My lips twisted, irritated by the small number and my inability to truly play. But I didn’t much fancy another stint in solitary. So I nodded solemnly in agreement. “Eleven it is.”
5
Auric
“What do you mean, there’s no phone?” I demanded. “I put in my request a week ago.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, man,” the guard drawled, clearly unaware—or more likely, uncaring—of my title and position of power. “I passed your request on to the Reformer. He manages all the communication in this hellhole.”
“King Sefid will be most displeased,” I said, unable to hold back the threat in my tone. “He expected an update upon our arrival, something I’ve been unable to provide.”
“The Reformer probably provided it for you.” He shrugged. “We’ll sort it out.”
“Sort it out?” I repeated.
“Uh, Auric?” Layla called, the uncertainty in her tone dragging my focus back to her and our surroundings. Yeah, I’d noticed the incoming Noir. There were a few too many for my comfort, which was part of the reason I wanted a fucking phone. The risk continued to grow in this situation, and it was unacceptable. I also hadn’t received any sort of schedule or plan for her redemption.
I ignored her unease and shifted back to the guard. “I want a meeting with Sayir. Today.”
This whole situation was starting to smell wrong, and it wasn’t just the mangy-dog stench of the Noir or the subtle leather and smoke that Novak seemed to drag around him.
No, there was something different that rubbed my feathers the wrong way, and it made my nostrils flare.
“Yeah, sure, I’ll get right on that, sir.” The guard gave me a mock bow and turned to walk away.
“Hey, I wasn’t—”
“Auric!” Layla’s shriek had me turning to find her in the middle of the yard sifting sand through her fingers.
Fucking female. Was stay really that difficult a command to adhere to? Now was no time to go digging for treasure.
Shaking my head, I stalked off toward her, shoving Noir out of my way as several more dropped from the sky.
My warrior senses kicked into overdrive as I began counting the new sets of wings.
Ten.
Thirteen.
Seventeen.
Twenty-two.
Was there another set of stairs in the reformatory that led to additional cells? I hadn’t seen one. And there weren’t enough beds for the number of angels falling from the sky.
Unless Sayir meant for us all to bunk up together, which was not bloody happening.
Layla’s lower lip trembled as two Noir brushed her wings. I growled at them as I approached, my hand on my blade. “Fuck off,” I demanded, reaching for her as the ground rumbled beneath us.
What the fuck?
Heat brushed my senses, sending me sideways as a geyser of flame erupted from the sands where I’d just stood.
My eyes widened, a curse leaving my lips.
A cascade of thunderous roars followed as more flames shot up throughout the courtyard in a matter of seconds. I sought out Layla, and my shoulders sagged at finding her unharmed.
She’s okay.
She’s alive.
“Lay—”
Shrieks pierced the air at my back. I whirled to find a bluster of chaos as Noir launched into the sky, trying to avoid the spikes of fire below as half of the inmates tried futilely to save their fiery wings.
Feathers weren’t meant to burn.
They sizzled to ash, forever gone.
I tucked my plumes tight into my back and yelled at Layla to do the same. I had no idea what was going on, but—
A series of pops sounded, followed by Noir dropping like stones.
Machine guns? “What the fuck is going on?!” I demanded, spinning around.
“Survival of the fittest,” a dark voice murmured in my ear.
Novak. I spun to face him. A ghost of a smile flirted with his lips, causing me to narrow my eyes. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“You haven’t figured it out yet?” He tsked. “How disappointing.”
I opened my mouth to tell him to fuck off, when a warning wave of warmth caressed my senses. I leapt, putting myself farther away from Layla, and far too close to Novak. His scent washed over me, all leather and spice and man, and not at all like the dog stench his fellow Noir wore.
“What are you doing?” I asked him.
He replied by delivering a roundhouse kick to an approaching Noir, sending the poor sod into a nearby flame.
I shook my head. “I don’t have time for—”
Layla screamed as a Noir exploded into flames beside her, the inferno eating at his clothes and crawling over his skin with preternatural strength. I took a step forward, only for Novak to grab my wing and yank me backward.
I growled, my dagger falling into my palm, when fire billowed up from the ground, right where I would have stepped.
My eyebrows lifted. “Shit.”
“It’s a game,” he said, his voice low against my ear. “Take flight, earn a bullet. Step out of place, go up in flames. Or worse, meet a razor wire.”
A Noir to our left shrieked as he did the latter, some invisible net slicing right through his wings and leaving him in jigsaw pieces on the ground.
Holy gods…
This was fucked up.
Was Sayir aware?
King Sefid?
No. He would never endanger his only daughter in this manner. And Sayir was meant to reform these Fallen, not kill them.
My hackles rose as fire billowed rhythmically across the yard in an indistinguishable pattern. This wasn’t some malfunction or shock of fate. This was organized, methodical, twisted, and cruel.
An extermination.
No. Novak had called it a game. Survival of the fittest.
Some Noir deserved to die for their sins.
But some were meant to be reformed.
Like Layla.
My gut twisted. We’re not meant to be here. No way had she done something worthy of this fate. I looked for the guards, wanting to issue a demand to stop this. But they were all in their towers, shooting at any Noir attempting to fly.
This was madness.
Insanity.
Utter—
Another spurt of fire drew my attention back to Layla. She had fallen into a ball of feathers, her black wings wrapped around her in a useless shield.
She was going to die if I didn’t reach her in time.
I tried to take another step, but Novak’s grip tightened. “Easy,” he said as I growled. Then he rotated me away from Layla just as another burst of heat sprouted from the ground.
“This is insane!” I shouted.
Novak smirked. “Welcome to Noir life.”
Then he took my dagger and drove it into the chest of an approaching angel. The male went down with a curse. Novak yanked the blade from his heart and wiped the blood on his pants before returning the knife to my sheath.
“Touch my weapon again, and I’ll end you,” I threatened.
His lips twitched. “Try.”
He wanted to dance? Here? In the middle of this chaos?
Oh, but of course he did.
It was fucking Novak. He lived for the dangerous shit. And it seemed a hundred-plus years of reform hadn’t changed that one bit.
If only I had my swo—