Page 32 of Give a Devil his Due
With a barely perceptible bob of his head, he says nothing but puts in some effort, as well. I half drag, half wiggle the Archangel over the blood and shards of glass. Glancing at his back where parts of it are cut so deep I can see the white of a bone peeking through the gash, I tear my eyes away, somehow reaching the wider area where wind whistles through the broken window.
Panting, I press my hands on my thighs, bending over. “I’ll need you to stand up.” Sounding like a bitch is inevitable. “You can use me as a crutch, but I must have you on your feet for this to work.”
My heart stutters when a thumping from above us tells me the others are moving. Shit, the station must be coming, and if we miss it, who knows if there will be another opportunity? For all I know, after this one, there will be a wall that we will be ramming through. Whatever complaints Raphael has, he will have to keep them to himself because we were getting off on the next station, like it or not.
I crouch next to him and throw his arm over my shoulders. With one of mine wrapped around his waist and the other extended to hold onto the seat that is closest, I wiggle until I’m as lodged under him as I can possibly be. “On three, I need you to push. Raphael.” My snap has his eyelashes fluttering, and he blinks, glancing around like he has no idea where he is. “I’m lifting you, so I need you to push to your feet as hard as you can. We have no time. On three.”
“Very well.”
“One.” I lock my knees. “Two … and three.”
Shoving as hard as I can, I strain my back, but we finally end up standing and swaying like drunks in the empty carriage. With a death grip on the seats, I shuffle us until we face the gap where the window is broken. Raphael leans more and more on me with every breath, his eyelids drooping.
The darkness of the tunnel lightens, speeding up my heartbeat.
Twisting to the side, I manhandle the Archangel until he is as close as I can get him to the windowsill, and then I hold my breath while I wait. By the time all the shadows are gone, my lungs are screaming at me, but I don’t dare blink.
Lights flood the carriage.
Flipping so we are face to face, I step back from Raphael before hunching down and ramming my shoulder at his chiseled, bruised abs. He jerks, his back bending and passing through the gap just as a dark shadow blocks our escape. The Archangel slams into the body that pops out of nowhere, and they both fly inside the well-lit station.
My eyes lock on Eric’s for a split second before he and Raphael tumble on the tiled platform.
I suck in a startled breath.
And dive through the broken window after them.
Helena
While I roll over the platform, my head cracking like a walnut across the tiles, I can’t help but ask myself if there will ever be one week where I don’t find myself in some crazy life-and-death situation. It doesn’t need to be a month, or fates forbid half a year.
Just one fucking week without almost bleeding out, someone trying to kill me, or landing my ass in actual Hell.
One.
My body smacks into someone’s legs, and it stops my trajectory on a pained groan. I’m pretty sure I have a concussion. Acid fills my mouth when voices echo and bounce around in my skull, where my brain is mushed enough to pretend it's soup. But since there is no rest for the wicked, I crack my eyes open a sliver so the light doesn’t stab my retinas, flipping to crawl in search of Raphael.
If my brain was a functioning organ and not mashed potatoes, I would know that the others are standing around me, and they are more suited to helping the Archangel than me. But it’s not, plus I am too stubborn for my own good. Eric is right about that one. My toddler impersonation is short-lived, however.
Arms I’d recognize even if I was dead pluck me off the floor and lift me to a rock-hard chest. Eric’s scent fills my nose, and the bile doesn’t bubble up past my firmly pressed lips, thank everything holy. With a lot of blinking and many harsh exhales through my flaring nostrils, I finally bring his furious, very handsome face into view.
“He is alive.” My choked rasp makes a muscle jump on one side of his jaw.
“I can see that.”
“Don’t growl, Eric. My head hurts.” I think it’s my father who snort-cough-chuckles in the background.
My mate glares at me.
I grin.
Well, I think I’m grinning, but I probably only manage to look constipated. My stomach is churning violently, and two times I come very close to emptying all the contents over both of us, but it finally settles after a moment.Eric just holds me without a word, but I don’t miss the murder sparkling in his emerald irises.
Sensing I can talk without puking, I turn my head to the side to see where the rest are standing. “Is he going to be okay?”
Satanael looks up at me from his crouch next to Raphael’s body lying over the white, dirty tiles. Beelzebub and Colt are kneeling too, while George looms over them, his skin as pale as a ghost and his hair sticking in all directions. Pride has my chest puffing out when I see my hunter friend standing tall—blanched or not—and keeping up with the supernatural creatures.
“In a moment.” My father goes back to what he is doing, and I see the red glow emanating from his hands right before they sink inside the Archangel.
