No, not fell. When I accepted this assignment.
Pain flared behind her eyes and quickly fled. Why had that thought entered her mind? She closed her eyes, and let her head drop back and tilt into the breeze. A cleansing breath filled with the promise of more rain tickled her nose. The scent reminded her of Warrant—stormy and vibrant.
A flash of lightning startled her. A clap of thunder cleared the cobwebs from her mind. A weaker clap of thunder rolled, and she chilled. Apprehension zinged her nerves. In the distance the mountainous, black clouds that blanketed the house and surrounding landscape had thinned into gossamer wafers. Patches of moonlight dotted the billowing wheat fields she’d waded through earlier and drifted toward the house. The stalks danced, seemed to delight in the cool rays. Much like she used to in Heaven.
Bands of moonlight crossed over to the two hundred feet of desolate land circling the house. Speckled light danced over the clipped brown grass and withered corn stalks surrounding the property. Per her nature, Aurora wanted the land to revive, the grass to green and reach for the sky. The land needed relief as much as the human population. She willed it, as if that were all it would take to bring life back to the land. To the house. To the man who’d made love to her.
Loved her. Her heart skipped a little at his words and at what her vision beheld. Streamers of reddish and greenish lights danced in the night sky. Their wavering bands resembled spilled dye caught in the tidal currents, swayed, and fell like confetti to the earth.
Delight had her soul singing. Aurora borealis. It couldn’t be. The phenomenon never came this far south from the northern magnetic pole.
The light crept closer, peeling back the gloom, and washing the landscape in psychedelic splendor. She ached to feel its touch, bask in the electrical display naked, carnal, a wanton being, as Warrant watched. Aurora stretched her hand a fraction past the railing, leaning into the wind.
Wings. How she missed taking flight under the blue sky above the green earth. A vision of Warrant and her taking to the skies had her yearning to see his wings again. His wingspan dwarfed hers. They were gray—the color of smoke—and veined with gold as per his station as a warrior in the Celestial Army, one of Metatron’s elite. Every chance, she had spied on him.
She took pride in her own beautiful wings. They were the palest green veined with a hint of blue, dainty compared to others. Oh, how they carried her aloft on the faintest of breezes. They were strong, her true strength, yet so soft. She arched her back and swore she felt their steady weight adjusting to the curvature of her spine.
She climbed the railing and balanced on the edge. In her mind her wings unfurled and caught an updraft. Lost in the fantasy, Aurora stretched her arms wide. The air swirled across her skin. She closed her eyes and pretended the current buoyed her. Pretended the stars were in the palms of her hands. Pretended the clouds were her pillows. Pretended she was back home.
A gust threw her off balance. She slipped, tried to stop her fall, and pitched over the railing. One story up, the ground was a quick journey and a reality check. Her scream was lost in the rushing wind streaming past her.
She braced, prepared to break a few bones, when an arm banded around her waist and yanked her into a familiar chest. In a coordinated move, he placed his body between her and the ground. The impact was a jarring crunch that rattled every bone in her body, and she was cushioned by Warrant.
She rolled off his body, every part of her aching, and looked over at Warrant. His eyes were open, though glassy. “You’re hurt?”
That wasn’t possible. A fall from one story shouldn’t phase an UnHallowed, not when she’d seen one fall from one thousand feet and shake off the damage like lint on a wool jacket.
Aurora scrambled to her knees. “Warrant, answer me.”
Gingerly, she touched his arms, chest, moved down his pecs to his abdomen. She searched for signs of injury as if she had any idea how to fix one. Eyes still glassy, lids moving up and down in slow motion, his mouth opened, and a low groan emerged. Relief flooded her. A groan was better than silence. “Where do you hurt?”
“Everywhere.”
Father, help me. Her vision blurred from a sea of tears. They startled her. She touched her cheek and drew back wet fingers. When was the last time she cried? A vague memory of a boat and a flock of angels hovering over the water as the vessel sank beneath the waves stabbed the back of her mind.
