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

by Meg Collett

  “I love you, too.” He deepened the kiss to give meaning to his words.

  Finally, Michaela pulled away. “Hurry up and get dressed. I’m starved.”

  Gabriel grinned as he found his clothes on the forest floor. “I like that you worked up an appetite.”

  Michaela watched him get dressed. “Yeah, well, you distracted me. I didn’t even get to tell you the big news.”

  “Are you warm enough?” At Michaela’s nod, Gabriel pulled on his shirt and jacket. “What’s the big news?”

  “Clark found a club in Cincinnati where the Watchers have sex with humans.” Michaela delivered the news so bluntly that it took Gabriel a moment to catch up. When he did, he raked his hand through his growing thatch of hair on his head.

  “Has someone gone to confirm it?”

  “Simiel and Raphael left this morning. Uriel is leaving tonight to find clothes,” Michaela said, lacing up her boots.

  “Clothes for what?” Gabriel asked, although he had a sneaking suspicion.

  “A rave.” Michaela shrugged, confirming Gabriel’s fears.

  He stared at her, quiet for the moment. He wanted to tell her to stay at the cabin for the party, but he knew that would be wrong. But the thought of a Watcher hurting her—or worse—threatened to char his insides. There would be no recovery from losing Michaela.

  “That sounds like fun,” Gabriel said, his voice dull.

  Michaela brightened. “I plan on it.”

  Gabriel covered his groan with a yawn as she started back for the cabin. He was not looking forward to the rave, even if it meant killing Watchers.

  10

  Michaela woke Saturday morning in Gabriel’s arms. It was a tight squeeze on the narrow cot, but they made it work. Waking next to him was a revelation. She smelled his scent and felt the muscles of his chest contracting and relaxing beneath her with each breath. He held her tight, keeping her pressed against his chest. Her legs were twined around his so that every inch of their bodies touched.

  Michaela shifted, trying to extract herself without waking him. She knew the frequent trips from Hell and back wore him out. They’d spent most of yesterday discussing plans for taking out the Watchers, but he still didn’t look rested when they went to bed. He’d fallen asleep against her almost instantly. Now he woke and tugged her back down with a moan.

  “Not yet,” he mumbled, sounding sleepy.

  “Everyone else is already up,” Michaela said, trying to pull away as she laughed. The cabin’s small bedroom was empty; Zarachiel was an early riser. He’d taken the second cot since Uriel was out scouting for clothes. Ophaniel had taken the night watch and stayed in the kitchen with an unconscious Clark, who’d spent his Friday deep inside his whiskey bottles.

  Michaela heard Ophaniel’s cheery voice in the kitchen as she tried to scramble together a decent breakfast. Gabriel grunted some more, but he eventually let go of Michaela and got up from the cot. She stuffed her feet into her boots and pulled on her jacket. Her clothes were so worn and dirty, she knew they didn’t smell good. The cabin had a bathroom, but no running water. The creeks were too icy for bathing, which meant a bath and washing clothes would have to wait. Again.

  Michaela shuffled out of the bedroom once Gabriel was dressed, wrapping her jacket tighter around her chest to ward off the early-morning cold air. The furnace in the corner of the kitchen was burning through heaps of wood, but it did little to heat the house. Ophaniel had food on the table and was dishing out steaming heaps of oatmeal. Michaela’s mouth watered.

  “Good morning,” Ophaniel called, her voice cheery and bright.

  “Morning,” Michaela answered, rubbing her hand across her eyes as she and Gabriel sat down at the table. A huge pile of oatmeal appeared before her. It was sweetened with honey and smelled divine.

  Only after her first few mouthfuls did Michaela realize Clark wasn’t in the room. “Where’s Clark?” she asked, looking around.

  Ophaniel laughed. “He wasn’t feeling well, so he went outside for some fresh air. Frankly, he looked awful.” Her hand stilled where she was mixing the bowl of oatmeal. She looked at Michaela with horrified eyes. “You don’t think he has a drinking problem do you?”

  Michaela relaxed and ate another bite. “If he does,” she said, “that’s a problem for another day.”

