Free Demon of Vengeance: Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 4 by Brenda Huber Page A

torture, but on immortalizing his efforts with candid shots of his handiwork. The pictures, Sebastian rationally knew, were designed not only to degrade the Demon of War, but to break him and to destroy his fearsome reputation. They were also designed to taunt the Fallen. To demoralize them. To weaken them from the inside out. To shake their resolve.
    Instead, all Stolas had done was fuel their rage. Fuel it and reinforce their determination. Sebastian wanted to destroy the bastard with his bare hands. The only thing keeping him grounded right now was his focus on Phoebe. Xander, Niklas, and Gideon had been preparing to leave on a rescue mission the last time he’d spoken to Niklas. That had been nearly two full days ago. Since then, nothing. Not a peep. Not an SOS. Not a blip on the radar.
    He’d even called Kyanna and Carly as he’d waited for Phoebe to recover. They hadn’t heard anything either. Not for days. Nor had Maggie, they’d informed him. And they were all beside themselves with worry and fear.
    Not good.
    The last shreds of his control were stretched to the breaking point from his need to take action… any kind of action. And the tiny little spikes of energy that came from Phoebe whenever she became worked up about something drilled into him, making him want to push for answers.
    Patience , he reminded himself. Phoebe wasn’t a rogue demon to be interrogated. She was a fragile mostly-human being. As such, he needed to use kid gloves here, not brass knuckles dipped in Ralsha venom.
    Still, he was mindful of every second that ticked by.
    “Why do you have to go back to Mexico? In case you didn’t notice, somebody’s trying to kill you.”
    He watched as she lifted her hand to finger the scar on her throat. He didn’t think she was even aware she was doing it. Her throat moved as she forced a swallow, and then her hand fell limply to her side.
    “I’m a Professor of Archeology, currently on hiatus. I lecture at Redmond College in Port August, Michigan,” she informed him. “I am a leading expert on the Mayan culture, particularly Mayan mythology. I’ve spent the last year obtaining academic funding and trudging my way through enough political red tape to make your head spin in order to get the permits necessary to coordinate a dig near Campeche. I have to get back now . My window of time is closing.”
    She’d just given him, he was sure, the same song and dance she’d no doubt used to obtain all those necessary permits she’d spoken of. But the answer sounded too convenient, a little too rehearsed.
    And he wasn’t buying a syllable.
    He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You know what I think?”
    She lifted her chin and arched a regal brow.
    “I think you’re looking for the sword.”
    A huge spike of energy slammed through the room, powerful but unstable all the same. He was surprised the windows hadn’t blown out.
    He had to give her credit though. She barely blinked. But he could see the cogs spinning, trying to gain traction, as she scrambled for something to say. If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, or felt the surge in her energy, he might have missed the minute physical giveaways.
    “A sword?” she asked, her voice perfectly regulated. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
    Sebastian braced his hands on the arms of the chair as he glanced around the floor in mock concern. Then he lifted his feet in the air.
    She frowned. “What are you doing?”
    “If the bullshit gets any deeper in here we’re going to be floating, and these boots are brand new.”
    Her mouth snapped closed, and she glared at him. Clearly she didn’t find his comment the least bit amusing. That was fine. He didn’t have the time to waste on verbal sparring anymore either. He had a feeling Xander and the others were in over their heads on this rescue mission. He should be with them. Should be helping to set Mikhail free. Should be skewering Stolas to the wall of his