Archangel of Mercy

by Christina Ashcroft

  With a sinking sense of failure, Aurora faced the truth. She wasn’t helping Gabe at all. How were they supposed to discover anything from looking at all these images? It was a total waste of time.

  She picked up the next sheaf, since there was hardly anything else she could do, and gave the top picture a tired glance.

  And froze.

  Shivers raced across her arms and the nape of her neck. She clutched the picture, peered closer, and her heart hammered high in her breast, restricting her breathing.

  “Oh my god.” The words tumbled into the silence and Gabe glanced up, a frown of concentration still etched across his brow. “I’ve found something.” She crawled along the sofa, uncaring of the pictures that fluttered to the floor. “Look. Look at what she’s wearing.”

  Gabe looked, and didn’t comment. She edged closer until she was practically plastered across his chest, and jabbed her finger at the relevant spot. “Her necklace, Gabe. Can’t you see it? It’s the image of mine.”

  “Yes.” His voice was emotionless, as if her discovery meant nothing. She glanced up at him, then looked back at the picture. There, around the little girl’s neck, was a replica of Aurora’s own necklace. It was opened and the vibrant shimmer of rainbows and gold dust was clearly visible. How could Gabe just sit there as if her discovery meant nothing?

  “Well, but don’t you find that really amazing? I mean, it has to mean something, doesn’t it?”

  He shifted under her weight and slid one arm around her.

  “Children always dream of angels and rainbows.” He sounded as if he was reciting ancient knowledge. “It’s of no significance.”

  No significance? She twisted in his arm and flattened her free hand against his chest. Against his heart.

  “Of course it’s of significance. My one might be a fake but what are the chances this one is, too?” Her hand cradled his jaw and she forced him to look at her once again. “Don’t you see?” Why couldn’t he see? “It means Evalyne is descended from an angel.”

  She felt him go rigid beneath her, coiled tension and granite-hard muscles clearly denying her words.

  “That’s impossible.” His tone was final. “It’s a coincidence. Nothing else.”

  Coincidence? In the space of three days she’d come across three necklaces identical to her own. God, she still needed to tell Gabe about that other one she’d discovered just before Mephisto had turned up.

  No way was this simply a coincidence.

  “Okay, I’m not saying this was made for Evalyne’s mother or grandmother or whatever. Obviously we’re talking generations ago here.” Her fingertips trailed over the rough stubble grazing his jaw. “But the original beloved would have passed it down to her daughter, who would have passed it down in her turn, a continuing chain of endless devotion.”

  His hand tightened at her waist and the look on his face caused the words to dry in her throat.

  “What?” His voice was oddly hushed, at odds with the savage glare on his face. “How do you know about that?”

  Unease trickled along her spine.

  “You told me.” Just the other night, when he had first looked at her necklace. And yet for an unfathomable reason it seemed she had known that fact for so much longer.

  “No, I didn’t.” The words were uncompromising and she stared at him, baffled. Of course he had. Otherwise how would she have known? And there was no doubt in her mind. She was right about this. “I told you your necklace was based on an ancient archangelic design but I didn’t say who we gave them to or the tradition of passing from mother to daughter.”

  “Well, so it was a good guess.” Except she couldn’t shake the feeling it was so much more than a mere guess on her part. “I mean, it’s pretty obvious that’s what would happen, isn’t it? And I’m just saying I’m positive that’s what happened in Evalyne’s case. She has angel blood, Gabe. I know it.”

  “No.” There was a dread finality in his tone, but his gaze was riveted on the picture of the child. “There are no Nephilim left, Aurora.”

  She didn’t want to disagree with him, not when it was agonizingly obvious that when he looked at the picture of Evalyne he was thinking of his own long-dead daughter. But she couldn’t let it go. He had to look at this objectively.

  “How can you be so sure?” Her voice was soft and once again she pressed her free hand against his chest, against his wounded heart. “You can’t know for certain.”

