The Sleeper and the Silverblood
The Friend's Betrayal

Storm spoke the first new words since awaking in this nightmare. “Dec,” he rasped in a voice raw with stifled screams, “why?”

Declan didn’t look at him, guilt etched across his countenance before he schooled his expression again. “She is a threat to the realm,” the Guardian said, his voice tinged with regret but firm, nonetheless. “The Dark Star Directive mandated her…exile if she was discovered.”

“This isn’t exile, it’s a death sentence!” Storm tried to snap, but his voice came out no more than a hoarse whisper. “She’s saved us, saved you!”

Declan’s face twisted, conflicting emotions warring in his eyes before he forced a hard expression again. “The Council doesn’t see it that way.”

“And you?” Storm spat, his voice gaining strength, the barely concealed anger spilling over. “Do you see it that way, Declan?”

His friend’s eyes tightened with something like pain, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he ground his teeth. “Storm, I’ve spent decades protecting you. I’m hardly going to stop now.” He returned his focus to Itzal, ignoring Storm’s distraught protests. “You wanted a trade,” he said. “So here we are.”

Itzal’s gaze danced over Kitara’s face. “You’re surprisingly quiet, daughter of Cadfael.”

Storm didn’t miss the wary look she shot Declan, who returned it with a stiff nod, like he granted her permission to speak. “I have nothing to say.” Kitara’s voice was steady, but her eyes on Storm echoed with pain. “The decision was made without my consent.”

“Good,” the General murmured, his expression smug. “Then you’ve already been taught your consent means nothing.”

“No,” Storm whispered.

“Make no mistake, I will enjoy breaking you,” Itzal said thoughtfully, ignoring him. “Then I’ll hand you to my soldiers and let them break you some more,” he continued loud enough to attract the demons’ attention, who exchanged gleeful leers.

“Don’t you touch her—” Storm choked back a scream as electricity flooded his veins again, arching his back as his muscles spasmed and his body convulsed.

“Or what, silverblood?” the General asked when the surge concluded, sparing him a glance. “Tell me what you’ll do if I touch.”

To drive home his point, Itzal brushed the back of his knuckles against Kitara’s jaw in a gross parody of a caress. She closed her eyes at the touch.

“If I refrain, will you accept my offer?” Itzal asked Storm as he tucked a rogue strand of hair behind Kitara’s ear. “I’d love to showcase my new Commander: Ilythison, son of Ilythia, renowned Fallen silverblood.”

Declan’s eyes widened, and Kitara inhaled a sharp breath.

When Storm didn’t reply, Itzal smiled. “Your answer wasn’t an immediate ‘no’ this time. That’s a first.” He backhanded Kitara then, driving her to her knees and reopening her split lip.

Declan’s clenched jaw and stiff posture indicated his distaste with the display, but he didn’t interfere.

“I’ll kill you!” Storm roared, straining against his restraints despite his dislocated shoulders and half-healed burns. “I’ll kill you, you—”

“Storm,” Kitara murmured. “Don’t.”

The General observed them for a long, tense moment. “Interesting,” he finally said. “I thought his concern seemed overly strong, but you reciprocate, don’t you?”

Kitara didn’t acknowledge that.

“Enough,” declared Declan, finally stepping forward. “The deal was to trade her for Storm’s freedom. You have her now.”

Itzal’s mirthless laughter echoed off the stone walls of the chamber serving as both a throne room and a dungeon. “But this is much more entertaining than I had anticipated,” he said. Then, with a glance at the silent Kitara, he added, “I don’t know if I can resist the temptation of having both Cadfael’s daughter and Ilythia’s son in my grasp.”

Declan’s knuckles whitened around his weapon, the smooth metal of his firearm glinting ominously in the dim light. “You set the terms, General.” Barely restrained fury echoed through his words. “And we agreed.”

“Well now, perhaps I’m resetting them,” Itzal responded, rubbing his chin. “But…you may be right. It may be more trouble than it’s worth to provoke Valëtyria.”

Somehow, his words didn’t reassure any of the Valëtyrians in the room.

“Relax, Captain,” Itzal insisted, gesturing for the angel to step to one side. “You’ll get your trade. What’s the rush?”

That muscle jumped in Declan’s jaw again as he glanced from the Fallen Ninthëvel to the silverblood sagging against his restraints. “Stop torturing him,” he gritted out. “I’ll play your waiting game, but let him down.”

Itzal waved a hand. “I’ll refrain from any…excessive measures for now,” he countered. “But I know he can summon his weapon with a thought. Took out a few of my people before we learned that. I’ll not risk him doing it again at the moment, not with his lover on her knees before me.”

“His shoulders are dislocated!” Declan snarled.

