Page 133 of Eternal Devotion

Ensley motioned to the surface. “He tripped the lights again.”

As if I’d do that twice.

“Lou’s hurt. He lashed out. They have him surrounded, but he’s enraged and attacking. We can’t let him get away this time. Hurry.”

Ensley’s believability and performance were impressive. It triggered the right amount of fear response from the hunters, who raced toward the tunnel without a backward glance, flying past Ensley and oblivious to the shadowed forms hiding in the corner.

Cristofer moved to intercept, his speed far greater than any human’s.

The hunters wouldn’t ascend the ladder. Not yet. Entrenched in darkness at the far end of the tunnel, Cristofer waited until they were nearly upon him before stepping from the shadow. With nothing more than a sharp-toothed smirk that would have made the bravest soldier think twice, he cut a daunting presence.

The men balked and tripped over their feet. They didn’t scream, and they didn’t flee. Cristofer clung to their minds, emptying them of free will until they were puppets on strings, incapable of forming a simple thought on their own.

Exerting this kind of power was cruel and something I never did to humans, but it was necessary under the circumstances. Confident that Cristofer was in control, I turned to Ensley.

My love and the key to our success had stalled. Mouth gaping and eyes blown wide, he gawked at the enormous stone sarcophagus in the center of the room.

I stepped into the light, instantly drained of power under the UV assault.

Ensley registered my approach from the corner of his eye and jumped, clutching his chest as he whipped around. “Oh, fuck. Don’t do that. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry, love.”

He glanced at the massive slab of concrete on the raised platform. “Is he really in there?”

“Yes, but I can’t free him until you remove the wards. You need to hurry before things get out of hand.”

“Right.” He vigorously nodded as he scanned the chamber, taking in all the obstacles I’d described.

Sweat glistened on his upper lip, and his hands shook. I wanted to take him in my arms and tell him everything would be okay, but I didn’t know that it would. I wanted to turn back time and put my foot down, discourage this nonsense, and tell Cristofer to find another human to manipulate into helping us. But we were well beyond that point.

As though coming to a decision, Ensley lurched into action.

He attacked the powdered circle on the ground first, breaking it apart with the edge of his boot, scattering the granules in an arc so wide, I was forced to retreat. My skin tingled with trepidation. My atrophied organs physically hurt. Ensley left a wide enough gap I could safely and easily slip through.

He glanced in my direction for confirmation that it was enough, and I nodded.

Within the broken circle, Ensley was instantly assaulted by clouds of garlic mist. Fine droplets rained over his jacket and head, coating his face, hands, and body. He squinted and coughed, turning away as he held a protective hand in front of him so he could get closer. He knocked the contraptions from their mounts one at a time and smashed them under his boot.

The first one exploded on impact, its contents splashing in a five-foot radius. I instinctively flinched.

“Careful. If it spreads over too much of the floor, I won’t be able to approach.”

“Shit. Sorry.”

Not that it mattered. The concrete under his feet showed a dark stain, sodden from mist. It surrounded the platform. My access was already compromised. Worry tugged at my gut, but I pushed it away. One thing at a time.

Ensley took greater care with the final two sprayers, launching them against the far wall instead. The cheap plastic shattered.

He glanced worriedly toward the tunnel. I couldn’t help picking out the tripping rhythm of his heart.

“You’re good, love. Cristofer has them under control. Keep going.”

Ensley climbed onto the platform and swiped the mountainous stack of blossoms from the top of the sarcophagus, pushing them over the edge, so they fell behind it. He scanned the ground for strays and moved them out of the way, so my path was clear.

The ground remained persistently wet, and my worry deepened as I brainstormed a way to fix the problem.

For a long time, Ensley peered at the hanging cross. Ten feet tall and six feet wide, constructed of solid lumber beams. A monstrosity that probably weighed more than Ensley. Climbing onto the stone coffin, he reached for the crossbeam and clung, hanging with his full weight, but the industrial hook in the ceiling didn’t budge. He tried swinging it back and forth, left and right, but it continuously returned to centerline, immediately over the coffin. He jerked and tugged.