Possibilities jangled in his brain, clamoring for his attention. Aramael raised his face to the sky and felt the sun burn against his skin. His mind slowed, settled, sharpened.
Alex, he thought. He could return to Alex. If he remembered her this clearly because he chose to, what more would he feel if he found her again? If he deliberately tried to reignite what he had felt for her? The ache of loss in his center deepened at the very thought.
Then he remembered Mittron and his jaw went tight. He might not be able to out the Highest Seraph the way he’d like, but if he really had acquired free will, maybe he didn’t need to completely discount himself just yet. Maybe he could still do something to stop the Highest—or at least slow him down until someone else clued in.
Go after Alex or go after Mittron. What a choice.
Aramael raked his hands through his hair and winced at the scrape of fingernails against his sunburned scalp. If he stayed here much longer, he would die his first death on the spot. He stood and dusted himself off, and then made a full revolution where he stood, squinting against the desert’s glare. He grimaced. Then he swore.
In every direction, the land stretched as far as he could see, lifeless and littered with dried bits of scrub. There was no hint of civilization, no hint of life, and sure as Hell no hint as to which direction might be best. He sighed. Well, he was going to die a dozen times over whether he walked or stayed put. At least walking—theoretically—would get him out of here eventually. Plus, it was time to decide where his priorities lay. And maybe—
He stumbled over a stone and stopped in his tracks. Wait. Maybe he didn’t need to choose. He grappled with his thoughts, forcing himself to recall those agonizing last moments in Mittron’s presence. What was it the Highest had whispered, just as he had ripped Aramael’s wings from him?
“She turned out to be responsible in great part for that unpredictability of yours going beyond what I’d expected. I think you’ll be safer without her.”
Aramael stared into the wasteland, remembering how his purpose had once filled him, had defined his existence. Remembering how the power of Heaven itself had channeled through him and how his feeling for a mortal woman had taken all of that and magnified it and given the control of it to him. Power now lost to him, unless he could find a way to reconnect to it...or someone who might be able to provide that connection.
Unpredictability beyond the expected.
Mittron sure as Hell wouldn’t expect that.
Read on for a sneak preview of the next book in the Grigori Legacy series, SINS OF THE SON!
SINS OF THE SON
The Grigori Legacy Book Two
Prologue
Five thousand years ago
“Do we have an agreement?” the One asked.
“You’re serious.” Lucifer turned from the window, a scowl etched between his brows, eyes clouded with suspicion. “You would do this to your own son, burden him with this destiny.”
“We would do this to our son,” the One corrected, “because we have run out of other options. We both know the pact between us now won’t last forever. There are too many variables. And if we go to war again, it will never end. Think of it, Lucifer: you wish the annihilation of the mortals, I wish their survival. When the peace between us now comes to an end, let our son decide which of our wishes will be granted. Seth is equal parts each of us. Who better to decide which of us is right about the mortal race?”
“How do I know I can trust you? How do I know you’ll abide by the agreement if he chooses against you?”
“Because I am the One,” she said simply. She met her former helpmeet’s gaze with an unflinching one of her own. His mouth drew almost imperceptibly tighter. She felt her heartbeat catch. For a moment, she wondered if he might have guessed at her secret. Then, deep within him, she sensed his desire to accept her words, his longing to believe her. She offered him a small smile.
Lucifer’s gaze flicked to the wall and then returned to her. He rocked back on his heels, hands tucked into his pockets.
“You’ve always said my mortal children are worthless,” she pressed. “That there was no point to their existence. If you truly believe that, if you’re certain you’re right, then this is your chance to redeem your views. Our son, reborn into the mortal world as one of them, raised by them, living among them, growing to adulthood—and then, by his own choices, deciding their fate. If he chooses to live a life of good, to live up to his potential by mortal standards, then you acknowledge the inherent worth of all humans and withdraw fully from their realm. If he chooses otherwise, then I accept defeat. And if either of us does anything to interfere with him once the contract is signed, we forfeit. Do we have an agreement?”
