End of Days: The Complete Trilogy (Books 1-3)

by Meg Collett

  “Hey,” Gabriel said.

  Michaela lowered the splintered piece of wood she had been brandishing. Her heart did a little flip when she saw Gabriel walk into the sparse light in front of her. His eyes were dark and careful. A heavy coat covered his wings. Mud splattered up his boats. The same mud that covered hers. He had been close to the shelter too, guarding it, guarding her.

  She hated that even now, after all he had done, she still felt warmth toward him. She told her heart to shut the hell up. She didn’t speak.

  “Can we talk?” Gabriel asked, taking another step closer.

  Michaela reached down and picked up the heavy bag of flour. The only exit was behind Gabriel, so she brushed past him, keeping her eyes locked straight ahead. He followed her as she walked outside. She stepped over and around the debris, her weight shifting underneath the heavy bag.

  “Let me carry that for you.” Gabriel reached over to take the bag from her, but Michaela skirted around an overturned car. She heard his heavy sigh behind her, but he kept coming. She was almost to the street corner where Sophia was already waiting. Her bright eyes watched as Michaela approached.

  “Are you ready?” Sophia asked when Michaela was close enough. She looked over Michaela’s shoulder, and for the first time since Michaela had known Sophia, the Nephil’s eyes hardened at Gabriel. Michaela smiled at her, thankful for the unspoken pact between women and the men who wronged them.

  “Yeah,” she said. They walked down the side street the way they had come.

  “Michaela, don’t be like this,” Gabriel called. He stood at the corner not following them. Michaela didn’t look over her shoulder even though her traitor heart broke at the hurt in his voice.

  He wanted her to endure.

  But she would not.

  33

  The descent back into Hell was like a television playing in another room. The only thing Gabriel saw right in front of him was Michaela’s back as she had walked away. The vision played over and over in his mind until he didn’t feel the stabbing pain in his heart every time.

  He deserved the pain. He deserved however Michaela wanted to hurt him. He wasn’t there for her when she had needed him. But he would be there for her now even if she didn’t want him. She had always been the one to shoulder the hardest burdens, to do what no one else wanted to. Now, he would do that for her. He would take on the pain and sin and disgrace if he needed to. She would hate him for it. But he deserved that too.

  The throne room was dimly lit and completely empty when Gabriel arrived. His footsteps were hollow echoes across the stone floor as he crossed the room. With every step he took toward the deeper parts of Hell, he felt himself withdraw more and more, pulling in the sacred parts of himself until they were tucked far away from the evil.

  He crossed under the throne room’s archway and walked across the wooden drawbridge being lowered before him. From the pits far below the deep gorge he was about to cross, he heard the screams drifting up from the rocky depths. They were faint, but the despair in the voices was wrenching. Gabriel ignored them, blocking the sounds access to those few precious parts of him he held so dear.

  Those were the only parts of him Michaela deserved, and he would fight to keep them pure for her.

  The rickety bridge hung over a rocky crevice; the River Styx eased along the bottom. The air smelled of rotten fish from the river and rust. Positioned into the rock walls were old metal lights that became sparse, until the bottom of the gully was only an impression, and the river was a glinting silver thread. Only the angels ever came this high in Hell. It was a privilege to be separated from the wailing of lost souls. The gratitude was lost on Gabriel, since he had recently spent a decent amount of time in the pits of Hell.

  As soon as his foot cleared the bridge, it raised, the gears of the mechanism clanking behind him. The wood groaned in protest. He heaved his weight into a thick door until it scraped open. Closing it was just as hard, but once he was inside, the air was immediately cleaner. The worn rock floors changed to sleek, gleaming wood. Rugs, thick and plush, stretched like stepping stones in front of him and down the length of the wide hall. Overhead was a series of recessed warm lights illuminating the space with a yellow glow. A soft hum of classic music came through hidden speakers along the ceiling. The noise was soothing and proved effective to drown out the remnants of screaming.

