How to Save a Life
(Demon Hunters, ch???)
The Hunters’ house was surprisingly quiet that evening. Lucas padded through the halls, his bare feet silent against the hardwood flooring as he roamed. He should be sleeping, he knew that. It was the second week of November, two weeks since they’d used the Halo Breakers, but he’d only just woken up for the day. Just out of bed, and the day was almost over. Christa and Jace weren’t doing much better; Lucas swore those two slept for three days straight after Halloween, waiting just long enough to make sure the wards were in place before they collapsed into bed. None of them were in any condition to face demons, and the
cambion knew it.
Their
nephilim allies knew it, too.
It was probably why Sky and Devon had offered to let Lucas and his friends crash at their house in the first place. Their mother Leyla was a strong
nephilim in her own right, and the Hunters had their friends over all the time; the Hunters’ place was kind of the home base for the nephilim in New York, just like Lucas’ apartments was headquarters for the
cambion. But unlike his brownstone, the Hunters’ house was huge; between their extended family popping in and out all the time, the
nephilim of the Seven Heavenly Virtues, and even the
cambion of the Seven Deadly Sins, you could have twenty to thirty people in the place and still feel like the house was spacious. They could help Lucas’ group recover and protect them until their strongest fighters were back on their feet.
Sleep tugged at the corners of his mind, trying to convince him to return to his bed and dreams. But he couldn’t. His mind was whirring, plans, strategies, and defensive maneuvers all vying for his attention. Other thoughts crowded in behind these, trying to force him from being the leader into a position he didn’t want to consider. His feet carried him through the halls, acting of their own will as he worked to untangle the knot in his brain.
Lucas was surprised, then, when he knocked into something soft, warm, and about a foot shorter than him. He spun to the side, his right arm wrapped around who he’d bumped into, letting his left shoulder slam into the wall. His face scrunched up as a white hot brand shot up and down his arm. He won the battle not to swear at the contact, but he did hiss softly as the girl pushed away from him.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and Lucas recognized Harmony’s soft voice and even softer eyes as she looked up at his face. She reached a hand out, her fingers resting on the bandages and sling that covered his left arm. Warmth spread through the limb, and Lucas felt his muscles relax as the pain ebbed away; trust Harmony to go right for the source of problem and ease it away.
Even so, Lucas took a step away, giving the both of them space to recompose themselves. Her hands dusted at the front of her skirt as his eyes skittered toward the floor, just as they had every day for the last two weeks whenever he saw her. She didn’t call him on it, though. She was the daughter of Azriel, and knew how to be patient with people. She’d forgiven him for what he’d done, but that didn’t mean he’d forgiven himself. If he’d just gotten there sooner, acted faster…
It was all his fault.
“He’s been asking for you, Lucas.” Harm’s quiet voice startled Lucas once again, causing him to blink violet eyes as he looked around. He knew this hallway, he realized. It had seemed like aimless roaming, just the pacing of a restless, exhausted mind, but he’d wound up outside the room that he’d been avoiding during his conscious periods ever since Halloween.
Lucas wrapped his arms around the shorter cambion’s
left shoulder, holding firm as he called up his earth magic. He felt the decay enter the other boy’s limb, how the tissue died beneath his grip; slowly at first, then faster and faster as death worked itself deeper into the arm, going all the way down to the bone. Lucas felt the ache starting in his own arm, a warning that he needed to pull back on the magic before he damaged his own body, but as the boy twisted and bucked beneath him, Lucas just held on more firmly, determined to get the advantage in this deadly duel…
“
Ān, nán péng you.” Harm’s fingers rested on his arm again, banishing the memory. Switching from Chinese to English, Harm repeated, “Peace, my friend. You have to talk to him sooner or later, Lucas. He’s doing better, now, so now is as good a time as any, yes?”
“I guess,” he said softly. The fingers of his left hand curled tightly against his chest as he looked at the half open door.
Her fingers squeezed his arm gently before she said, “It will be okay. You’ll see. I’ll tell Leah that you’re awake; it’ll make her happy.” Before Lucas had the chance to answer her, Harm had already turned around and walked away.
Lucas faced the door again, his heart hammering in his chest. He closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths as he willed his heartrate to slow to a normal pace. Once the thudding against his ribs had eased, he returned the mask of leader to his features and stepped inside the room.
Dante was sitting up in bed, a fact that had Lucas slightly impressed. He saw the dark pile of fur that was Jinx sleeping on the blanket near Dante’s knees; Sky’s cat had taken a shine to him, and always seemed to be in his room from what the
nephilim girl said. Dante had the fingers of his right hand tangled in Jinx’s fur, just rubbing the black cat as his eyes watched the night sky.