  Finally he looked at her, and the sorrow of ages glowed in his eyes.

  “I’m certain.” There was no doubt in his voice, only ancient resignation. “Gods and mortals had children together ever since the Alphas discovered they were sexually compatible. At our most basic level all of us—gods, archangels, mortals—are made of the same stardust.”

  “Yes.” She wasn’t sure what he was getting at, but the important thing was he was talking to her about his past. Would he tell her about his own daughter? She hoped he would. Desperately. Because it would mean Gabe thought her important enough to entrust with his most precious memories.

  “Our goddess, for reasons known only to herself, wasn’t interested in procreating with her fellow Alphas. She wanted more than that. She wanted to create her own unique species.”

  “The angels,” she whispered, awed, despite knowing how deeply Gabe disliked his goddess. “She made you in her image.” Was that how the myths went? Although admittedly, the myths had got a lot wrong.

  “No,” Gabe said. “Surprisingly, considering the size of her ego. She stole DNA from all the Alphas for her baseline, found this planet and experimented for millennia until she was satisfied with the outcome.”

  From all the Alphas? Without their consent? She imagined the other mighty gods and goddesses would have been furious.

  “And created the angels?” Her voice was still hushed, still awed.

  This time Gabe offered her a crooked smile, and it pierced right through her heart.

  “Again, no. She created, for want of a better word, our cousins. You met one. Eblis.”

  “Oh.” She could feel her eyes widening in shock but couldn’t seem to help herself. “I thought he was a demon, not an angel.” That would teach her to jump to conclusions.

  “He is.” Gabe didn’t appear to notice her confusion. “There was just one problem with the demons that became apparent some time after they hit maturity. They bred like rabbits with the humans of Earth.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  I SUPPOSE that would be a problem,” Aurora said, but her mind was reeling. Was half the Earth swarming with the descendants of demons? On second thoughts, that would explain a lot.

  Gabe grunted, whether in agreement or not she couldn’t tell.

  “The problem, so far as our goddess was concerned, was her demons were spending far too much time indulging in earthly pleasures and not nearly enough in worshipping at her feet. And she loathed their offspring with a passion.”

  “Well, it always makes sense to blame the innocent.”

  His fingers caressed her waist, seemingly unaware of his action, and he shot a sardonic smile her way. “Demon spawn are many things, sweetheart, but they’re never innocent.” Then he gave a heavy sigh. “She banished her demons and as many of their children as she could find. Turned them loose in the universe and began Version II.” His eyes narrowed. “The archangels. And this time she ensured there would be no messy distractions in the form of . . . offspring.”

  Chills inched along her skin at his words and at the shocking implication behind them. “She created you sterile?” But it didn’t make sense. He had already admitted some archangels had children. He had a child.

  “She thought she did.” He leaned his head against the back of the sofa and gazed at the ceiling. “As we matured we, too, indulged in earthly pleasures. There was a magnificent civilization back then, Aurora. A thriving culture based on science and mathematics that had evolved over ten thousand years or more. We were the immortal ones and yet we learned so muc
h from them.”

  “And this”—Aurora hesitated, not wanting to interrupt his reminiscences but unsure if she had missed something vital—“was on Earth?”

  “In time,” Gabe said, as if he had not heard her question, “it became apparent that, with the one who claimed our heart, we could have children. But despite the joy they brought us we were always consumed with guilt.”

  “Because you were going against the word of your goddess?”

  He looked at her, frowning.

  “No.” His expression suggested that was the last reason he would feel guilt and couldn’t imagine why she thought he should. “It was because our beloved Nephilim possessed no souls. Unlike the offspring of gods and mortals who suffered from no such curse, our children—children we loved with all our hearts—could never be reborn. We were condemned to know that because of us, our precious children were destined for one life. And one life only.”

  His daughter.

  A hard knot of anguish filled the center of her chest. She couldn’t even begin to imagine the depth of Gabe’s despair. And he had existed for who knew how long, consumed with misplaced guilt.

