” He looked over the edge, straight down. She didn’t like doing that unless her wings were already formed—she looked out, but not down. “Alejandro said you would be here.”
    Her laugh came out soft and raw. Olek knew her so well. And he still did not guess what she had hidden from him.
    Hidden from him—or had she lied to him?
    Her fingers clenched. Guilt coated her throat. Guardians often lied, both directly and by omission, and they often hid truth. But would Olek see her omission as a betrayal?
    A betrayal of what? What had been left after the demon was done with her?
    But was she only splitting hairs to protect herself from more pain if Olek reacted to the truth as she feared he would?
    Whatever it was, her omission was not the same as Michael’s, who’d still led them, who’d still allowed them to think he’d been a human man before he was a Guardian. Who’d never told them he was the son of a demon.
    When she looked at him, she felt a different weight, but one almost as crushing. Michael had trained her himself. For sixteen centuries, she’d looked up to him. She’d admired his quiet and restraint, his ruthless skill. She hadn’t always agreed with him, but she’d always valued his opinion and the millennia of experience behind it.
    But those sixteen hundred years had been a lie. And in sixteen hundred years, she had learned to deal with physical pain, but she still could not handle emotional pain. She knew that about herself. But it didn’t make her any less angry, or see his deception as any less a betrayal.
    And the hell of it was, she took comfort from his presence now. Even knowing how he’d lied, she was glad not to be alone on this ledge.
    The wind stung at her eyes. “Why come to me?”
    “I have just learned about Julia Stafford. And that Lilith has asked you to help Alejandro.”
    She laughed. How much of a help she’d be remained to be seen. But she could start now. “What can you tell me of Rael?”
    Michael lowered to his heels beside her. “He’s ambitious. When he lived in Hell, he battled his way up Belial’s ranks. He’s ruthless. It did not matter if the demons were Belial’s or Lucifer’s; if they stood in his path, he found a way to destroy them.”
    “With his sword?”
    “Sometimes. Other times he arranged events so that the demons would fall in status, or be killed by another.”
    Not just a warrior—a cunning schemer. “And