Page 88 of Forging Darkness

“Yes. He severely downplayed your compassion for these creatures.”

By creatures, she means humans. Ironic, since I refer to Fallen and Forsaken the same way.

“Who is your son? One of the Fallen who watched me spar in the training pit. Maybe one of the sentries along the wall? No wonder your intel is bad.”

I barely know what I’m saying. I couldn’t care less who her spawn is, but wasting time with conversation allows me to wrangle the heated energy coursing through my body. I will it into my hands, and with any luck, I’ll be able to chuck a raging hot ball of angel-fire at her face.

Since she herself has fire powers, I doubt my attack will do much damage, but my objective is to distract so I can reach into my boot, grab the remaining mirror-blade tucked inside, and attack her. My best shot at taking her down will be to aim straight for her neck. It’s going to take a fair amount of hacking and sawing with the seven-inch makeshift blade before she’s truly defeated, but what other choice do I have?

“He didn’t tell you.” Her head snaps to the side, a half-cocked move that reminds me of a bird. In a strange way I find the fact that she’s as creepy as the rest of the Fallen somewhat comforting. “Interesting. I wonder what else Thorne kept from you.”

Tiny sparks dance across my fingertips. I fist my hands to hide the telltale signs of an impending attack.

“Thorne was actually very forthcoming with information.”

“Hmm.”

She snaps her fingers and electrified sparks of fire dance along the tips. “Forthcoming, you say? Yet he failed to mention that Mommy Dearest is a Fallen seraph.”

No.

The power building in my hands wanes. The sparks on my fingertips putter out.

Female Fallen can’t get pregnant. It’s the reason male Fallen bred with humans in the mortal world. She can’t be Thorne’s mother . . . can she?

“Did you know that angel pregnancies last over twice as long as human ones? Nephilim should be glad they inherited the human gestation period becauseoy, carrying a bun in your oven for two years is tedious. But I suppose by now I’m used to waiting. Hasty plans are often sloppy. I prefer to play the long game.”

I swipe back through my memories, wracking my brain for every detail Thorne told me about his parents. The only real information he ever gave me was that he never met his dad. I hadn’t thought to ask about his mother; I assumed she’d been human.

He’d done an excellent job distracting me whenever the topic popped up, luring me down a different rabbit hole with morsels about my family tree or a new detail about Whitehold. I now understand why he has darkness streaking through his aura.

The Fallen takes a step forward, and I retreat a pace, my wings skimming the ground behind me. I’m distracted. We both know it.

“I can see the rusty wheels turning. A cartoon light bulb might as well have just popped into existence above your head.”

Her insults barely register. Instead of focusing on her words, I imagine her and Thorne side by side, the resemblance now obvious. It’s only then I realize her wing-feathers are some sort of black metal from tip to quill. Not a bit of the vane looks soft or downy, but . . . metal, like the tips of Thorne’s and my wings. There are other subtle similarities. The tilt of their eyes, the high cheekbones, thick lips. The lightness of her hair.

To believe Thorne had been abandoned by his parents like I had was a stupid assumption.

I give myself a mental shake. I can mull over and obsess about Thorne’s lies another time. The most immediate issue is standing in front of me.

“I don’t care who, or what, you are. I’m leaving and taking these humans with me. I don’t mind cutting you to pieces if I have to.”

“Escape might have been an option if you hadn’t wasted so much time with this lot of garbage.”

I flinch at her words. How many times had I been called the same over the years?

“You dislike my level of regard for these creatures?” Lifting her hand she flicks her wrist, gesturing toward where the remaining humans cluster like a flock of terrified sheep. Whimpers and cries burst from some of them when she waves a hand in their direction, and the group shuffles back even farther. I don’t blame them. They just watched one of their fellow captives get decapitated by a power they never knew existed.

The Fallen chuckles at their fear. The smile is still on her face when I send a surge of fire-coated energy her way. Not wasting time to see how she reacts, I yank the shiv from my boot and fly at her.

My power strikes her shoulder, charring a patch of skin and marring her marble-like complexion. She regains composure a nanosecond before my blade punches through her carotid artery—the instant is just long enough for her to spin out of the way. The mirror-blade skids across one of her metal wings and shatters, leaving me weaponless, except . . .

Spinning, I flare my wings, blindly hoping for purchase, but this Fallen is too smart for that. She has her own set of hardened wings and uses them to sweep me off my feet.

I land on my back. Hard. The tip of my wing hangs over the water, and an eel snaps at it.

I scramble to regain footing. I’m only able to peel the top part of my body off the ground before her wings cut forward and punch into both of mine, pinning them—and me—to the stone floor.

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