Samael

by Heather Killough-Walden

  Dayna must have agreed with the seriousness of the sentiment, because she nodded sagely. “Indeed. Thank you again, Mark. When we return, we’ll hear from Andrea, who’ll fill us in on the surprising meteorological changes. More coming up. Stay tuned.”

  The three of them had been temporarily distracted by the announcement. Abraxos was the first to recover. “Of course, maybe they were right?” His grin spread. “Maybe the Culmination came with the last of the Four Favored after all.”

  It was a chilling thing to say – or rather, to admit – since it was him and the other Adarians who were behind the “zombie” sightings.

  “Either way, I guess I have my orders. And I knew you’d come back here. Somehow I just knew.”

  Angel thought about the years Abraxos had spent strategizing for various militaries, the Romans, the French, the Russians, the United States – he’d gone from one military to another. She supposed it was all he knew, having been part of the angel realm’s military for so long. Maybe he’d gravitated toward it because it brought him a sense of familiarity and comfort.

  Regardless of his reasons, he’d had tons of practice outsmarting others. He was good at being one step ahead of the enemy. So she wasn’t surprised that it had occurred to him they might come here and find a way in, knowing it was possibly the only place in the world they would feel safe.

  She was just surprised he’d managed to get in too. She wondered if what he said about them was true, about their combined powers opening the Mansion’s door. Especially since they didn’t have their powers right now.

  Abraxos crossed his arms over his chest and pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Just think of me as your chaperone.”

  Very slowly, very carefully, Angel was opening her locket with one hand. She wanted to get the transport orb out and into her palm without Abraxos noticing. It was their only hope, yet again. And so far, so good.

  “I have to admit it was an amusing change of pace to watch the Four Favored fight someone else for a change. Gargoyles, dragons, Wyverns? Gregori’s repertoire seems to be quite large, wouldn’t you say?” He didn’t wait for a response. He just stopped and shook his head. “I don’t know what the hell you were thinking, Sam, giving up your powers. But you were so very wrong. You don’t stand a chance at surviving now. Surely, you must know that.”

  “Abraxos, leave now. I’m only going to warn you once.”

  Abraxos smiled again, and even laughed. “You’re a tenacious little mortal now, aren’t you Sam?” He shook his head.

  Angel glanced up at the man in front of her. His expression was unreadable, but despite his magic loss, he was radiating waves of abrasive strength.

  Abraxos turned his attention on her. “It’s good to see you’ve stopped hiding behind disguises, Angel. It’s too bad you weren’t given a choice in the matt –”

  Abraxos wasn’t given the opportunity to finish his sentence, as that was when Sam attacked. He rushed the Adarian, catching him in the chest with his shoulder and taking him to the ground. They tumbled out of the archway to the kitchen, then into the living room beyond, rolling so hard into the furniture that one of the couches went skidding across the marble floor.

  Angel could scarcely believe what she was seeing. Abraxos tried to gain the upper hand, using his supernatural strength to flip the coin, and roll his way on top of Sam. However, Sam raised his legs fast, shoving Abraxos in the chest with his knees. The Adarian sailed several feet, where he slammed into the Mansion wall, knocking chunks of marble rubble from the ceiling above. It crumbled and skittered across the floor.

  The two met again at the center of the room, shattering the wooden coffee table as they collided in a wrestling grip. It seemed impossible, what Sam was doing. But he was a towering vessel of fury, spinning in released anger so strong it was as if he’d stored it for centuries. Maybe millennia. And poor Abraxos was going to take the brunt of it, immortal zombie-like, heart-eating vampiric former angel or not.

  Angel waited for an opportunity, knowing she would have less than split seconds to get to Sam, take hold of him, and use the orb. If Abraxos had followed them into the Mansion, it was likely Gregori was right behind him. She had so little time, and chances were very good that because of their proximity, if they transported away, Abraxos would just be able to tag along. The opening had to be just right, and hopefully very soon.

