by Alisa Woods
“We’ll have more time to talk once we’re safely away,” Razael added. He floated back from the wards, waiting.
Erelah looked to Leksander, expectant.
“Fine.” He prayed he wasn’t making a horrible mistake.
Then he raised his hand and wiped away the wards.
Razael held out his hand, beckoning them. His angelings didn’t rush in. Razael didn’t charge them. They simply waited for Leksander and Erelah to make the next move.
Erelah swept forward, retrieved her obsidian blade from the edge of the cave, then stepped back to grasp hold of Leksander’s hand.
Then she twisted, and the familiar squeeze of inter-dimensional travel clamped down on Leksander’s body.
They were going to the shadow realm.
Erelah landed on her father’s balcony, Leksander in tow.
The black crystal beneath her bare feet was cool on her heated skin, and the vast cavern of her father’s Regiment in the shadow realm was empty—but only for a moment. The air popped and light flashed, announcing the arrival of Razael’s entire contingent. Over a hundred angelings, their dark wings setting an immediate whisper throughout the tall, slender space. Her father’s oversized shadow angel form alit on the balcony next to her and Leksander.
Erelah wasted no time, simply dragged Leksander by the hand indoors. She’d stowed away her snowy white wings, but with all this dark energy around her, the angeling child in her womb was pulsing its tiny energy. Anger. Distress. Alarm. Erelah wasn’t sure what the tremors in energy meant, but they’d zoomed up when Leksander had dropped the wards, and the full shadow energy of her father’s Regiment washed over her.
“It’s all right, little one,” she whispered. She had no idea if her words carried any weight. The child trembled on.
Leksander was giving her quizzical looks, but he held fast by her side, slipping an arm around her waist once she stopped at the back of the receiving room. She hesitated to descend further into her father’s labyrinthine crystal palace, waiting instead for her father to follow her from the balcony. He hoarsely called out instructions to his Regiment then tucked his vast wings to enter the room.
She held her dark blade—the one she had fashioned, Razael had blessed, and Micah had returned to her—at her side. Not that she would have need of it here.
“Erelah.” Her father said her name like it was made of relief. “I’m so glad you chose this for your Sanctuary.”
“How safe is she here, truly?” Leksander’s hand gently squeezed her waist. “Elyon came here before for her.”
“And he will again.” Razael tipped his head. “If he suspects she remains in the light.”
Erelah frowned—part of this didn’t make sense. “Elyon is truly in shadow. He craves the chaos and violence and bloodshed of his breed. If my baby—born of angeling, made of light—will bring about the Great Fall, the End of Times… why would he not welcome that?”
Razael lifted his eyebrows and nodded. “So you’ve thought it through.”
“What is this End of Times you keep talking about?” Leksander demanded. “All I know is our child will renew the treaty. He will keep humanity safe from the fae for another five hundred years. That’s a good thing, Erelah.” He was speaking directly to her now.
“It’s by no means certain that the Fall will come,” Razael agreed.
“See?” Leksander said, but that was nowhere near enough explanation for her.
“You must not have thought so,” Erelah said to her father, carefully, “if you were determined to be the first in creating me and staying in the light.” Her father was a True Angel—in theory, he should have wisdom and knowledge that surpass anything an angeling can hope to obtain. And yet… he fell in love with her mother. He contrived to get her with child. Was he overcome by his Sin of Lust… rendered senseless with True Love… or did he truly understand what he was attempting?
Razael stepped closer. His oversized body loomed above her, and his flexed dark wings stretched the width of the receiving room. Her child pulsed magic, and it wasn’t a joyful kind. More a reflex—his angeling-of-light magic clashing against her father’s shadow darkness. Razael frowned and dropped his gaze to her belly.
“This angeling has your strength and your spirit, Erelah.” Angels were cool and aloof—angels of light, at least—but pure human-like emotion warred across her father’s face. “You were the same, from the first moment you were created. You rebelled against me when I Fell. I could feel your turmoil, the ancient reflex of light battling dark, even in your mother’s womb. It was part of why I left.”
