Melissa de la Cruz - Bloody Valentine

She reached out into the spirit world, searching for her friend and former familiar. Ollie…where are you? Can you hear me? No harm could come to him, not to Oliver, not to Bliss, not to her dear friends who had come to Italy for the purpose of celebrating her bonding. Whatever happened, Schuyler promised she would keep them safe.

Oliver?

I’m here.

Are you all right?

For the moment. Where are you?

Coming to get you.

Schuyler opened her eyes. “They’re holding him in the Villa Malavolta, the old Villa Feri. In the tower room.”

“I will go,” Jack said, putting on his jacket.

Schuyler shook her head. “Not alone. We’ll come, too.”

“You’ll need us,” Bliss agreed. “Even if I’m just human now.” She waved off their confusion. “I’ll explain later. It’s a long story.”

Jack turned to Schuyler and shook his head. “I cannot risk it.” I cannot risk you.

“Jack,” Schuyler said softly. She took his hand, and glanced again at the traitorous ring he wore on his finger. “I am already in danger, my love, and you cannot protect me always. I can protect myself.”

And I need to be there to protect you, she thought, but could not say or send, lest the Venators hear.

Jack knew he could not argue Schuyler out of joining the rescue party. He was glad she had Bliss with her—it would help to have a friend fighting by her side. Not that anything was going to happen, of course; he was going to make sure of it.

He pointed to the ceiling. “They’re right above us.”

The three of them had raced through the city’s ancient underground tunnels toward the intersection of Via del Podestà and Via Bernardo Martellini. The Florentine maze was identical to the one in Lutetia, and Jack had maneuvered through the twists and turns with ease. The building had been owned since the early fifteenth century by the same Blue Blood family that had close ties to the Medicis, but had recently been sold to an unknown bidder. Unlike most buildings in Florence, the villa had a basement so that its first floor would be symmetrical to the road. The tunnels led directly to its basement, and they had arrived in mere moments.

Now they were underneath the room where Oliver was being held. While there was no way to enter the room in the physical world without breaking through to the floor above, there were no such barriers in the glom. Once Jack was in the twilight world, he would be in the same space as the Venators. He could attack without even entering the room.

“It sounds like there are hundreds of them up there,” Schuyler said.

Jack nodded. It was the perfect plan. As Abbadon, he would subdue the Venators in the glom, while Schuyler and Bliss rescued Oliver in the physical world.

“Jack…” Schuyler said. She bit her lip. “Be careful.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.”

Jack Force moved into the glom. Schuyler was right: he had sensed the presence of more than a hundred Venators guarding the former Conduit in the physical world. Yet only three of the Truth Seekers were posted in the glom.

Strange that his enemies had chosen to keep their forces gathered in the tangible universe. Surely they knew Abbadon would attack in the twilight world first. Which meant the Venators did not fear his strength in the glom. But why?

Jack hunched downward, clenching his fists.

The first Venator dove headlong toward Jack, wielding a black sword. Jack met the man’s thrust by grabbing the Venator’s wrist and turning the blade toward the Venator’s own body. He used the momentum of the Venator’s own charge against him and drove the blade right into his opponent’s knee, splitting the flesh and tearing the joint wide. The Venator rolled sideways in agony as he drifted out of the glom. The remaining two formed a tight circle around Jack.

They attacked in unison this time, one advancing from the front while the other slid toward him from the rear. Jack preempted their attack, leaping backward to smash into the attacker’s chest. The move was unexpected, and he hit the man hard before the Venator had drawn his blade. His adversary reeled to the ground, stunned.

Jack’s unexpected leap kept him clear of the third Venator’s advance for a moment, and he took the opportunity to remove the sword from the Venator’s fallen comrade before the man slipped out of the glom. Jack swung the blade in a tight arc, feeling the weight of the sword, sensing its internal balance and strength.

He tossed the weapon to his other hand and traced a line inches from the Venator’s chest. “Call your friends. They were arrogant to have sent only three men when a hundred wait in reserve. Call them all if you think you have a chance of taking me tonight.”

Jack held the man’s gaze and did not blink. He waited until the Venator disappeared from the glom before relaxing his hand.

Would they take the bait? Their plan would only work if Jack could draw all of them into the glom and away from the room where they held Oliver.

Jack waited in the void of the glom, tense and alone. He balanced his sword in readiness. Where were they?

Finally, the first Venator blinked into the spirit world.

Jack raised his sword and then raised it higher as more and more of them appeared. He had miscalculated. There were more than a hundred of them. Their numbers were astounding. Almost all of the Vena-tors in service to the European Coven had to be here. The Countess wanted her revenge very dearly, it was clear.

He was surrounded. Jack did the only thing he could—he lowered his weapon. It was useless against a group of this size. The Venator army closed in tightly around him. Their faces were calm. They had no fear. Their numbers were vast, their strength overwhelming.

“Surrender, Abbadon! Your defeat is guaranteed.” The words came from a vampire Jack did not recognize. The Venator that led this army had been nothing more than a foot soldier in the celestial army Jack had commanded long ago.

This was going to be too easy, really. He began the transformation into his true form, calling up the immortal spirit that was housed in his blood for time immemorial. Abbadon, the Unlikely. Angel of the Apocalypse. Destroyer of Worlds.

But nothing happened. No dark wings sprouted from his back, no horns grew on his forehead, he was without the strength of a million demons coursing through his veins. He remained Jack Force. Just another eighteen-year-old boy.

Ah.

So that was their game.

He had guessed as much, the moment Schuyler had drawn those two circles on his palm. Had seen her hands shake as she had put the ring on his finger. They had placed a cursed bonding spell on them, to limit his powers. To stop him from turning into Abbadon. Held back by the love she felt for him. He had noticed that telltale stone around her neck, disguised as a pendant. They were watching, they were waiting. This is what they wanted him to do. They wanted him weak and vulnerable, bereft of his immortal power.

“Something wrong, Abbadon?” the Venator sneered. “Where is your strength now?”

Jack sighed. “Do you truly believe that brute force is my only weapon? That after centuries of rule in Heaven, I wield no power but my own sword?”

The Venator smirked. “What other power could you possibly still have? After today, they will call you Abbadon the Weak.”

In reply, Jack spoke a small incantation, a prayer that only he could fashion. The glom darkened considerably, and from the fatal blackness arose the creatures of the Underworld, the Black Fire elementals at his command, as one of the First Born, an Angel of the Dark, captain of the lost and withering souls of Hell.