Page 141 of Dark Shadow of Guilt

Damn.He was one lucky assassin.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Malacour flew fast, his wings struggling in a strong headwind.

He’d finally received a call from the male he trusted most in all of OneWorld. No packed bags. No tearful goodbyes. He left after they had talked, only stopping off at Lucian’s encampment to leave a few instructions for two Scourge followers.

Praevus, who had stirred up all this shit, had been a minor and accidental character in the game. He’d been nothing more than a gofer for Serita, an honored member of the rebellion. Malacour was fortunate the Rat’s screw-up hadn’t messed with his chance to advance in the cause, but his trusted ally who was high in the ranks still had faith in him.

He cast a worried glance over his shoulder. No one was following.

When he’d seen the ice-winged assassin in his bar, he thought for sure he’d get nabbed. But no, he’d dodged the Feard by hiding out at a different place each night.

Then the trusted caller told Malacour it was time to disappear, to take up a new job. An exciting one, he’d said. Malacour was ready for his reward. The caller had instructed him to escape from Angor through the passageway. All was set up for his safe exit.

Though Malacour was a trustee nearing the time of his release, he had taken risks out of duty to the Immortal he respected, the one to whom he would always pledge his allegiance. Besides, he suspected he’d never fit in back in Vast. He liked this life. Cutting corners. Being his own boss.Yeah. Can you say recidivism? He’d never make it in the dimension of flowers and blue skies.

Rebellion was a better fit.

Not having traveled far for some time, Malacour’s wings were weak. He threw them into overdrive, though, determined to escape. He could collapse later.

He flew above the Rushing River of Blood, Harpy Plains, and Hallucination Woods. He climbed the high Razor Mountains. Beyond them was the ocean and the exit from Angor.

The gateway shimmered in front of him. Drawing a deep breath, Malacour treaded air. He’d either get out of this dimension or fry. Time to see how much power his trusted ally had.

He soared into the flickering current of wind. With ease, he flew through the passage. He was free. On the other side, he punched a fist high, humming with the confidence that his deeds would be justly rewarded.

“Null, here I come,” Malacour shouted into space. “It is time for new leadership. The OC has had his turn.”

Before he could celebrate, a blinding spark shot toward him. As it coalesced into a shape, Malacour beat his wings hard, zipping across the sky away from the light. But the Immortal blocked his path. “Michael.”

“Malacour.”

Unable to escape the Bearer of Death, he confronted him. Malacour faced Michael like the warrior he was. With honor and pride.

“A few questions,” said Michael.

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