  Ophaniel pressed her lips together in a thin line before she put the bowl on top of the furnace and took a seat at the table where Zarachiel kept his head bent over his food. Michaela savored her meal and the temporary peace of the morning.

  Gabriel was the first to break the silence. “Do you think we should bring some fallen to the party tonight?” he asked. Everyone, including Zarachiel, looked up.

  “They could help,” Ophaniel said, but Michaela was already shaking her head.

  “It’s going to be hard enough to keep ourselves concealed,” she said. “I don’t want to worry about a Watcher catching sight of someone’s wings and giving us away.”

  “Do you think we can do it on our own?” Ophaniel asked.

  Before the other Archangels had fallen, their small choir of angels had been undefeated. If nothing had changed, Michaela would feel confident walking into the club and knowing they could take out every Watcher in there, hand to hand. But everything was different now, and their choir was merely a ghost of what it had once been.

  “We’ll try,” she said, knowing that wasn’t the answer they needed to hear. Gabriel’s hand settled on her leg underneath the table. Even his most comforting touch sent a familiar warmth through her. Images from yesterday leapt in her head, and she shifted in her seat. Gabriel noticed, and she caught his subtle, satisfied smirk.

  Michaela rose from the table and set her plate in the sink. She picked up the jug next to the sink and ran a tiny amount of water over the plate. With a washrag, she cleaned it off as best as she could. Their water supplies were low, and they had to be careful with each drop.

  When she was done, she headed for the door. “I’m going to check on Clark,” she said, hoping he hadn’t fallen off the cliff.

  That’s exactly where she found him: sitting on the cliff’s edge, dangling his legs over the rocky lip. He shoved a loaded clip into his gun with a snap. He was focused, and he didn’t hear Michaela until she was almost right behind him.

  “Hey,” she said.

  Clark jumped. He shoved a bag into the pocket of his coat before he looked up at her. His face was tight and nervous as if she’d caught him doing something wrong. Michaela frowned and looked around, but she saw only his two guns and a large assortment of loaded clips, which he was tucking into his jacket.

  “What are you doing?” She sat down beside him and watched his face.

  “Nothing,” he said, but she could tell he was lying. She thought she smelled something in the air around them, but the scent of gunpowder was too strong. Clark’s fingers were grimy and stained. The whiskey fumes coming off of him also obliterated any other smells.

  Michaela let it go. He could have his secrets; it was only fair. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “How does it look like I’m feeling?” Clark asked. It could have been funny, but Michaela found his attempt at humor almost sad.

  “Clark,” Michaela said. She didn’t continue until he looked up at her. “Why won’t you talk to me about this?”

  “There’s not much to talk about, I guess.” Clark shrugged a shoulder, his eyes drifting away again.

  Michaela didn’t believe him. Even in their direst situations, Clark had always had a spark about him. That was gone now. “I’m sorry about Sophia and your dad,” she said. She didn’t talk about the gnawing guilt she felt every time she looked at him. A hybrid bite had killed Isaac, and Michaela had been the one to let the hybrids go. And in a way, Michaela was responsible for Sophia’s death, too. The Aethere had sent the plagues to Earth, including the one that killed Sophia, because they wanted Michaela to hand over the seals. The guilt was never ending.

  “I kn
ow.”

  “Would you take it all back if you could?” Michaela asked.

  Clark glanced at her, his brow furrowed. “Take what back?”

  “The night you found me in the cave,” Michaela said. She wanted to beg him for forgiveness, but she couldn’t find the words. Instead, she said, “I’ve caused you nothing but trouble and heartache.”

  “You are a pain in the ass,” Clark said, trying again at humor. His crooked, halfhearted grin didn’t reach his eyes; it faltered and fell away. “I don’t regret it though.”

  Michaela took his hand, running her fingers over his knuckles. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. Michaela caught the slight scent of something odd again before it disappeared. It reminded her that Clark had a secret.

  “Will you talk to me if you get too sad?”

  Clark frowned, staring hard at the rock beneath them. “I’m not sad,” he said. “I’m angry all the time.”

  Michaela studied his profile, a breeze stirring through their hair. They sat quietly for a long time. She couldn’t think of a thing to say. Her condolences would be inappropriate, but her silence felt even worse.