Erelah scowled. “I thought you left because you couldn’t control your shadow urges.”
Leksander dashed a look at her, but she was focused on her father’s troubled face. If she was in danger here—if her father posed a threat to her child—she would leave in an instant. And bring Leksander with her. Razael knew that.
Her father nodded. “That was a concern as well. Once unleashed, my Lust was near unquenchable with your mother around.”
Erelah arched an eyebrow and glanced at Leksander. She remembered that uncontrolled feeling—that Lust spinning urgently out of control, both for her as angeling and for him as wyvern. For him, it was simply a matter of reining in the beast. For her, the True Love she had for Leksander tamed it. Lust and Love merged and became something holy—in the light. She was already ahead of what her father had managed. That thought sparked a dangerous surge of Pride. She tamped that down and focused on the problem at hand.
Surviving. Bringing her child into the world. Not causing the destruction of all humanity.
Razael lifted his hands to encompass her and Leksander. “I will provide a room for you during your internment. One with privacy for all the sexual activity you might require.”
“Internment?” Leksander asked with suspicion.
Erelah scowled but not at Leksander’s worry. They were not trapped here. But the idea of an entire pregnancy spent in passion with Leksander locked away in a room deep in the shadow realm… would her Lust drive her to shadow, given time? What would happen to her baby then? Perhaps being in shadow—failing to stay in the light—would avoid the temptation she would present to all angels of light. But would her child survive it? He was already fighting the nearness of the shadow forces all around her. Would he fight against his own mother?
She stepped back from her father.
Leksander moved between them as if he could protect her with his body. She was certain it was a purely reflexive move. His great and good soul was at heart Protector Class, just like her.
“First,” Erelah said to her father, “I need to know more about all of this. How angelings in shadow are born. What you thought my birth would bring. How likely it is that angels will attempt this, should I succeed. And will it bring the End?”
Her father tipped his head to her. “All crucial questions. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather retire and rest and perhaps have sex?”
Erelah scowled. This obsession he had with her and Leksander’s lovemaking was unseemly. And suspicious. Did he think this would turn her to shadow? Was that his true aim here, not just a false promise to Elyon? That she would turn and then remain in the shadow realm? It wasn’t as if her father loved the light. Not anymore. She and Leksander exchanged a look, and indeed, she wished she were alone with him to talk freely. But she could tell his concerns were hers.
“No, I wish to discuss this now.” Erelah left no room for negotiation in her voice.
“Very well.” Razael sighed. “There is deep chaos at work in all the realms, Erelah.”
She narrowed her eyes. “There’s a demon uprising in Seattle.”
“Is there?” Razael seemed surprised, but his expression quickly settled into a scowl. “Then there is even more afoot than I knew.”
“The demons are the work of a fae from the Winter Court,” Leksander explained to her father. “Zephan is using vampires to get around the treaty and infect humans with demon essence.” Then he frown
ed at Erelah. “Once the treaty renews, the House of Smoke and angels of light can give that their full focus, right? I mean, it’s tangentially related to all this… but not really.”
“The two cannot be as separate as you think,” Razael said.
Leksander seemed confused.
But Erelah nodded. “When I was captured by Elyon, he mentioned the fae. Said that they wanted to kill me as if he were tasked with delivering me unto them. I thought he meant the summer queen, and I hoped he would.” Leksander seemed startled, so she explained, “Her cage would have been preferable to the torment Elyon had in mind for me.”
Leksander’s expression shifted to one ready to tear the wings off an angel, never mind the impossibility of that.
“It is imperative that I not be captured by Elyon again,” Erelah added. “He would destroy the child and me. If we must stay here to avoid that, then that is what we’ll have to do.”
Leksander’s jaw worked like he was holding back words. Finally, he said, “Agreed.”