  And then it was there. Because that was when Sam gained the upper hand and slammed the Adarian up against the wall with a hand around his throat. Without missing a beat, he hauled his other fist back and shoved it into his opponent’s face so hard, Angel saw an instant spray of blood. Abraxos’s face snapped viciously to the side. Sam released him, Abraxos fell, and along with the blood that drooled from his mouth, Angel saw what must have been a loosened tooth clang to the floor.

  Sam stepped back. Angel ran forward.

  She reached him just as Abraxos was regaining his feet, eyes glowing bright orange now with renewed fury, a terrible growl rising up from somewhere deep in his throat. The air charged with what felt like building lightning, though that was impossible, wasn’t it? In the Mansion?

  Abraxos leapt forward, Sam turned to take the attack, his own teeth bared, and Angel shoved her hand into his chest and concentrated for all she was worth.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The transport orb from Angel’s locket deposited them into an alley between two relatively short buildings in the warehouse district of Chicago. He recognized it at once, feeling immediate familiarity and a sense of comfort with the location. How had Angel known to come here? Did she know the city as well as he did?

  She’s been here all along, remember?

  Just as she had last time, she’d probably only wanted to take them some place relatively safe and familiar, and the orb had transported them here, to the city where she’d resided right under his nose for decades.

  He looked down as the orb dissipated in her opening palm.

  She lowered her hand and looked up at him, her gaze questioning.

  Thunder rolled overhead. They both turned to find clouds gathering over the lake at a wholly unnatural and rapid rate. The new storm was headed in their direction, moving in like a bat out of Hell. It would be upon them in minutes, maybe seconds.

  Already, Sam could feel the wind picking up. They were leaving a trail of atmospheric breadcrumbs behind them… and Gregori was the hungry raven plucking the pieces right up as he calmly tracked them to their doom.

  Pain arced through Sam’s right arm; he glanced down in irritation. Blood had soaked the sleeve of his dress shirt and stained the knees of his pants, though that was barely visible through the darkness of the material. He looked up at Angel in the jeans and T-shirt she’d barely managed to don before they’d once more fled from one of his apartments. Blood smeared and stained her shirt as well, and her jeans had been ripped along one thigh. Somewhere at the tree house, she’d sustained damage and probably hadn’t had time to give it a second thought. She stood tall and strong – that was Angel. But he knew she was hurting because she was mortal now.

  Oddly, that knowledge hurt him worse than any physical injury he’d sustained himself.

  Sam ran a hard hand through his hair and furiously tried to think. But the ground felt strange.

  He looked down to see pebbles skittering beside his shoe. His brow furrowed.

  His head jerked up when something groaned nearby, and when he glanced back to the same spot they’d eyed just seconds ago, it was to find that a building half a mile away had been ripped up into the air and was coming apart at its seams. The sky had transformed into an angry, spinning beast. Chicago was witnessing the birth of one hell of a tornado.

  Angel squealed in fear and began running. He followed on her heels as she sped like a gazelle through the alley. They went a hundred paces or so before Sam saw an opening.

  “There!” he called. Angel skidded to a halt; she’d seen it too. It was a door in the adjacent warehouse. It was a good, sturdy buil
ding made of thick gray stone blocks that sported almost no windows. Those it did possess were short and squat, high up near the roof of the building. It was definitely a structure meant solely for storing and not habitation, and it was perfect for hiding in during a tornado.

  The door was locked, of course, but the lock was rusted. Sam grabbed a two-by-four that had been tossed with other wood remnants a few feet away in the alley and slammed one end down on the lock, which instantly gave under the pressure.

  Angel wriggled it free of its holdings and Sam pushed the metal door open. It opened inward, which was rare due to fire safety codes, but lucky for them because it meant they could brace it shut from the other side.

  They rushed inside and pulled the metal door closed behind them. Sam slid a nearby crate against the door, locking it down.