  Archways were spaced along the walls, leading to dining halls, kitchens, dorm rooms, workout rooms, game rooms, libraries, and bathrooms. A grand, sweeping staircase rose off to Gabriel’s right as he passed. It led to huge, private rooms with personal bathrooms for all Lucifer’s officers. Gabriel had taken Beliar’s old room. He had yet to step inside.

  Gabriel continued down the hall, past all the doors. Only when he reached the very end did he turn into a door that led to an ancient set of stairs. Rock crumbled off the edges as Gabriel descended. The rust smell slowly came back. The warm lighting was lost.

  The stairs led down into the prisoner cells. Some cells were actually rooms, which were nice and completely unlike the ones Gabriel had stayed in during his time as a captive in Hell. As Lucifer’s guest, Clark would be in the nicer cells, but it wouldn’t disguise that Clark was a prisoner just like Gabriel had been before.

  Once Gabriel stepped on level ground, he turned away from the cells and headed to the recreation room. He knocked on the locked door. Typically, the door was never closed, but these were special circumstances. A fallen angel opened the door and let Gabriel inside.

  The fallen caught Gabriel’s eyes with a weary grimace. The angel closed the door quietly behind Gabriel. He heard Lucifer before he found the source of their voices.

  “You’re not trying hard enough!”

  A loud clang followed Lucifer’s shout. Clark had thrown a large metal sword onto the floor. “Check it, bro. If you can make a damn sword float, be my guest. Until then, shut your trap.”

  “You can’t speak to me like that. I’ll have you flogged.”

  Gabriel walked closer as Clark shoved his pink hair out of his eyes. He looked tired with dark circles staining the puffy skin below his blood-shot blue eyes. Sweat trickled down the side of his face. Hell was hot. It took time to get used to. No amount of air conditioning could cool the furnace below.

  Lucifer stood a few feet away, looking clean and sophisticated in white linen pants and a loose, light blue gauze shirt. He wore boat shoes as if the weather on Earth was summer, and he was merely taking a cruise on his yacht.

  “That sounds dirty,” Clark said, reaching to pick up the sword again. “And I don’t swing that way, although I appreciate the compliment.”

  “Wha—” Lucifer spluttered. His upper lip rose like he smelled something disgusting. He stepped away from Clark.

  “How’s it going?” Gabriel asked.

  Around him were various pieces of workout equipment of the crudest kinds. The room was circular with benches carved into the dirt walls. Industrial lights hung from the tall heights of the ceiling. Normally, fallen angels would be in here playing basketball or lifting weights. It was eerily quiet with only Clark’s heavy breaths and Lucifer’s frustrated sighs.

  “You’re doing it all wrong!”

  “How would you know?”

  “I asked how it was going,” Gabriel said again before they could start shouting at each other. He wasn’t surprised Clark was being a smartass, but it was surprising that Clark had said those things and was still alive. It was a testament to the Watchers’ language on his skin and his importance to Lucifer’s army.

  “How does it look like it’s going?” Lucifer said with a huff.

  “Not well,” Gabriel said. Lucifer walked over and sat beside him. He looked just as tired as Clark.

  “I heard that!” Clark shouted. He held the sword out in front of him for a minute before his arm started to shake. He threw it back on the ground and walked over to Gabriel and Lucifer to plop down on the floor in front of them.

  “I’m not good
at this,” he said, leaning back onto his arms.

  “You don’t say.” Lucifer snapped the words.

  “He’ll get better.” Gabriel cut his eyes over to Clark before he could open his mouth and say something stupid. “Maybe you need to try something lighter.”

  “Well, that’s an idea! Why didn’t we think of that sooner?” Clark’s voice was mocking, his eyes wide with fake shock.

  “We don’t have time for baby steps. If he can control water enough to freeze it then he can float a damn sword.”

  “Air would be a lot harder to control than water. And Clark had more incentive to freeze the water than he does to float anything,” Gabriel said. His rational words were met with glares from both Clark and Lucifer.

  “Maybe we should get pretty, human girls and drop them from the ceiling. Is that enough incentive?” Lucifer asked.

  “It depends on their bra size,” Clark retorted. The fallen angel by the door chuckled until Lucifer shot him a look. “I’m going back to my room to take a nap.”