“Elyon might do even worse than destroy you, Erelah,” her father said.
“I’m certain he would defile me as well,” Erelah said stiffly. “But it would be death in the end.”
Her father’s face wrestled with emotion again. “There are several possible unhappy outcomes when it comes to Elyon. If he’s truly working with the fae—and that sounds very like him, allying with the most hated enemy of the light—it would be with the Winter Court. They would likely just kill you and the baby without making a spectacle of it.”
“Zephan’s already tried to destroy my brother’s mates,” Leksander growled.
“But if Elyon had you,” Razael continued, “he might not give you up so easily. He might simply steal the baby, even before it is born.”
“What?” Erelah’s heart seized. “He would take it…” Her words stalled out, her mind refusing to envision that horror.
“Why would he do such a thing?” Leksander looked equally horrified.
“Why do the shadow steal from the light?” Razael spit out. “Because they can. Because it brings them pleasure. And being angel, Elyon has powers over life that exceed anything you’re prepared to face, dragon. He would take this child and claim it for his own, implanting it in one of his dark angelings for host and raising it in shadow.” He turned to Erelah. “And he knows what you mean to me, Aurora. He would do it just to break what’s left of a tired angel’s heart.”
“Clearly, this must not happen.” Erelah was trying to keep calm, but the baby was pulsing his magic again, and even she could hear the tremble in her voice.
Leksander’s arm slid around her shoulders, and he held her close.
“And it won’t under my protection,” her father vowed.
Once again, her father seemed a little too strident. Perhaps he was right. But it was also possible he wished to keep her in his Regiment, hoping she would turn. “What if I became shadow? What would happen to the baby?”
Razael seemed startled by this. “Well, we would make a home for you both…”
“So the baby would be born in shadow.” Could she do that to her own child? The idea made chills race down her back.
Razael frowned. “All angelings are born in light. Which is why the mothers are so often kidnapped, stolen away and hidden until they give birth. Just as Markos stole your mother away, once you were conceived, and I had gone shadow. I returned for you and your mother, hoping I could bring you with me, but you were gone. Whoever claims the child, controls its fate. Markos claimed you. Thus you remained in the light of your birth.”
Erelah couldn’t tell if he counted this as a positive outcome or not.
“And if my child is born of light and I remain in light?” she asked.
“Then you will usher in a new age for angelkind.” He scowled. “One that may see a resurgence of the light over shadow as angels of light build up their armies and squash shadow once and for all… or one that may see the angels of light Fall in unprecedented numbers, tipping the balance forever into dark.”
Erelah swallowed. “There is no way to know?”
“I thought it certain that you couldn’t return to the light, my daughter,” he said softly. “You seem determined to break all the rules.”
That, finally, gave her some measure of hope. Because he was right—she had done something no one else had. Except for Tajael, but when he went shadow, he had not yet made his vows. She had not only made them, she’d broken them. Thoroughly. Only through the grace of Leksander’s True Love had she came back to the light.
Her hand sought his, and she smiled. “It’s going to be all right.”
His shoulders seemed to relax, finally. “We’re going to make it be all right.” Then he kissed her, just softly on the cheek, but it felt like a direct injection of his love. And suddenly, she couldn’t wait to find a room in the warrens of her father’s palace, a place where she could be alone with her love and show him all the ways she loved him. Sequestered so, she could easily spend the weeks that must ensue to grow this child.
She turned back to Razael. “If it pleases you, father, we would—”
A warrior’s cry sounded outside, cutting her off and jolting alarm through her body. That was no warrior of shadow… Her father turned, his wings nearly swiping them from their feet in his haste to return to the balcony. Erelah surged forward to go after him, but Leksander held her back.
“Whatever this is, we need to hide, not run to our deaths,” he said.