  “I’m so sorry.” The words were barely audible and hardly adequate. But she meant them. With everything she was.

  “It happened long ago.” He drew in a deep breath, his magnificent chest expanding beneath her. “But that’s the reason why Evalyne can’t be descended from an archangel. We only ever procreated on Earth, and that was millennia ago. When we finally left the place of our creation and ventured into the rest of the universe we all made a vow. We would never fall again.”

  His words stabbed through her, but she refused to allow the devastation a foothold. She knew he didn’t love her. Knew now why he could never love her. Except . . .

  Something was missing. Something he still wasn’t telling her, apart from the fact he had once had a daughter. A piece of his history between the time archangels had children and when they had made the decision to never love again.

  But she could hardly question him on it. Not when he’d shared so much of his past with her. Not when she didn’t even know why she was so convinced he’d withheld something of vital significance.

  Slowly she sat up so she could face him properly. She knew he considered the matter of Evalyne’s heritage closed and maybe it was. Or maybe he was just blinded by his preconceived notions.

  “Gabe.” She kept her voice soft, despite the overwhelming certainty that she was right and needed to make him see that. “I understand what you’re telling me. But”—she hesitated, took a deep breath and plunged ahead—“there’s something I want to show you. I found it earlier today, just before Mephisto turned up.” Had that really been earlier today? It seemed like a lifetime ago. She smothered her impatience as Gabe reconfigured the laptop to accept her DNA, and she trawled through her mind, trying to recall the specific pathways she’d followed.

  Gabe didn’t question her, but neither did he seem especially interested in what she was searching for. Minutes crawled by as she scrolled through endless obscure snippets of information. Finally, just as panic began to nibble around the edges of her mind, she hit gold.

  “There.” She turned to Gabe, who still appeared lost in another world. “Look. She was abducted by the Guardians but murdered before they returned her. And she’s wearing a necklace identical to Evalyne’s.”

  He glanced at the screen, as if he imagined she was hallucinating. Within a second his focus sharpened and he took the laptop from her as he scrutinized the image with a fierce intensity.

  “Shit.” The word hissed between his gritted teeth, but still his gaze remained transfixed on the image before him. “Angel blood.” He said the words as if disjointed pieces of the puzzle had suddenly fallen into place. “It can’t be.”

  “What can’t be?” She gripped his biceps, willed him to look at her. “What is it, Gabe?”

  He dragged his gaze from the laptop, a wild look in his eyes. “Something one of the pirates said when I interrogated him.” He sounded distracted, his attention only partially on her. “I discounted it. Shit.”

  Nausea churned in the pit of her stomach. She’d been so focused on connecting the necklace with an angelic heritage that she’d missed a huge, obvious link.

  “You don’t think Evalyne’s been taken by the Guardians, do you?” But even as she asked the question a dreadful certainty gripped her heart. “It doesn’t mean they’ll kill her though, does it? They don’t usually drain their victims. . . .” The words dried in her throat as the full impact punched through her heart. “They only take the blood of the descendants of angels.”

  Gabe jerked his head as if in denial. “There has to be another explanation. Another connection.” He shoved the laptop at her and stood up. “I’m going to question Jaylar about his immortal heritage.”

  She pushed the laptop onto the sofa and followed him. “Let me come, Gabe.”

  “No. It’s too dangerous.”

  “What are the odds the Guardians’ll know where I am? We won’t be that long, will we?”

  “You’re not coming with me.”

  She gripped his hand. Now was hardly the right time to broach her suggestion but she had a feeling there never would be a right time. And she needed to know, one way or the other.

  “Isn’t there some way you can adapt the force field that protects your island so it can protect me? Like a mobile unit or something?”

  “What?” He sounded as if she had just said something completely incomprehensible.

  “The force field repels the Guardians. Surely it must be possible to rig something I can use so I can be protected outside your island?”

  “No.”

