Sins of the Lost gl-3

by Linda Poitevin

  “You need to clear the office,” she told her supervisor.

  “There’s no way—”

  “Staff. This is between me and Seth. You can’t do anything.”

  “There is no goddamn way—”

  “You heard the lady,” Seth said.

  His voice held a dangerous edge that made Alex’s fingers dig into Roberts’s arm. The entire room seemed to wait. Roberts turned his head away from Seth and dropped his voice to a bare whisper. “Do you really think he’d . . . ?”

  She wanted to say no. Wanted to believe the man she had loved was incapable of violence. But this wasn’t him. This wasn’t her Seth. Not anymore. This was the divine being from the Vancouver alley that she’d tried to save . . .

  And failed.

  “Just go,” she told her staff inspector. “Please. I’ll be fine.”

  Roberts’s struggle with angry denial played out across his face. “Damn it, Alex—”

  His arm ripped from her grasp as he lifted from the floor. He flew past and slammed against the wall of his office, ten feet away. A collective gasp ran through the office. Alex stepped forward to go to her supervisor’s aid, but a single word stopped her in her tracks.

  “Stay,” said Seth.

  She obeyed, afraid of what he might do otherwise. Heart hammering, she watched Roberts put a hand to the back of his head and bring his fingers away covered in blood. He scowled and climbed to his feet.

  “I’m not leaving you with him, Jarvis.”

  Still blinking at the speed with which her supervisor had been tossed back—had Seth even moved?—Alex opened her mouth to argue. She snapped it shut again as, one by one, pistols held in trembling hands throughout the office turned to point at their owners’ skulls. Fingers curled against triggers. Panic rolled through her, and she whirled back to Seth. “Don’t!”

  Seth stared past her at her supervisor. “It’s not up to you, Alex. It’s up to him.”

  “They’ll leave, I promise. Just—don’t.” She looked over her shoulder. “Staff, please.”

  Roberts’s gaze held hers for a moment longer, his eyes wide with shock, sharp with denial. Then his shoulders sagged. He nodded.

  “Put your weapons away,” he ordered, his voice hoarse. “And clear the room. Alex, we’ll be—”

  “The building,” she interrupted. “Clear the building.”

  Thank God it was Saturday, with so few people at work.

  “I can’t—”

  Raymond Joly’s weapon came up again, this time to point at the head of the administrative assistant who had taken shelter beside him. The woman’s face lost all hint of color. Sweat broke out on Joly’s forehead in his effort to redirect his hand, but to no avail.

  “The building,” Roberts agreed, his face as white as the assistant’s. He limped forward from the wall to join the others, pausing at Alex’s side.

  “You’re sure about this?” he asked. Then, turning his face away from Seth, he mouthed, “ETF?”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t risk it. Wouldn’t risk it. If Seth could exert the kind of control he’d just demonstrated, not even the highly trained Emergency Task Force could do anything. And if he spoke the truth about making her the same as him, making her—God, she couldn’t even think the word—then there was no telling what kind of power he’d have to bring to bear to do so, or what havoc such power might wreak.

  “I’m sure,” she told Roberts.

  The slow sickening of his expression told her his thoughts had followed hers. He understood the risk would be too great. Anguish filled his face. His throat worked with the effort to speak, but in the end he simply gave her shoulder a squeeze and followed the others out of the office, taking his cell phone from his jacket pocket as he did so. His voice, gruff and authoritative, floated back to her as he gave instructions to clear the building.

  And then there was only Seth.

  Alex lifted her eyes to the awful emptiness of his.

  Deep within her, her soul whispered a name.

  Aramael.

  Chapter 75

  Mika’el stood shoulder to shoulder with Verchiel in shared silence. The space that had been occupied by the One and Lucifer was now empty—bereft and oddly expectant at the same time. As if it couldn’t make up its mind whether the Creator was really gone or had only wandered away for a moment and would return. Much like the hole in Mika’el’s soul.