“Forfeit how?”
“We accept defeat according to the terms.”
Nostrils flaring and jaw tight, Lucifer stared at her, hovering on the edge of decision. “And us?” he asked at last. “What of us?”
The One hesitated. She had anticipated this question and agonized over it for days before coming up with a response that would satisfy Lucifer without being a lie. Vague as the words were, however, they still proved difficult to utter. She straightened, finding resolve in the certainty she did what was right. That it was the only way.
Without meeting his eye, she recited the words she had rehearsed. “One way or the other, my mortal children will no longer stand in our way.”
“That’s not much of an answer.”
“It is the best I can give. A great deal of betrayal has passed between us.”
“Betrayal on both sides.” Bitterness edged Lucifer’s words, and the One inclined her head, acknowledging his perspective without commenting on its truth—or lack thereof. Lucifer’s jaw hardened. “What is to stop me from breaking the pact now and triggering this agreement you propose? If the decision will be that final, perhaps we should just get it over with.”
“We could. But with an equal chance of Seth taking your path, are you willing to take the risk before you must? I don’t propose this as an alternative, Lucifer, but as a last possible resort.”
He stared at her for a long moment without speaking. Then, suddenly, hostility fell away to reveal raw agony shining from his eyes. “Is there any hope?” he asked. “Can you ever love me again?”
The One stared at him, her most beautiful of all creations, wrought from desire and longing and her own infinite capacity for love. She had not laid eyes on him since his departure from Heaven more than a thousand years before, had refused even to call his image to mind. So now, just for a moment, she allowed herself to study him. To remember all he had been, and to see all that he still was.
He stood before her, tall and fair, his eyes the pure, crystalline color of amethyst, his magnificent wings pulsing with a glow that had faded only slightly in the years apart from her. The One’s heart contracted in a spasm a hundred thousand times greater than his pain would ever be. Could ever be. Because even now, even after all he had done and all he had become, it seemed that light itself originated within him. Her light.
Lucifer, her Light-Bearer, stared back at her, waiting.
She answered with the truth. “I never stopped.”
The hope she needed to inspire within him sparked in his eyes at last. He held her gaze a moment longer, then crossed the room to the desk. Pulling the parchment toward him, he plucked a feather from his wing, dipped it into an ink pot, and signed his name, the scratch of quill tip against paper loud in the silence that had fallen. He held the feather out to her.
“We have an agreement,” he said.
With all her heart, she wanted to believe him.
Chapter One
“Yo, Jarvis!”
Alexandra Jarvis lifted her forehead from the hand supporting it and peered over the jumble of files strewn across her desk. Fellow detective Raymond Joly stood in the doorway leading to the hallway and the elevators beyond, his enormous handlebar mustache covering the better part of his lower face. Was it just her
, or did that thing keep getting bigger?
“You got company.” Joly jabbed his thumb at the woman beside him before strolling away, coffee cup in hand.
Even before Alex’s gaze settled on her sister, she remembered. After three weeks of hedging, she’d finally given in and promised to meet Jen for an early lunch at—she shot a look at the clock above Jen’s head and winced—half an hour ago. Great. The entire morning had dragged by in thirty-second increments, and somehow, she’d still managed to lose track of time, giving her older sibling yet one more lecture topic.
Heaving a sigh, she climbed to her feet, grimacing at the stiffness of a body unaccustomed to week after week of desk duty. Three files slid off the pile, heading for the floor. Alex grabbed, missed, and with another sigh, stooped to retrieve the waterfall of paper.
Her sister arrived desk-side as she dropped the wayward files on top of the others.
“I think you’re losing.”
“I think I lost before I even started,” Alex replied. She’d known this lunch date was a bad idea. She and Jen had so little to say to one another these days, with both of them skirting the issue of what had happened. What might have happened. What Alex knew to be true and Jen preferred not to know at all.
Jen waved at the files. “What do they have you doing?”
