Page 39 of Avenger of Sins

“Yes,”the banshee moaned,“let them suffer as we have suffered. As you suffered.”

At some point, he became aware his face was wet with tears, his own or the banshee’s, or both. People like these guards, blindly following the orders of their superiors, had stolen him from his former life. Locked him away. Experimented on him, killed his friends, destroyed his life…

Maybe Ryan was right. He had nothing left; better to drag everyone else down into death and despair alongside him…

Caleb’s face flashed through his mind. Warm brown eyes, alive with love. Gray, tenderly cupping his face at Fort Sumter.

He wasn’t alone. He had things to live for. Reasons for hope.

“Your enemies will kill them. You will be alone. Except for me.”

“No,” he said aloud.

Ryan turned to him, and oh Goddess, he was in bad shape. One eye drooping, blood dripping freely from nose and ears. “What?”

John gripped his arm. “Ryan, you can’t keep this up?—”

“I can.” Ryan pulled away, and for an instant anger flashed across his face, before being replaced by determination. “Sorry—the demon, it’s angry. Always. But we can’t stop now, Jonny. You know that.”

He was right; there was nothing to do but push forward. “You take out the guards; I’ll deal with the other NHEs.”

“Okay.” Ryan slowed. “We’re almost there now.”

They turned a final corner, and Harlow walked ahead of them, surrounded by his cohort.

The banshee stirred at the sight of Harlow, prompted by John’s rush of fury.“Make him hurt, make him feel what we are feeling!”

There were only two armed guards. They turned at the sound of footsteps, eyes betraying their surprise even as they brought their weapons up.

Ryan flung his hand out, as if needing the physical gesture to direct his power now. One stiffened, all electrical activity in his brain momentarily turned to static, then collapsed. Even as he hit the floor, Ryan let out a cry and clapped both hands to his head, before falling to his knees.

“Ryan!” John shouted—and was brought up short by the second guard pointing a rifle directly at his head.

That would have stopped him, before the banshee, before the trail of bodies behind him. Now the banshee rose within him, and he let it, their desires in perfect alignment. With its strength and speed, and his training, he propelled himself at the guard, avoiding the swinging barrel as the man belatedly tried to readjust his aim. He tore the weapon free, snapping a few of the guard’s fingers as he did so, and hurled it away. A moment later, he slammed the man’s helmet into the wall, hard enough for his eyes to go glassy.

“Stop!” Harlow barked. “Stop, or I’ll kill him!”

John let the guard fall and turned. Harlow held one hand outstretched, his telekinetic gift mimicking the movement and wrapping itself around Ryan’s neck. Ryan clawed at his throat, instinctively trying to pry off the fingers that were psychically strangling him, but only opening deep gouges in his own skin.

“I don’t know how the hell you were able to do a summoning in a bare office,” Harlow said, eyes now fixed on John. “You weren’t possessed when we left you there, or else my exorcists would have warned me.” The two women stood attentively beside him; one nodded, as if to confirm her loyalty.

Ryan had been right; Harlow didn’t know about drakul blood, or other body fluids. So either his source was oddly informed about some things but not others, or it hadn’t been a leak from SPECTR at all.

It had been a feed.

“Surrender, cooperate, and you can have a good life here,” Harlow said. “Otherwise…”

He turned back to Ryan with a scowl. “You could have been so useful. Truly a one-of-a-kind opportunity for me. But I’m afraid the cost-benefit analysis is no longer in your favor.”

And so saying, he slammed Ryan into the wall with the full force of his demon-enhanced TK.

The world slowed around John. He saw Ryan hit the wall with a terrible clarity, heard the crack of breaking bone as his skull met the stone wall. Ryan fell to the floor, limp. Unmoving.

Just a piece of trash Harlow had thrown away.

A rage like he’d never felt kindled in John’s veins, and though the banshee fanned the flames, it belonged to him. He wanted to rip out Harlow’s heart, set fire to the complex, tear down the very mountain.

“There was no way you were ever going to succeed, Nineteen,” Harlow said. “Submit and you’ll be spared.”

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