She affected a modicum of calmness and shoved aside this startling discovery for consideration at a later time. More pressing matters awaited her. “Remiel, what were the Most High’s orders concerning these humans?” she asked, giving each word its own, heavy weight. The insubordination in her tone shocked her.
Remiel didn’t move or react in anyway. In fact, he seemed unnaturally still. “You know what they were. Those who eat of the Tree of Eternal Life must die, Warrior. Though,” he paused and smiled unkindly, “those are not Warrior eyes I see now, Guardian.”
Anahita clenched her teeth. “Beside the point, and you will not distract me from this. What were the Most High’s orders concerning these humans?”
She saw the slightest flicker along Remiel’s brow. “I do not understand, angel. Do you suggest that the Most High should repeat himself on a trial-by-trial basis? His orders were clear.”
“Millennia ago, yes,” Anahita said. “They were very clear. But then His anger cooled. He has changed many of His edicts since then. It would not be remiss to verify His orders every five thousand years or so.” She was employing sarcasm now? Apparently, yes. She took a step toward him, the fire from the sword burning her hand with its overbearing heat. “So, I repeat: what is His will in this particular situation?”
The tips of Remiel’s wings shifted. “The Most High has not expressly addressed the Tree of Eternal Life since delivering those orders. The Warriors have not been told directly that the orders have changed.”
“That is enough,” Anahita said. “How very political of you, Remiel.” His word choices—expressly, directly—allowed him to skirt the edge of honesty. While no angel could lie, Remiel seemed to find a way to play with this line and blur it for his purposes. Her gut sank. If he were innocent of this grievous error, he would simply say so, as would any angel. The humans were right. Just how blind had she been? Had they all been?
Her Warrior side was protesting in broken mewls from the corner of her mind as her Guardian side grew stronger and stronger. She could allow her Warrior Compulsion to feed off her energy. To become stronger. And perhaps it could have the slightest chance of beating back her Guardian side. But to what effect? The death of humans that the Most High may very much want to live?
Anahita exhaled a shuddering breath and allowed herself a moment’s sorrow as she prepared to forever strike her chances of becoming Warrior from her realm of possibilities. She closed her eyes and her Guardian Compulsion swept all remnants of her Warrior side away in a violence that made Anahita sway on her feet.
But in the aftermath of that violence, the push and pull she’d been feeling within her since her dueling Compulsions had set vanished. Utter peace lay in its wake.
She drew in the first easy breath she’d ever taken. What in God’s name had she been fighting?
“So, you have chosen to forsake your calling?” Remiel asked, his tone of voice shifting.
Her eyes darted open to find him observing her with distaste. The change in her must be apparent to others. Oddly enough, that did not bother her. “Perhaps I’ve chosen to embrace something else,” Anahita said, lifting her chin.
“I told you once, failing in this mission would mean your death.”
Anahita narrowed her eyes. “You wish to take my life? Come and claim it.”
For some reason, Remiel seemed disconcerted by this. He shifted his weight back and forth before straightening and staring at her with an odd gleam in his eye. “I tire of so many failures in this simple task. Give me the sword. I will finish what should have been done years ago.”
Not while she was still breathing. She gripped the sword with both hands and brought it up in front of her, quickly assessing the location of all Remiel’s physical vulnerabilities. No one would ever harm her Ward. No one. “I repeat: come and claim it.”
Remiel’s eyes flicked to a point over Anahita’s shoulder, then back to her face, and then back over her shoulder. She knew he was not looking at anything; there was nothing behind her. Something was happening here that Anahita could not quite place her finger on. Remiel seemed ... hesitant to engage her in battle. It made no sense. He was the fiercest of all Warriors. Surely, a simple Guardian posed no real threat to him.
And, yet, Anahita had never felt more powerful than she did now, wielding her sword in the protection of her Ward. Maybe Remiel was right to be hesitant. Perhaps he would not fight her at all.
The attack came so quickly, she was caught off guard. With only the snap of his wings as a warning, Remiel was upon her, arm banded across her chest as he launched them both across the room.
Her wings crunched against the wall with the mass and power of two hurtling bodies, and Anahita cried out as she felt bones snap. Her grip upon the sword loosened slightly, and she gritted her teeth as she begged her hands to tighten and not lose their hold.
Remiel pulled back his fist and drove it into her stomach. Anahita gagged as all of the air in her lungs tried to leave her body at once. And then her lungs froze; for several panicked heartbeats, she could not draw another breath. It was a long enough paralysis to keep her from defending herself, and Remiel was able to lay another of his powerful punches into her.
Stars winked behind her vision. She needed air. She needed to fight! Centuries of training—of being taught to be subordinate to the angel now attacking her—were as paralyzing as her inability to draw breath.
But then Remiel made a grave error: he laid his hands upon the sword’s hilt and tried to pry it from her loosened grip.
In her golden vision, Remiel’s glow launched to a higher, more florescent degree. His intent was clear: he was going to take the sword from her, and he would not stop until Max was dead. He posed the highest threat possible to him.
