In a blink, the bald Fallen rushed to strike. She brought her arm up to block. Damn that poisoned bite. Too slow again. With the flick of a wrist, he grabbed her by the neck and slammed her against the wall. She winced as her wings made contact. Chunks of concrete fell to the ground. His nails lengthened into deadly claws. Blood oozed from her flesh. He reeked of the Netherworld. Her eyes watered, vision dimmed, face flooding red in shame. Oh, the embarrassment of it all. Outmaneuvered by a Fallen. Incapable of protecting humans. Mauled by a friggin’ hellhound. Talk about demotion. She’d be lucky if they allowed her a Watcher position after this.
“I’m gonna love ripping your head off, sheanar.”
The air thrummed with tension and power. Less potent than what the Fallen, radiated but more recognizable, this was the energy she’d felt earlier.
“Release her.” A new voice entered this little get together. It was dark and ominous, yet strangely familiar.
The Fallen loosened his grip a bit and turned his head toward the tunnel. It was so quiet. No rats scurrying in dark corners. No dripping water. Not even the distant rumble of a train. Just eerie, disconcerting quiet.
“No worries, man. I just found us a little bitch to play with.”
“Let her go.” The newcomer cocked his weapon. It echoed loudly in the underground silence. “Now.”
“Oh, come on, man. She’s a spunky one. We could have fun with her. Before we kill her.”
“Amazarek, let her go. This woman is mine.”
Charouth twisted her head toward the newcomer. Her jaw dropped. She saw a ghost.