Satan's Captive

2

'Kaitlyn!' Jacob roared.

He thrashed against the grip of the two dark angels but they had him firmly pinned against the wall—and he was weak. So damn weak. It was hard to move the right side of his body properly. His arm ached and seemed to weigh a tonne. It was only with the greatest effort that he could even manage to lift it.

And the pain in his head! It throbbed in his eye sockets. It hammered at the side of his head where the boy had hit him. It turned the light from the flickering fire so bright he had to snap his eyes shut.

But he fought!

He roared again. 'Why don't you just kill me?!' Why didn't they just kill him? What were they waiting for? He was at their mercy. They had him trapped. He was weak—mortal. They could be rid of him for good. One less enemy Satan had to deal with.

'Kaitlyn!' They'd taken her. They'd taken her. And none of his angel brothers were anywhere to be found.

The dark angel on his right pinned his shoulder hard to the wall. 'Our master has a message for you.'

Jacob sneered. 'What?'

'See you soon.'

Jacob fought again but all it did was make him tired. His lungs ached. His right side was throbbing. It was difficult to breathe. The headache was getting so bad it was hard to open his eyes at all. And yet all he could think about was Kaitlyn.

Kaitlyn.

Finally, they released him. Jacob threw a punch but the angel merely stepped back and Jacob staggered, tripped over his feet and slammed into the floor. He rolled onto his back with a groan as the angels stood over him, faces blank, eyes black and pitiless.

Helplessly, Jacob waited for the final blow. 'Do it!'

But all they did was turn and walk away.

'No!' Jacob rolled onto his belly, clawing at the timber floor as he tried to push himself to his knees. He slumped back down. All his strength had evaporated and the pain was getting unbearable. Gritting his teeth, he clutched at his head. Distantly, he heard their heavy footsteps as they left the building.

The breath was wheezing in his chest, not helped by the tears of frustration swelling in his throat. He was useless! It was over! He'd failed.

He thumped his fist against the floor. 'No!' It wasn't over. It couldn't be. Not while he still had strength. If he couldn't stand, he would crawl.

Hand over hand, he made slow progress, the hard timber floor grazing his chest. His wings slumped heavily against his back. His right side lagged behind. He had to shut his eyes against the pain in his head. Then he heard something—a whimper.

Jacob whipped his head around. He wasn't alone. There was a figure curled in a ball in the corner of the room, his arms wrapped around his head. The light from the fireplace danced against the figure's cloak. It was one of the occultists, Jacob suddenly realised. And he was still alive!

'Human!' Jacob snapped.

The figure turned his face with a start. It was just a boy, face as white as a bedsheet. He was biting his lip. Tears glinted on his cheeks.

'Boy,' Jacob said in a softer voice. 'You must help me. I must help the girl.'

The boy shook his head, huddling deeper into the corner. The fire sputtered.

'You must be brave. You must make amends,' Jacob said.

Again, the boy shook his head, eyes darting around the room. He looked at the dead man half-sitting up against the wall. With a gasp, the boy looked away. The man's clothes were soaked in blood. A large gash split open his neck. His jaw hung open. The firelight jabbed at his empty eyes.