  Clark was up and across the room before Lucifer shouted, “Get back over here! We aren’t done yet!”

  “Move it, sasquatch,” Clark said to the fallen by the door.

  “Let him out,” Gabriel told the guard.

  Lucifer narrowed his eyes. “Since when do you outrank me?”

  “He needs a break,” Gabriel said, voice even. “How long have you two been working?”

  Lucifer propped his elbows on his knees and cradled his head in his hands. “Hours. He is impossible.”

  “Why the rush?”

  Lucifer straightened and looked at Gabriel. For the first time, Gabriel saw honesty in Lucifer’s eyes. “I need him.”

  “So why him?” Gabriel asked. “You have all the hybrids. Your army is plenty strong without him.”

  Lucifer’s silence hung heavy in the room until Gabriel thought he wasn’t going to respond. When Lucifer did speak, it sent chills down Gabriel’s spine. “My army is strong enough to fight the holy angels. But he is the only way I can ever return home.”

  The words were brutal in their sincerity. They were also idealistic, because Gabriel had no clue how Lucifer thought Clark could help him get back to Heaven. Gabriel knew the consequences of Lucifer returning to Heaven. It would mean he and Michaela had failed. “Why isn’t Hell enough for you?” Gabriel asked, trying to keep the bitterness of an eternity of war out of his voice.

  “Would it be for you?” Lucifer shot back. “I didn’t ask for this you know. I never wanted to be the devil or satan or whatever name the humans think of next. Fate could’ve just as easily put this on you.”

  Gabriel’s eyebrows rose. Lucifer saw his skeptical look. “You can’t be serious,” Gabriel said with a short laugh. “You were made for this. You’re an asshole.”

  Lucifer waved his hand at Gabriel like that didn’t matter. “Do you have any idea how this feels for me? Huh? Did you or Michaela or any of the holy angels ever stop and wonder how this might possibly be for me?”

  Gabriel blinked in surprise. He doubted he had ever spoken to Lucifer like this ever, even when he was a holy angel. “I would’ve thought after nearly an eternity, you would’ve gotten used to it.”

  Just then the door opened again and the same fallen angel stepped back inside, returning from taking Clark to his room. When Lucifer was in Hell, he rarely walked around without a guard. Lucifer leaned in close so the angel wouldn’t hear his words to Gabriel. “It hurts every damn day. That kind of pain never goes away. Maybe I am the way I am because of this gaping hole inside of me.”

  Gabriel’s eyes fell to the floor as Lucifer walked away. He studied the rock like it had the meaning of life written on it. He didn’t want to let Lucifer’s words get to him, but they did. Gabriel understood the power of having holes in your soul. They ate away at their edges, widening their circumference, merging with other missing spots until they were nothing like a crevice. They hurt Gabriel like they hurt Lucifer. The similarity felt like another disgrace.

  But he would never be like Lucifer. Michaela didn’t deserve that kind of betrayal.

  34

  Clark’s eyes had just settled closed when someone walked in. Clark didn’t even look up to see who it was. He groaned and swore, pulling a silk pillow over his head.

  “How are you doing?” Gabriel asked.

  “As well as one could imagine.” Clark’s voice was muffled behind the pillow; his body cocooned by the soft bed. He could let go and fall into a blissful sleep. Maybe the room’s weird scent made him so tired.

  Clark sat up in the gilded, canopy bed when he heard Gabriel settling onto the plush chair beside the door. The room was painted dark red, the bed covered in black silk. Huge, white candles dripped wax from their warm, melting bodies. Religious depictions of angels and war dotted the walls.

  “That’s good.” Gabriel ran his hand back and forth over his head.

  “What are you doing?” Clark asked, his voice impatient.

  “Sitting.”

  “Can’t you do that somewhere else?” Clark snapped.

  Gabriel’s black eyes found Clark’s. He looked kind of sad, and Clark’s anger crumbled a little. As bad as Gabriel had hurt Michaela, he’d probably hurt himself worse.

