Aramael waited for her by the front window. The same window Nina had shattered almost two months ago, using one of the shards of glass to slice herself open after she witnessed the atrocities committed by Caim. Alex clamped her teeth against a shudder as she reached him.
“It was Lucifer,” Aramael said without preamble.
She groped for the back of a chair and waited for her stomach to climb up from the floor. “You’re sure.”
“There are traces left—” He broke off, his eyes growing grim. “I’m positive.”
“But why—” She stopped dead. Stared at Aramael. And knew. The room went hazy around its edges as she struggled to ward off the impossibility. The horror.
She closed her eyes, standing again in a damp, dark alley between Seth and six silent Archangels, facing down Lucifer himself. Lucifer, who had raped her and impregnated her with his child, who had caused her to pick up Seth’s discarded knife and slice into her own belly to end that child’s life.
Lucifer, whose gloating words were indelibly etched in her memory. “With her extraordinary Nephilim blood—and it is extraordinary, you know—mixed with mine, the child she carries will be a leader among his kind.”
Her Nephilim blood.
The same blood that ran through her sister’s veins.
And her niece’s.
Her stomach cramped, twisted, rolled. The Fallen One had never been after her. He’d wanted her family. The family she hadn’t been here to protect. A touch on her elbow made her open her eyes again. Roberts, his forehead wrinkled with worry, held out his phone to her.
“It’s Elizabeth Riley,” he said. “Your sister has regained consciousness.”
Chapter 60
Samael stood rigid in the center of Lucifer’s office as the Light-bearer prowled around him in silence. He had delivered his explanation to Hell’s ruler just the way he’d rehearsed it with Mittron, relaxed, confident, without excuses or apologies—
Hadn’t he?
He stared at the dark blotch on the carpet near the fireplace, so out of keeping with Lucifer’s usual fastidiousness. Was it because Lucifer no longer cared about such details? Or because he intended it as an intimidation tactic? If the latter, it was working.
The Light-bearer circled closer. Samael went rigid.
“You look tense.” Lucifer stopped in front of him, hands in his pockets, the picture of calm.
He made his fingers uncurl, saw the Light-bearer’s gaze drop to them. He’s waiting for me to lie. He’ll take it as a sign of guilt.
“I have reason to be tense,” he responded. “My life is on the line if you don’t believe me.”
Cool purple eyes watched him. Weighed him.
“I don’t believe you, Samael.”
Cold trickled through Samael. Run, a voice whispered in his head. His feet, cemented to the floor, disagreed.
“But you have a point.” Lucifer swung away from him and crossed to the sideboard. Lifting a decanter of port, he raised an eyebrow in Samael’s direction.
Samael shook his head. Fought to control the quiver coursing through him. “I don’t understand.”
Lucifer poured a glass of deep ruby-red liquid, replaced the crystal stopper in the decanter, and wandered over to the fireplace. Flames crackled to life in the stone recess. He rested a shoulder against the mantel. “I don’t believe for a second you’ve had my best interests at heart, Archangel. I do, however, think you make a valid point about my army needing to be looked after should anything happen to me. Or to you.”
Undecided on quite how to reply to grudging praise and a distinct threat delivered in the same breath, Samael decided that remaining silent was his wisest course of action.
Lucifer swirled his glass. Clockwise. Counter. “You’re certain you can convince Seth to take back his powers and change sides.”
“He’s almost there now. A couple of nudges will tip him over the edge.”
“And you’re willing to stake your life on this?”
That one was a little more difficult to answer, but Samael managed a nod.
“All right.”
All right? Samael made a conscious effort not to gape at the Light-bearer. Mittron’s idea had worked? He would never have believed it possible, let alone this eas—
“You have twenty-four hours.”
“Twenty-four—but, Lucifer—”
“My army will be born at that time, Samael. If my son is not at my side, ready and willing to take over my cause if necessary, you die.”
“Be reasonable. This is—” He ducked as Lucifer’s glass sailed past his head and shattered in a spray of crystal shards and port against the bookcase behind him.
“Twenty-four hours,” the Light-bearer repeated. “Less an hour for every objection you make.”
Clenching his teeth, Samael turned on his heel and left. The Light-bearer wanted to be replaced twenty-four hours from now?
That was fucking fine by him.
Chapter 61
Aramael drove her to the hospital. He didn’t walk her in.
“Mika’el wants to see me,” he said, holding out the keys to her as they stood at the rear of her sedan in the parking garage.
She stared at them for a moment before taking them. “Will you be back?”
“I don’t know.”
Of course. Now that Heaven knew Jen and Nina had been the targets, her own protection no longer mattered. She studied her soulmate, the Archangel who would have given his own life to protect hers. A few days ago, she had wanted nothing to do with him, wanted nothing more than for him to get out of her life.
Now she couldn’t imagine her life without him in it.
She turned to walk away. Swung back. “Aramael.”
Tall and strong and silent, he waited. Quiet fire burned in his gray eyes. For an instant, she wondered what he would do if she crossed the space between them. If she burrowed against that powerful chest and wrapped her arms around him and—
No. She wouldn’t do that to him. Or to herself. Even before all of this had happened, even before Seth had happened, together had never been an option. Aramael had been right all along. They were a mistake.