Before Dante turned to look at him, Lucas felt his eyes dragged toward Dante’s left arm. At least, where the arm
used to be. He would have been bare chested, but white bandages wrapped up and down his chest and torso, pressed tight against both of his shoulders. They were bound even tighter against the left one, to stop the bleeding from the injury. If Lucas’ left arm ached and was still weak because of what he’d done to Dante, he couldn’t imagine the pain that Dante had been in right after Lucas had destroyed his arm. He’d hoped that maybe the
nephilim could save it, but then even Mina and Natasha had said they couldn’t do anything for him, and he’d still lost it anyway…
“About damned time, Lucas. I was starting to wonder if you’d ever drop by.” Dante had turned to look at him, and Lucas noted that Dante’s eyes were the greenest he’d seen them in ages. Lucas had gotten so used to the heavy presence of gold and flashes of red in Dante’s eyes because of his heavy use of Demon’s Bane that Lucas had almost forgotten that the blonde’s eyes were green highlighted with flecks of gold. Lucas didn’t speak for a moment, the commander in him looking Dante over and assessing his fitness.
Dante was pale; whether from pain or being cooped up inside, Lucas couldn’t quite figure it out. But at the same time, he looked healthier than he had in two months. Fire burned in Dante’s eyes, passion and aggression all geared up and ready to go. He was down to one arm, but Lucas didn’t think that would compromise Dante’s fighting ability much, especially once they outfitted him with the prosthetic that was being built for him.
But his rage had gotten away from him. He’d given in, and Moloch had almost gotten out. He’d used more Demon’s Bane than his system could safely handle, making the breach that much worse. He’d broken the ruby in the cross he wore, jumping into his Halo Breaker and demon form in the process. Even with the ruby replaced and the barrier repaired, he was a possible security issue, and one that needed to be addressed immediately.
So why hadn’t Lucas come before now?
While Lucas just stood there, unable to start talking, Dante looked him up and down before huffing out, “Lemme guess, you’re about to read me the riot act, right? How about you spit it out, then?”
Lucas leaned against the door, causing it to slide shut. He kept his face impassive, cool neutrality and his famous control the only expressions on his features. Even so, his jaw was rigid, and his eyes held a subtle storm as he said softly, “What were you thinking? I’ll admit, maybe the idea of a stone cold detox wasn’t one of my best, but it started with your lack of control. You know how addictive the Bane is, Ascher…”
“Damn, I knew the pressure’s been getting to you, Thorne, but I didn’t expect this to turn into a roast,” Dante snapped, riding straight over him. Unlike Lucas, Dante had no problem showing his fury, letting it drop into every line of his body and blaze high in emerald green eyes. His fingers clenched together in Jinx’s fur, causing the cat to wake with a squeak of protest as Dante pulled at skin.
Lucas wasn’t about to let him turn it back on him, however. Keeping his voice even, Lucas continued, “It’s not a roast, and you know it. Your abuse of the Bane, your rage, they’re both Moloch’s ticket to gaining control. This is the third time he’s almost gotten in. It has to stop. You can’t let him win; we can’t let
any of them enter. People think it’s the Apocalypse now? They have no idea what they’re in for if we lose control, so you need to dam up your wrath, Ascher, now.”
Jinx swatted at Dante’s hand, her claws a breath away from his skin, before she jumped ship, trading the bed for a bookshelf. He didn’t seem to notice, however. His eyes had clouded over, a shuttered look to them as his gaze shifted away from Lucas and back to the window again.
A trickle of frustration crept into Lucas’ shoulders, and he had to bite down hard on the soft growl that tried to sound in his throat. Devon was the one that had a tendency to go cold when he was really mad, not Dante, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t switch from lava to glacier if pushed far enough. Taking a step forward, Lucas hissed, “Dammit, Ascher…”
“How long has it been since you saved me from the hell hound?”
Lucas froze where he was, eyes blinking rapidly. Dante turned to look at him, and Lucas realized that he wasn’t his usual, pissed off self now. His face was soft, and his eyes distant, lost in memory. His face reminded Lucas of the boy he’d first met when they were both kids. Quietly, so quiet he almost didn’t hear himself, Lucas said, “I think it’s been fourteen years.”
“Fourteen? Damn. It feels like a lot longer, but a hell of a lot shorter, too.” Dante blew a breath out, almost talking to himself as he whispered, “Fourteen years...”
“You’ve changed, Lucas. A lot.”
Okay, if he thought he was frozen before, he’d been wrong. Lucas couldn’t even breathe now. The entire tone of the conversation was shifting, a shift that Dante seemed to realize was in his control as he continued, “I know this life is hard for all seven of us, but one of us has the shittiest deal, ‘cause what happens to the rest rides on the choices and strength of just this one.”
Choosing to misinterpret what he was saying, Lucas said, “You’re sin’s wrath, remember? I don’t think our fates are riding on you and your rather flimsy self-control.”
Dante didn’t take the bait like he’d hoped. Instead, he turned that probing green gaze on Lucas again as he said, “Yeah, but they do ride on yours. I think that might be part of the problem, too.”
