Any inclination Bethiel might have had toward meekness disappeared with the Fallen accusation.
“I’m not Fallen,” he snarled back. “I was falsely imprisoned by Mittron—that would probably be the reason I got as far as I did. And I don’t know Mika’el is here, but I sure as Hell hope so, because he’s the only way I have of finding the Naphil woman before her niece dies giving birth to Lucifer’s child.”
Golden eyes studied him narrowly. “You know I’ll kill you if you lie.”
“I also know no one could make up a story like that if they tried. Not without at least some truth behind it.”
A grunt. The Archangel slid the sword back into its sheath and then reached down to grasp Bethiel’s shirtfront and haul him to his feet.
“Name?” he asked.
“Bethiel. Formerly of the Principalities.”
“Raphael. Still of the Archangels.” The Archangel’s gaze swept over Bethiel’s scorched wings. “Can you fly with those things, or do I need to carry you?”
Bethiel pulled away. Suffer himself to be carried on his one and only return to Heaven? Not.
“I’ll fly.”
They landed amid the One’s rose garden—or what had once been the rose garden but was now a riot of overgrowth. Raphael led the way, striding along equally overgrown paths, past a fountain that no longer functioned, greenhouses standing open and untended, and the One’s former residence, its windows shattered. Bethiel’s jaw tightened. He might no longer be a part of Heaven—nor would he ever be again—but he still felt the loss. The emptiness.
And Raphael’s watchful gaze.
Bethiel looked to the Archangel. “Things go that badly?”
“Things,” Raphael retorted, “are none of your bloody business.”
Arriving at a simple stone building, the Archangel raised his hand and knocked on the door. “In,” a muffled voice responded.
A haggard Mika’el stood in the middle of the room as they entered, his back to them and his arms spread wide as a Virtue unwound the bandage from around his chest. He looked over his shoulder, and his gaze settled at once on Bethiel.
“Alex?” he demanded. In almost the same breath he shook his head at his own question. “Of course not. You don’t even know where she is.”
“That’s why I’m here. I’ve found the niece. She has a matter of hours left. The Naphil should be with her.”
Mika’el’s gaze narrowed. “Compassion, Bethiel? There may be more hope for you than I thought.”
“I don’t want your hope. I want you to hold up your end of the bargain.”
“She’s with Emmanuelle. Raphael will take you and the girl to her.”
The Archangel at Bethiel’s side stiffened. “What? But—”
“The girl will be guarded.” Mika’el looked to Bethiel for confirmation, and Bethiel nodded.
“Qemuel,” he said. “Big. Nasty.”
“I’m not ready for a fight,” Mika’el told Raphael. “In a few hours, maybe, but not yet. The girl doesn’t have that long.”
“And this is important enough to pull me away from the battlefront?”
Over the Virtue’s head, Mika’el’s emerald eyes turned bleak. Infinite sadness paired with a commander’s determination in their depths, and his mouth pulled tight. He nodded. “It is that important, Raphael, yes.”
Raphael muttered something under his breath, and Bethiel glanced his way. He took in the temper etched on the Archangel’s face, then the gauntlet resting atop the sword hilt. He inched away. He considered requesting someone less hulkingly volatile, then decided against the idea. If he was heading into a fight with Qemuel, a bad-tempered Archangel on his side would be a benefit, not a detriment.
Mika’el lowered his arms as the Virtue attending him stepped back and stooped to collect the soiled gauze she’d dropped to the floor. Bethiel frowned. Hold on. Mika’el. Bandages…?
He lifted his gaze as the Archangel turned. He sucked in a quick breath.
“Bloody Hell,” he whispered. “What happened to you?”
“Seth happened.” Mika’el reached for a shirt draped over a chair and slid his arms into the sleeves. “He found Alex.”
The Virtue stepped past the Archangel to deposit her armload of bandages on a cloth-covered table. She gathered the cloth’s corners and expertly tied everything into a tidy bundle.