The General’s black eyes narrowed. “For the same reason. Don’t push your luck, Captain. The silverblood stays where he is.” His gaze flickered to Kitara, then to one of the demons standing at the door. “Bring me a blade…and one of the prototypes.”

Declan stiffened as the figure bowed and slipped from the room. “Whatever you have planned—”

“Your silverblood is safe enough for now, but in return, I must ensure my trade is well under my control,” Itzal snapped, exasperated.

Declan gestured to Kitara. “She’s perfectly controlled!”

“Even remotely?”

The Guardian hesitated. “What do you mean, remotely?”

“I mean I have no interest in entertaining any power struggles with Cadfael’s daughter, and I intend to head off any…heroic or getaway escapades before they arise. You see, Captain,” he strode across the room to where Storm hung, helpless, “Valëtyria’s Fallen method was ingenious. Threaten immortal beings with the loss of their immortality? With mortal death? Brilliant. But it’s short-sighted. Because, really, any angel can wreak a significant amount of havoc before they’re Felled. Shyamal, for example.”

Itzal gestured to the bloody, suspended silverblood. “Controlling the populace requires more than just threats. It requires a threat with immediate consequence. Such as your precious Ilythison here. His cooperation in my…interrogation methods is necessary. I don’t want him dead, you see—that defeats the purpose.”

“Is there a purpose to this monologue?” Declan grumbled, crossing his arms.

“Of course.” Itzal turned to regard him with narrowed eyes as the demon reentered the room rolling a small cart. Atop it lay a blade, a narrow pair of pliers, and materials for sutures.

“I’ll never forgive you for this, Dec,” Storm rasped as the scaly humanoid demon left the cart beside Kitara.

“Nor will I ask for your forgiveness,” Declan responded coolly, though his voice quivered slightly. “But you’ll live.”

“The purpose is guaranteed control,” Itzal said, seizing Storm by the hair and jerking his head to one side, displaying the jagged incision haphazardly stitched together at the base of his skull. “If my people were forced to intervene, to tend to the effects of our interrogation sessions themselves, he’d find himself at my mercy in quite a different state.” Itzal released Storm’s hair and gestured with one hand. “Four centimeters long, and no thicker than a few sheets of paper, a chip containing enough Fallen matter to Fell even an angel of silverblooded renown.”

Kitara and Declan both tensed.

“What?” Kitara whispered.

“At my discretion, of course. A single keystroke, and voila.” Itzal mimed an explosion with his free hand. “Instant consequences. Replicating the Fallen formula and adapting it for use interdimensionally has proven a tedious—if necessary—task. It was clever, storing it on Earth. But a few borrowed human tools here and there and…suddenly that’s no longer a concern.”

“What do you want?” Kitara whispered. “You’ve put one of those…in him?”

Itzal turned to her. “Yes, my dear, and before the end of this negotiation, I’ll do the same to you.”

“I don’t know if I can permit this,” Declan gritted out. “She’s under your control now. She’s subdued. Whatever you do with her after we leave is your business, but—”

Itzal’s voice went ice-cold. “You don’t have much of a choice, do you, Captain? I’m tolerating your very armed presence while knowing you can disappear with one of Valëtyria’s portals at your leisure. However, I also know you’d rather take the silverblood with you.” He bared his teeth in a snarl resembling a smile. “But I want you to take this information back to your High Council too. Because I’ve proven I can incapacitate your facilities—imagine what I could do with a regiment tasked with implanting these in the angels staffing those facilities?”

Declan’s hand went to his sidearm again.

“Don’t be rude,” Itzal chided. “This?” He picked up the tiny chip off the rolling cart and held it up to the light. “This can’t hurt us any longer. You see, Captain” —he set the tech back on the tray— “Valëtyria lost their leverage when they took everything from us. With nothing left to lose, we no longer need to fear Cadfael’s formula—but Valëtyria does.”

All three Valëtyrians went very still.

Itzal regarded Kitara, still kneeling on the floor. “Didn’t you know?” He chuckled. “My dear cousin, your father, betrayed his entire family for Valëtyrian pussy.”

Kitara’s lips parted in a half-snarl as the General advanced on her.

“Dec, please,” Storm whispered, his voice breaking. “Please, take her and go.”

“Too late for that, Ilythison,” Itzal called over his shoulder. “Because I’d never relinquish the opportunity to do to his daughter what Cadfael did to me.” He jerked his chin toward two of his demon guards. “Hold her.”

“No!” Storm bellowed.

“General—” Declan began to protest.

Itzal palmed the knife on the cart as the demons wrestled Kitara onto all fours. “Shut up, angel.”

Uncertainty filled Declan’s expression as he tugged on his ear. He watched Kitara fighting against Itzal’s demon soldiers as two more and the redheaded vampiress approached to hold her in place. He moved almost involuntarily when Scarlet slammed Kitara’s cheek to the floor.

