Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Maddox ground his teeth as a gold energy ball smacked into his hand; the impact reverberated up his arm. The orbs packed a real fucking punch. It was like being hit with red-hot electricity. It jarred. Zapped. Burned. It also seared cloth and skin. He was thankful that the archangel didn’t seem able to scatter-shot it, because if any slivers of that energy buried themselves inside Maddox, he had the feeling they could kill him from the inside out with no trouble.
Maddox retaliated fast, firing off a series of hellfire orbs in quick succession. Three clipped Castiel’s head, another struck his shoulder, and the latter hit his chest—adding to the many burns, blisters, and scorch marks he already sported.
Hissing, Castiel jutted out his chin. “You can fling as many of them at me as you like. They will not kill me.”
No, they probably wouldn’t. But the pain would tire him. It was tiring him—which was why he’d ceased flying around in an effort to both dodge the orbs and grab Maddox. It hadn’t really helped Castiel much anyway, since Maddox could easily teleport from one spot to another to elude the archangel.
As Viper had warned, Castiel was far from weak. He was sharp, swift, strong. It was clear he was no stranger to battle. He could even withstand the deadly effects of the ice-cold energy Maddox conjured. Any slivers of it that buried themselves in Castiel’s body seemed to hurt him, but no more than that.
The archangel’s biggest weakness was that he relied too much on holy fire. He wasn’t adept at fighting without it or falling back on his other abilities, so he was flailing a little here. And Maddox was fucking enjoying it.
“I will end you,” Castiel swore. “I will end your entire lair, including your anchor.”
His demon pulled back its lips, baring its teeth. Like Maddox, it was sick of listening to Castiel’s repetitive threats of how he’d do this, that, and the other. Still, just hearing the archangel mention Raini made the entity want nothing more than to bludgeon the bastard to death with his own fucking leg.
“So you keep saying,” said Maddox. “But I’d be surprised if you truly believe it.”
A rush of adrenaline spurred him on as he attacked with a combination of hellfire, ice-cold energy, and telekinetic power. Castiel ducked, dodged, and retaliated, his reflexes admirably quick.
Around them, voices grunted, cried out, yelled warnings, or laughed. Yeah, the Black Saints laughed a lot. Like this was merely a rough-and-tumble Thanksgiving football game among relatives. They either did it to infuriate their opponents or they genuinely found some joy in battle. If it was the latter, Maddox could relate. He’d always enjoyed being in battle. There was always a feeling of … release when he broke into violence.
He and Castiel both stilled as a halo-bearer zoomed through the air between them and crashed into a nearby statue, sending it sprawling to the ground along with him.
“Your numbers are dwindling,” said Maddox. Bodies littered the ground—bitten, broken, blistered, and bloody. All were halo-bearers.
Castiel scoffed at the corpses. “They were weak.”
No, the Black Saints were just that good. Maddox was right in predicting that Viper’s brothers weren’t common types of angel. They were too fast, too powerful. And they were definitely seasoned fighters. A few had suffered fatal wounds, but then they’d fed on halo-bearers and, that easily, they’d healed.
Maddox wasn’t sure if all blood healed them that fast or only holy blood. Whatever the case, it kept the Black Saints strong. He also wasn’t sure what the hell those ultraviolet fiery orbs were—probably some warped version of holy fire—but they were potent enough to wrench cries of agony out of their opponents.
Castiel whipped up his arm, and the head of a statue sailed through the air. Maddox sidestepped it easily, and then they were fighting again, each striking with telekinetic power—punching, shoving, kicking, choking. Maddox knew he’d have bruises, because each hit landed like a damn mallet. One caught him in the kidneys, sending pain rippling through him.
His demon surfaced a few times, determined to get a few licks in. Maddox welcomed each surge of adrenaline. With the strain of shelving his pain and expending so much psychic power, he could feel himself tiring. It was slowing him down, which he fucking hated. The only reason the archangel hadn’t been able to take advantage of it was that he too was slowing.
Just then, Castiel hurled an orb of holy fire—something he did occasionally, as if he hoped it would begin to affect Maddox at some point.
Sighing, Maddox slanted his head. “Surely your minion told you that holy fire can’t harm me.”
A resentful snarl twisted Castiel’s face. “The holy blood in your veins is strong. It is only that that keeps you alive. If you were pure demon, I’d have killed you by now.”