  He squared his shoulders. “You’ll have to advise the others,” he said. “They’ll have felt her leaving.”

  “Alone?” She cast a startled look at him.

  “I need to ready the Archangels.” He realized he still held his sword clenched in a near death grip and shoved it back into its sheath. “And an army. The Hellfire will come down soon if it hasn’t already.”

  Her hands twisted into her robe. “Of course,” she said. “Because it’s just us now. You and me, leading all of Heaven.”

  He stiffened, hearing a note in her voice that he didn’t like. Verchiel went to the One’s chair and ran her hand over the back of it. She gazed out the window. Mika’el waited, bracing for what he suspected would come next. The Highest didn’t disappoint.

  “It won’t work,” she said. “We’re not strong enough to fight a war and still hold all of this”—she waved—“together.”

  “Don’t,” he said. “Not yet.”

  Verchiel heaved a sigh. “We have to talk about it, Mika’el. She might be our—”

  “I said not yet.”

  “Then when?” She turned to him, annoyance creasing her brow. “It could take us weeks to find her. We haven’t heard so much as a whisper from her for six thousand years—or about her, for that matter.”

  They’d been watching for her? His mind answered the question even as it formed. She was the daughter of Heaven. One of its biggest losses—and greatest regrets. Of course they’d been watching for her . . . just as he himself had meticulously avoided doing so. He stalked past the Seraph, headed not for the door and the waiting throng, but for the glassless window and the eminently more manageable concerns of war. Verchiel’s voice followed him.

  “I know this is difficult for you, but at least let me begin looking.”

  Grief, guilt, and utter despair wrangled for the upper hand in his chest. He stepped through the floor-to-ceiling window and into the gardens.

  “Mika’el!”

  Unfurling his wings, he left her behind.

  Her, but not the memories of Emmanuelle.

  Chapter 76

  Striding into the war council chambers, Mika’el unsheathed his sword. He laid it across the table with the others. Six Archangels fell silent. Six sets of eyes watched grimly. He didn’t prevaricate.

  “What you’ve heard is true,” he said. “She’s gone.”

  There was a collective inhale, and then chaos.

  A dozen questions came at him in what seemed to be a single breath, battering against his ears, his skull, his already bloody heart. Resting his hands on the table, he dropped his head, waited for the accusatory voices to die down. They ended with a single harsh question rising above the others.

  “Why in bloody Hell didn’t you stop her?” Raphael demanded.

  Mika’el lifted his head to glare at him. “Because she wanted this. It was the only way she could stop Lucifer.”

  The others blinked at him.

  “She took him with her?” Azrael asked. “He let her?”

  “Yes. To both questions.”

  Another jumble of voices ensued. Again he waited. Again one voice rose above the others.

  “So that’s it. Hell’s ruler is gone. The Fallen are on their own,” said Gabriel.

  “No.” Aramael pushed back his chair and stood, his hands fisted. “No, they’re not. Seth will take his place.”

  “We don’t know that for certain,” Mika’el said, “but given Seth’s lack of cooperation so far, yes, it’s possible he’ll step into the void.”

  “Not possible. Definite. I know him b
etter than you do, Mika’el. He’ll feel we forced him into this, forced him to give up Alex. He’ll be bitter and angry, and this will be his way of getting back at us.”

  “Even if you’re right, it changes little. We’ll still be fighting the same war whether Seth is a part of it or not.”

  “Except the Fallen,” growled Aramael, “will have a leader.”

  And we won’t.

  The former Power didn’t speak the last part. He didn’t need to. The words hung over the table all the same, stark and unforgiving in their truth. Drawing himself up to his full height, Mika’el glowered at him, hating that he was right but still refusing to consider the possibility raised by Verchiel. He would not—could not—go there.

  “Then we’ll just have to work harder at remaining united,” he snapped. “Starting now. With us. Any objections?”

  When no one spoke, he raised an eyebrow at Aramael. Scowling, the other took his seat again. Mika’el nodded.