Strength filled every vein, every muscle of Anahita’s body. You will not harm him! her oxygen-starved brain screamed. With a jerk, she threw her elbow up and caught Remiel in the chin hard enough that the clack of his teeth striking each other echoed through the room. His head flew back, and some of the pressure across her chest eased beneath the bar of his arm. Finally, she was able to suck in life-giving air. The dots behind her eyes cleared. Her strength doubled again.
His body still crowded hers, so she pulled her knee up and plowed it into the place between his legs, shocked, as he bellowed and pulled away, that he had allowed her to get that move in on him. His desperation must have been intense indeed to have his guard down in such a way.
His own training kicked in enough to keep him from doubling over and giving her the opportunity to apply her knee to his nose, so she brought the sword hilt to his face instead, smashing his nose with a crack.
His head snapped back, and he stumbled a few feet away, and when he looked back at her with stinging tears swimming in his eyes and blood trickling down his face, she could swear that another wary expression was fixed upon his face. But as he blinked away the tears and swiped at the blood running along his upper lip, the expression vanished, and she had to wonder if it had ever been there at all.
He bared his teeth at her, and the rage pouring off of him was so strong that she could feel its heat roll over her. The implacable angel was gone; a wrathful creature was in its place. In that moment, still feeling the calm of a Guardian in protection mode, Anahita knew she would win.
Just as she suspected, Remiel grew sloppy. He charged at her with no finesse, a war cry bursting from him, and she easily dodged the attack and brought the hilt of the sword crashing down between his wings, sending him to the floor with a heavy thud.
Shifting the sword to her left hand, Anahita reached down with her right, hauled Remiel up by a fistful of robe, and tossed him toward the wall a few feet away. He landed against it chest first, hands sprawled out on the white paint in a too-late attempt to catch himself. By the time he’d turned around to face her, she was already upon him.
Her hand was a vise around his neck, and she increased the pressure, feeling the blood flow beneath her fingers slow. She raise
d the sword and placed the tip at his sternum. His eyes glazed, and Anahita loosened the vise only enough for him to retain consciousness for a few more moments. “You will never harm him,” she gritted out from between clenched teeth. She prepared to slide the sword between Remiel’s ribs.
“No,” he gasped. “Anahita, no.”
Something in his tone caused her to pause. His face grew fires-of-hell red with his lack of oxygen, but his eyes—the same blue as hers—had finally grown calm and rational. The angel was back.
She should still kill him.
A large part of her rebelled at the thought. This angel had been a brother and mentor to her for centuries. Had given her a chance when few would have.
“Anahita,” Remiel rasped. His shaking hand rose beside them, and Anahita tensed for another attack, but Remiel simply wrapped his fingers gently around her wrist where she clutched his neck. “Sister. Mercy, please.” Anahita’s resolve wavered further. “I am doing my best,” he continued. “Many gifts; many Temptations.” He closed his eyes. “So hard. I am doing my best,” he repeated, defeat and exhaustion dripping from each syllable.
Understanding dawned, and with it, empathy. Many Temptations? Her one Temptation was bad enough. As repugnant as his actions were, they were incredibly intelligent. Remiel was able to keep his own hands clean by having other angels act on his behalf. However, none would do so anymore.
“You will confess your misguided actions to the Warriors,” Anahita said, the grip on his throat already loosening. “Avoid your Fall and eliminate the possibility of further abuse of power at the same time.”
Remiel’s eyes widened, but she saw the moment he realized his ruse was over anyway. Someone was always watching; his actions were no doubt already known. He nodded.
After a tense silence with her sword poised, she asked, “You will never harm him?” There was no doubt as to whom she referenced, and she almost couldn’t believe the question was coming out of her mouth. It seemed she truly intended to let him go if he answered favorably.
She could feel him swallow beneath her now slack grip on his neck. “I give my vow,” he rasped past the vocal cords she had no doubt damaged.
As she hesitated still, the bright golden glow of Remiel’s threat faded. Her eyes widened as it reduced to nothing. She had no real reason to slay him now; he was no longer a problem. She released him and stepped back.
He collapsed to his hands and knees, sucking in great, wracking breaths. His wings heaved with the effort.
“Leave now,” she said to his back, “and never again return.”
He raised his head and looked up at her through eyes that appeared tortured by her words. Anahita frowned, but before she could contemplate his unlikely reaction further, Remiel vanished.
Anahita’s shoulders relaxed, and the various aches and pains of battle rushed in as adrenaline seeped away. Her wings pained her the most, and she stretched them with a groan, suddenly more tired than she had ever been in her existence.
“Um ... wow.”
The words came from behind her, and she whipped around, sword raised, only to find her Ward and Oliver standing in the doorway to the apartment.
“You kicked ass,” Oliver said. “That was seriously hot.”
He smiled the smile she had learned was typical for him, but she could see faint lines of pain around his eyes. As she looked at him, she had no desire—no Compulsion—to end him. Her Warrior side was beaten into submission.
Her eyes shifted to Max, and every fiber of her being screamed Protect!
His eyes were focused on her. “You’re hurt?” he asked in his rumbling voice.
She quickly took in his form. No part of him gleamed brighter gold than any other. The spot on his neck had vanished. Jayden must have applied the fruit to heal it. She relaxed completely. “But you are not,” she said.