Hundreds tumbled into the Mediterranean waters. So many of them were children. The essences of innocence, the youngest only three months old. Impotent fury strafed her already ragged emotions. How could she ease their terror when all she felt was hopeless? The same hopelessness coursed through her now.
Warrant brought a shaky hand to the center of his chest.
She lost those children. No…I lost everyone that night. All strangers. It was her job to stand on the sidelines and witness the events in human lives, offering cold comfort in the face of certain death.
Until…until…
Warrant gasped and a dry croak slipped from his lips, followed by a bone rattling shudder. He rolled to his side and a wet, raspy cough bowed his chest.
Dragged back to the present, she helped him to a seated position. “Wh-what’s wrong?” Her voice had thinned to a rasp.
“I-I don’t kn-know. Give me a s-sec.”
What did “I don’t know” mean? How could he not know? Bred for war, the angels of the Celestial Army were in control of every atom in their bodies. They healed almost instantly. Their deaths occurred only from an empyreal weapon, which they carried. UnHallowed were the same, except for their weakness to iron and sunlight, their penance for their fallen stature.
Fear fisted her heart. “Have I done this? Injured you so greatly you can’t heal?”
“I-I.” Warrant pushed off the ground and lurched to his knees. He rested, chest curled in, head bowed, one hand on his thigh, the other over his heart. “I’ve never felt this way.”
“What way?” She touched his arm.
“Strange. My body feels strange.” He rubbed the center of his chest, then tensed. His head kicked back, and he stared at the sky, a look of horror drawing his face tight. “What have I done?”
She followed his stare and studied the heavens with him. The clouds had completely dissipated. Constellations twinkled; Ursa Minor, Cassiopeia, and Draco shined bright. The night sky was aglow from the quarter moon and vibrant stars. Heaven had never seemed closer or more beautiful, especially with the aurora borealis’ shimmery bands.
“The storm. The clouds…they’re gone.”
She smiled and stroked his forearms. “Yes. The storm is over.”
The ground vibrated with a low rumble. Flung against him, she wrapped her arms around his neck while he sheltered her with his body. The rumble escalated, shattering the windows, and tossing them around. Glass rained down, but all she could see was the dawning horror on Warrant’s face.
“The storm isn’t over, Aurora. It’s just begun.”
Chapter Nine
Before Aurora could ask his meaning, Warrant picked her up and ran into the house, up the stairs, and back into the bedroom.
She wondered why he hadn’t transported them through the shadows, but that question would have to wait. “What do you mean the storm’s not over? The sky is clear. The stars are out,” she said as soon as her feet touched the hardwood floor.
He moved to his clothing. “Those lights you see aren’t a pretty display in the sky. It’s the protective barrier between this realm and the real world fading because the storm—”
A ripping, snapping sound echoed through the house. Then the floor undulated and threw her a foot in the air. She grabbed the bedpost. “Thought you said the house would never hurt us! This counts as hurting us!”
“You don’t get it. I am the house and the storm. Together I kept the Blood Portal shielded.”
Aurora swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. She blinked once, and with a straight face said, “Huh?”
Warr
ant glanced at her as he shoved her panties and his over-sized shirt into her body. “Don’t.” His voice flinty as he thrust his legs into his leathers.
She had the decency not to ask what his single word referred to. The contempt in his voice was self-explanatory. “All right. I know about the portal. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here for you. For your redemption. I’m here to give you your second chance—”
He pressed a finger to her lips, but that’s not what silenced her. The sadness welling in his softening gaze is what made her heart flutter.
“You truly believe that,” he whispered with a weariness that sucked at her strength.
Aurora sighed, the truth suddenly a burden she wanted to share. “The portal was a back-up plan. I was always here for you.” She placed her palm on the center of his chest, hoping her touch would convey the veracity of her words.
Was that…a thud she felt beneath her palm?
Warrant knocked her hand away. “I know why you’re here, Aurora.”
His frigid voice jerked her attention away from the happenings inside his chest to his now granite features.
“You are the only one in the dark about your true purpose.” He moved away from her to yank on his shirt.