It was up to her to put that mistake behind them once and for all.
“Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”
For getting me here, for saving me, for watching over me, for caring even after I chose another. Thank you—and good-bye.
The fire in Aramael’s eyes dimmed, flickered, died. His gaze traveled over her, lingering on her face as if he would commit every detail to memory. Then he spread his wings wide—his magnificent, coal-black, mighty wings—and gave her a rare small smile.
“Go,” he said. “Your sister is waiting.”
She walked away, her footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. When she looked back from halfway down the aisle of cars, he was gone.
Minutes later, Alex stepped into a hospital emergency ward yet again. The television in the waiting area was tuned to the news. She flinched from the image of herself emerging virtually unscathed from the fireball of the explosion. A few people seated nearby looked around as she walked past, but no recognition sparked and she made herself relax again.
Reaching the desk, she flashed her badge at the triage nurse, who nodded and buzzed her through the doors separating the waiting room from the ward.
“Jennifer Abbott?” she asked.
The nurse glanced at his computer screen. “Bed number six.”
Following the point of his finger, she skirted a gurney wheeled by paramedics, a woman pacing the corridor with a fractious baby in arms, a young girl about Nina’s age on crutches. The girl offered a smile as she passed. Alex had none to return.
Elizabeth Riley emerged from the curtained cubicle as Alex arrived, compassion softening her usually sharp features. Her blue eyes brightened with relief.
“It’s good to see you,” she said, folding Alex into an unexpected embrace. “The explosion is all over the news. How are you?”
Alex stepped back from the contact and swallowed the lump it had triggered. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just a few stitches.” She motioned at the curtain. “Jen?”
“Sedated . . . and restrained.” Riley put out a hand to stop Alex’s instinctive step toward her sister. “Wait. Hear me out first. We had no choice, Alex. One minute she was unconscious, and the next, her eyes were open and she was shrieking nonstop. She gave one of the nurses a broken nose before we pinned her down.”
Alex didn’t pull back this time. Instead, staring at the beige fabric before her, she made herself focus on Riley’s touch. Let it be her anchor while the world slowly righted itself again. She cleared her throat.
“Can she talk?” she asked.
“It’s unlikely, but you’re welcome to try.”
Riley stepped into the cubicle and held the curtain aside for her. Alex steeled herself, then moved to the bedside. Jen lay against the pillow, her face pale and hair awry. A four-point restraint system was visible at the edges of the blanket covering her. Compassionate, beautiful, too-serious Jennifer . . . tied to a hospital bed. Reaching out, Alex brushed the hair back from her sister’s face. Brown eyes stared up at the ceiling without flickering.
Alex blinked back tears. She cleared the thickening in her throat. “Hey, Jenny-girl.”
No response.
She tried again, this time gently turning her sister’s head toward her. “Jen? It’s Alex. I came to see how you’re doing.”
Jen’s gaze drifted past her, unfocused, uncaring.
Alex drew a shuddering breath. Christ. She stared down at the woman who had raised her after their parents had died, the woman she had once thought to be the strongest person she knew. If Jen had caved under the pressure, what chance did Alex stand?
Riley’s hand covered hers on the bed rail. “It’s not unusual for a person’s mind to temporarily close off after a trauma. Give her time. It’s possible this is just the effects of the sedative.”
The sedative. Alex watched the even rise and fall of her sister’s chest. For the second time that evening, she wondered what it might be like to be drugged, restrained, no longer able—or expected—to take part in the world’s disintegration. The idea held such seductive allure, especially when compared with the alternative.
Alex’s hand curled beneath Riley’s. She withdrew it and stepped away from the bed. “If she saw what I think she saw, she might be better off staying where she is.”
“You know what happened to your niece?”
She shoved her hands into her coat pockets. “Lucifer happened to her. The same way he happened to me. Except Nina’s only—” she broke off. “Oh, God.”
Riley pushed Alex into the chair beside the bed. “You look like you’re going to pass out. Is it your head? Do you want a doctor?”
“What day is it?” Alex whispered. She hunched over, protecting herself from what the psychiatrist would tell her. What she already knew.
“Alex, if you’re experiencing confusion—” Riley tipped up her chin with one hand and peered into her eyes.
“What day is it?”
“It’s Friday.”
“Christ. I missed it.”
“Missed what? Look at this and follow it.” Riley held up a finger. “Was there any blow to your head? It was hard to tell from that video. We should have you checked out, just in case.”
Alex pushed away the psychiatrist’s hand. “Her birthday, Riley. I missed Nina’s birthday. It was yesterday, and I forgot it. She turned seventeen.”
All those calls from Jen, all those texts she’d ignored because she hadn’t wanted to deal with another confrontation—and all her sister had wanted to do was remind her. And now Nina was gone. Son of a bitch.
“Oh . . .” The word drew out into a sigh.
Alex braced herself for the words of comfort, the false reassurance, but Riley merely reached out and stroked back her hair, as if she understood the enormity of the failure. Tears clawed at Alex’s throat, burned behind her eyes. A phone call. She could have at least made a phone call, or sent an e-mail, or texted . . .