  “I take it she didn’t forgive you.” Clark reclined against the pillows, propping up so he could see Gabriel. He picked up a small, round decorative pillow and tossed it in the air. He followed its progress with his eyes, focusing to slow its descent. It didn’t work.

  Gabriel’s silence—and the forlorn, downward tilt of his lips—was answer enough. Clark rolled his eyes at the Archangel.

  “You’re an idiot, you know that right?”

  “Excuse me?” Gabriel actually looked shocked. And slightly pissed off.

  “You have to make her listen. Shake her a little until some understanding rattles loose inside that brain of hers. Peel back her hateful layers. Don’t let her move an inch until she shuts up and listens. That’s how you make Michaela listen. It ain’t easy, but neither is she.”

  “You can’t make someone forgive you,” Gabriel said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

  “Yeah, you can. It’s easy. Piss them off enough until they forgive you just so you’ll leave them alone.” Clark shrugged. “You have a really good lady angel, dude. Quit screwing it up.”

  Gabriel snorted. “When did you become so smart?”

  “I got laid.” Clark waggled his eyebrows. But his face turned serious quickly. “I mean it. She’s good. She doesn’t deserve this.”

  “I don’t deserve her.” The words were so quiet Clark had to strain to hear them, and even then, he didn’t think he’d heard right.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I have to get back.” Gabriel rose from the chair, his broad shoulders tense. “I’ll keep an eye on Lucifer, but try to not piss him off so much.”

  Clark rolled his eyes. Lucifer was a pushover and the least of his worries. “You know she’ll do something stupid, right? She won’t stop.”

  Gabriel clenched his teeth. His hand was on the doorknob. “I know. That’s why I’m keeping an eye on her.” He opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

  “Watch her close!” Clark called as the door closed.

  He closed his eyes but only saw Michaela. She was alone out there now, and he didn’t like it. The sleep he had so desperately wanted only minutes ago now eluded him. He glared at the ceiling until the sasquatch angel came for him again.

  After that, Clark spent countless hours trying to move rocks, float metal, boil water. The days merged into nights and back to days in a pattern he couldn’t keep up with. He lost all sense of time. Gabriel always mediated his time with Lucifer, making sure he got to eat and sleep. One time, he kept a rock aloft in the air for a few seconds before it fell. He didn’t tell Lucifer he’d once stopped his body from hitting the ground without the marks on his arm. He didn’t think that would go over well.

  But he was
n’t making any progress, and he was actually trying. Fire was the easiest thing for him to control. He could light a fire and make the flames bigger, but he couldn’t do much else. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make the connection to the words on his arms again.

  Every second he wasn’t worried about magic, he was missing Michaela or thinking about Sophia. Gabriel visited often to ensure Lucifer wasn’t being too hard on him. Clark found he looked forward to Gabriel sitting in his room during the breaks Gabriel forced Lucifer to give him. They spent a lot of time talking about Michaela or Sophia, and he had to reluctantly admit the angel was starting to grow on him.

  They’d decided it was best to give Michaela time to cool down, so Gabriel avoided her for a few days. Clark had also secretly thought it would be a good idea for Michaela to start missing Gabriel some before he tried to ask for forgiveness. But the more Clark watched Gabriel, the more he thought the angel didn’t want to ask her. Gabriel truly thought he didn’t deserve her anymore.

  That thought always pissed Clark off. People were so crazy. Angels were crazier. Those two were so twisted they definitely deserved each other.

  Clark was thinking that while trying to make rain fall from the small cloud he’d conjured over his head. He snorted when he thought about how perfect Michaela and Gabriel were for each other. The cloud dissipated.

  “Focus, you moron!” Lucifer shouted.

  “Quit your bitchin’, douchebag, and let me focus!” The cloud formed again, stronger and fuller, a few feet above Clark.

  “What kind of bag did you just call me?” Lucifer stomped forward. Just as he passed under the little cloud, Clark made it rain.

  It was the best thing he had done since he arrived in Hell. Lucifer had been right. It was all about incentive. Clark smiled at Lucifer’s dripping wet scowl.