His breathing rapid, sweat a thin sheen on his skin. Was he ill? Injured and didn’t want her to know? But how? UnHallowed were close to invincible. Unless…
Suddenly, he wobbled.
Aurora reached out to grab him. Warrant shoved her hand away and glared at her. “You are the reason for this situation,” he snarled.
Hurt, she drew away. “What are you talking about?”
A rumble shook the room. Aurora pitched forward. She would’ve landed on the floor if Warrant hadn’t snatched her to him. Stance wide, feet planted firmly, the shaking structure hadn’t surprised him.
“Get dressed.” His voice had lost its scathing edge, though not the urgency, and the urgency was contagious.
Without another peep, she dragged on Warrant’s shirt and her panties. She suspected it wouldn’t be enough. She grabbed her pendant from where it had landed on the floor, slipped it around her neck, and hid it beneath the tee. Her hands trembled, she couldn’t hide it. Not prepared to hear his words, yet she spun and faced him. “What did you mean by I’m the reason for this situation?”
Posture ridged, face grim, he watched her with a glacial stare that drifted between her face and the pendant between her breasts. A muscle flexed in his taut jaw until he took her hand. His thumb brushed over her knuckles in the most soothing fashion. The knot in her stomach tightened even as he kissed her knuckles and released her. “Stay here. You’ll be safe here.”
It was the way he said it, the slight accent on you’ll led her to believe he really meant he would be safe from her despite what his touch conveyed.
He paused in the doorway. “If I don’t return within the next ten minutes, leave—no, run, and don’t look back. It may be your only chance.” He left the room in a rush without a goodbye or further explanation.
The dismissal stung on the deepest level. Never more had she wanted to be accepted, and faced rejection yet again. When would she be good enough? And why did she care? She returned to the balcony, trying to outpace her rambling thoughts and the hurt punching her chest. She recognized the idiocy of her feelings for a man she had every reason to despise, yet what blossomed in her heart was the exact opposite. Correction: Not a man, an UnHallowed.
“He’s right. I should just leave and somehow explain my failure.” She gripped her pendant, prepared to shatter it on the ground and let the grace within seep into her skin.
Despondent, Aurora made it as far as the open French doors. The sight of inky blotches flying amongst the brilliant bands of the borealis stunned her. Slightly bigger than a bat, hundreds of lower caste Darklings—Tiny Terrors she’d named them—threaded their way through the sky.
This is why he wanted her to leave, so he could face this danger alone. Even if he wasn’t ill and hadn’t ordered her to, she wouldn’t leave him. Did I cause his illness? The thought whispered through her mind. Followed by the damning answer.
But how was she responsible? She came here to help him find his redemption or find the portal. Not open the gateway to the darkness. But what if…somehow…her actions…unintentionally…caused this mounting destruction.
Aurora shoved the growing list of questions and guilt to the back burner. If she was lucky, there’d be time enough for recriminations and apologies. Right now, Warrant needed her, and whether he wanted her help or not, he’d receive it. She ran to the bedroom door and peered around the frame. Warrant was at the end of the hallway. He pressed his palm to a square in the wainscot paneling. The entire wall shifted to the side and he stepped into the waiting shadows.
Numbers ticked in her head. At twenty she sped down the hall and touched the same panel. Nothing happened. She pressed harder. The wall glared at her. Smirked at her defeat. She balled her hand and punched. The panel splintered. Another blow and the panel fell apart. Stale, heavy air wafted past her nose. Aurora kept punching the other panels until the opening was big enough for her to squeeze through.
A spiral staircase led the way into the depths. The rough wooden stairs creaked under her feet and then changed to cool stone as she padded her way down. Each step brought her closer to the hole carved hundreds of fathoms into the crust of the earth and her destiny.
Musty air greeted her, mixed with the scents of the earth…and something fetid…coppery. A memory tugged at the corner of her mind. It demanded attention, but she kept going, driven, not by the need to see the portal, but to find Warrant. She had to explain. Apologize.
