Cyn screamed as they went over, and Avian’s wings burst out of his jacket. With two strong pumps, he was over the side of the cliff and diving down after her.
The spray of water from the falls was almost strong enough to knock him off course, but he reached out to snag her ankle and managed to stop them midfall. Their combined weight made it cumbersome to navigate, and he fought to pull them back up over the cliff.
“Get off of me,” he heard Cyn grunting, and he looked down to see her kicking at Declan.
The cop’s face was a mangled mess—one eye bloody and bulging, his lip split into two, broken capillaries and blood vessels covering his face and arms. The hellhound’s bite had done a considerable amount of damage.
But so had Cyn.
She kicked one more time, and Declan started coughing again. His body convulsed as he struggled for air. With one final heave, she knocked him loose.
Avian leveled off, and they both watched Declan’s body free-fall into the water below. He disappeared and then resurfaced, bobbing lifelessly until the current carried him over the falls. If there was any question as to whether or not he could have survived, it was answered as his body was dashed against the rocks at the bottom of the waterfall over and over again.
Avian cleared the edge of the bluff and let go of Cyn’s ankle as soon as the ground was close enough for them to land safely. He came to a stop several feet away. The scars on his back were burning like a son of a bitch, and he fought to keep himself under control.
“Holy shit, Thirteen,” Cyn said. “I was just getting used to the horns. You can fly?!”
She came closer, and he arched backward, hissing with pain. “Don’t. Don’t come near me.”
The burns on Avian’s arms deepened, like someone was branding him with a hot poker from the inside, and his horns throbbed with a painful intensity. When he got pissed off, the demon side of him wanted to do some damage. Regardless of what, or who, was around.
That’s how he’d gotten the scar from Shelley. When he wasn’t careful, and the demon side had slipped out. Luckily, she’d been smart enough to use the knife she’d always carried and had nicked the side of his neck just below his left ear. He’d been distracted enough by it to rein himself back in.
“What’s happening to you?” Cyn asked. “It looks . . . painful.”
Avian contorted as the burns flared up again, and he landed hard with one knee on the ground. He didn’t answer her question. It took all of his willpower to make sure his demon side stayed under wraps.
Eventually his horns receded to nubs, and he changed his eye color back to brown. The wings were another matter—they would have to wait until he could bind them again.
When he stood, Cyn glanced at his arms and the fading scars left behind. “Happens when I get angry,” he offered by way of explanation. “I burn from the inside out. It’s my curse.”
“So the burn marks are coming from the inside and pushing their way out of your skin?”
He nodded.
She looked at his shoulders. “And that’s”—she gestured to the black feathers sprouting from his shoulder blades—“all part of this too?”
“They come from my mother’s side of the family.”
“Wings and horns.” She turned away from him, then turned back with a confused expression on her face. “Have they always been there?”
“Always.”
“I didn’t feel them when I rode behind you on your bike.”
“I keep them bound.”
Cyn gave him a brief, sweeping glance. “Anything else I should know about? Any other surprises?”
Besides the healing, shape shifting, persuasion, memory reading, and general-ass-kicking skills?
Avian shook his head. “Nope. That’s it.” Removing his jacket, he folded his wings down and then put the jacket back on.
“Okay. Good. But you and I are going to have a little chat when we get back to the house.” She glanced around and absentmindedly rubbed her arms. Her clothing was wet from coming so close to the waterfall.
“My bike is back where the road ends,” he said, answering her unasked question. “I didn’t want to lose the element of surprise, so I left it there.”
He put two fingers to his mouth and whistled. The hellhound followed them back to the bike.
“What’s with the dog?” Cyn asked, climbing behind him. She was careful not to touch his wings. “He was at the junkyard Declan made me go to.”
“He’s a hellhound. A guardian of the dead. I passed by the junkyard when I was out looking for you and saw the dog heading in this direction. Since the cop was drinking blood from the undead, the hellhound was able to follow his scent.”
Cyn shrugged. “Whatever he is, I’m glad he was there. He slowed down Declan enough for me to get a head start.”
The hellhound raced beside them the whole way back to Pete’s Salvage Yard. Keeping up an easy pace. When they reached the gates, he leapt over them and disappeared inside.
They rode in silence the rest of the way back to the rectory, and Avian let Cyn off at the kitchen door before putting his bike away. He didn’t realize that she hadn’t gone inside yet but was still watching him when he dropped the torn jacket into a heap on the ground and set his wings free.
“Hey!” Cyn suddenly called. “Are you going up there?” She pointed to the roof of the church.
“Yeah,” Avian said, and cursed himself for even thinking what he was going to say next. “Wanna come?”