“Cold cases. Making calls to see if anything new has turned up. Some of these go back thirty years, so you can imagine my success rate so far.” Alex grimaced. She paused, then added, “And you can see how far behind I am.”
“Are you trying to get out of lunch, by any chance?”
“I wouldn’t if I didn’t have so much—” She met her sister’s brown eyes and stopped. She couldn’t lie. Not to Jen. Not after what she’d put her sister through. And her niece. She swallowed. “I just don’t want to get into anything with you, that’s all.”
Jen lifted her chin. “And I don’t want to start anything, but you have to know I’m worried about you, Alex.” She crossed her arms and looked away, biting at her lip. “You haven’t been over to the house, you never call Nina...”
“I’m sorry, I’ve just been so busy with the insurance and the repairs and—” Again the lies stuck in Alex’s throat. Aware of far too many ears in the vicinity, she jerked her head toward the conference room. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”
She led the way into the windowed room and closed the door behind them, then pasted a smile onto her face and turned to Jen. “So how is Nina, anyway?”
“You could call her yourself and ask.”
“Jen—”
Her sister sighed. “She’s okay. We found a great therapist and Nina seems to like her. She still won’t sleep alone, but the nightmares aren’t as frequent.”
“That’s good. I’m glad.”
It was good—and nothing short of miraculous, given that Nina had witnessed the mass murder of twenty-one people, seen a Fallen Angel in his demonic form, very nearly been driven to suicide by the experience, and then narrowly escaped the Fallen One’s clutches when he’d come after Alex. A shudder rippled through Alex at the stir of memories. She crossed her arms over herself and perched on the edge of the conference table. Not going there, Jarvis. Not now. Not with Jen watching.
“The real question is, how are you?” Jen asked, her gaze moving to the scar at Alex’s throat, then dropping to the three additional ridges slashed across her chest.
Alex tightened her arms against the urge to pull her blouse closed over the remains of the gashes that had so nearly ended her life. “Surviving.”
“Are you still seeing the department psychologist?”
“Not by choice”—Alex grimaced—“but yes. It’s force policy. Roberts tried to pull some strings, but he didn’t get far.”
Her staff inspector had been amazing, in fact, doing everything he could to have the usual post-traumatic-event evaluation waived for her. Roberts might not know exactly what had happened in Alex’s house the night she’d almost died, but the careful way he didn’t ask too much told Alex that he had his suspicions. And that, like Jen, he would rather not know.
Not about the reality of Heaven and Hell, or angels and demons, or the impending war between them. A war almost certain to wipe out humanity.
“Is it helping?” Jen asked. “Have you told him what happened?”
Alex snorted at the idea of confiding in the pompous, irritating Dr. Bell. He’d restricted her to desk duty just based on what little he did know. If she told him a fraction of what she carried around in her head these days, he’d slap her into a psych ward and throw away the key.
Well, you see, Doc, it turns out my soulmate is an angel and he’s been cast out of Heaven because he fell in love with me and killed his twin brother. That was the demon who tried to do me in, by the way, and the whole mess may well have triggered the Apocalypse, and...
Oh, yeah. She could just imagine how fast the department shrink would draw up those commitment papers. Alex squeezed her eyelids shut against the ache in her right temple, a dull throb that never quite went away. Another leftover from her near-fatal confrontation with Aramael’s twin.
Opening her eyes, she met her sister’s frown. “Bell isn’t the confiding type.”
“Then ask for someone else. You need to talk to someone, Alex. I wish it could be me, but—” Jen broke off and looked away, her lips tight and her eyes suspiciously shiny.
“Hey.” Alex reached out and clasped her sister’s shoulders. “Would you stop? You have enough to worry about with Nina. I’m a big girl. Let me deal with my own issues, will you?”
“But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re not dealing with your issues. You’re just pretending they’re not there.”
Alex let her arms drop and curled her fingers over the edge of the table on either side of her. Knuckles aching, she stared at the light switch on the wall.
