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

by Meg Collett

  Gabriel stepped forward, reaching for her, but she stepped away, avoiding his hold. He pressed his mouth into a thin, slashing line. “Tell me what you have planned so I can help you.”

  Just then, from far up in the sky, they heard the sound of the trumpet. The fallen would answer soon, meaning the battle was ready to commence. Gabriel knew something was about to happen. The hairs along his arm pricked. His scalp tightened.

  “I will tell you my plan,” Michaela said. For a moment, Gabriel’s chest relaxed. “When I know you can’t stop me.”

  The fallen answered the trumpet call. The fighting would start in moments, wave after wave, inch by inch. And today, angels would possibly turn to feathers.

  “Michaela, please,” Gabriel said. His love for her tore through his chest, making his voice raspy and rough. He was worried he’d been outmaneuvered. Suddenly, he doubted he’d done enough.

  “This is my fight, Gabe. This is the only way to end this war without angels dying. I will finish this.”

  “Let me fight with you.” He reached for her again, but she stepped away. He tried to follow, to snatch her arm, but the air around him thickened in an eerily familiar way.

  The next instance he heard wing beats, but he couldn’t lift his head. Fear congealed in his veins, making each heartbeat hurt. He’d been outmaneuvered, and his greatest nightmare had come true.

  The wounded holy angel, Camille, landed softly on the ground in front of him. Her wings, flashing and fiery, seared the air around them. She was magnificent in her true, healed form. Clark stepped out of her hold, his eyes focused on Gabriel. From the corner of his gaze, Gabriel saw Michaela approach.

  “Gabe,” she said, trailing her fingers down his cheek. He wanted to react, to take her hand and fly away with her, but his body was frozen, the air his cage. “Can he hear me?” Michaela asked Clark.

  “Yeah. Just make it quick.”

  “Gabe, I’m going to Heaven,” Michaela told him, her blue eyes full of strength. “Camille is taking me in as a hostage. It’s the only way I can get up there quickly enough without the sickness having time to settle in.”

  “I would feel a lot better about this plan if Camille wasn’t going to enjoy it so much,” Clark grumbled from behind Michaela. Camille smirked.

  Michaela looked over her shoulder, her gaze meeting Camille’s, who looked away. “You may enjoy it now, but you’ll see soon. You’ll understand, and I trust you to do what’s right, because you are a holy angel.”

  Gabriel raged against the air. His insides screamed and clawed at the surface, but he wasn’t moving. Michaela looked back at him, her hands settling on either side of his face.

  “I’m going to escape before I get too sick, and I’m going to open Heaven’s gates. Do you hear me, Gabriel?”

  He heard her. He heard her crazy plan. If she’d told him this before, he would have gone along with it, because it was a great idea. He would have helped her if not for Iris’s vision. If not for the fact Michaela could die doing this, Gabriel would have supported her fight.

  “You can fight today, but withdraw quickly to end the battle soon. Come back down here and wait. Give me until nightfall, then surge for the gates. Break all the battle rules and come straight to Heaven with all the fallen you can. I’ll have the gates open. We’ll fight there, in Heaven, until blood coats the floor.”

  But it was red blood, Gabriel thought. Iris’s vision wasn’t right. Angels didn’t bleed red. Doubt and fear crept like spiders through his mind. If the holy angels weren’t expecting a fight, and if he didn’t obey proper battle rules, he and the fallen could make it to Purgatory. But it wasn’t honorable. It wasn’t how angels fought.

  The only time the rules of angel warfare had been so blatantly disregarded was when Lucifer and his band of fallen had approached the gates that fateful day. To trespass on Heaven or even Hell was ruthless at best and anarchistic at worst. It was fighting on the Aethere’s level, and he thought Michaela and the Archangels wanted a moral victory when they took back Heaven. How would the holy angels believe their innocence if the Archangels attacked their home in such a disrespectful, disgusting manner?

  Michaela read his mind again. “I know it’s wrong, Gabe,” she whispered close to his face. “I know it’s awful, and we are stooping low to ambush Heaven, but this wasn’t the war we needed to fight. We shouldn’t have gone head-to-head with a madman.” Michaela straightened away from him, her hands dropping from his face. “But today changes everything. No matter what, we take back Heaven tonight.”