  Was that it? No discussion? “But—”

  “Aurora.” It was obvious he was battling the instinct to simply ignore her questions and continue his mission without her. “It’s not something I can manipulate to my will. It exists, but I didn’t consciously create it. I could no sooner remove its presence as I could re-create its power.”

  He hadn’t consciously created it? “Then how—”

  “I don’t have time now.” Impatience threaded his voice. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  No. He had to see that she wasn’t a liability and she didn’t deserve to be pushed aside. “I might be able to help.”

  For a moment she saw another denial glowing in his eyes. But the truth hovered between them. Against all the odds, against both of their expectations she had already helped him. How could he deny the possibility, no matter how slender, that she could help again?

  Air hissed between his gritted teeth, as if she drove him to the edge of endurance.

  “Stay close.” Then he wound his arms around her and teleported.

  —

  MEPHISTO FOUND ZAD at a primitive Taoist retreat hidden deep in the sacred mountains of China. He leaned against a timber support of the hut Zad had acquired and scowled at the mountainous panorama before him.

  It had been millennia since he’d been so genuinely shaken. And it had taken a mortal to bring him to such an undignified pass.

  Not just any mortal. But then, Eleni had never been just a mortal.

  No wonder he’d been intrigued by Aurora when he’d found her in London. Somehow, something in him had recognized her true character. It explained the odd glow in her aura after Gabe had given her his protection at Eblis’s club. Because her aura hadn’t shown the usual glow of a mortal claimed by an archangel. Mephisto hadn’t recognized the signature at all, but then again he hadn’t been looking for a sign of unbreakable archangelic devotion.

  But when she had stood up to him earlier, when she’d had the audacity to thrust into his mind, the image of Eleni had burst through his brain. It was so visceral that for one terrifying second he had feared for his sanity.

  It wasn’t possible. He’d battled with that absolute for hours. But it didn’t change the fact.

  Eleni had been reborn.

  Zad emerged from
the hut and propped himself against the other timber support. He was covered in dust and stank of whatever disaster he’d recently returned from. The silence stretched between them, as silences had often stretched between them. But this time he found no solace, no comfort, as this silence hung like a thick blanket of fog, suffocating his thought processes.

  Finally he could stand it no longer.

  “Demon spawn are soulless. That was ancient knowledge when we discovered Earth, right?”

  Still glaring at the imposing mountain ranges, from the corner of his eye he saw Zad’s profile tense.

  “Right.” The word was guarded. It was like Zad knew what Mephisto was about to say. Except that wasn’t possible. Even Gabe, the poor bastard, hadn’t guessed the truth.

  “By default so were the Nephilim.”

  This time Zad didn’t answer. Just folded his arms and unfurled his wings by the smallest degree.

  “Nephilim,” Mephisto said, turning to the other archangel whose expression might have been carved from marble, “could never be reborn. That’s a fundamental, irrefutable fact.”

  “What’s with the potted history?” There was an edge to Zad’s voice. “Think I need a refresher?”

  Molten rage pumped through Mephisto’s veins. Rage and frustration that something he had believed in, had failed to question, had taken as absolute truth—was a lie.

  “Eleni”—the name he had once been so familiar with tangled on his tongue—“is back, Zad.”

  Zad shot him a smoldering glare. “Told Gabe that, did you?” For once his voice wasn’t even. It pulsed with a bitter fury.

  “Gabe doesn’t have a fucking clue.” And neither, apparently, did Eleni. Mephisto clenched his fist and pounded the timber support. It splintered, and the hut sagged like a drunken goblin. “If he’s lucky, he never will.” He glared at Zad. “Her death almost destroyed Gabe once. He can’t find out who she really is, Zad. I don’t think we could bring him back from the abyss a second time.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  AURORA pried open her eyes and relaxed her death grip on Gabe. Teleportation might be a great way to travel but her stomach didn’t appear to agree. She took a deep breath and stepped back, only to have Gabe slide his fingers through hers and jerk her swiftly back to his side.