Riders (Riders, #1)(63)

“Is it Daryn? What the hell are you trying to tell me? Whose side are you—”

Daryn’s voice broke into the night, a strangled cry of pure pain. Not from the radio—from somewhere down the street.

I took off running.

Alevar sprang into the sky.

Daryn had sounded close. I searched for her in the shadows along the street, my legs churning, my backpack drumming against my lower back. Where was she?

I’d almost reached the corner when Samrael stepped from the darkness of a hidden alley, putting himself in my path.

I didn’t slow down. I slammed into him, the collision like a shock wave through my body. We careened together, fighting to stay on our feet as we grappled. He was strong—I couldn’t get him locked up. He broke loose and pushed me away.

“Where’s Daryn?” I yelled.

As I looked into his eyes I remembered what I’d seen in them at Joy’s party. The torment and pain. The fear and anguish. It was all there behind that flat gaze. Dark potential living inside him.

“Somewhere, Gideon.” He smiled, enjoying my panic. “She’s surely somewhere.”

An invisible fist struck my forehead. I staggered back. It was him, but I couldn’t go there again. The rage inside me focused to a point, to a clear and singular intention—stop him.

I knew I’d summoned my sword before I felt the grip in my hand.

I threw the quickest blow I could, swinging upward. Samrael lurched back, but the tip of the blade slashed his jaw. A gash opened. Dark blood streamed out, running down his neck.

“Where is she?” I demanded again.

“You’re getting stronger, Gideon,” he said, his eyes flicking to the weapon in my hand. He touched his neck and looked at the blood on his fingers, anger flashing across his face. “Where is she, Alevar?” he said, looking past me. “You know, don’t you?”

Alevar crouched a few feet behind me. He crawled over to Samrael and bowed his head in submission, his folded wings shining with mist.

“He likes you, Gideon,” Samrael said. “I sent him for the key and you’ve distracted him.” Samrael laid his hand on Alevar, stroking the demon’s smooth head. Alevar shuddered and bent lower. “Perhaps I expect too much from him. Such a crude little beast. No real thoughts inside his mind. Like. Dislike. Hate. Kill. It’s about all he’s capable of.”

Alevar peered at me with his blind eyes. I didn’t feel evil from him. Not like Samrael.

“Go on now,” Samrael said, coaxing him. “I can hardly deny you the opportunity to show off for your new friend. Show Gideon your gift.” Alevar didn’t move. Samrael removed his hand from the winged demon’s head. “I don’t know why you bother to refuse me.”

Alevar let out a sharp squeal, reacting to pain I knew well. He scurried back, putting himself a few feet from Samrael, then came upright and extended his wings.

They were fantastic. Enormous. Then I saw darkness leaking from the feathers. Darkness like an inky liquid that pooled at his feet. He fanned his wings, and the darkness spread, tumbling across the street in waves.

I’d seen this kind of darkness before. Outside my sister’s apartment, the night I’d chased Samrael down. In the desert, when Alevar had appeared right in front of me. This had to be how he’d been able to sneak up on me.

I couldn’t see across the street anymore. The light from the lamps had gone dull and cold. Shadows merged together and deepened to black. Alevar was flooding the block with darkness.

“That’s enough, Alevar.” Samrael smiled at me. “Not a horse made of fire but impressive nonetheless, don’t you think?”

My attention pulled past him, down the street. Other Kindred were coming now, emerging from the darkness. Pyro and Malaphar walked together. Pyro’s stride was tight, skittish, and he had a crazed look in his eyes. By contrast, Malaphar lumbered awkwardly, shuffling up the street. They came toward us but two other demons—the females, Ronwae and the one with the muscular build and dreadlocks—took positions on either end of the street, standing guard.

I remembered the Kindred were on the run, too. They were rebels.

Six were here. Only one was missing.

I saw no escape. They had me surrounded.

Samrael wiped at the blood under his chin again. “You know she’s using you? Daryn? You’re a means to an end for her. I’ve seen into her mind.”

“No. You can’t see into her mind or you wouldn’t be bothering with me. And you don’t have her, either. You wouldn’t be here if you did.”

This was a trap—for me.

Samrael stared at me. “Well reasoned,” he conceded. “I am envious of her skill. I can only see into minds, but her knowledge has no limitation. She can see backward and forward. It makes her very hard to catch.” He turned his palm up as he spoke. A shard of bone broke through his skin. It slid out, blade-shaped and the length of his arm. My stomach tightened up at the sight. “What must that be like for her? Has she seen your death, for example? Can you imagine that, rider? Your death? Pyro. Malaphar. Help him imagine it.”

They came forward together, the skater and the homeless man. Harmless-looking, but not. Their stench hit me as they drew closer, the smell of rancid earth and death.

Pyro held out his hand, creating a white flame in his palm. He brought it toward Malaphar’s face, illuminating the older man’s pocked skin and black eyes.