  “I kind of like it though.” Clark’s tone surprised Michaela. She shot a glance at him.

  “Your anger?”

  Clark nodded, his eyes never reaching hers. Michaela opened her mouth to speak when Ophaniel burst from the woods.

  “She’s back!”

  Michaela swiveled around to look at the Archangel behind them. Clark extracted his hand and rose, carefully picking up his guns and checking the safeties. Michaela watched him as he walked away, disappearing back into the woods.

  Ophaniel’s face fell. “Did I interrupt something?”

  Michaela straightened and dusted off her jeans. She met Ophaniel at the edge of the trees. “No, you didn’t. Who’s back?”

  “Uriel. And she brought some awesome stuff!”

  Ophaniel hurried through the woods. Michaela tried to keep up, but her heart wasn’t in it. When they emerged back at the clearing, Clark wasn’t around. She wondered if he’d driven off again. He needed to be back in time for the party—he was their only hope. They could take bone swords, but it would be a blood bath, and humans would likely die.

  Gabriel sat inside the kitchen with Zarachiel. They’d found some old, musty playing cards. Michaela didn’t know what games Gabriel knew, but he had Zarachiel almost smiling and playing enthusiastically. Michaela brushed her hand over Gabriel’s shoulder as she followed Ophaniel into the back room.

  There, laid out on the cots, were their outfits for tonight. Michaela’s stomach dropped. She swore.

  11

  Michaela chewed on her lip. Suddenly, the nerves overwhelmed her. The guys hooted and hollered when Uriel and Ophaniel emerged from the cabin’s bedroom. Raphael and Simiel had returned earlier that afternoon, as promised, and their laughter rattled the rickety walls. Studying her reflection in the dingy full-length mirror, Michaela sighed heavily. This was going to be bad.

  They’d spent the last hour getting ready for the rave tonight at the W Club. Uriel wore an elaborate headdress to cover her wings, and Ophaniel had a superhero cape to cover hers. Michaela rolled her eyes at her reflection. She didn’t have wings, which meant she had nothing to hide.

  And nothing was hidden.

  Michaela forced herself to move away from the mirror, wiping her damp palms on her bare thighs. You’ve fought demons, she told herself. You were the General of Heaven. You can wear skimpy clothes without having a panic attack. Her pep talk didn’t help. With a shaky breath, she flung the door open and walked out.

  Laughter and taunting had filled the room a moment before she opened the door. As she slipped out and walked across the squeaking floorboards, all eyes cut to her. She forced herself to look up from the floorboards when the silence grew awkward. Everyone was frozen, their eyes widening as they stared at her with their mouths hanging open in shock. A burning flush spread up the back of Michaela’s neck. She wanted to shrivel up and melt through the cracks in the floor. Gabriel was the first to recover; his shocked look was replaced with a deep, disapproving frown. Zarachiel looked away, turning red with embarrassment, but Raphael and Simiel openly gaped at her.

  “Holy shit,” Clark said, snorting with laughter. He offered her the bottle of whiskey in his hand. “You’re gonna need this.”

  Gone was the lost, angry man she’d talked to on the cliff. Clark had bolstered himself with whiskey and slipped on his sarcastic mask. He put on a show for them with his humor and good nature, but Michaela knew he was faking it.

  “You can’t wear that.” Gabriel stepped forward, his face tight with anger.

  “Yes, she can,” Uriel snapped. “I worked hard to find that outfit.”

  “That’s not an outfit! It’s two inches of material!” Gabriel shouted. He rarely shouted.

  “It’s not that bad, is it?” Michaela asked. She looked down the length of her body. She mostly saw skin. Lots and lots of naked skin.

  “No, it’s fantastic!” Clark said. “You look like a slutty rainbow.”

  “She’s not going to fight Watchers in that.” Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest, causing his muscles to press against the thin, torn shirt he wore.

  “Come on, Gabriel,” Clark said, his voice mocking. “We’re going to a rave. Not Heaven.”