He took a step toward her while saying, “Ana—”
She raised her hand to stop him, and his words cut off. He had been right: Remiel was leading a rebel band of angels. And because she had been so focused on her own dream of becoming a Warrior, she had almost allowed her Ward to be harmed.
It was unforgivable. Unacceptable.
Repeatable.
She had to focus. Her Ward needed to become her primary objective, his protection her life.
As Max continued to talk to her in urgent tones, she closed her eyes and her Guardian Compulsion surged to the forefront of everything. She felt the rest of the world fading away until all that was left was the driving need to protect.
When she opened her eyes again, she felt it taking hold while at the same time feeling everything that made her her slip away.
And she let it go.
Chapter Fourteen
Max was in mourning.
As he trudged down the hallway to the quarters he now shared with the angel who was always with him and at the same time wasn’t, he rubbed his palm over the eternal ache in his chest. Before, if he’d ever dared to think about living with her, it had never been under these circumstances: with him sleeping in a cold bed and her standing even more coldly by, watching over him with an expressionless face.
It had been several weeks—Six? No, eight—since she had gone into her Guardian shell. He flopped face down on the bed and, out of habit, tried to discern some of the lily scent that had evaporated from the sheets after about three weeks. “Goddamn it, Ana,” he muttered. Though she hadn’t spoken to him since he’d witnessed her beating that uppity angel’s ass, he could still feel her every moment of every day. For example, he knew that right now she was standing against the wall by the bedroom door—a location that allowed her to watch both him and the main door to the apartment for any threats to his safety. It was where she always stood, her eyes watching him indifferently while he burned away inside with the need to touch her. To fucking talk to her.
The hell of it was, the eight weeks that had passed in tense, ever-present silence had been just long enough for him to fully comprehend what he’d thrown away with both hands. Just long enough for him to fall flat on his face into the shithouse that was love.
He rolled over with a groan, and threw his forearm over his eyes. After a couple of seconds of ineffectual resistance, he cracked his eyelids a bit and peered at his angel from the shield of his arm.
The sight of her, like always, was an anvil to the gut. Each time he looked at her now, the Knowledge in his eye told him nothing. She was not good. She was not evil. She barely was.
One thing that she was, however, was beautiful. She was just as beautiful as she had been when he’d first seen her—with her blond waves tumbling about her shoulders and the body that he had briefly been granted the ultimate boon of enjoying. But she was not his Ana anymore. Her joy, her constant discoveries—hell, even her blue eyes—every defining characteristic that was Ana was gone. He missed her so much he was sick with it.
The first week had been easy. She was always with him, and he had been stupid enough to be optimistic, to think that this would be enough. Then Oliver had died for the first time since being stateside. Max had been more devastated than he could have guessed. To make matters worse, as soon as Oliver recovered, he and Luke left the compound. They’d headed for the Middle East to search out Oliver’s mystery woman. It was the first time Max had been without his friends in a decade, and he had so desperately needed a friend to talk to and someone to hold him, that the full magnitude of what he had lost struck him all at once. Ana, his Ana, would have taken such good care of him, just as she had that afternoon in the medical wing after his nightmare.
That day, he’d tumbled a little bit into love with an angel that no longer existed, and he’d fallen farther and farther with each painful milestone. Like waking up thrusting into the sheets after dreaming of being inside her, and turning over to find Anahita watching him with a passive face—no reaction at all. Not the slightest hint of lust or desire. Hell, he’d even have taken anger. Any reaction. Or discovering after those first few day
s that the pleasure he’d had to sneak for himself in the shower because it was the only time she couldn’t see him was now going to be the norm and the only way to keep the Impulse pain at bay. And the first time he’d accidentally turned to her and started a conversation without remembering she wouldn’t be talking back until that first awkward stretch of silence after he’d stopped to hear her opinion.
As he watched her beneath his arm, she shifted her weight from her left foot to her right. Her robe pooled around her body and shimmered with her movement, and he caught a glimpse of the curves of her breasts against the fabric, which, of course, caused him to shoot hard as iron.
He flicked his eyes to the open door that led into the bathroom, both longing for and dreading one of his sad showers. He’d delayed his necessary orgasm for about as long as possible.
But a knock sounded at the door. Max craned his head back and looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Right on time, of course.
Bastard.
With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet and walked into the living room, automaton angel dogging his steps all the way. He pulled the door open and stepped aside to admit Jayden, who pulled his wings in as he walked through the door frame. He nodded at Max in greeting but walked right past him to stand before Ana.
“Hello, Anahita,” Jayden said softly.
Max didn’t know why he always held his breath when someone else attempted to talk to Ana—she didn’t answer anyone—but he did. And the disappointment Max felt when Anahita ignored Jayden and continued to stare at Max while breathing steadily in and out was sharp. Jayden moved to the sofa with obvious reluctance and sank into the leather with a frown, his eyes still upon Anahita.
Max walked to the armchair. “Where’s Grace?” he asked while taking a seat.
Jayden’s head swiveled to him. “She is still angry with you on Anahita’s behalf.”
Of Alliance and Rebellion Page 19