“I…”
Dante cut over Lucas, his leverage as Lucas’ oldest friend the only thing that gave him the ability to do so. “No diversions, Lucas. Fine, I’m our strongest physical fighter, and it’s a tie between Angie and Delilah on who our best spell weaver is. But that’s because you
let me be the strongest; you
let them be the best. You control yourself to the point that people wonder if you have any emotions or vices at all, and you keep yourself right in the middle of the pack when it comes to muscle and spell power, but you’re not fooling anyone, man. You’re pride doesn’t come in the form of your abilities with your fists, that blade you carry, how wicked you are with your magic, speed, endurance, agility, or anything like that. It’s in your damned self-control.”
Lucas tried to reprimand Dante when he stopped to draw breath, but all that came out was a soft, “You know that’s not true. My control is the only thing keeping me alive.”
Almost as if he hadn’t heard him, Dante said, “You know what I don’t get, though? Is how someone who’s very existence centers on pride can have such a shitty opinion about their own self-worth. I get it, Lucas, believe me. If anyone understands your need to keep control of yourself, it’s me. But the thing is, I still remember that kid that saved me from the hell hound. He was already way too guarded for a ten-year old, but I saw hope in his eyes and a willingness to share the weight of responsibility with his friends. But you… you won’t give up your control. We’re supposed to be a team, man, but you’re so afraid of falling it seems like you don’t even realize that there’s seven of us, not just you. Why can’t you let your guard down now and then and let us be strong for
you sometimes, instead of you always being strong for us?”
For a moment, Lucas thought about the idea. He thought about letting go of some of his control, of letting the others take up some of the burden. It’d be a relief to let the wall down that he’d had up since he was a little kid, and he was just so tired…
Weakening already? I knew you would not be able to make it
And just like that, the walls snapped back up in his mind, forcing Lucas to regain control of his thoughts, to banish desires and hope that could never be because of necessity. “I can’t, Dante,” he said softly, turning his eyes away so he wouldn’t see the burning frustration in Dante’s gaze. “I’ve come too far, and I can’t risk our safety or humanity’s to indulge in the idea of making things a little easier on myself.”
“Lucas…”
But Lucas had already pushed through the door, closing it behind him so he couldn’t hear Dante’s voice any longer. The walls seemed to close in on Lucas, making his skin crawl and his eyes dart around the hallway. Quietly, his feet carried him away from the room, searching out the front foyer and the exit from a suddenly claustrophobic environment.
Valentine’s Day. His birthday. Lucas would be twenty-five then, and this nightmare would be over. He’d already been promised that much, and while Lucas would never trust his father’s word, the promise of freedom had come, not from Lucifer, but Michael, Sky’s grandfather, God’s most trusted archangel and the avatar of charity.
Night air broke across Lucas’ face, crisp and cold after the heat of the house. For a moment, he sank onto the porch, his shoulders shaking as he fought a sudden bout of lightheadedness. Dante had one hell of a temper, but those muscles and blonde hair hid a sharp mind that could pick up on a lot of details when he wanted to. He’d forced Lucas to look to the true cause of the problem, and it wasn’t Dante’s use of the Bane.
It was Lucas’ need for control.
The closer it came to his birthday, the more anxious he became, the wider the cracks grew. It wasn’t that easy to pick up on a few months ago, but they were showing now. Tempers were slipping among his
cambion allies, lust and gluttony, sloth and wrath, envy and greed getting the better of his friends more and more, even as Lucas tried to tighten his control over himself and watch the control of the others.
Dante said he needed to accept their help, and let them be responsible for some of what happened. But how could he? Everything was riding on Lucas not falling; it got dicey when one of the others teetered on the edge, but Lucas had never been on that edge himself. If he had, they would all be screwed. It was one thing for the
cambion offspring of six high ranking demons to lose control. Quite another for Lucas, son of the fallen archangel Lucifer.
Lucas was
nephilim, whether or not he deserved the title.
His chest tightened as a familiar isolation settled around him. He’d always been alone. Demons had started going after the others when they were between the ages of seven and ten. Lucas had been four when the first one came for him. If it hadn’t been for his control of hell horses showing up right then, he would have been toast. It had been the first taste of what had been in store for him, and his fate had only become more bitter over the last twenty years.
Lucas slipped his left arm from its sling, stifling the soft snarl that wanted to slip from his lips as pain shot from his shoulder to his fingertips again. He kept the bandages on, but he removed the sling from where it had been around his neck the last couple of weeks. He could sense the demons lurking just outside the wards the Hunters had around the property, and he knew there wasn’t any chance of him returning to sleep tonight. Weak as he still was, Lucas knew that the demons still wouldn’t be a match for him, not unless they were packing power close to that of the Big Seven. It was time to thin the ranks of his father’s army once more. This was war, and he couldn’t baby himself any longer.
Three months. If he could make it just three more months, then Lucas would finally be free of the sword that had been hanging over his head his entire life. Lucifer would be a null issue and his friends would be safe, all thirteen of them. Lucas just had to hang in there a little longer. His shoulders stiff, he walked away from the house, out for his rounds, his attention focused on what he had to do, and not the feeling that had been building for almost a year now. He was tired of fighting, but he had to keep going. He couldn’t stop.
No matter how much he wanted to.
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