“If you can’t work with this Dr. Bell,” Jen said, “ask him to refer you. Or let me give you some names. You need to keep looking until you find someone you’re comfortable with. Someone who can help.”
Alex almost laughed at the idea any human being could help her deal with the kind of evil she had faced, the kind of evil that might be unleashed on the world. Except it wasn’t funny, and it wasn’t going to happen. She didn’t care what Jen or Bell or anyone said. Even if she could talk about the secrets she had come to know, she wouldn’t. Because when it came right down to it, she didn’t want to relive it. Didn’t want to think about any of it.
Not about Aramael, lost to her forever; not about Caim or a broken pact between Heaven and Hell; not about Heaven’s contingency plan or the Apocalypse waiting for humanity if that contingency plan failed.
She slid off the table. “Look, Jen, I know you want to help, and I appreciate it. Really I do. But as much as you don’t want to talk about it, neither do I. Can we please just leave it at that?”
Jen stalked the length of the conference room. “No, Alex, we can’t just leave it at that, because you can’t continue like this. You’re stretched so thin right now I’m afraid you’ll fly apart if someone sneezes too close. And I can’t help!”
“Is that what’s bugging you? That you can’t fix me again?”
“I never fixed you in the first place,” Jen muttered.
“Because it was never your responsibility. What Mom did—what Mom was—” Alex swallowed and pressed on. “What happened was horrific, Jen, but it’s over. Done. We both survived. It’s time to stop trying to compensate for something that happened twenty-three years ago and wasn’t your fault to begin with.”
A tear slid down Jennifer’s cheek.
Alex sighed. She went to Jen and hugged her, crossed arms and all. “You’re not responsible,” she said softly.
“I know. I just don’t know what I’ll do if you—I can’t lose you, Alex.”
Alex leaned her forehead against her sister’s. “You won’t lose me. I’m not Mom and I’m not that easy to get rid of.”
Jen snif
fed. “Promise?”
Perhaps some lies weren’t all bad. “Promise. Now I really do have to get back to work before I lose my desk under the mess. How about I come by for dinner on Saturday? I’ll bring a movie and ice cream.”
***
Levering himself off the filthy pavement, Aramael swiped the back of his hand across his bottom lip and spat out a mouthful of blood. He forced his spine straight against a spark of pain and glared at the Fallen One perched on the fire escape above him. He really needed to stop taking back-alley shortcuts.
His attacker grinned back. “I didn’t believe it when they told me you were here,” he said. “Thought I’d see for myself.”
Aramael spat again. A weapon would be nice right now—something to compensate for the things he could no longer do as a Heavenly outcast—but he didn’t dare look away from his enemy long enough to find one. Even without using their supernatural powers, Fallen Ones moved way faster than he did in his new reality. They hit harder, too.
“You’ve seen,” he retorted. “Now you can go.”
The Fallen One uncoiled, stretched, and dropped lightly to the ground beside him. He linked his fingers and cracked his knuckles. “I don’t think so, Power. Your kind has caused a great deal of suffering among us. It seems only fair one of you should pay for some of it.”
Aramael scowled at the leather-clad figure. Bloody hell, he was getting tired of this. The discovery of his presence had been inevitable, of course; he’d known he would become a target at some point. One of their nemeses, stripped of his angelic powers and cast from Heaven—what Fallen One wouldn’t want a shot at that? But word had spread, the attacks came with increasing frequency, and Aramael’s plans disintegrated further with each.
His path had seemed so clear at first. Find Alexandra Jarvis, the soulmate from whom Mittron had taken such care to separate him, and rekindle the connection between them. If Mittron was right about Alex having once inspired Aramael to abilities beyond what he should have had, perhaps she might do so again. Perhaps he might, through her, stretch beyond his current capacity and find a way to stop Mittron. To stop Armageddon.
Sins of the Angels: A Supernatural Thriller (Grigori Legacy Book 1) Page 31