And they both had to prepare for Michael. When her failure in redeeming Warrant became known, Michael would appear with his flaming sword and finish what she could not. They had to leave this place. Leave and hide far, far away. A ridiculous assumption because no one, no thing, could hide from the Archangel.
The staircase deposited Aurora in the UnHallowed burial chamber in a bend of the room she hadn’t noticed earlier. There was no sign of Warrant. He must’ve went back to his chamber to gain access to another secret chamber. She stepped onto the soft ground and skirted the burial mounds.
She had to hurry, or she wouldn’t be able to follow him. But she wouldn’t go unarmed. She gripped the silver hilt of the nearest sword. Her palm sizzled, she jerked away, and studied her hand.
Right. Humans couldn’t touch empyreal steel without excruciating pain. She ripped the sleeve off the tee, wrapped the material around the hilt of the weapon, and pulled the blade from the earth.
Usually, the sword adjusted to the palm and strength of the warrior wielding it, ensuring it was always perfectly balanced. She wasn’t a warrior. The weapon was big, made for a man. Yet, she hefted it with ease. She tested the balance with a roll of her wrist and a few thrusts and swipes. She didn’t have time to test another blade and suspected all would be about the same. This one would have to do.
Aurora pivoted for the tunnel, when a headstone caught her eye. It was askew, the alignment off by just enough for her to notice the break in the symmetry with the other headstones. She moved toward the marker, excited by her discovery, and impressed by Warrant’s ingenuity. He’d hidden the portal well.
Her gaze tripped over the chiseled name, buckling her knees, and she crashed onto the soft mound. Her fingers slipped into the shallow grooves of the chiseled letters. They came away with a fine white coating of dust on her fingertips.
Newly etched.
The W had the greatest depth. The rest of the six letters of the name were fainter, rushed. The last T a mere tracing.
Thoughts of—When did he write this? Was this here when he showed me the chamber and I just missed it?—clashed together.
Aurora gripped the stone, desperate to destroy its silent implication and yanked. The stone tilted to the side and the ground beneath her dipped and retracted. She swallowed her scream as she fell six feet, throu
gh an earthen tunnel into a spacious cavern—and into Warrant’s arms. She grunted from the impact, every bone in her body jarred. The sword slipped from her hand.
Before she recovered, he spun her away from the opening and set her on her feet but kept a tight grip on her arms. “I told you to stay in the bedroom.”
Dressed in a full complement of sleek, black armor molded to his body, he managed to look medieval yet modern at the same time. And deadly. Fitted to his stocky frame, it seemed fluid rather than metallic. Matched with his coal black eyes, he was formidable. Ready for battle. Ready for death.
“Was that headstone always there—with your name on it—or did you just carve it?”
For a moment, sadness overtook his harsh features but was gone within a blink. He swung her up into his arms and brought her back to the opening. “Pull yourself up and get out of here.” He lifted her higher.
“No.” Aurora squirmed until he dropped her back onto her feet. She broke his hold and stepped away. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Scorn filled his gaze as he raked her with a look meant to send her scurrying. Her spine stiffened, though not from his appraisal. On the wall directly behind him, at least five feet by two and oval, stood the Blood Portal.
Ringed with iron, the unblemished aperture sealed with empyreal steel reflected the two of them in the chamber. Another rumble had dirt falling from the ceiling.
Aurora snatched the sword she pilfered from the ground. A sugary, slightly metallic, cotton candy aroma filled the space. The scent made her stomach roll. “How do we stop it?” she said, forcing down a dry heave.
Warrant yanked two short blades from hidden pockets on his sides and gave her his back. By the dull glow, they weren’t empyreal, just regular steel. “We don’t stop it. I stop it, but it’s too late for that.”
“Why—”
“Because you did this to me.” He whipped around and rushed her.
Aurora scurried backward until Warrant caught her by the throat and hauled her close to him. Her sword fell soundless into the dirt and she latched onto his wrist with both hands. Why have you turned on me? Why are you carrying ordinary steel? The questions were just a croak locked in her throat.
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