But instead of letting me go, the Noir snarled and threw me up against the stone wall behind me right as a flame shot up beside us.
We were still on the safe base I’d discovered, but barely.
My head bounced off the rock as he shook me violently against the wall, expelling the air from my lungs.
“You fucking royal bitch!” he snarled.
I lost control of my knees, slumping toward the ground, but the Noir grabbed me by the shoulders to shove me harder against the wall. Sharp edges bit into my wings like a dozen tiny blades, his iron-like grasp holding me upright.
“Get off me,” I seethed, my voice too hoarse to pack the punch I’d intended to deliver. I sent a knee to his groin, trying to shove his delicate parts up into his lungs, but I hit a wall of thigh muscle instead.
He grinned, and the skin around his red scar puckered. “The more you struggle, the more I like it. And the better you smell.”
I growled, lifting both of my legs off the ground in an attempt to front kick his knees, but I didn’t have the necessary room to follow through and only managed to scratch his ankles.
His sick smile widened. “Keep fighting, bitch. I’ll like it better when you scream.”
He jammed a knee between my legs and pressed his hips against mine, anchoring me against the wall, then he leaned forward to sniff my neck.
“No!” I struggled against his hold, sickened by the obvious erection in his prison-issued cotton pants.
If he tried to touch me with it, I’d rip it off with my fucking fingernails, even if he killed me.
He roared with laughter. “She’s a feisty one, boys! I’ll get the first tur—”
The man’s weight disappeared, and I fell to my knees on the concrete, a curse welling up from my throat as pain ricocheted up my spine. A spiral of fire to my right had me yanking in my wings again, my delicate feathers warmed by the flames.
I stood up, my back against the wall once more, quivering at the sudden change. Then wide, stunned eyes met mine a second before my tormentor’s body flew off the platform on an arc of blood that glistened like a liquid rainbow in the air.
My eyebrows shot upward at the dark-haired male taking his place—the one who had fought wing-to-wing with Auric.
The angel with the icy blue eyes.
His leathery scent wrapped around me in a calming cloak as he took down two more Noir without blinking. Then he looked at the final male, his fingers curling into fists. “Run,” he growled, the word for the other Noir, not for me.
I shivered and wrapped my wings tighter around myself.
The final male rolled his shoulders and ducked into a fighting stance, causing the dark-haired Noir to sigh.
“A dozen it is,” he muttered, not making any sense to me as he launched into motion. My lips parted at his sinuous movements, his body reminding me of water with his fluidity and grace.
He fought like Auric.
Precise. Lethal. Beautiful.
It was like watching a ballet of destruction, his long, athletic form lithe and proficient against the bulkier competition.
Three hits.
Two kicks.
And the hefty Noir fell like a rock, the ground rumbling beneath his collapse.
The icy-eyed male knelt, his fingers going to the other man’s throat. I thought he meant to strangle him, only he pressed two digits into his pulse, then nodded as though satisfied.
Because he was dead?
Or because he lived?
The man stood, his long body unfolding gracefully from where he’d crouched over the fallen inmate. Both his hands were clean, as was his exposed torso.
Not a drop of spilled blood.
How was that even possible? He’d sent that one Noir through the air in a waterfall of gore. Yet he hadn’t gotten a speck on him.
His blue gaze captured mine, causing my heart to stop.
Time suspended around us.
Then my pulse kick-started in my chest.
He started forward in a slow prowl like a big cat moving in for the kill. His eyes never left mine as he crossed the few feet between us—stepping over a body in the process—and halted way too close to me.
A new scent washed over me, chasing away the remnants of the other Noir. A delicious, amazing scent that had me inhaling deeply. Fresh leather and woodsmoke. Heady and intoxicating.
With an undercurrent of blood.
His gaze slowly lowered to my lips as he took another step forward. My breath caught in my throat, his nearness an exhilarating presence I shouldn’t accept. Yet my body reacted to his as though we knew one another. No, as though we were meant to know each other.
I swallowed, my thighs clenching as he took a final step toward me, boxing me in against the wall just like the other male. But unlike that Noir, I didn’t fear this one.
I frowned at the oddity, my mind quickly working through logical puzzles on an errant quest to find a reason for that difference.
He’d just killed at least three Noir right in front of me. Lethality oozed off him. Danger lurked in his icy irises. But as he lifted those beautiful eyes to mine once more, I felt at peace.
Flames billowed behind him, framing his sharp features in delicate shadows that should have made him all the more terrifying. Yet all they did was intensify his exquisite features.
He lifted a single finger to trail a line down my cheek to my throat and then to my collarbone. Goose bumps followed his touch, my lips parting on a necessary gasp to draw more air into my lungs.
And his scent.
Leather and blood and man.
Oh gods…
My thighs clenched and his nostrils flared.
Then a blade appeared on his wrist, followed by Auric’s snarl. “Remove your hand, Novak. Or I’ll cut it off.”
My throat went dry at the possessiveness in his tone.
The one called Novak glanced at him, his lips curling up at one side into an expression of mild amusement. Then he dropped his hand to his side and took a step backward to survey the yard.
“Game over,” he murmured before turning away without a backward glance, his steps sure as he maneuvered with ease around the graveyard of fallen Noir.
I took in the scene with blurry eyes, my heart thudding rapidly in my throat.
There were at least forty dead angels wearing varying shades of blood-red, charcoal, and ash.
It was a massacre.
A monstrosity.
A horrifying, macabre scene of feathers and flesh.
Auric wrapped his arm around me, but I pushed him away, wanting no part of his solace and strength. This was a view worthy of my sorrow and pain.
Noir weren’t meant to die like this. They were meant to reform and be reborn, not slaughtered like wild animals or pitted against each other in fights to the death.
“I want to go home,” I whispered. Not because I was afraid or upset, but because I was furious. My father needed to know about this. He would never approve. “He’d never be okay with this.”
“I know,” Auric whispered.
I finally looked at him, noticing his shredded torso covered in scrapes and death. His pants were torn. His shoes scuffed. Even his long wisps of white-blond hair were tainted red. More blood painted his formerly pristine feathers.
He resembled a true Nora Warrior.
And I couldn’t stand the sight of him and all that he represented.
It wasn’t fair or right. Nor was it all that rational. But a part of me truly hated him and everything he represented. Just for a moment.
Then I caught the concern swimming in his ocean-blue eyes.