  Michaela grimaced at the implication that she would ever show up to Heaven in something as awful as this. Her feet and calves were covered by fury, neon pink boots, leaving the rest of her long, pale legs bare. Her ass hung out of the tight booty shorts that, as Gabriel said, barely consisted of two inches of material. Michaela had already discovered she couldn’t bend over in the shorts even with the tiny rainbow-colored tutu flaring around her hips. She pulled at the uncomfortable straps of colorful material that wound up her torso and around her chest, barely managing to cover her nipples. Her breasts strained against the cording where Uriel had strapped them in high and tight. More straps ran down the length of her arm, and feathers hung from a headband in her wig, which was a matching electric pink.

  “Shit,” Michaela muttered. She grabbed the offered bottle from Clark’s hand and took a long swig. The liquid burned down her throat and tickled her belly. It felt good.

  “You’re not dressed like that,” Gabriel said, pointing to Uriel and Ophaniel. They weren’t dressed at all like Michaela. Uriel’s leather outfit covered a majority of her body—a small majority, but still more than Michaela. Ophaniel’s superhero outfit was scandalous, but at least it hid her private parts. They all wore crazy amounts of makeup to distort their features and disguised the bright color of their eyes.

  “We have to hide our wings.” Uriel’s eyes held a certain gleam that worried Michaela. “Besides…she’s the bait.”

  Michaela’s suspicions were confirmed. She groaned.

  “You should take another shot,” Clark said, unable to contain his joy. He’d fixed his pink hair into a perfect, gravity-defying Mohawk. He wore a leather jacket with no shirt underneath, showing off his lean, chiseled abs.

  “You should pull up your pants.” Michaela glowered at Clark’s tight denim jeans. “Your package is about to fall out.”

  Clark hooted with laughter before he took another shot after Michaela. “My package may be about to fall out, but yours is wrapped, post marked, and delivered!”

  Michaela rolled her eyes. Even Zarachiel laughed a little at Clark’s lame joke. She walked through the small crowd of angels, grabbed her jacket, and headed out the door. They needed to leave, and they weren’t accomplishing anything by gawking at her body. The whiskey added a little saunter to her steps as she headed down the steps. She knew Gabriel was right behind her, and he was watching her with narrowed, dark, dangerous eyes.

  “Who’s my flight buddy?” Clark asked when everyone was outside. He looked at Ophaniel, wagging his eyebrows in a drunken manner. “I pick you.”

  “Request denied.” Simiel stepped forward and lifte
d Clark ungracefully and uncomfortably into the air. Clark screamed a little, but he didn’t drop the whiskey, which Michaela regretted.

  She was a little tipsy, but the seriousness of their plan sobered her up quickly as they all made the journey to Cincinnati. The sky was dark, the night already late. Her coat did little to keep her warm as they rocketed through the air. Gabriel held her tight, his nerves and anger evident.

  Their flight was quick and efficient. When they reached the edges of the city, they slowed. Everyone was on edge, scanning the skies for Watchers; they couldn’t afford to be caught now. They stayed close to the tops of the buildings and in the deepest shadows. Only when they were a few blocks away from the warehouse did they land in an alley.

  Michaela looked around at the others. They stood behind a row of dumpsters full of overflowing, rotten garbage. Everyone looked slightly nervous since they didn’t know what they were walking into. Michaela took a deep breath and looked at Clark.

  “Have you sobered up some?” she asked, her eyes searching his face.

  He shrugged. “This is definitely a buzz kill.”

  Michaela didn’t buy his light attitude. Something dark and angry brewed behind his blue eyes, which he averted from her scrutinizing gaze. Recalling their earlier conversation, she suddenly wished they hadn’t brought him along. Clark wanted vengeance, and Michaela was afraid that wouldn’t mix well in a warehouse full of Watchers and innocent humans.

  “No more alcohol. We need to be sharp in there.” She looked at the others. “Stay on the outskirts of the party. Don’t draw any attention to yourselves. Clark and I will be in the thick of things to figure out how to get to them.”

  Gabriel scowled at her words, making him look even more lethal in his black jeans and steel-toed boots. She took his hand and squeezed.

  “We probably shouldn’t all go in together,” Michaela said, peering around the corner. The warehouse revealed itself ahead with muted strobe lights flashing against the windows. The steady beat of the music was barely audible, but it made the street vibrate below her feet.