“But that’s not…” She trailed off as it became clear through the open door exactly who had arrived in her father’s Regiment—Markos and Tajael. They stood on the balcony below a swirling vortex of shadow angelings, facing her shadow angel father.
“Oh, fuck,” Leksander spat.
But this might not be the terrible thing he assumed. “Come,” she beckoned him toward the door. “Let us make peace before there is bloodshed.”
“What are they doing here?” he asked.
She gave him a scowl. Of course, they were here for her. Then she strode out onto the balcony. Markos may be an angel, and thus able to control every aspect of his appearance, but Tajael was just an angeling—one who appeared to have been beaten near to death. Or perhaps stabbed. He had shadow wounds on every limb, and a dark, ragged gash across his chest.
But when he saw her, his face lit up. “Thank the heavens, you’re alive!” Such was his joy that Erelah couldn’t help but return his fervent smile.
“She belongs in my Dominion,” Markos was saying to Razael.
Her father’s face was alive with fury. “She is safer here.”
“Hardly.” Markos had barely spared a flick of a look in her direction, but she understood why—his entire attention was devoted to the dark angel in front of him. He was prepared to go to war over her. A surge of Pride once again gushed through her. It felt as if it were lifting her feet from the balcony. Taming it this time was almost impossible, especially with Tajael shoving his way past the angel staring contest to rush to her side.
“Are you well? Is the baby unharmed?” he rushed out.
For some reason, her Pride was choking her. True, she had spent decades hoping to shine bright enough with Virtue to earn Markos’s approval. And also true that she thought all of that lost when she had gone shadow. And further true that the faction leader’s approval was a pale reflection of the righteousness of being a True Angel, but it was the most angelings could hope for.
Yet it was still surprising, the surge of emotion—Markos came for her. Personally.
“She was fine, Tajael,” Leksander said. “Until you showed up.”
Tajale gave him an almost comical look. “But we’re here to bring her to Sanctuary.”
Leksander dropped his voice. “Yeah, well, you’re about to start a war.”
And it was true—Markos had spread his wings, and Razael seemed ready to take the fight into the air as well.
Erelah finally found her voice. “Wait!” She strode f
orward, ignoring Leksander and Tajael’s attempts to hold her back. “Do not fight over me!” Those words surged more Pride, but then something unexpected happened. When she had crossed only half the balcony, still a dozen feet from the angels of light and dark, the child inside her pulsed a fury of angel power. She stumbled, gripping her stomach. It didn’t hurt so much—more like her midsection was vibrating with the power. Churning and nauseous and stopping her cold in her tracks.
“What’s wrong?” Razael said, lurching closer.
Markos likewise stepped toward her. “This place is foul for the child.”
“What?” Razael said. “Fuck off, Markos.”
The baby’s power surged again. This time Erelah cried out and nearly doubled over.
“What is happening?” That was Leksander at her back, holding her and bending with her.
“The baby,” she gasped. She looked up at the fury on both her father’s faces—the one who gave her life and the one who brought her to the light.
“Move back!” Tajael ordered, but he wasn’t speaking to her—his command was for Markos and Razael. Even in Tajael’s bruised and battered state, her valiant friend, the avowed protector of her child, was putting himself between Erelah and the light and dark angels before her. “Your war is a torment for the child. Can’t you see that?” And surely they could, as angels are better at perceiving things of the soul than even angelings.
Leksander was dragging her backward, toward the receiving room. But she couldn’t allow them to fight over her. “Wait!” she whispered hoarsely to him. They had gained enough distance from Markos and Razael that the baby had quieted. She straightened up from her hunched position, now that the nausea had abated somewhat.
“I will bring a hundred angelings of light to your rescue, Erelah,” Markos declared, both to her and to Razael. “A thousand. I will make allegiance with every angel of light in God’s kingdom rather than leave you in shadow.”
Oh, the Pride! It surged even stronger than her baby’s angel power.
Her father wore his distress like fury. “You’ll lose a thousand and more!”