The peace shattered as Julia’s body went still. The blood flowing from her wounds ceased. She did not breathe. The life was sucked out of her, destroyed by the brimstone. Eric didn’t turn her into a Valefar. As much fun as that would be, he didn’t want Ivy to know what he did. Not yet.
Eric lifted a small vial out of his pocket, and uncorked the top. Holding it over Julia’s charred body, he let one drop of crystal clear liquid fall. The drop floated down, as if it were a feather, and landed on her chest. The droplet hissed before combusting into flames. The air filled with the scent of jasmine, sulfur, and burnt flesh until a gust of wind whisked it away.
The only trace of Julia’s death were golden scorch marks on the ground. They formed a perfect silhouette of her body, encompassing every detail, even the strands of her hair. He stared, feeling neither relieved nor elated. Eric didn’t expect to revel in this moment, and he knew better than lingering about. There was nothing to gloat about. Julia was right about some things. He was an abomination—a being with no race, a cruel creature that only felt good when others were in agony. He pressed his lips together and walked away.
CHAPTER TWO
Eric pulled his dark hood up to obscure his face. After assassinating the leader of the Martis, he knew that their guard would turn the city inside out looking for him. With Rome the way it was, burned with entire sections torn apart so that a person couldn’t even walk down the street, he knew they would never find him. There was no reason for him to leave the city.
Only a few short years passed since the night the gates of Hell burst open and Kreturus, King of the Underworld, tore this land apart. It didn’t matter that Ivy, the object of his desire, was not in the cities he destroyed. At first, Eric had thought that the damage was isolated to the eastern coast of the United States. He’d been there when the demon king arrived, slaughtering to his heart’s content. But, the damage was not contained to one region or one country. It was everywhere, a worldwide epidemic, an apocalypse the survivors only whisper of. Speaking of it would only draw attention to the horror surrounding them.
The humans preferred to act as if nothing happened, even though there was much evidence to suggest otherwise. Entire sections of once thriving cities had burned and crumbled. They remained in disrepair, without electricity, shrouded in darkness. Each city was the same—New York, Paris, Rome, Los Angeles, London—each metropolis failed to mend, failed to heal. Survivors wandered the streets with fear in their eyes. It was not the daunting task of rebuilding that frightened them. It was the gut-wrenching nightmares that woke them in the dead of night leaving them covered in cold sweat. They left their cities in shambles because they didn’t believe the war was over.
People were constantly on edge, glancing over their shoulders waiting for the next attack. He couldn’t blame them, either. Eric had lived through countless wars. He understood the fear in their eyes. The rubble he walked through now was a burial ground. It marked the lives lost, the absolute decimation of humanity and their inability to fight back.
Remembering that night, Eric pushed his hair back, eyes narrowing—watching—always watching. The Valefar were everywhere. When Ivy killed the king, her reign began rather reluctantly, but as the years passed she found her way. The Valefar had been permitted to remain as they were, but were forbidden from killing those who did not deserve it. A twisted smile lined his lips. Although Ivy was their Queen, she was not one of them. She did not think like the soul-sucking Valefar. They rationalized their actions, carefully at first as to not draw the attention of the Queen, but over time, they had grown careless. The Valefar returned to their old ways, killing for pleasure, stripping away pure souls because it suited them.
The Martis should have slaughtered the Valefar, but they failed to notice. They failed to do anything. Unlike before, the humans with angel blood flowing through their veins remained silent, hidden. It was as if they were waiting for something, plotting their next move. Silence was not a good thing.
Eric shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked, golden eyes searching the abandoned storefronts for signs of life. This section of Rome was the first to burn. The emergency services came with all their trucks and tried to stop it, so some buildings still stood, charred with great black stripes of soot clinging to formerly pale walls.
The sun beat down. Eric wiped beads of sweat from his brow. He knew where he was headed. The broken glass, burned wood, and busted-up road were warning signs for people of a more peaceful disposition to stay away, but Eric wasn’t like that. His black boots crushed the rubble under his feet. A few others moved quickly, darting in and out of abandoned buildings. They were no threat to him. Eric kept his head down and kept walking, passing landmarks and art all blasted to bits.
A chill washed over him, despite the balmy temperature. Eric glanced behind him without turning around. Looking into a piece of cracked glass on the side mirror of an abandoned car, he could see a lone figure, small and demure, in the distance. He didn’t change his pace or alert the figure that he was aware of their presence. Eric continued to walk, but altered his path. If he was being followed, he didn’t want anyone to find out where he was going. Turning sharply, he moved down an ancient alleyway. The steps that rose to connect this street with the upper one were smashed to bits. The buildings leaned close together, nearly blocking the path. It looked as if they could fall at any moment. Eric bounded up the stairs, jumping over the rubble. The path twisted and turned until he was out in the open. He glanced over his shoulder. The small figure that was trailing him was gone. Eric wanted to effonate, but he still felt eyes on him, so he didn’t. He didn’t want to reveal his true nature, and effonating would do just that.