Page 9 of Rage of the Fallen

I saw the conflict in his eyes, the desire to help the people warring with the need to see the bigger picture.

Brody continued, his tone heavy with resolve. “Sometimes, the hardest thing in a fight is knowing when not to throw apunch. We’ll find a way to help these people, but right now, we need to find the source of this influence.”

As the crowd’s chants grew louder, Brody’s grip on my arm tightened. “Come on. We have work to do.”

The medieval tapestries and suits of armor lining the walls stood in stark contrast to the modern drama unfolding before us. My heart raced as I watched the scene escalate, a sick feeling settling in the pit of my stomach.

Justice’s usually calm demeanor had vanished, replaced by naked fear. “We have to leave,” he hissed. “Now. Rage is here.”

As if summoned by Justice’s words, a new figure appeared in the doorway. The crowd parted instinctively, creating a path for the newcomer. He moved with fluid grace, each step purposeful and predatory. His presence seemed to suck the warmth from the air, leaving a chill in its wake.

Rage fixed his gaze on our small group. A smile played at the corners of his mouth, but it held no warmth, only the promise of chaos to come. With growing dread, I realized he was making a beeline for us.

My breath caught in my throat. “Brody,” I whispered. “It’s him. It’s Rage.”

I felt the demon’s influence spreading through the room like a toxic fog. The fighting men’s movements became more erratic, their eyes glazed with unnatural fury. Even Brody’s grip on my arm tightened, his knuckles white with the effort of resisting Rage’s pull.

“Hold hands,” Justice commanded as he grabbed mine. His grip was vise-like, betraying the fear he was trying to conceal.

My brother Damon’s fingers encircled my wrist, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the tension in his arm. The others linked hands, forming a chain of anxious bodies. “My favorite transportation. The vampire train,” Damon quipped, his sarcasm barely masking his nervousness.

In an instant, Justice propelled us forward with inhuman speed. My feet barely skimmed the ancient stones of the Great Hall as we moved. The world around us melted into a dizzying kaleidoscope of colors and shapes. My stomach lurched, and I fought the urge to close my eyes against the nauseating blur.

We burst into the open air of Crown Square, the abrupt stop nearly sending me stumbling. The sudden transition from frantic motion to stillness left me gasping, my lungs burning as they fought to catch up. I blinked rapidly, willing my vision to clear as I took in our surroundings.

The square bustled with activity, tourists and locals alike milling about. To our left stood the imposing Royal Palace. Behind us loomed the Great Hall we’d fled, its grand facade contrasting the chaos we’d left inside. Across the square, the presence of the Scottish National War Memorial added a somber note to the scene.

I froze, my heart pounding as I glanced around the courtyard. Something was off. A hostile energy replaced the usual hum of excited visitors and tour guides. Near the palace steps, two women faced off, their bodies tense with fury.

“Stay away from him, you bitch. He’s mine!” a dark-haired woman shrieked, her face contorted with rage as she jabbed a finger at a stunned-looking blonde.

My hands trembled as shock and secondhand embarrassment washed over me. I wanted to flee the ugliness, but I was a Grant. Grants didn’t run and hide.

My stomach churned as I watched the blonde woman’s face crumple, tears welling in her eyes. God, how had things escalated to this point?

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing. The hostility in the air was like a virus, contaminating everyone. The fight between the women wasn’t merely a lover’s spat—real hatred was there. It scared me. What if it infected my team? I didn’twant us to tear each other apart like we had back in the Unseelie Realm.

The blonde’s shock quickly morphed into anger. She spat back a string of expletives so colorful they would have made a sailor blush. Around us, more arguments erupted, people hurling insults and squaring up to each other as if possessed by sudden, inexplicable anger.

Justice’s eyes darted around the courtyard, his posture alert. “Rage is here,” he muttered. “He must move at vampire speed. We need to get that harp fast.”

The urgency in his tone sent a jolt of adrenaline through me. But before we could move, Lisa’s voice cut through the increasing din of the square.

“No,” she blurted, her eyes wide with a sudden realization. “We need to get my phoenix. She has the power to supercharge all the artifacts, including that mirror.”

I could almost see the gears turning in Justice’s mind as he weighed our options, the sounds of growing discord in the square a constant reminder of the danger closing in around us.

Suddenly, a piercing scream cut through the air, making us freeze in our tracks. We turned to see a woman, her eyes glowing an unnatural red, lunging at a nearby child. At that moment, the full gravity of our situation hit home. Rage wasn’t merely causing fights. He was turning people into something inhuman.

Damon scowled as a fight broke out between two more guys in the growing crowd. The taller one shoved the other, yelling about cutting in line to enter the museum. His opponent retaliated with a wild swing, barely missing a bystander. The tension in the air was palpable, spreading like wildfire through the restless throng.

“This is getting out of hand fast,” Damon muttered.

I felt Rage’s influence seeping into the atmosphere, turning minor irritations into powder kegs of violence.

“All right, hold up,” Damon growled. “Phoenix, magic harp, vampire speed? Sounds like we’ve got ourselves a real monster mash brewing. But listen, we ain’t got time to play Noah and round up every supernatural critter in town. We stick to the plan, get the harp, and gank this Rage S.O.B. before he turns this place into an all-you-can-eat buffet. You want your bird? Fine. But if it can’t deep-fry a demon, it’s taking a back seat. Now, let’s move before I have to start handing out wooden stakes as party favors.”

As he spoke, the sound of breaking glass echoed from somewhere nearby, followed by angry shouts. The situation was deteriorating by the second.

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