  “We need to hurry,” Clark said. “He’s fighting hard against it, and I don’t know how much longer I can hold him.”

  Clark was right. Gabriel fought with all his strength against the air encasing him. He would break free and go with Michaela. He could go as a hostage, too, and he could help her escape, protect her. She was going to get sick up there while she waited until he could get his army up there to her. It was unacceptable.

  Gabriel roared, the sound completely silent.

  “Michaela,” Clark said, sounding strained.

  Michaela pressed a kiss against Gabriel’s still lips. “This is a terrible goodbye,” she said, her voice hushed so only he heard. “In case things get crazy up there and….” She couldn’t say the words. “I wanted to tell you now how much you’ve meant to me. Your love saved me, rebuilt me. I treasure every moment we had together in Heaven, I really do, but I would never trade anything for the time we’ve had together down here on Earth. The way we loved each other and touched each other are my greatest memories. They made my mistakes worth it. Because of you, I wouldn’t take back a single thing. I’d still open those gates again if I knew it brought me to you and this new kind of love we shared. You filled my body and soul with a love worth risking Heaven for. And it’s a love I’ll carry with me until the end.”

  Michaela kissed him again and stepped away. If he wasn’t held up by Clark’s unyielding air, Gabriel would have crumpled to the ground. He would have crawled to her, his greatest love, and begged her to stay. He would have held her legs like a child and cried, pleaded with her to love him longer.

  Michaela turned to Clark and took his hand. Instead of looking at her, he scowled at Gabriel, focusing his energy on keeping the Archangel trapped. Moisture already filled his eyes, which he blinked at furiously.

  “If you even try to hug me,” Clark said, choking up. “I swear I’ll let him go just out of spite.”

  Michaela smiled, but it was a movement made by a heart breaking. “I won’t, but I want to. Thank you for saving my life.”

  Clark ground his teeth together. “I should’ve done more.”

  Clark’s words echoed every sentiment crushing Gabriel right then. They should’ve done more to save her, and somehow along the way, they’d done the wrong thing. Something awful must have happened to wrench the future in such a way that Michaela would die.

  “You’ve done so much, Clark. You’ve saved us all with your magic.”

  Clark grimaced. “Some magic it turned out to be.”

  Michaela raised his hand and kissed the back of it, the gesture both humbling and terrible at the same time. The tears Clark had fought so hard spilled in torrents down his cheeks. His eyes locked with Gabriel, to share their mutual agony.

  “It’s a good magic,” Michaela said, lowering his hand. “You’ll save so many people with it, but save yourself, too, Clark. You’ve lost too many people in your life, but you’re strong, stronger than I ever was. Your friendship has been my saving grace. Do me a favor and find your best friend, find your happiness, find your love.”

  “You’re my best friend,” Clark said, his voice stripped down to its rawest, most serious form.

  “Always.” Michaela squeezed his hand before she let it go. “Clark, can you do one last favor for me?” When Clark nodded, clearly fighting his emotions, she went on. “Watch Zarachiel for me. Help him get through this.”

  Clark swiped at his eyes. “Whatever.”
<
br />   Michaela cast one last glance at Gabriel, the pain rippling across her face. “Hold him until we’re to Heaven.”

  “So much for making this a fast goodbye,” Camille said, her voice flat.

  “Shut up, you twat,” Clark snapped.

  Her feline eyes narrowed, like a cat stalking a mouse. “What did you just call me?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Michaela said, standing next to Camille. “You’re right. We need to go.”

  “About time.” Camille grasped Michaela roughly and swept her repaired wings out. With a great gust, she flung into the air with massive wing beats like a train crashing down on top of them.

  Gabriel couldn’t watch her go. It might’ve been a blessing or a curse. He was grateful and horrified as he pictured her disappearing into the sky. Heaven would reject her body, and he didn’t dare picture what Abel would do to her once she was his prisoner.

  Clark collapsed in front of him. His sobs were horrible and twisted, guttural and unnatural. He cried like he was destroyed, like he’d never breathe again. But his focus never weakened; Gabriel never moved.

