Brutus slides onto his belly, shuffling backward until his large body rests against the left side of mine. He ducks his head until the shadows consume him, hiding us both deep in the darkness so we remain undetected.
I'm not sure how long we remain under the bush, but by the time I hear movement in the house again, my ass is numb, and the chill in the air has burrowed down to my bones. Something that burrows a little deeper when I hear Luna scream before the shot of a gun rings out so loudly that my ears grow fuzzy.
I'm up and out of the bush before I can think better of it, diving toward the window and hauling my ass up the side to latch onto the windowsill. It's Brutus that yanks me right back down just before the sound of footsteps clack on the other side of the window. I fall to the floor just after a flash of black passes my eyes, a body moving quickly through the house on those irritatingly loud fucking shoes.
I quickly shuffle backward, dragging the dog with me until we're hidden by the shadows once more. Only just managing to wrangle the horse-sized dog back into the bushes, we narrowly avoid being caught by a man dressed in a tailored suit and slicked back hair. First word that comes to mind? Smarmy. That fucker looks as slimy as the trail end of a snail. I don't much care for the greasy smile he's sporting and the 'holier than thou' vibe that surrounds him like a thick fog in the air. I can only guess that's Lucifer.
That realization brings back the gun shot sound that suddenly has my heart hammering in my chest. If Luna didn't get out of the house, then she could very well be the angel that fucker just shot. A sick feeling unfurls in my stomach, and my heart hammers in my chest, an all-consuming panic taking over my body. Brutus must feel the sudden change in my mannerisms because he leans his big body into mine and whines low in his throat, his heavy paws pushing into my chest.
I buckle down the panic, reeling in my rational thought before I do something fucking crazy. The thought of Luna being hurt and alone is enough to have my inner crazy coming out to play, and that's the last thing I need if it really is Satan that I've identified. By the way the two angels before him shiver and avoid eye contact, I'm going to go out on a limb and say my guess is correct.
Brutus and I wait in the shadows until the slimy bastard climbs into the black town car that pulls up at the curb, the angel minions jumping in the beat up car just down the street from the fancy vehicle. The moment they all pull away from the street, I release Brutus, following after him quickly when he darts to the back of the house and begins to bark deeply.
When I round the corner, I find the dog sitting patiently by the back door, watching and waiting for me. I open the rickety door, a squeak from the rusty hinges causing me to wince. The dog has no such troubles, pushing past me and the door and trotting down the hallway.
Once again, I follow Brutus, but with more caution than before. Just because I saw those fuckers leave, that's not to say there aren't people on the inside I wasn't aware of. I don't know how long I was out for, so anyone could have come back while I was unconscious. Seems enough happened in that time to make me wary of everything.
Keeping my feet light, I slowly make my way down the hallway, tracing the pitter pattering of Brutus' claws on the grimy floor. I find him scratching at a door I hadn't noticed when I scouted the place out before going to find Luna. The door is hidden by damp wallpaper, nestled between the rotting panels. It's hanging slightly ajar, but not enough for Brutus to squeeze inside. If anything, the dog is only shutting it tighter in an attempt to get inside the room.
With practiced patience, I move the dog aside and open the door, holding a hand up for the dog to stay where he is. For good measure, I whisper, "Sit. Stay."
Brutus does as he's told even as he growls in protest. Ignoring him, I jimmy the door open, the stupid thing releasing a groan that's loud enough to bring the whole damn house down. If there were still bad guys in the house, I'm sure they would have found me already.
Pushing the door open, a waft of stale air hits me in the face moments before the copper scent that I recognize as blood. It's all it takes for my mind to go blank, and I start barreling down the stairs like my life depends on it. Only, when I reach the bottom step, I falter. It takes a moment for the scene before me to make sense, my mind struggling to compute just what the fuck I'm actually looking at.
Slower than I would have liked, my brain begins to register just what my eyes are seeing. Asher and Elijah are tied to wooden posts, a slight mimicry of a cross. Both are shirtless and bleeding profusely, though they don't seem to be focused all that much on their wounds. Noah is encased in a glass box, staring in the same direction while his chest heaves. Are there any fucking holes in that thing?
When my head turns to look at what the three of them are so intently focused on, I immediately regret it. Bile rushes up my throat, the sick feeling in my stomach growing to unbearable levels. I squash it all down while I look over a deceased Ms. Frenchie and the vomit-inducing hole in her head. My gut sours further when I take in just how much blood there is down here, the guys’ and Ms. Frenchie's filling the air with the scent of death and pain.
It's when my eyes finally find Luna that my heart feels like it's being torn right out of my chest and stomped on. There our fallen angel sits with a tear-streaked face, a broken expression marring her beautiful features and eyes as black as midnight. The whites of her eyes have vanished, leaving nothing but an endless expanse of darkness that threatens to swallow me whole if I gaze at them too long. That's not the only difference I spot. The most noticeable is her hair. From the roots atop her head, locks the color of ravens have started to streak her silver hair, the silver fading to black with painstaking slowness.
She looks utterly haunted and destroyed.
And it's killing me.
Keeping my feet steady, I make my way toward her, slow enough that I don't startle her. With my voice no higher than a whisper, I ask, "Luna? Princess?"
Like she isn't even there and is only moving her head as a reaction, she turns to face me, and I stumble, the dead look on her face giving me pause. Where once was a vibrant, sassy, and full of life woman now sits a shell, her face empty of all emotion. She's tied to the chair she's sitting in, though it doesn't appear as though she even notices. Her black eyes bore into me, and I involuntarily take a step back from the force.
"She isn't responding to us." Asher's raspy voice reaches me over the loud thudding of my heart crashing into my ribcage. "She shut down after that motherfucker shot Francis right in front of her."
He's breathless by the time he finishes his explanation. I turn my head to see him hang his own, his depleted energy besting him. Eli isn't any better, his shoulders slumped awkwardly but his adamant eyes trained solely on our broken angel.
When my gaze reaches Noah again, I find him on his knees, slapping the glass wall weakly while his mouth moves with soundless words. My eyes rake over the glass box, finding no way for air to filter through, and a whole new round of panic sets in. The man is suffocating slowly with no way to stop it. Fucking hell!
"He's going to die. He can't breathe in there," I blurt out loud, panic finally winning out over rational thought. I begin to make my way over to him, unsure how the hell I'm going to break glass as thick as the one that's trapped him, but just as I take a step there's a snap of metal and a high-pitched whine of breaking wood.