  The wind picked up outside and the building made crackling, creaking sounds. Sam turned to Angel. Time seemed to slow down, the moment becoming pivotal.

  They were both injured, not mortally, but the injuries were weakening them. They were out of transportation orbs. Gregori had figured out how to trace them, regardless of the lack of signature, simply following the storms they were causing everywhere they went. The city – if not the world – was being overrun with monsters. And the weather had just turned very, very bad. The archangels were separated from them, thrown to the wind by circumstance and duty, right along with their Guardian.

  Disaster was about to strike Chicago. Thousands were going to be hurt, if not killed. The city was on the verge of falling completely apart, and this time, there wasn’t enough controlled magic in the world to stop it.

  Unless….

  A blast of wind rocked the warehouse, and the metal roof groaned. Angel crouched down, her hands clawing at the cement as if she might find purchase there. Sam knelt beside her. The noise grew louder, a terrifying cacophony of impending doom.

  “Angel!”

  She looked up at him, eyes wide.

  He thought twice. Then three times. Then he said, “There’s a way to stop this!” The walls of the warehouse rattled. The windows creaked. They would come crashing in at any second. But this was important. Now was the time.

  Because there was a fail-safe to the spell he’d cast on them both.

  “What are you talking about?” she demanded, screaming to be heard above the wind.

  He watched her quaking before him, all rage and confusion and terror, and yet still so beautiful he could have died. He considered his next words for half a second before he finally divulged them. “There’s a fail-safe!” He yelled back. “To the spell!” His voice was booming, loud and deep despite his mortality.

  He’d known there might come a moment when it was imperative that their powers be returned. He knew what they were up against. He had simply wanted time. Time to get away from it all, time to be alone with her, time to get to know her and… to win her to his side. He’d wanted what the archangels had, and this had been the only way to get it.

  But he wasn’t a fool. In the end, worst case scenarios had a way of coming to fruition for him. And now the world was falling apart, their magic and strength had been dispersed into nature, and the apocalypse truly would come about if they didn’t reign it all back in and possess it once more.

  And there was Gregori to deal with. Nothing short of a miracle would solve the problem of that man.

  “We will regain our powers,” he told her, somehow managing to be heard this time without shouting too loudly. “It only takes….” He swallowed hard, suddenly feeling terribly selfish for making this the stipulation in the spell. But what could anyone expect of him? She was beautiful. And he was a man.

  “One kiss,” he finished.

  One kiss from her was all it would take.

  She gazed up at him, parted lips, breathless and terrified, eyes wide and filled with chaos. He waited in that impossible moment between indecision and destiny, when the fate of every remaining breath a man had rested upon a single decision, upon a single point in time. His body ached, his mind reeled, and the world spun around the warehouse in a funnel cloud of fury that was rapidly building into the anarchy it so badly wanted to become.

  He waited. God help him, he waited.

  Lightning flashed outside those tiny windows. Thunder dominated the skies.

  And then she crashed into him. Her arms slid around his neck and she leaned in – and Sam exploded into action as his senses came firing to life. His arms wrapped fiercely around her, lifting her from the ground as he stood and pulled her hard against his chest. His lips slammed down onto hers, claiming them with abandon, so soft, so pure, like the taste of dew and the feel of the sun in the cold and raindrops on a fevered forehead – she was perfect.

  The windows of the warehouse at last shattered, spraying tiny slivers in every direction.

  And his spirit roared. He felt it separate from his body, rise up, and throw back its head in victory. She parted her lips for him, and he dove in, searching, demanding, drinking her like a man dying of thirst. She moaned beneath him, and he felt her body tremble, weakening in his grasp. She leaned further into him, and he took her weight, tried not to crush her, and only wanted more.

  In that moment, in that desperate surrender, there was nothing else. There were no thoughts of consequences, there was no Culmination.

  There was only that kiss.

  Somewhere in the fog of his elation, he noticed the sky had not calmed. Lightning now crashed all around them, surrounding them in a circle of sizzling, deafening electricity. But its source had changed. His body was a conduit of power, a Tesla Coil of immense, living proportions, and the world’s weather was slave to his emotions now.

