Death's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels

by Heather Killough-Walden

  Azrael stopped and turned to face them all. He looked them in the eye, one at a time, and the men straightened, coming up short as they felt Azrael’s power pour around him. It was a warning. There were forces at work that none of them understood. “Phantoms, wraiths, leeches,” Azrael said softly. “At the very least. This Gregori wields immense power. I have come across only one man capable of controlling a phantom.”

  “Samael,” Max said.

  Azrael nodded, just once.

  “Do you think he’s involved?” Max asked.

  Az had a feeling he was not. In fact, though he had never met Gregori personally, from what he’d heard and felt around Sophie, Gregori and Samael gave the impression of being spiritual polar opposites . . . like the two ends of a battery. But in truth he had no idea. He knew only that he was wasting time. If he waited much longer, the shadows would completely absorb what traces of Abraxos Azrael would have been able to follow. “I don’t know.”

  “Wait.” Michael interrupted. “If Abraxos took Sophie while the phantoms attacked, then he and Gregori, at the very least, are working together, aren’t they?” Michael asked.

  It seemed to be the only explanation. But, again, Az had no idea. So he said nothing.

  “The sun is coming up here,” said Max. “It might be coming up where Abraxos and Gregori are as well.”

  The thought had already occurred to Azrael. It was all the more reason not to waste any time, which was a point that he effectively communicated with the deadpan look he gave his guardian.

  “Okay, okay,” Gabriel said. “We get it. Consider us fairly warned. Now lead on.”

  Azrael took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Clearly, the lot of them wanted him to pull them through the shadows with him. As he had no idea where they were going and whether there would even be any doors there once he arrived, it was logically the only way they would be able to accompany him in his battle against Abraxos—and whatever else awaited him.

  “You two please remain here,” he said, looking from Eleanore to Juliette. Their powers were incredibly helpful in tight situations and they were by no means without defensive recourse, but the archesses seemed to be at the center of everything dangerous these days and he didn’t need any more people to protect.

  Wisely, the women nodded their consent.

  “The rest of you stay close,” he instructed calmly. The party moved in almost as one, as if they were a single organism.

  Azrael turned toward the shadows and raised his hand, concentrating. If he could form a tunnel before him, mold the very darkness just right, he could create a passage large enough for all of them to move together and there would be no chance of separation. It was taxing and he didn’t like the idea of spending energy he might need later, but the alternative was to face the enemy alone.

  After a few tense seconds, he could feel his magic slide into place and the invisible tunnel before him coalesced into its necessary shape. He lowered his arm and stepped through, his archangel family close behind.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  We were the first. . . .

  The words echoed in her mind as she stared at the man in white, her mind spinning with questions. “We?” Sophie asked softly, chancing a glance at the others in the room. For some reason, she didn’t think Gregori was talking about them. And, the first what?

  She didn’t need to speak her questions out loud, however. Gregori seemed to pull them out of her head as he continued. “There were hundreds of us,” he told her. “The Adarians believe they were the first angels ever created, but they couldn’t be more wrong. My brethren and I were a veritable army.” He turned from her to face one of the eight windows and, as he looked out over the frozen expanse, the scenery changed.

  Sophie’s jaw dropped, her eyes widening as the mountains morphed and the valley melted into a dry, cracked landscape. Before her eyes, beings appeared and the sky darkened with the smoke of a thousand fires. There was a battle raging, one unlike anything Sophie could have imagined. Creatures straight out of nightmares fought hand to hand with winged men in armor. It was an apocalyptic vision brought to life.

  “We fought the Old Man’s battles for him ceaselessly. Tirelessly. And why?” He glanced over his shoulder at Sophie, his lips curled into a bitter smile. “Because he told us to.” He turned back to the window and again the scenery changed. Instead of a dry landscape and a red sky, the window revealed a land of lush forests and green valleys. A river wound its way through the valley, and she could almost hear it babbling over its course of smooth rocks and stones.

  On the shores of the river sat people in robes. They were a little too far away for her to make out clearly. Sophie found herself a slave to curiosity, inching forward in order to get a better look. The people sitting on the banks of the river possessed long, beautiful hair in various shimmering hues. Women. They’re all women, she realized. Around them were patches of bright yellow dandelions that they leisurely picked and handed to the men behind them. These were the men Sophie had seen fighting in the previous landscape. Their wings were folded at their backs and they no longer wore armor.

  “One day, our battles brought us to Earth,” Gregori told her, though his gaze was still locked on the image before him. “Here, we were charmed by the human race’s fairer sex. Many of us fell in love.” He turned away from the image fully now, and his ice-cold eyes focused on Sophie’s, freezing her to the core. “Including myself.”

  Behind him, the image through the window changed. Sophie couldn’t help but be drawn to it. She watched as the sky again turned dark, this time with storm clouds. The clouds opened and lightning sliced its way to the ground. The people below ran for cover as the river swelled beneath torrential rains and trees fell in the building gale. There was an ominous cast to the landscape, a hopeless, horrible air that filled Sophie with both sadness and fear.

