Exeter Global Services
Cleveland, Ohio
10:00 p.m., Dec. 24
Finn moved forward rapidly, using his rifle as much as a tool to disarm his attackers as to incapacitate them. As he fought, he kept one eye on the conference room where he’d seen Dana disappear with the young guard. He needed to get over there—right after he cleared a path for escape for both of them. The attack had been fairly self-contained, but it was only a matter of time before the fire alarms were set off or someone tripped battery-powered security systems. The men who’d shown up to help dispatch the Possessed were doing so with a ruthlessness that reminded him of the single-minded focus of video game players, but they were fast running out of prey. Even now, many of the Possessed were racing through the corridors, no longer set on attacking as much as escape.
Still, there would be plenty for the police to question. And he and Dana needed to be out of there before they showed up.
He ran for Dana’s conference room, but before he could reach it, another wave of the battle surged in front of him, spilling from another chamber. Finn plunged into the melee of the Possessed, the line between death and destruction blurring with every hit, every kick, every broken bone. Within minutes, more of the Possessed had dropped, and others screamed as they fled, their minds focusing only on escape.
Finn straightened, turning to where he could barely see Dana lying slumped and bleeding in the conference room, when the sound of slow, lazy clapping stopped him in his tracks.
“Bravo,” Bartholomew said, and Finn pivoted toward him. The rogue Fallen looked none the worse for wear for the attack, his evening wear barely creased as he picked up the gun that had been lying by his side. “You’ve proven yourself to be quite a worthy opponent, Finn. I’ve enjoyed fighting you, but like all good things, this too must come to an end. You’re displaying a lamentable fondness for mortals, and that, my friend, is the surest way to get yourself killed.”
“Your men were massacred tonight,” Finn seethed. “You led them here to be slaughtered.”
“Not quite the truth, but close enough.” Bartholomew shook his head. “The list is here, Finn. Lester doesn’t have it after all—and believe me, I pressed him hard. Strange how he could block me mentally, but that’s a temporary problem. And once you’re gone, there will be no one to stop me from finding the list…and exacting retribution. I’ve established an outpost in this city, and I have standards to uphold.”
“I wasn’t the one gunning down your troops,” Finn said, realizing suddenly that Bartholomew didn’t know that Dana was in the next room—Dana and a second Dawn Child.
“Locals.” Bartholomew curled his lip. “They’ll pay for that in time. You can expect no additional help from them, though it was an inspired choice.”
“I didn’t call them.”
Bartholomew raised his brows. “Then you’ll allow me to give my congratulations to Ms. Griffin, or one of her associates,” he said. He cast a glance heavenward, a slight smile on his face. “Assuming she survives the night, she’ll prove to be quite an asset to my cause, I suspect.”
“Not gonna happen, dickhead.”
“And you’ll stop me how, exactly?” Bartholomew sneered. “If you want to, have at me, but you’ll need to be quick about it. In a few short hours, you’ll be gone—and I’ll still be here. When that happens, I’ll simply come in and scoop up the mortal, and we’ll all go on our way.”
“No, you won’t,” Finn said. “I’ll kill you first.”
“You know…I almost think you would,” Bartholomew said.
He opened fire into Finn’s chest.
Finn crashed backward from the bullets, even as he rolled down and under, shifting left at the last minute, the speed of his movements allowing him to miss the full thrust of the assault. Bartholomew had simply guessed wrong, he realized, as he watched the trail of bullet holes spring up in a lazy J to the right, continuing on to shoot out the windows. Cold, bracing air rushed in.
Bartholomew took one step forward, then another. “I know your woman is somewhere close, maybe even watching for you. She’ll be alone someday, Finn. When you’re long gone and forgotten, she’ll be alone and at risk. And, once again, I’ll still be here, waiting and watching. There are too many demons ready to be commanded. The Dawn Children cannot stand against us. They will join us, or they will die. After that, nothing will stop us.”
“She doesn’t have the list,” Finn said.
“Ahh, but she’s seen it, hasn’t she? At least part of it. And she’s a Dawn Child. Her mind was not made to forget.”
Bartholomew took another step, the angle of his approach taking him over to the bank of windows that looked out over the city. “I haven’t had the opportunity to turn a Dawn Child in quite a few centuries,” he said, his eyes scanning the room. “You really want to leave her to me?”
Finn leaned against the wall, pressing his hand on his wounds. He could heal quickly, but he’d lost a great deal of blood, and blood was not regenerated so quickly for Fallen as it was for the Syx, it appeared. He needed time to complete the process.
He turned his head, noting another downed human not three feet away. His body was out of Bartholomew’s sight line—as was access to his rifle. Finn leaned over to the man as Bartholomew continued his rant. Whether the man was dead or simply passed out, Finn couldn’t take the time to determine. He lifted the rifle and pulled himself upright.
“What would you have me do, Bartholomew?” he asked. “We weren’t made to rule the humans, any more than we were made to kill them. Have you forgotten so much of your promises that you’ve forgotten that?”
“You’re a child,” Bartholomew spat. “I made no promises that retain any power over me.”
He took a step away, and the sounds of fighting drew closer. The new men were battling back the Possessed, but they couldn’t ignore that time was passing. Soon there would be sirens blaring, the sound of armed, official men rushing up the stairs to the floor, the cacophony of fire trucks on their way.
“It’s over, Bartholomew,” Finn gritted out. “For once, face the consequences of your actions.”
“You won’t kill me,” Bartholomew sneered. “I’m all you know of being a Fallen. That makes me much more valuable to you alive than dead.” He brought the gun around, his head tilting up as he heard the sound of glass crashing, screams of rage filling the echoing chambers. “Whereas, if you’re planning on giving the list to your precious archangel, you’re more important to me dead than alive.”
Finn shifted his gun a little. “I understand. But it turns out I mainly want to hand you over alive so the archangel can beat the shit out of you. He’s even better at it than I am.” Then he shot Bartholomew in the leg.
The rogue Fallen wheeled back, his eyes going from Finn to the far door, which was now being battered with a round of machine gun fire. Max’s attack squad must have realized he was here, and they were coming to finish the job. But guns fired by humans wouldn’t work on Bartholomew. Only Finn could harm him.
“I have more information than you could possibly imagine, Fallen. Information you want. Information you truly need. But you’ll only get this one chance.”
Finn hesitated, and his heart beat with agony at the choice. To go after Bartholomew now was surely the sounder course. He would catch him, especially with a wounded leg. There was so much he could not know—so much he needed to know. He would be giving Bartholomew to the archangel on a platter, and that would count for a lot.
And yet—he steeled himself from looking back toward the room where Dana lay, possibly passed out from blood loss, at risk from both the Possessed and the police, once they showed up, whose showering rain of bullets might just as easily kill her as her attackers.
He couldn’t leave her. Not until he had to.
He’d made his choice.
Bartholomew knew it the same moment he did. “So, that’s the way of it, Fallen,” he said, his tone rich with contempt. “You failed.”
At that moment, the door burst open, and a screaming torrent of bullets blasted through the room.
Moving faster than human eyes could track, Bartholomew tucked the assault rifle close to his body and jumped out the window, bullets peppering the wall harmlessly in his wake.