Happy birthday, Nina. I love you.
Shit.
A hundred recriminations stabbed at Alex’s soul. She’d failed the two people who mattered most to her in the world. Opened them up to monsters beyond their understanding and then left them to fend for themselves. And three weeks from now, Nina would die giving birth to Lucifer’s baby.
Sweet, sweet Nina, little more than a child herself.
Alex levered herself up from the chair. She motioned to her sister. “Will you stay?” she asked Riley. “Will you look after her for me?”
Riley rose to her feet. “Of course. You’re going to look for Nina?”
“Not look, find,” Alex said fiercely. “I might not be able to save her, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let her die alone.”
Chapter 62
“What do you mean, no?” Aramael towered over the desk, glaring down at the Archangel Mika’el.
Mika’el glowered back. “I mean,” he enunciated between his teeth, “no. I need you here, and the Naphil doesn’t need your protection anymore. You’re done with her.”
“And her niece? Are we done with her, too?”
“There are more than seven billion mortal souls on a planet that is about to implode. Do you really think we can drop everything and go running after a Naphil who is going to die whether we find her or not?”
“Protecting mortal souls from the Fallen is our job, Mika’el. It’s what we do.”
“No. What we do is stand between Earth and Hell so that mortals can live their lives independently, according to their own choices. We maintain balance, Aramael. That is our job.”
“But she carries the child of Lucifer.”
“Which changes nothing. With or without a leader born of the Light-bearer, the Nephilim are not our concern. You know this, Aramael.”
Short, angry strides carried Aramael across the room. Mika’el was right. He did know it—had always known it. But somehow it had become muddled during his time with Alex. Less clear-cut. Infinitely more difficult. He spun to face Mika’el.
“This was easier when I was a Power,” he growled.
“When you were a Power, you had no free will of your own. No reason to question your path.”
“What about you? You left before the Cleanse. You didn’t give up your free will when the rest of us did. Does that mean you’ve always lived with this level of conflict going on inside you?”
“Or worse,” Mika’el agreed.
“So deciding to leave when you did . . .”
The Archangel’s jaw flexed. “Wasn’t easy. Just as this isn’t easy for you. I get that. But I ask nothing of you or any of the others that I wouldn’t do—that I haven’t already done—myself. I need you here, Aramael. With us.”
Hands shoved into his pockets, Aramael stalked over to the suit of armor, identical to his, standing in the corner. He scowled at it, his back to Mika’el. “You hold me to an awfully high standard.”
“Because I know you’re capable.”
He thought of Alex, left alone to face her own impossible choices. How much more could she take? How long before Heaven’s demands broke her? He closed his eyes as the ache in his chest spread to engulf his soul. And how long would he be able to stay away, knowing her pain?
Bleakly, he turned back to the other Archangel. “I hope you’re right.”
* * *
Alex pressed the lock button on the key fob and then stood by her vehicle, staring up at the light shining from the apartment she shared with Seth. She didn’t want to go up there. Didn’t want to face him. Didn’t want to do this. Especially not now, with Jennifer and Nina—
She breathed in raggedly, exhaling a plume of steam. She didn’t want to, but she had to. She’d already avoided it long enough, and he deserved better from her. Hell, she hadn’t even called him after the explosion on the Hill this afternoon to reassure him she was all right,
never mind let him know she’d come back to Toronto. It was time to stop being a coward.
She let herself into the building and crossed the foyer to the elevator, her boot heels thudding hollowly on the ceramic tiles. Her internal voice kept up a running monologue of instructions, without which she might not have moved. Push button. Wait. Step inside. Stare at numbers. Press six. Lean against wall. Stare at ceiling.
Breathe.
She drew a lungful of air. For something that was supposed to be an autonomic body function, she’d had to remind herself to do that a lot since leaving the hospital. Several times in the car while she’d waited for Aramael, before admitting to herself he wasn’t coming back after all. Several more times before she managed to insert the key into the ignition and get herself out of the parking lot. Many more on the way home. She closed her eyes.
Breathe.
She’d wanted him gone, and now he was. The Fallen hadn’t been after her, and so there was no need for him to continue watching her. No reason for him to stay. He was gone, Nina was gone, Jen was as good as gone, and Alex had no choice but to send Seth away.
The elevator door slid open onto a hallway as empty as her world had become.
Breathe.
Chapter 63
“Going somewhere?”
Seth looked up from throwing things into the overnight bag on the bed. Samael lounged in the doorway, his expression one of mild interest. Seth took a pair of socks from a drawer.
“Beat it,” he said. “I’m not interested.”
Ignoring him, Samael strolled into the room. “There’s remarkably little personality to this abode. Have you noticed? None of the clutter mortals are so prone to collect. It has such an impermanent feel to it.”
Seth clutched the edges of the overnight bag. He didn’t want to answer, but the words were torn from him—much as a groan would be torn from a man whose open wound had just been poked with a hot knife. “She’s been a little busy trying to stop your kind from destroying her world.”
“Of course. I wasn’t being critical, Appointed. Just making an observation.”
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