Page 75 of King Among the Dead

It was the death squad guard who’d taken Castor the dagger. The one who’d looked at her before.

Up close, his features were clean and handsome, his gaze dark, and sparking with barely suppressed energy. He was working very hard not to panic.

“If you’re going to kill me, make it quick,” she hissed.

“I’m not.” He shoved his face into hers, his breath hot and quick. “Listen to me. We need to leave now, but we need to close that portal.”

A darted glance revealed that the blood tide was expanding ever-outward. Castor was paper white, totally bled out. Daniel dropped him, and when he hit the floor, he was sucked beneath the crimson pool and out of sight.

“How do we do that?” she asked.

“We have to kill the conduit.”

“How? Did you see what he did to your friends?”

His jaw got even tighter. “They’re not my friends. I’m United States special forces. I’m a Rift Walker, and I’m working undercover.”

Rift Walkers. The elite conduit suppression unit that had sprung up in the midst of the Atmospheric Rift. Most of them former pilots or black ops guys; all of them half-crazy, more than a little suicidal. The best of the best. The worst of the worst.

“I don’t believe you,” she said, a kneejerk protest.

“You don’t have to, but it’s the truth.” He huffed out a sigh. “What’s your name?”

She didn’t tell him.

“Mine’s Lance du Lac. I’m a sergeant with the Gold Knights. Google it later, okay? But we need to go.”

Whoever the hell he was, if he could get them out, then she wouldn’t turn him away.

“Cut Beck loose,” she said, nodding toward him. “I’m okay.”

He stood and moved off.

The initial scream of the portal opening had died down to a low roar, one that rattled the floor, the columns – presumably the whole mansion. Rose heard shouts, and low, animal growls she thought must be coming from the wraiths. She sawed at the thick rope on her wrist, sweating, heart pounding, struggling to think. She could keep her cool in a hand-to-hand altercation, but this was pandemonium. This was an angel opening a gateway to hell, and what did anything mean anymore?

She heard a thump, a curse. Tugged her wrist loose, and scrambled to her feet.

Lance du Lac, if that was really his name, was sprawled back across the floor, clutching a bloodied nose, but already springing back to his feet.

Beck–

“Oh, God,” she breathed.

Beck was loose, and on his feet, and striding through the widening blood pool toward the conduit at its center.

“Beck, no!” She leaped to follow.

An arm hooked around her waist, and dragged her back.

“No!” She elbowed her captor, and earned a painted grunt. Kicked his shins, twisted, and bucked, and tried to slash at him.

But he was big, and strong, and competent – a military man, truly, and he had her disarmed and held tight in a matter of seconds. It was laughably easy, in fact. And she could only watch, helpless, as Beck advanced on a creature she’d just seen kill three men with a hand movement.

Daniel lifted his hand now, fingers poised to flick, expression bored.

Beck halted a few paces away, all coiled tension, ready to pounce, his favorite knife held against his thigh. “Are you the Angel Gabriel?” he asked.

Daniel cocked his head. “Who better to bring tidings of the Lord?”

---