  “Good. Then you each know what you’re to—” He stopped as Gabriel, the only female among their company, cleared her throat. “Yes?”

  “What about the Nephilim?”

  “What about them?”

  “The babies have all been born, and they’ve all disappeared. Do we just leave them out there like that, or—?”

  Mika’el understood what she was asking. For a brief moment, standing there in the One’s profound absence, he had wondered the same thing himself. He’d also reached a conclusion. He let his gaze travel the table, meeting each of the others’ in turn.

  “The One might no longer be here,” he said quietly, “but her legacy lives on in us. All of us. We uphold her ways, is that understood?”

  Slowly, one by one, the Archangels nodded.

  “Then as I was saying, you know—”

  A chair crashed to the floor as Aramael surged to his feet again. Mika’el sighed.

  “Now wh—?” He stopped midword as the other Archangel grabbed his sword from the table, scattering the others—and their owners—in all directions. Mika’el leaned across the table and seized Aramael’s wrist, holding him fast.

  “Tell me,” he ordered.

  Ferocious eyes fastened on his, and Aramael wrenched his arm away. “Something’s wrong,” he said. “Alex needs help.”

  Chapter 77

  It took every particle of self-control Aramael possessed to remain at the war council table and not bolt to Alex’s side. His whole being vibrated with her need for him, resonated with his desire to respond to her summons. But with Mika’el scowling that way and Raphael’s narrowed eyes grimly daring him to so much as twitch, he didn’t dare. Getting into a fight with another Archangel—or several of them, for that matter, would only slow him down.

  Gripping the tabletop with one hand and his sword in the other, he repeated his words, “Something is wrong. She needs help.”

  She needs me.

  “Damn it, Aramael, you were to sever your connection to her,” Mika’el said.

  “The same connection you counted on to protect her from Samael when you thought he was followed her?” Aramael snarled back. Painfully aware of the tension threading through the others, he reined himself in. Made himself breathe. “Let me check on her. Please.”

  “This time and how many others?” Mika’el shook his head. “The Hellfire is down, Aramael. An attack is imminent. I cannot spare you.”

  You cannot hold me.

  He bit back the ill-advised challenge and locked his knees against the need to leave. Whatever had drawn Alex to summon him, it grew more urgent with every second—and it wasn’t going away.

  “You don’t understand,” he grated. “I need to see her.”

  Raphael snorted. “I knew you’d be a liability.”

  “Raphael,” Mika’el said.

  His golden eyes venomous, the Archangel subsided.

  Mika’el studied Aramael for what seemed eternity. “You’re certain she’s in danger?” he asked at last.

  “What does it matter? She’s a Naphil!” Raphael exploded. “His only loyalty is to—” He broke off, staring at the hand Mika’el placed on his arm, then at the warrior. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “Well?” Mika’el asked Aramael.

  Aramael noted distantly that the table had begun to smolder beneath his grip. Alex had called on him only twice when he hadn’t already been there watching over her. Both times her life had been threatened. Neither time had ended well for her.

  Putting any of that into words was beyond his current ability.

  At his back, his wings quivered under the strain of holding them closed.

  Mika’el rubbed at the back of his neck. “One time, and one time only, Archangel. Do whatever you must, but after this, you break your tie to her, do you understand? And be careful. I can’t spare anyone to go with you, and if you’re right . . .”

  Aramael nodded his acceptance of the warning. And the risk.

  “Go,” said Mika’el.

  Released at last, Aramael’s wings shot open to their fullest, knocking aside chairs, taking out a wall sconce, and creating a wind that had the others grabbing to hold the table in place.

  “Bloody Hell,” Raphael growled. “You know better than to launch from insi—”

  Aramael didn’t hear the rest.

  Chapter 78

  As the last footsteps of her retreating colleagues faded down the hallway, Alex put the width of a desk between her and Seth. She searched his face for something familiar, something of the man she’d loved and thought she’d known. But while Seth’s features remained the same, no man remained.

