Free Revelation by Erica Hayes

But it still hurt, like they said an amputated limb was supposed to hurt. And it still fired anger into his veins.
    Should’ve been me, Ith. You were always the better one. I’ll get the devil-kisser who did this, heaven help me.
    He straightened, stoic, clearing his throat. “How, uh, how long would you say he’s been dead for, Doctor?”
    “Excuse me?” Morgan waved her hand in front of his eyes. “Hello? Angel physiology? Not my strong point.”
    “If he was human, I mean. Take a stab. How long?”
    “Well, I’d have to do the proper tests, but from the color of the skin and the hypostasis…I’d say twenty-four hours max.”
    He poked his finger into the hole in Ithiel’s heart, swiping up a clot of dark angel blood. He sniffed his finger, and licked it. Faint putrefaction stung. The demon magic had faded a lot. A week since Ithiel stopped answering. It fitted.
    Morgan wrinkled her nose. “Ew, gross.”
    “Is that the scientific term? You should try it in your autopsies. Taste is a powerful attractant.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    He grinned. “No, I mean for spells. Magic has its own distinct flavor, depending on the caster. That one has the definite stink of demon prince.”
    A sexy cocked eyebrow. “And what does yours taste like?”
    “Breathe in and see.” He flattened his palm on Ithiel’s broken chest, and murmured the words for a sigil burn.
    Blue light flashed, the hissing stink of burning flesh. Lune snatched his hand back, shaking it.
Ouch.
    He turned Ithiel’s left palm over. Now a sigil glowed there, two circles and a cross, carved into the flesh in burning blue light.
    Morgan gasped. “How did you…?” She broke off. “No, don’t answer that. What is it?”
    “It’s lettering. An angelic sigil. It’s a mark given by the archangels. Should tell us what Ithiel was up to, if he was a Guardianor not.” Lune took a picture with his phone and sent it to Dash, with the caption
Ithiel—show M.
    She peered over his shoulder, her own camera in hand. She’d been photographing, too, recording everything he did. Have to do something about that later. “You guys use phones? What happened to telepathy, or whatever?”
    “Sorry. No longer one of my many talents.”
    “Who are you texting?”
    “Dashiel. He’s kinda the boss of the Tainted. If you ask him, anyway.”
    A blue glow leaked from his left hand, and he pulled it back, but too late. She grabbed his wrist and twisted his palm upwards. “You’ve got one, too,” she accused.
    He clenched his fist and yanked away. Time was, he’d tried to carve those crossed lightning bolts from his flesh. “Yeah. It’s the mark of the Tainted. Got a better tatt on my butt, though. Wanna see?”
    She snorted. “Not in this lifetime.” But her gaze slipped to his butt, just for a second.
    He grinned, and examined Ithiel’s chest where the contaminated blood was. Blue smoke curled and glimmered, but that was all. Recalcitrant son of a bitch. He’d have to try again.
    He forced his hand into the hole, grating past broken bone, grabbed Ithiel’s heart and ripped it out. Bone cracked. Blood squelched, the flesh cold in his palm.
    Morgan swatted his arm. “Excuse me? Autopsy tomorrow? Me explaining to my boss why the heart’s already removed?”
    “Sorry. Secret angel business.” He squeezed, making the thick dead blood flow, and whispered the spell again.
    Light flashed again, this time red like fire. The blood ignited, flames licking Ithiel’s skin, and a glowing scarlet sigil painted itself across Ithiel’s chest.
    “Don’t tell me. Red for demons?” Fascination lit Morgan’s face like sunshine. Her eyes shone, dark gold, and her lips parted just far enough for him to see the tip of her tongue brushing her teeth.
    Not
helping his concentration. “Yep. Demon sigil. Mark of the hellspawn who killed him. Their weapons leave a signature.” A diagonal-slashed cross, two oblique lines. It rang a distant bell. Somewhere, he’d seen