Alex. Bethiel’s eyes narrowed as the Archangel buttoned up the shirt over the massive scarring that encompassed his entire ribcage. Again, Mika’el referred to the Naphil woman by name. What was it about this woman that inspired such loyalty from angels? Aramael he could understand, given the soulmate connection, but Seth? And now Mika’el? He shook his head. A puzzle, yes, but not one he cared to solve. He had other matters to attend to. He cleared his throat, but Raphael beat him to speech.
“What do I do with the girl when I have her?”
“Take her to Alex. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“And the child? What do I do with that?”
Mika’el murmured his thanks to the Virtue as she carried her bundle past him. She slipped between Raphael and Bethiel, then disappeared out the door they’d left open. When Bethiel looked back to Mika’el, the other’s mouth had drawn into a hard line.
“Ask Emmanuelle,” he said. “It can be her first decision as ruler.”
“Then she has agreed to return.”
“Let’s just say she hasn’t refused.”
Looking just as grim as Mika’el, Raphael pushed Bethiel out of the Archangel’s residence ahead of him. He closed the door behind him with a thud that echoed across the empty lawns. Neither of them gave voice to the word that hung in the air between them. Emmanuelle hadn’t refused to return…
Yet.
CHAPTER 47
A LARGE HAND SLAPPED against the sliding glass door at eye level, holding it shut. Nostrils flaring, Emmanuelle inhaled deeply, fighting back the turmoil that wanted to swallow her. The savagery that edged it. She met Wookie’s scowl with one of her own.
“I need air,” she said.
“Alone?” He shook his hairy head. “I don’t think so. Not after today.”
Emmanuelle bit back a snarl. Tried to make herself sound reasonable. “Nothing will happen. We’ve been here three years and they—no one has found this place.”
“They found you at the bar.”
The others in the room had fallen silent, and Emmanuelle felt them listening. The vortex at her center churned faster. She clenched her teeth against it. “I got careless. It won’t happen again.”
“Good to hear.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door. “If it does, however, I’m going to be there.”
“To do what, Wookie? You saw what happened at the bar. If they do find me again, there’s nothing you can do to stop them. Besides, I’m not the one in danger. The woman is.”
“Fine. Then if I’m going to die protecting one of you, I choose you.”
She glared at him, loving and hating him at the same time for the loyalty she had never asked for, never wanted. Had come to depend on.
“I could stop you,” she said.
“But you won’t.”
“Oh, for—” She sighed. “Fine. If it means that much, you can come with me. But you stay back. A hundred feet.”
“Fifty.”
“Seventy-five.”
“Done.” Wookie looked around and barked, “Scorpion! Let’s go for a walk.”
“Damn it, Wookie—” She bit off the rest of her complaint. There was no point. Wookie would be true to his word and give her the space she needed, and having one more body along wouldn’t make a difference. Hell, having everyone in the house follow her wouldn’t make a difference. She still faced the same demons. Still needed to make the most difficult decision of her existence. Run, or—
Wookie pulled open the door and Emmanuelle shoved past him onto the porch, sucking in the clean salt air, fighting down the panic. Not here. Not yet. Her two bodyguards
followed, both reaching to zip up their jackets in the same instant. Scorpion shook his head at her short-sleeved t-shirt.
“At least now I get why you never feel the cold,” he said.
She had no response. The equanimity with which her friends had accepted the events of the day was a whole other issue she would have to deal with at some point. But not here. Not yet.
She headed down the stairs and across the strip of lawn. Beyond, the beach stretched for miles to either side, utterly deserted at this hour. She hesitated, feeling the pull of its emptiness, then walked instead to meet the incoming tide, counting off her steps. She’d meant what she said to Wookie about the house remaining undetected, but she wouldn’t take chances. She wouldn’t leave them without her protection.
The power that, until today, she hadn’t used for five thousand years.
Bloody Hell.