  Although he wasn’t trying anymore.

  31

  Camille was fast, even faster than Uriel. She was a Throne angel, which meant her narrow, long wings could send them flashing through the air. And truly, they were just a flash.

  It hadn’t been hard to convince Camille to play her part in Michaela’s plan. Camille jumped on the opportunity to prove her worth in front of Abel and the Aethere, and Michaela had counted on the angel’s hatred of her to ensure Camille’s participation. She hadn’t let Michaela down.

  But she was worried for Camille’s safety when they reached Heaven. Her thoughts went to Jehoel and how his Seraphim had been received when they returned to Heaven. They’d aligned with Michaela and had gone back to Heaven to assassinate Abel, but the Aethere angel had discovered their intentions and killed them. She hoped Abel would be so excited by Michaela’s capture that he wouldn’t hurt Camille.

  “Camille,” she said. Her words disappeared in the wind.

  Camille didn’t look at Michaela. Her focus remained upward as they raced toward the battle. “What?”

  Even with the speed and wind, Michaela still caught the sharpness of the word. Camille’s voice was like a cat’s claws, lashing out and slashing her face. “Just be careful when you get to Heaven. Abel would rather hurt you than let you spread word of me through the ranks.”

  Camille laughed. “I think you’re the one who should be careful.”

  Michaela let it go. She’d done the best she could. Her focus shifted to their journey. She was shocked at how far they’d already flown.

  The lowest waves of fallen were on their left as Camille and Michaela rocketed past. The fallen looked over in surprise, their eyes wide with shock.

  If word spread up to the Archangels before Camille got high enough, Michaela worried they would try to stop her and Camille. But she needn’t have worried. Camille knew the risks and increased her speed. The pressure crushed their bodies, but so far, Michaela felt okay. The sickness hadn’t set in yet.

  They’d reached the front lines, and Michaela saw Raphael and Simiel fighting while Uriel waited with the next wave with her long sword drawn. Line after line, they met the holy angels with clanging and battering of steel to steel. Angels shouted and yelled, lost in the adrenaline of the battle. Those fighting didn’t see Michaela being carried up.

  But Uriel saw. Her mask fell away, and for once in her life, she looked terrified. Her scream had nothing to do with the fight in front of her. Her wings carried her a few feet in the air, but she couldn’t leave her ranks. She shouted at the fallen around her, pointing to the sky.

  A thousand faces looked up at Michaela. The fighting stilled, and she watched aghast as swords lowered. No one turned their backs, but holy and fallen angels alike watched her fly higher. The Archangels yelled back and forth at each other as they tried to understand what was happening. She knew their argument would be about going after her or staying to fight.

  Uriel broke rank, her wings lifting her after Michaela, but Raphael grasped her leg and wrenched her back down. Already, the holy angels rallied. Uriel was needed in the fight, and Raphael yelled the point home.

  The Archangels and the brave fallen angels fell behind quickly. Camille swept her and Michaela up into the holy angel ranks. She dove left, slicing through the middle of the waves. Angels flung themselves out of the way as Camille tunneled upward, carving a path through flying bodies.

  As she flew, Camille hooted and shouted, and the holy angels answered her calls. They cheered and heckled, their fingers skimming Michaela as she flew past. Michaela cringed at the hate apparent in the celebration of her capture. Camille carried her straight through it, so Michaela experienced every inch of her disgrace in the eyes of those considered holy.

  It was such a painful experience Michaela had to close her eyes. It may have been cowardly, but she couldn’t take one more glare or heckle. She couldn’t stand to feel those clinging fingers scratching down her skin. Camille moved so fast the angels couldn’t get a solid hold on Michaela, but they still caused damage.

  Her legs and arms trickled with blood in the places where her clothes were torn. Her jacket was tattered, slipping off her shoulders and falling behind. Her jeans were torn down the sides. Someone sliced her with the edge of a knife, stretching the cut from the corner of her eye down the side of her neck. She smelled the ivory of bone and knew the holy angels had brought more deadly weapons.