  And to Angel’s.

  He didn’t want to let her go, but life and death were happening around them. He knew this, he felt it, regardless of his own needs, his own temporary, fleeting, perfect happiness.

  Slowly, with willpower he hadn’t known he possessed, he lessened his grip and pulled away, breaking the kiss.

  A part of his spirit ripped away in that broken embrace, and it hurt like hell. But he gritted his teeth against it and found her gaze.

  Lightning – actual bolts of white hot fire – cascaded in the depths of her eyes. Sam froze before her, glued to the spot in awe. He’d always seen clouds there, seen darkness and a building gale. Her beautiful eyes had always flashed with bright intelligence and a hint of magic, and he’d always likened it to a storm. But this was not figurative lightning. This was real – it was there. In her gaze.

  She is the storm.

  She was not a victim of that electricity. She was its source.

  And this storm is ours.

  All this time, they’d been running from it, trying to hide, trying to shy away from its marker like mice in a yawning field. When instead they should have risen to greet it. Because it was there to protect them. That was why it had struck the gargoyle – and then Gregori. That was why it built up around them when they faced their dangers. It was their own magic, their combined strength, and it was there for them.

  They were meant to be, he and Angel. She was his other half. No one else’s, no matter what fate had originally decried. She was his and his alone. He would die proving it.

  And because he knew he would, Samael fell in love just then. He fell in wonder and reverence. He fell in veneration and devoted worship. He dropped to his knees, weakened before her magnificence, and stared up at the glorious creature standing over him. Her long, white hair whipped around her perfect face in the furious gale. She was the picture of godliness, of tumultuous indestructibility, this literal angel who was more than an angel, whose eyes controlled the skies.

  He didn’t deserve her. No one did. But he wanted her anyway. And he had never, ever wanted her more.

  Like a blessing and a curse and the answer to every wish he’d secretly made, she came back to him. She stepped forward, her hands slid around his neck, and she leaned over.

  Sam’s breath would have bee
n caught, but he’d lost it long ago. He was already in her thrall. She could have killed him, and he would have died the happiest man that had ever lived.

  But she didn’t kill him. Not quite.

  Instead, she parted her perfect, plump lips and placed them once more against his own. The world tipped on its axis, and everything changed….

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Angel couldn’t tell up from down. She was floating in a fire. That was all she knew – this weightless heat that was steadily consuming her from the inside out. She could almost hear it crackling, in fact, like firecrackers in her ear drums. So she parted her lips, offering herself up to the Fallen One in a surrender that told him she was willing to burn.

  And quite suddenly, everything changed. A surge of something painful and powerful warped around Angel; she cried out, and Sam devoured the sound with his kiss. His arms were steel bands around her. Those bands were heating up, brands of possession that seared.

  She felt the ground move beneath her feet and knew she was no longer standing on the cement floor of the warehouse. A wall of lightning encased them, and though it was impossible, it felt right. The world was turning around her as Sam explored her mouth with hungry abandon, and his fingers curled into her like claws. Electricity sizzled along her skin, licking it like electric snakes. It all hurt. All of it. Like mad.

  And yet it felt so good.

  Nothing mattered anymore. Not the archangels or the Adarians or Gregori. Nothing. It didn’t matter what Gregori said about Sam and his archess or the Old Man or the Culmination. She couldn’t have cared any less.

  This was hers. This, right here, she’d waited two thousand years for. Whether she was originally meant to be with Samael or not, she’d ultimately taken the reigns, as any woman should have the right to do, and decided the matter for herself.

  Damn it all to Hell.

  There was an anger in her, a defiance that belied the gentleness that was the profile of a woman. There was a roaring beast awakening deep inside, one that matched the cracking, sizzling, spinning, fucked-up white-hot world around her. It was out of control and dying of hunger. Take me.