Wookie and Scorpion stopped at the edge of the sand, letting her continue alone. Ten feet separated her from them. Then twenty. Then thirty. She halted at the seventy-foot mark. Another few dozen feet of sand sat between her and the water, but it wouldn’t do so for long. In just a few minutes, the surf would force her to begin retracing her steps, push her to return to the others.
Emmanuelle closed her eyes and looked into her vortex. Thoughts battered at her, but as soon as she tried to grasp one, another surfaced and took its place, and then another. Mika’el. Heaven. The One and Lucifer. The war. A Nephilim army. The woman. So much. Too much.
The weight of the universe itself pressed in on her, forcing her into a crouch. She locked her hands together over the back of her neck, huddling against the memories.
A thousand years of knowing that her conception had been a mistake, that she had fallen short of every expectation. Lucifer’s. The One’s. Mika’el’s. Her own.
A thousand years of watching her parents tear themselves apart while her soulmate steadfastly stood by her mother’s side, supporting every flawed decision the One made.
And five thousand years alone, here on Earth, after she’d turned her back on the conflict that grew darker by the day—refusing to watch her soulmate pulled into the downward spiral her parents had become.
Emmanuelle turned her face to the sky and the emerging pinpoints of light that marked the stars in the vastness her mother had created.
Mika’el had remained with the One, his loyalty to her outweighing his connection to Emmanuelle. And now…now he asked her to return. Not for his sake, but for that of the Heaven that hadn’t even noticed her departure.
He needed her not to be his soulmate, but to lead a war against her own brother, to continue the endless, unwinnable conflict that had driven her from her home in the first place.
Emmanuelle stared out across the ocean. The foam rolling onto the shore, the ceaseless rise and fall of the waves, the seemingly endless expanse of water. Tears blurred her vision. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t go back and pretend she cared about the realm that had let her slip away so easily. Couldn’t pretend she wanted to be its leader.
And wouldn’t be her mother.
“Is that what you’ll tell your friends?” the woman’s voice whispered through her mind. “When they’re facing the Nephilim or the Fallen—or both—will that be your response?”
Her heart twisted, and she looked back over her shoulder. A sudden gleam of moonlight highlighted Wookie’s profile. The fierce loyalty stamped across his face. The solemn trust in his eyes. Hot tears spilled over onto her cheeks.
The scent of roses filled her nostrils.
Fuck.
CHAPTER 48
“WELL?” HENDERSON STROLLED INTO the room, hands in pockets, and took up Alex’s former position against the dresser. “What did she say?”
Alex returned to staring out the window, arms folded on the chest-high sill. “She won’t help.”
She had reached the edge of the surf now and stood facing the ocean beneath the full moon’s light, long dark hair whipping in the wind.
Hugh cleared his throat. “That’s it? All she said was no? Did you tell her—”
“I told her everything, Hugh. Aramael, Seth, the Nephilim. Everything. Her answer was no.”
“Jesus.”
The two figures who had followed Emmanuelle from the house hung back at the edge of the sand. The graying beard of one flapped over his shoulder. Wookie, she recalled. Standing watch?
Fat lot of good that would do him.
“That’s it, then. If she doesn’t help, there’s nothing more we can do.” A note of awe crept into Hugh’s voice. “It all ends. The world, Heaven…everything.”
Everything except Alex.
She caught her breath. Waited for the knife in her chest to withdraw. It stayed. Hugh’s footsteps approached, and his hands settled onto her shoulders. He turned her to face him. His gentle brown gaze searched hers.
“Liz told me what you said about having to deal with this for eternity.”
She started. He knew?
“What did he do to you, Alex?”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Talking won’t change it.”
“God damn, Alex.” Her friend drew her into a hug, resting his chin on top of her head, swaying from side to side with her. “Armageddon. How in all that is holy did we get here?”
She had no reply. Knew he didn’t expect one. Closing her eyes, she let herself be held, let herself draw on someone else’s strength, just for a moment. Then, when a clatter of dishes from the kitchen intruded on the silence, she pulled away.