Itzal pointed his blade at the Guardian. “I suggest you remain where you are, unless you want me to Fell your silverblooded friend and put one in you next.”

The Fallen Ninthëvel crouched beside Kitara, the knife in his hand glinting under the harsh lighting.

“Your cousin—” Kitara managed to grunt.

“Two or three times removed, yes,” Itzal said as he swept the Sleeper’s platinum braid to one side and gripped her neck. “I was the first Ninthëvel he ruined—a prisoner of the war he tested his foul concoction on. But after Shyamal corrupted Cadfael’s precious formula…” He chuckled again as he touched the tip of the knife to the base of Kitara’s skull. “He freed me and sent me to Ostragarn ahead of him.”

Helplessness overwhelmed Storm as he tried to twist his dislocated arms free of his shackles, ignoring the muscles threatening to tear at his efforts, thrashing and bellowing obscenities at the Fallen Ninthëvel. “Declan, do something!”

Declan looked torn, an expression of guilt and revulsion twisting his features.

Kitara hissed as Itzal’s blade bit into her skin, sending blood running over her neck and shoulder and pooling on the floor.

Then, through his hysteria, Storm saw it. Saw his friend’s eyes lock with Kitara’s, saw her give the tiniest shake of her head, biting her bloodied lip as Itzal carved into her.

Saw Declan decide to back down.

The fight went out of him, and Storm slumped forward. “Kit, no…”

Her emerald gaze found his agonized silver one, her lips moving in a silent message he struggled to read. Their connection was both profound and maddening; her pain was his own and yet, he remained powerless to stop it. He finally made out the silent word on her lips: “Believe.”

“I believe you.”

A more fleeting word than trust, a choice made day after day, a new opportunity to put his faith in her.

This time, he would.

Itzal fetched the chip from the table and fitted it into the incision in her neck, quickly retrieving the suturing equipment and sewing her skin back together.

Despite multiple needle punctures, despite the blood running down her throat, Kitara’s gaze remained fixed on Storm, hard with resolve yet soft with affection.

Itzal gave a satisfied hum as he finished his grotesque handiwork, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure, put his tools back on the tray, and stood.

Scarlet and the demons released Kitara and she braced herself against the stone floor, but not before the vampiress drew her tongue up the side of the Sleeper’s throat. “Damn, you taste good, chiclet.”

“Scarlet,” Itzal warned, and the vampiress scuttled away, unwilling to risk his wrath.

As she passed Declan, she trailed a slender finger over his arm, hitting him with a sardonic smile. “Hey, handsome.”

Declan’s jaw clenched as she sauntered across the room, leaning against a wall to watch.

Itzal sank into a large chair raised on a dais at the end of the room, his eyes intent on the prone, bleeding Sleeper as she slowly sat up.

“Okay, you got what you wanted,” Declan said in a low voice. “You’ve got her under your control. She’s still in cuffs, for fuck’s sake. Release Storm now.”

“First things first,” Itzal said, lifting another piece of tech in his hand: a small remote, its surface studded with buttons of bewildering intent.

Storm and Declan could only watch in horror as he pressed one.

Kitara inhaled sharply, tension radiating through her posture.

“No,” Storm whispered. “Please.”

“Too late.” Itzal chuckled. “Consider it my final trial before my creation’s mass production, just as I was Cadfael’s final trial before his.”

Storm tensed.

Declan gritted his teeth.

And Kitara simply…waited.

Acidic fire seared down Storm’s spine, and he spasmed, throwing his head back. A groan wrenched itself from his throat.

Kitara and Declan spun in his direction, eyes wide.

Declan’s expression became panicked. “What did you do?”

“I told you,” Itzal said, observing the silverblood carefully. “I intend to prevent any…heroic escapades before they arise. I offered him a choice to Fall, but he never really had any choice.”

“No!” Declan bellowed, leaping forward.

Scarlet pounced on him before he could take two steps, hauling him backward. She twitched, then collapsed screaming as Declan’s psionic power seared through her. The other demons surged forward, their snarling expression promising violence. Declan fought back, repelling three at once as he reached for his sidearm. But they were many, and he was one, soon overwhelmed by their sheer numbers. They wrestled his gun away.

Kitara managed to get to her feet as Storm writhed in his shackles, his muscles bunching and twitching under his skin as if possessed by a vile puppeteer.

His wings ripped free of his back against his will, his body arching in searing pain as the silver blood drying on his skin caught the light.

For a moment, an unsettling quiet fell, broken only by Storm’s ragged gasps as he fought to keep from voicing his agony. He opened his mouth to suck in a breath.

Declan struggled to free himself from the demons restraining him.

Kitara took a faltering step forward.

Storm’s guttural scream shattered the air.

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