Page 39 of Rage of the Fallen

My fingers shook against the harp strings, and the first haunting notes rang through the chill morning air. Justice halted between two ancient monuments, his powerful frame seizing. His face was a twisted canvas of war. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the chill, turning to steam as it rolled down his supernaturally heated skin. His fingers dug into the weathered angel statue, leaving deep gouges in stone that had stood for centuries.

His eyes flickered in an agonizing dance, blood red to warm brown, the colors swirling and fighting for dominance like oil and water. “Sawyer…” His voice cracked before a violent spasm bent him double. His spine curved at an impossible angle. Muscles rippled beneath his shirt as they grew and shifted unnaturally. A network of black veins spread up his neck, pulsing and receding like tide marks on sand.

When he straightened, half his face bore his gentle expression while the other half twisted into a demonic snarl.One eye blazed crimson, and the other remained soft brown, tears of blood tracking down his right cheek. “Music won’t cure me,” the demon snarled from the right side of his mouth as the left side whispered, “Help me.”

He lunged forward, one arm reaching with desperate love while the other curved into talons. My fingers danced across the harp strings, and Justice crashed to his knees. His body convulsed as if being torn apart from within. His bones crackled as they shifted, the demon trying to reshape him while Justice fought to maintain his form.

Tears slipped down my cheeks as he convulsed, but I couldn’t stop. Not if I wanted to save him.

“No!” A demon’s howl of rage.

“No!” Justice’s desperate plea.

“No!” Both voices tangled together in a sound of pure agony.

He writhed in the wet grass, his back arching until only his heels and head touched the ground. His fingers dug furrows in the earth, alternately clawing in torment and grasping as if seeking anchor. The veins pulsed like black lightning, turning his flesh into a roadmap of the war within. His face cycled between expressions—love, rage, peace, torment—each lasting mere seconds before being consumed by the next. Blood trickled from his nose, one side red, the other black, meeting at his lip in a marbled swirl.

His shadow split and danced around him, one the sharp, twisted shape of the demon, the other his own familiar silhouette, wrestling for dominance on the dew-soaked ground as my music wound around him like chains of light.

His eyes flickered one final time, blood-red fighting warm brown, before the music reached a crescendo. The chapel’s stones sang with centuries of sacred power, and Justice arched backward as golden light poured from his eyes and mouth. The demon’s shadows tried to hold on, creating horrific patternsbeneath his skin, but they couldn’t withstand the combined power of love, music, and hallowed ground.

With a sound like breaking glass and crumbling stone, the demon’s presence shattered. Justice collapsed onto the dew-soaked grass. Steam rose where his fevered skin touched the sacred ground. The black veins faded like pottery cracks sealed with gold, leaving behind a faint, shimmering tracery that spoke of healing rather than harm.

When he lifted his head, his eyes were his own again, warm brown and filled with tears. No demon’s shadow lingered in his expression, no rage haunted his eyes. The sun caught the traces of gold beneath his skin, making him glow like a renaissance painting, restored and more beautiful for having been broken and mended.

“Sawyer, keep your distance.” Damon’s gruff command cut through my hope. I felt his familiar presence move closer, solid and protective as always. My twin brother, ready to throw himself between me and danger, like he’d done since we were kids.

I wanted to run to Justice, to touch his face and make sure this was real, but Damon’s arm shot out in front of me, a barrier as unmovable as iron. I felt him practically vibrating with tension, his silver knife catching the dawn light. Classic Damon. Though Justice was mostly healed, he wasn’t taking chances. Not with his sister’s life.

“Hold up,” he growled when I tried to step forward. The brotherly tone that usually annoyed me now brought a lump to my throat. Even facing down my vampire mate, even after everything we’d been through, he was still trying to keep me safe. “Let’s make sure it’s really him first.”

Tears blurred my eyes as Justice lay on the grass, panting.

Damon’s gruff voice cut through the morning air. “Justice? That really you in there, buddy, or am I gonna have to explain to my sister why I had to gank her boyfriend?”

The threat in his words was real, but I heard what lay beneath them. The pain it would cause him to have to hurt someone he’d come to consider family. Despite his tough hunter exterior, I knew Damon had grown to care about Justice, too. He’d never admit it out loud because that wasn’t the Grant way, but his knife hand trembled slightly, and his jaw clenched against the possibility of having to follow through on the threat.

“Say something only Justice would know,” Damon demanded, and I held my breath. My brother’s arm stayed firm across my path, and I felt the subtle shift in his stance, ready to shove me behind him if things went wrong.

The sunlight caught the lingering gold traces beneath Justice’s skin as we waited for his response, and I found myself praying my brother’s protective instincts wouldn’t be needed this time. That for once, we could have a miracle without paying for it in blood.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Damon walked around Justice as if he was ready to plunge the blade deep into his heart. No matter what happened, I didn’t think I could do that. My hand trembled on the harp, the weight of what I might have to witness tightening my chest.

Brody came up beside me, his presence steady and reassuring like a lighthouse in a storm. His hand on my arm carried both comfort and restraint. When he shook his head, I saw the same compassion and tactical assessment in his eyes he brought to every mission. The soldier in him understood Damon’s caution, but his inherent kindness reached out to steady me.

Wait, his touch seemed to say, though he didn’t speak the word. Lisa and Zara stood a few paces behind him, tense with concern as they watched the scene unfold. The mist swirled around their feet, and I felt the weight of their collective experience in this moment. How many times had they all had to wait, to watch, to make sure a victory wasn’t simply another clever deception?

Justice’s eyes fluttered open, and my breath caught in my throat. Those warm brown eyes, my Justice’s eyes, stared up at Damon with a familiar hint of sass despite his exhaustion. Thegolden healing marks under his skin pulsed once more like a fading sunset.

“I saved your ass the first time we met at the Shadow Mine,” Justice replied, his voice rough but entirely his own.

A sound between a laugh and a sob escaped my throat. That was such a Justice thing to say, picking the one memory that would simultaneously prove his identity and irritate my brother.

Damon snorted, but his shoulders relaxed slightly, the knife lowering a fraction. “Yeah, well, I had it handled. Demons are my specialty.”

Justice sighed as he pressed his palms against the dew-damp ground, his arms trembling with exhaustion as he slowly pushed himself up toward sitting. His usual vampire grace was gone, replaced by the careful movements of someone who’d been through hell and barely made it back. Still, he had enough strength to throw shade at my brother.

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