“Go home, Hugh,” she said. “Go home to Liz. Hold her. Be with her. Take what you can for the two of you.”
“Does that mean we’re giving up, then?”
“Have you ever known me to give up?” She forced a lightness into her voice. A smile of reassurance intended to distract him. “Think of it as regrouping.”
It would be more of a redeployment of forces—but she couldn’t tell him that part. Couldn’t tell him about her conversation with Michael.
“…maybe I can make a difference…maybe I can influence him…”
She wouldn’t tell him about her realization that ultimately, she would have no choice.
Or rather, she would choose the world’s survival over her own sanity.
“He’s not going to stop until he has me.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Hugh’s hands gripped her arms. “I can stay if you need me. Liz will understand.”
And she dared not tell him about Michael’s implicit agreement.
“I wish I could argue with you.”
She stepped back until Hugh’s hands dropped to his sides. “Go home,” she said again. “Tell Liz I said hi.”
“And you’ll call if you need me? For anything.”
“Of course.”
Her friend and colleague ruffled her hair in acceptance of her lie, then turned and left.
*
“What the Hell are you doing?”
Mika’el settled the newly crafted breastplate over still-tender scars before looking around at Gabriel. “Given your familiarity with armor, I’m guessing that’s a rhetorical question.”
Gabriel scowled at him, arms crossed over her own armor and sapphire eyes flashing. “You know what I mean. You haven’t healed enough for battle.”
“Then I’ll have to do my best to avoid getting into one.” Mika’el reached for a pauldron and slipped it over his shoulder.
“That’s not even slightly amusing. You damn near died, Mika’el. You need at least another day here.”
“You’ve seen what’s happening on Earth, Gabriel. Humanity is tearing itself apart as we speak. We don’t have another day. We’re down to counting hours. I need to get back to Emmanuelle. If she disappears again, we’re lost.”
“And if you die? What do you think will happen to us then?”
“If you have Emmanuelle on your side? Heaven will prevail as it always has.” He settled the second pauldron into place. “You’re a better commande
r than you think you are, Gabriel. I can think of no one better to lead the host.”
“I know exactly how good I am.” Gabriel tossed flaming red hair over a black-armored shoulder. “That’s not the point. I don’t want to be the commander. This is your army, Mika’el. We need you here, with us.”
“And you’ll have me here, as soon as I convince Emmanuelle to return.”
“Then let me send someone with you.”
“Raphael is already away, and—”
“On a fool’s errand,” Gabriel growled.
Mika’el ignored her as if she hadn’t spoken. “And we cannot spare anyone else. I’ll be fine. Once Emmanuelle agrees—”
“If she bloody agrees.”
Setting his jaw, Mika’el put down the couter he’d been about to slip into place over his elbow. He faced Gabriel and met her glare with the cold stare of a commander. Her commander.
“I’m going to Earth to speak with Emmanuelle,” he said. “I would like to leave you in charge of the host’s forces in my absence. If you have a problem with the latter, I will assign someone else. The former, however, is none of your business. Am I clear?”
Gabriel’s lips thinned. “Crystal,” she snapped.
Wheeling, she stomped out of the room, nearly bowling over Verchiel as she pushed past her in the doorway. The Highest Seraph raised an eyebrow in the departing Archangel’s direction.
“Trouble?” she murmured.
Mika’el sighed and picked up the couter again. “Isn’t there always?”
Verchiel strolled into the room, her hands hidden in the folds of her scarlet robe. “You’re leaving. Do you think you’re—”
“Don’t you start.”
“I see.”
He reached for a pauldron. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take my frustrations with Gabriel out on you.”
“She’s doing her best, Mika’el. You ask a lot of her.”
“I ask what I must, Verchiel. Of her, of the others…I know it’s a lot, but what would you have me do? You’re the one who insisted we need Emmanuelle in the first place.”
Verchiel pursed her lips at the blatant unfairness of his accusation, but she let it pass without comment. “Then you think she’ll wait for you?” she asked instead.
Sins of the Warrior Page 23