  Seth stepped toward her. Instinctively, she shuffled away. He tipped his head to one side.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Stay calm. “I was worried about you last night.”

  “And so you’re running away from me today?”

  Keep him talking until—

  Until what, help arrived? Not happening, Alex. There’ll be no cavalry. Not this time.

  Her palms turned clammy, and her heartbeat thudded in her ears. She was on her own here. A deeply buried part of her stilled at the realization. The admission. There would be no peer backup, no divine intervention, no Aramael rushing in to save her. It had come down to her and Seth and a choice she desperately needed him to accept if she was going to get out of this alive. Intact. She took a deep, shaky breath.

  “I was worried about you,” she said again, “but it doesn’t change what I said, Seth. We can’t be together.”

  Dark brows met over the hurt in his eyes. “I don’t understand. We chose one another. I love you. I gave up everything to be with you. Always together. You said that, Alex.”

  “I know. I know, and I’m sorry it couldn’t be—”

  Before she could blink, he stood before her, his hands on her shoulders.

  “But it can,” he said. “Don’t you see? I meant what I said. I can make you immortal.”

  It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to cringe from the word, the idea.

  His touch.

  She made herself stay soft under his hands. Unresisting. No cavalry. Hurt clouded his face. Betrayal twisted it.

  “You don’t want to be immortal.” His voice was flat with dawning disbelief. “You don’t want to be with me.”

  I did, she wanted to deny, but we never had a chance. We were too different, too far apart. We should never have tried. But she couldn’t speak past the sorrow clogging her throat. Aramael had been right all along. This, human and angel—or whatever Seth was—coming together, was wrong, unnatural.

  Seth turned from her. Bracing his hands on the edge of the desk, he lowered his head. Every rigid line of his body screamed pain. Alex’s heart shredded. Whatever had happened, whatever decisions had brought them here, to this point, he didn’t deserve this. No one did. She slid a hand across his bowed back and rested her forehead against his shoulder.

  “Please,” she said. “Try to understand. I belong here. On Ea
rth, among mortals, doing my job. It’s who I am. Just as this—this is who you are.”

  “But I don’t want to be this,” he snapped. “Not without you. I haven’t wanted it since I first met you, Alex. When I brought you back from the edge of death, when I restored life to you”—he tipped his head to rest against hers—“touching your soul made me feel things I never knew existed. Never knew were possible. I can’t give that up. I won’t give it up.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Please. You can’t save them. At least save yourself. Come with me. Be with me.”

  Alex swiped with the back of one hand at the tears on her cheeks. Not for a second was she tempted, but saying so, hurting him like this when she was the reason he had given up so much already—

  Suddenly the One’s voice filled her ears, as clear as if the Creator stood at her side. “I know how much you love him, Alexandra. And I know why. But he’s not your responsibility . . . When he chose you, he did so over the fate of all humanity. And he did it knowingly.”

  Knowingly. Alex hadn’t wanted to believe the One that night, but now, seeing what Seth had become, glimpsing what he was capable of . . .

  She drew a jagged breath and stepped back, away from him. “I can’t,” she said.

  For an interminable moment, Seth didn’t reply. Then, slowly, he lifted his head, straightened, turned to face her again. His gaze met hers, no longer hurt or empty, but burning with a fierce, hot determination. “Then I’ll make you.”

  Her every fiber went cold. He wouldn’t. Couldn’t. “Seth—”

  A gust of wind knocked her sideways. Papers and files scattered. Chairs tipped over.

  From the destroyed doorway, a familiar voice growled, “She said no, Appointed.”

  Chapter 79

  Mittron gazed down in mixed horror and fascination at the seethe of bodies below him. Every inch of every street within view held a Fallen One carrying a newborn infant. Even through the newly replaced window, the squalls were deafening. He shook his head. This chaos was to be Lucifer’s legacy? The army that would destroy humankind? Samael might be a brilliant military strategist, but his organizational skills in this arena were severely lacking.