  Gregori hadn’t moved. Instead, he watched her as she watched the sky grow darker and darker until the scene lost all color and everyone was gone.

  “He punished us that day. We were banished to Earth.” Gregori shrugged. “Most of us didn’t care. This was where our brides were; this was where we preferred to be. However, as part of our punishment, we were no longer allowed to use our healing magic on anyone other than ourselves. And without it, we were forced to watch our loved ones grow old and die.”

  Sophie continued to watch as the world beyond the window eventually went completely dark. Then, in that darkness, a candle was lit. And another. As the glow spread, a final image revealed itself. The angels from the previous two scenes were now standing over graves. Various objects decorated the heads of the graves: a wreath, a bouquet of flowers, a basket of fruit. At the head of the closest grave stood Gregori; she recognized his jet-black hair and slightly taller frame. His wings must have been pure black, because they blended with the night and Sophie couldn’t make them out. But beneath his feet, and spreading across the grave were the small, multi-pointed bodies of black dandelions.

  “I blamed the Old Man, of course. Our misery was primarily his design. However, for a long while, I also blamed Azrael. It would have been easier to fulfill my ultimate plan by killing you. But I wanted the Angel of Death to know the loss I’d known for all of this time. I needed to make certain the two of you met so that he could fall in love with you . . . before I took you from him.”

  Sophie took this in, digesting his words and reasoning. She stared at the darkness beyond the window and thought of her life and the fact that she’d managed to get away with murder because of Gregori. It was all his doing. All for revenge.

  Because he’d lost the woman he desperately loved.

  As she thought of this, the image before her disappeared. The window’s picture warped, revealing the frozen, predawn landscape it had originally portrayed.

  Sophie found her throat felt tight. She tried to swallow, and almost choked. Her head hurt, and her chest ached.

  “Amara was everything to me,” Gregori told her. His p
upils seemed larger now—black stars that grew like a dark weed. “She was everything kind and good that any of us had ever experienced. She and her sisters taught us what the Old Man had kept from us for eons: that there could be more to existence than pain, more than fighting.”

  “I’m so . . .” Sophie began, but stopped when her voice cracked. She swallowed again and felt moisture sting her eyes. “So sorry.” She meant it. What she had witnessed was heartbreaking. She hadn’t thought herself capable of hating the Old Man any more than she already did for what he’d done to Azrael and herself. She’d been wrong.

  “I know you are,” said Gregori as he turned away from her again and began pacing around the circumference of the octagonal chamber. John Smith and the other three men in the room remained motionless and silent as he moved. “And so am I, Sophie Bryce. Because I know you are as innocent as was Amara. You were created and then tossed aside. And in seeing the two of you together, Sophie, I’ve also come to realize that Azrael is no more at fault than you are. He only did what the Old Man’s bidding forced him to do. I’ve forgiven him,” he said softly. “And yet . . . you’ve both found yourselves pawns in a war that will not be stopped.”

  “What war?” Sophie asked. A part of her dreaded the answer. The rest of her desperately wanted to know more.

  “The Old Man is no longer in his realm,” Gregori said. Goose bumps began to inch their way across Sophie’s skin. “In fact, the realm of angels is empty.”

  Sophie’s ears began to ring. The world felt far away.

  “It has been for some time.”

  Her heart beat hard against her rib cage and she felt dizzy.

  “Outside of his own world, he is weak. He is vulnerable. If there was ever a time to repay him in kind for what he has done to me, it is now. However, there are a thousand realms to search, and I have not been able to locate him. He is smart. . . . His presence is shielded from me.”

  Sophie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She could barely think over the roar of blood through her veins, but Gregori’s voice echoed in her mind, sounding loud and clear over the din.

  “He must be stopped,” he said with quiet resolution. “Of that, I have been certain since my prison sentence here began.” He took a step toward Sophie then, and she took an answering step back. “My only hope lies in stopping the Culmination.”

  The Culmination?

  He stepped forward. She stepped back to find her retreat blocked by the hard body behind her. She’d forgotten about the blue-eyed man who had taken her from Azrael’s side. Sophie’s breath hitched and she again tried to swallow with a dry throat.

  “You see, the Old Man didn’t create four archesses,” Gregori went on. “He created five.”

  Five?

  Gregori smiled, clearly having read her doubt. “This fifth, precious woman, he created different from the other four. Within her, he instilled his knowledge so that she would know who and what she was. When this was finished, he secretly sent her to Earth alongside the Four Favored. She has been hidden from the four brothers, but her destiny is tied to them so tightly that they are nearly as one. When the Four Favored mate with their archesses she will be joined by the Old Man. And the Culmination will begin.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Sophie said. She didn’t understand at all. It was all too incredible. Five archesses? The Old Man not in his realm? Missing angels?

  “I know,” Gregori said again. “But it matters little. What is important is that you are an archess, Sophie. If you never mate with your archangel, if you never earn your wings and your place at his side, the Culmination will never occur. And I will have all the time I need to find the Old Man.”

  He moved forward, closing the distance between them, and Sophie absolutely froze in her boots, her gaze trapped in the icicles of his pupils.

