Heaven and Hellsbane by Paige Cuccaro Page A

Liam for a few months. He doesn’t remember but he saved me long before I saved him.”
    “Bollocks,” Liam said.
    “How, Amon?” I asked.
    “After my fellow brothers in service to our master—”
    “Demons,” Eli said, interrupting. “Demons in service to a Fallen.”
    Amon’s gaze flicked to the dark-haired angel beside me, a cold acceptance hardening in his violet eyes. “Yes, Elizal, that’s right. My fellow demons had scattered the moment we were free of our debt to the Fallen who’d pulled us from the abyss. I was alone. Even the damned among angels are not built for solitude. We need to connect to our kind. And after months with only my thoughts for companionship, I’d grown so desperate that I considered offering my service to another Fallen.”
    “And Liam stopped you?” I asked.
    “He did.” Amon’s handsome smile lit his face, looking down at the short illorum. “By banishing the Fallen to whom I meant to pledge my allegiance.”
    “No,” Liam said, clearly surprised to hear the story. “Who was it?”
    “Farun.”
    “Naaww…” Liam shook his head, looked away for a second and back again, his surprise melting to understanding and then love. “You never told me.”
    “It didn’t matter,” Amon said. “You were so beautiful. Your conviction, your sense of duty and justice, shined like a brilliant light around you. You walk with the grace of our Father within you, Liam. I was helpless to resist.” He hiked a shoulder. “Plus, I’ve always been a sucker for redheads.”
    “Wait,” I said, my brain shuffling information and finding holes. “If there’s no Fallen forcing you to fight for him, why did you attack me just now?”
    Amon’s violet eyes swung to me. “You were chasing me. Waiting for me with your sword drawn. Was I simply to let you end me?”
    Good point. I shook my head, moving on. “So, basically you were stalking Liam,” I said, my smile letting them know it wasn’t meant as an accusation.
    Amon glanced from Liam to me and back again. “I suppose I was.”
    “Lucky me,” Liam said, pushing up on his toes to press a kiss to Amon’s lips.
    “Why didn’t you alert anyone to your magister’s murder?” Eli asked, unmoved by the pair’s romantic how-we-met story.
    Liam’s brows creased. “What, the way you pricks tell us when an illorum bites us in the arse? Keep track of your own bloody brood, why don’t ya? Besides, he was my magister. His death was mine to avenge, it was. Didn’t know the bastards were making a habit of it, now did I?”
    I knew when I first met Liam that he was sort of fighting on his own team rather than picking sides between good and evil. He wouldn’t raise a sword for a demon, but as he put it, he wouldn’t be the seraphim’s dirty little bitch either.
    Eli opened his mouth to comment, but I spoke before he could. “So you’ve both seen the pair who’s been attacking magisters and their illorum. Did they say anything? Do you know why they’re doing this? Why they’re keeping the swords?”
    Liam shook his head. “Naw. I got to the fight late. There was no time for talk. The illorum was a tall git—thin, mid-thirties, blond hair, glasses. The blasted demon was an old one, thick and strong and dressed in one of those sherwani outfits, like a Hindu priest if that don’t beat all.”
    I glanced at Eli, both of us recognizing the description of the demon Nenita had given. But the illorum didn’t match. I looked back at Liam. “You’re sure the illorum was a grown man—not a kid, maybe an older teenager?”
    The small man nodded. “I’m sure of it. But I can’t say for certain he was an illorum. There was somethin’ off about the fella. His sword was black as pitch and I got a glimpse of his mark. The feckin’ thing was ruined, like somethin’ had cut it in half, left a scar straight through.”
    “Did it look like the sword was broken?” I asked.
    “Aye. That’s it exactly,” he said, green eyes widening.