The Vermillion vampire shot me a patronizing look. “Of course, dear girl.”

I could tell he thought I was a coward, but I didn’t have time to dwell on that right now. Plus I’d just remembered that I didn’t give a shit what he thought.

We pressed on across the Black Plains, following the river of supernaturals. They didn’t seem to notice us at all. As we walked, I heard a voice in my head. It tugged at my mind, whispering commands, telling me to go to it.

“Do you hear that voice?” I asked the others.

Harker nodded. “Whoever is commanding this army is telepathic.”

“Do you recognize the voice?” I asked him.

“No. But it sounds so…”

“Godly,” I supplied.

He frowned. “Yes.”

So was a god actually behind this?

The Snowfire vampire spun around, magic sizzling across his skin, building up.

“He’s succumbing!” I shouted.

Basanti shot him in the chest.

I looked down at the vampire’s unmoving body. Man, she’d moved fast. She’d managed to get him before he’d powered up, before he’d grown too strong to take down just like that.

“He’s not dead,” I noticed.

“No. It’s a heavy sedative, something from Nerissa,” she replied. “It will only last a few hours.”

“What if it takes longer than that to stop this?”

“If it takes longer than that, we’re likely already dead anyway,” Harker told me.

“Since when did you get so dour?” I asked him.

“Becoming an angel is like a kick in the teeth, a splash of ice water, of reality,” Nero said.

I looked at them, frowning. “Am I the only one who thinks we aren’t marching to our deaths?”

The Sea King’s body quaked. Basanti shot him too. “Yes.”

“Is she kidding?” I asked Nero. “I can’t really tell.”

He gave her a long, hard look, then declared, “Neither can I.”

“Basanti, you’re getting stronger,” Harker said. “Dare I hope that you’ve decided to join us in the dog race to the top?”

Basanti grinned at him. “I find myself suddenly motivated.”

“Leila’s influence?” he asked.

“That and my desire to kick your ass.”

Chuckling, Harker set his hand on her shoulder, and Nero gripped her other shoulder. They were having fun. Genuine fun. The three of them had once been best friends. I could see a hint of that former bonding between them, of that camaraderie they’d lost. That alone almost made this catastrophe worth it.

We passed by infected supernaturals, none of whom paid us any notice. Their eyes were all turned upward, up to a raised platform. We’d made it to the core of the army, where their commander stood, staring down on them.

It was Stash. He was the voice I’d heard in my head. He was the one controlling the supernatural army.

22 The War Commander

I blinked my eyes a few times, but the illusion did not fade. Because it wasn’t an illusion. This was all very real. Stash was controlling the infected supernaturals. He was behind this.

Of all the possibilities, that was one I would never have guessed. Stash was such a great guy. He wasn’t a criminal mastermind or a war leader. The shifters had only sent him to the meeting because the pack leaders couldn’t put aside their differences long enough to pick which of them would go. They’d sent the black sheep, the lone wolf, the one with no connection to any of them—so that no pack was slighted.

They sure as hell hadn’t sent him because Stash held any position of power in their ranks. Nor did he want to. He tended bar, arm-wrestled for dollar bills, and did all other sorts of odd jobs. He seemed perfectly content doing that. And, most of all, he was my friend. I knew he was a good person.

“You’ll often find that you don’t know people at all,” Nero told me. “Especially your friends.” His gaze slid over to Harker.

“For the millionth time, Nero, I would never hurt Leda.”

Nero glared at him in silence. Harker glared back. So much for camaraderie.

I stepped between them. “Stop. There’s no time for this. “Are we sure Stash is the one controlling all those supernaturals? I just can’t believe it.”

“He is standing up there, overlooking them all like a war general,” Harker pointed out.

It was hard to argue with what was right in front of my face. Stash stood up on that platform, tall and proud, with a confidence that showed he knew he was in charge. All that was missing was the battle helmet with a big crimson plume.

I looked across the army. The way they looked at Stash made everything all too clear. They saw him as their leader. Spelled, compelled, powered up—they wouldn’t hesitate to die for him.

There were hundreds of supernaturals around us. They had all changed. They bore little resemblance to the people they’d once been. I could no longer tell the difference between vampires or witches, elementals or shifters. They were all one now, all the same. They weren’t individuals; they were a horde. And with their uncommon magical might, they were a force to be reckoned with. I had a sinking suspicion that the naysayers in my group might be right. There was a pretty good chance we wouldn’t walk away from this.

Stash’s supernatural soldiers lifted their voices and sang. It was a low sound that started in one corner then spread to the whole army, growing louder with every verse. They were all singing in unison, like they were linked. Like they were one.

It was a beautiful, terrible song that resonated deep inside of me. It was a war song, I realized. I didn’t understand the words, but something about it felt familiar, like I’d heard it before. It sounded old, ancient even. It was a song as old as time itself.

The melody sang to me, humming through my body, uplifting me. I felt my blood pumping faster through my veins, my magic soaring, my adrenaline raging. I felt so powerful, like I could take on a god. I bottled the euphoria. I might be immune to Angel Fever, but this song was speaking to my soul. I couldn’t allow myself to get caught up in it. I had to stay focused.

“Appearances can be deceiving,” I told the others. “Yes, Stash is standing up there. But how can he control all those supernaturals anyway? He is a shifter, not a siren. And not a telepath. He doesn’t have this kind of magic. He couldn’t have created Angel Fever.”

Nero stared across the field where Stash stood on the platform, directing his army. “Look at his eyes.”

Stash’s eyes were shimmering oddly, like they weren’t reflecting the sun’s natural light. There was some other light—some other magic—inside of him.

“He’s infected too,” Nero said. “I can see it in his eyes. Someone or something is speaking through him.”

“Possession?” I wondered. “His powers come from light magic. Can a god possess someone?”

“Yes, in the same way a demon can, a god can speak through someone.” Nero was watching Harker. “But it’s not a god speaking through him. Whatever this is, it’s something else entirely. The infection changed him differently than the others.”

“Why?”

“Perhaps it was by chance,” said Nero. “Or perhaps it was intentional. What does every army need?”

“Someone to command it.”

Nero nodded.

“Stash is that war commander,” I said.

Constantine Wildman’s body shook. His face crinkled up, like he was trying to fight the infection. Basanti pointed her gun at him.

“My mind is not gone yet, Captain Somerset.” Constantine Wildman dug his fingers inside his pocket, pulling out the vial Nerissa had given him.

He drank down the potion to slow the effects of Angel Fever. Nerissa had dubbed it Demon Juice. Harker hadn’t found that name any more amusing than Angel Fever.

The witch’s body stopped shaking. He sucked in a few deep breaths, then tucked the empty vial into his coat pocket.

He pulled out a gun. “I’m not going to lose my mind.”

Almost as soon as he said it, the tremors returned. The fever wasn’t giving up. His hands shook so hard that he nearly dropped his gun. Sweat poured down his face. He was fighting the change. And it was fighting back. Hard.