  “I tried going after the Old Man’s archess herself, but I underestimated her,” he said. Something dark moved across his features, there one second and gone in the next. “Should I fail here and be forced to pursue her again, it is a mistake I will not make a second time.”

  Oh God, Sophie thought. He’s going to kill me. This is it. This is it.

  Gregori raised his hand and Sophie closed her eyes. When she felt a gentle tug on her hair, she opened them again to find him rubbing a golden lock between his thumb and forefinger. He seemed transfixed by the way it shimmered in the light.

  “I had hoped that your death would not be necessary. I had hoped that by giving you free will and by showing you what the Old Man had kept from you, you would sway the direction of fate and turn Azrael down on your own.”

  Sophie said nothing. There was nothing to say . . . but his previous actions were beginning to make more sense.

  “However, the Angel of Death is an incredibly charismatic individual,” he said, smiling to himself. “So again, I can’t blame you. But . . . are you sure, little one?” he asked, now turning his frozen gaze upon her.

  Sophie looked into those star-shaped pupils and felt the world tilt. Blood roared deafeningly through her ears. She squared off with a universe of choices in that moment. She knew she was staring her demise in the face. She had only to give the wrong answer, and Gregori would kill her.

  And yet . . . she didn’t care. It was a strangely liberating feeling to not care, to be so certain about your emotions that you were willing to die to stay true to them.

  When she finally answered, her tone was certain. Shoulders rolled back, chin up, Sophie cleared her throat. “I’m sure,” she said. “I freely choose Azrael.” She couldn’t believe how strong her voice sounded. It was as if she were watching herself, hearing herself say these things, from somewhere far away. “I love him.”

  There was a tingling on her palm then. It buzzed and shocked, and she winced and looked down at it, unfolding her fist to reveal the winged tattoo that shimmered across the inside of her hand. It seemed to warp across her palm, and as it moved, so did the tingling sensation. It spread up her wrist, buzzed up her arm, and raced across her chest to finally move over her shoulders and settle at the center of her upper back.

  Sophie gasped and she heard the man behind her take a step back. Her breath came quick and shallow as she looked up into Gregori’s eyes—only to find him staring in fascination at something over her shoulders.

  What? she thought desperately. What is it?

  She felt dizzy suddenly. And then light. Then there was a weight on her back, as if someone were pulling at her. With deliberate slowness, almost fearing what she knew she would find, Sophie looked over her shoulder.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered.

  Wings, she thought witlessly.

  They were beautiful, the color of her hair, shimmery and enormous. Honest-to-freaking-God wings!

  In front of her, Gregori released the lock of her hair he’d been rubbing and lowered his arm. She turned to watch him as he took in her glorious plumage with hard eyes and an unreadable expression.

  “So that’s settled then,” he said softly—so softly that she barely heard him.

  He took a quick breath and raised his voice a touch. “I know you desire Uriel’s archess, Abraxos,” he said, obviously speaking to the man who had abducted her. She recognized the name. Abraxos was the leader of the Adarians. “However, I see no reason why you shouldn’t practice with this one first.”

  With that, Gregori took a step back, turning his broad back to them in an effective show of dismissal. “She’s yours.”

  * * *

  Azrael hurried through the shadows, his tall form passing the inky darkness of the corridor as if he were a part of it. It pulled at his black clothes and black hair like it didn’t want to let him go. The shadows loved him, recognized him as one of their own. But they knew what he wanted and had to give it to him, though it would take him from their realm. He followed the other . . . the rogue, the twice dead, the one with a black heart. They knew where that other had gone, so they led Lord Azrael and his entourage through their kingdom,
the shades of night pushing and pulling at their sovereign until he was close enough that he could feel Abraxos—just beyond that final wall of black.

  And then they recoiled. Someone else was here.

  Azrael felt them a beat before he would have stepped through the final shadow and into his destination. The darkness became hot and smelled like poison, the shadows slithered and recoiled, and every fiber of his being went on high alert.

  He spun just as the first black dragon attacked, sliding a strong, leather-clad arm around Uriel’s neck and jerking him backward with it into the depthless black of a tall shadow. It happened so fast, it would have been untraceable by the human eye. Azrael himself could not react in time—not before Michael, too, was pulled back.

  Az was moving, his own body blurring. But there was too much to do at once. There were too many bodies to defend. The infamous dark dragons had known just when and how to attack so that Az was being torn in too many different directions.

  He had just enough time to thank his lucky stars that the archesses had remained at the mansion before he was shoving both Max and Gabriel back toward the opening through which they’d originally come. Gabriel’s archangel instincts kicked in, his silver eyes widened, and he covered Azrael’s hand with his own, trying to pry it off his chest. But Az was determined in this—and he was stronger. Max had no recourse against Azrael and within milliseconds, the two of them were shooting back into the mansion’s foyer.

  Azrael turned back to the heart of the darkness then as he himself was attacked by a black dragon, and there was no more time for anything but fighting.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Michael could hold his own. He was the Warrior Archangel. Uriel had always had a lot of fire in his blood, but forced to choose, Azrael would bet on Michael lasting longer against the dragons.