Velvet Haven

wiper blade off the windshield of a nearby car. “C’mon,” he snarled at the hellhound, “you want me, come get me.”
    The dog lunged. Bran held out his left hand, allowing his sigils to absorb the power of the moonlight, and the wiper blade turned into a sword. When the hound was in midair, Bran plunged the sword right through the animal’s throat. The gurgling snarl and bubbling of blood mingled with the whimper of the hound behind him.
    Turning, out of breath and weak, he faced the last hellhound. If he could just take this one he could get back inside the club. Get to Cailleach, who could heal him. He could regain his strength, his magic, and then he could kill Morgan once and for all. But not before he made her tell him where she kept his brother prisoner. Even if he had to torture her.
    Vision swimming, Bran took an unsteady step and raised his sword. In truth, he knew he was dying. “Fuck her,” he spat. “I won’t allow her to win without a fight.”
    The hound lifted its frothing lips, baring its teeth. Its red eyes glowed as bright as blood; its teeth glinted in the moonlight. It was going to hurt like the burning fires of hell to be torn apart by this creature, but it was more palatable than the thought of being shackled to Morgan for the rest of his days.
    Morgan would never be queen of Annwyn. Never .
    It was all she’d ever wanted, which meant that this hound would not kill him, merely maim him so that he could be taken back to the Wastelands, where Morgan lived in all her misery and evil. She wanted to be queen. She wanted his powers. And it was his belief, his knowledge of Morgan’s desire, that told him this hound would not kill him.
    But this was an animal, and animals turned. He was part animal himself; he knew that side of him wasn’t easy to control. This beast would be no different.
    Jabbing the tip of his sword, he taunted the animal as it paced back and forth, showing him its teeth, then clamping them as the sword tip pierced fur and hide.
    C’mon, just lunge at me. But the hound knew what he wanted. It paced back and forth, snarling. Bran taunted it some more, jabbing at it, wounding it, and finally he got what he wanted. With a snarl, the hound leaped up, and Bran sliced his sword through the air, but it missed entirely. Lifting the sword again, his arm burning and bloodied, he prepared for another strike.
    The beast jumped and shoved him back with all four paws on his chest. Bran fell toward the ground, knowing that in the next instant it would press on him and tear out his throat. He felt himself become weightless. The world blurred and his eyes rolled back in his head.
    The next thing he knew he was facedown on asphalt, his nose in a puddle of water.
    “Open your eyes, Sidhe.”
    Bran glanced up at the winged figure towering above him. With a groan, he closed his eyes again. “What do you want, Suriel?”
    “How about some thanks for saving your useless ass?”
    Suriel never did anything for free, and Bran wasn’t willing to pay the debt. He recalled just how Suriel had looked at Mairi and felt a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. No way was he making any deals with Suriel.
    “I didn’t need rescuing,” he snarled instead.
    “Whatever.” Suriel knelt down beside him. Bran opened his eyes to see a pair of green combat boots and the ends of black wings, the feathers dipping into the muddy water.
    “The day I need your help is the day you can strip me of my powers and cut my balls off.”
    Suriel growled as he tugged on a fistful of Bran’s long hair and lifted his face from the water. “You have no dominion here, Raven. I rule this place, not you.”
    True. He was in the mortal realm, and that was the aegis of God and the angels, even this fallen one.
    “What do you want? You don’t do anything unless there’s something in it for you.”
    Suriel smiled cruelly, his beautiful face contorted with menace. “Ah, but there’s something in it for you, too. I know the identity of the human who will kill you.”
    How does the bastard know of Morgan’s curse against me? Suriel laughed. “This is my world and you would do well to ally yourself with me.”
    “I don’t make deals with the devil.”
    “Fallen Angel,” Suriel corrected as he pressed the heel of his boot onto the gaping wound of Bran’s arm. “Lucifer was cast out for plotting against God. I didn’t plot against Him, I merely got laid.”
    Grinding the heel of his boot deeper, Suriel