  The holy angels released a deafening symphony of sound. They clanged on their armor and yelled. The ruckus rang in Michaela’s ears and vibrated through her bones. For a brief moment, she regretted her request for Gabriel to have the fallen leave their bone weapons behind.

  But that was wrong. These angels were lost in their hate, fevered by Abel’s lies. Michaela needed to find her sympathy and forgiveness if she would return to Heaven.

  The sounds of trumpets blasting mixed with the shouting and clanging. Michaela heard the faint echo of the instrument from the fallen’s side. They ended the battle, both sides choosing to withdraw for the day. The holy angels wanted to witness Michaela’s return, and the Archangels needed to understand how Michaela could have been taken.

  The sounds fell behind them, and Michaela opened her eyes. They were beyond the last wave of holy angels. Their ascent brought them within the reach of Heaven, and Michaela still felt strong. A twinge started in her stomach, but she chalked it up to fear.

  This was her first time returning to Heaven since that fateful day. She couldn’t help the excitement flooding her body. Hand in hand with that joy was absolute fear. This wasn’t her home anymore, it was the Aethere’s territory. She wondered how much Heaven had changed under a new reign.

  She got her answer soon enough. Camille surged above the edge of Purgatory, sweeping them across the dusty plain. The gates of Heaven were already open, the news of their arrival having spread.

  Michaela didn’t look at the figures standing within the gates, their forms growing as Camille carried them closer. Instead, she looked past the gates and into the sky. The clouds of Heaven were dark and roiling, tinged with a putrid green color of sickness. The tall, regal spires had lost their glimmer. They cowered like skinny scared men. The air smelled of metal and blood.

  Michaela’s stomach twisted, and she fought the urge to vomit. A shiver coursed down her body at the devastation of Heaven. This was wrong; this wasn’t okay. Heaven was hurting, that much was clear. A chill crept across her flushed skin, and Michaela thought she might be physically ill from the horrid sight before her before she realized it was the sickness from the transition.

  They reached the gates, and Michaela pulled her gaze from the sky above them. A line of Seraphim stood in front of her, their faces hidden behind helmets. Long swords with edges laced in ivory bone—her bone—were raised against her. Camille set her down in front of the receiving angels.

&
nbsp; “Is this a ruse?” demanded a seraph in front of them. Michaela couldn’t see their mouths, so she didn’t know who spoke.

  Camille smirked at Michaela. “Quite possibly. I fell out of the battle, and I discovered her alone with a human. I took the opportunity and grabbed her.”

  For all her hatred of Michaela, Camille had lied. She’d left out the presence of Gabriel, because she knew the Seraphim would question why Gabriel had let Michaela be taken so easily. No Throne angel could win against an Archangel, especially Gabriel. Michaela had only told Clark her plans of escaping, but Camille had to assume that was her intention. Yet, for some reason, she didn’t reveal any more than she had to about Michaela’s capture.

  “Why was she alone? Was it a trap?” another seraph asked.

  “I assume it was since she was left alone with only a human guard, but clearly they didn’t catch me.”

  “The human with the marks?” a seraph asked. Michaela heard the trepidation in his voice. “That seems guard enough.”

  “He didn’t use his magic to stop you?”

  “I didn’t stick around long enough to let him,” Camille said with a haughty look.

  “Well, well. After all this time, it took only one female Throne angel to capture the mighty Michaela.” Abel’s voice came from behind the line of Seraphim. He parted through them to stand slightly in front. “I wished we could have known this from the beginning and saved ourselves all this trouble.”

  Michaela took a moment to stare at Abel. It was the first time she’d seen him since the day she was forced to leave Heaven. He didn’t meet her eyes, she noticed, nor did he come too close. He stayed within reach of his Seraphim. His hands shook slightly, but his voice contained the kind of painted on confidence that wasn’t even close to being authentic.

  Camille stepped forward and took a knee in front of Abel. “It’s my honor to bring you the traitor.”

  Abel reached down and caressed Camille’s hair. The gesture looked vulgar, and Michaela scrunched her nose. “Good job, dear one. You’ve done me proud.” Michaela heard the malice in Abel’s voice, and Camille did, too. She jerked her head up, worry and mistrust on her face.