She looked over at Bethiel. “Could Samael have taken him to Hell? Could Mittron survive there without his powers?”
Will I?
“Survive, yes,” Bethiel responded, “but it’s unlikely he’s there. There would be talk.”
“Then he’s still on Earth.”
Bethiel narrowed his eyes. “You know something.”
“No, but I might be able to help find him.”
“How can a human help find an angel?”
“When we arrested Mittron, he was entered into the system.”
Bethiel looked uncomprehending.
“Computers.”
“I’ve been absent from the universe for three millennia,” he reminded her.
She waved an impatient hand. “Machines that communicate with one another and store all our records.”
“Your archives?”
That would have to do.
“Kind of, yes. The important thing is, it means he’s on record. I can put out an international alert for him, and if he’s spotted anywhere we have an extradition agreement with, he’ll be taken into custody and held for me. There are no guarantees, but it gives us a chance.”
“And why would you want to help me?”
She gave a bitter laugh. “Why wouldn’t I? My soulmate is dead, my sister witnessed Lucifer’s rape of her daughter, my niece will die giving birth to the child of that rape, humanity is on the verge of Armageddon, and Mittron—” Alex lifted her chin and met the feral gleam in Bethiel’s gaze. “Mittron is responsible for all of it.”
Bethiel made another slow tour of the room’s perimeter.
“How long will it take you to find him?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Weeks, months…maybe never. All I can do is try. If…”
“If?”
She took a deep breath. Maybe, just maybe, she could avoid the only fate worse than spending eternity alone. “If you don’t take me to Seth.”
“You misunderstand, Naphil.” Bethiel regarded her with detachment and—amusement? “I’m not here to retrieve you.”
“You’re not?”
“Samael wants you dead.”
She blinked. “I…what? Why?”
“He didn’t say.”
He looked like an angel holding something back. Alex frowned.
“But?” she prompted.
“But there are rumors about the Appointed refusing to take his father’s place unless the Naphil who injured him is returned to his side. They say he’s even more obsessed with you than Lucifer was with the One, and there’s talk of revolt if Hell doesn’t have a leader soon,” Bethiel said. “I think Samael views you as a distraction best removed.”
Dead. Her life over. An eternity of memories and loss, an eternity spent in Hell, at Seth’s side—gone. Fierce hope soared in Alex’s breast, tangled with unexpected sadness, and became a jumbled mess of feelings she couldn’t identify. Didn’t want to identify. She struggled to rise above the conflict, to find again the objectivity that was fast becoming her anchor.
“How many?” she asked. “How many of you did he send?”
“Only me. But if I don’t deliver, he’ll send someone else. And if you’re right about Seth wanting you retrieved…”
He trailed off, but Alex didn’t need him to finish. She could more than fill in the blanks for herself. Others would be coming for her, some sent by Samael, some by Seth. None stopping until they found her.
“You’ll need protection,” Bethiel said.
“Against Seth and Samael and an army of Fallen. You’re kidding, right?” She would have laughed, but something in Bethiel’s expression stopped her. “Wait…you?”
“Unless you have another angel at your beck and call.”
In a heartbeat, she was back in the wreckage of her old office, holding her dying soulmate in her arms, calling for the Archangel Michael’s help, achieving the impossible. But Michael had responded for Aramael’s sake, not hers, and he would certainly never respond again after the scene at the hospital. Alex tightened her hold on herself and shook her head in response to Bethiel’s sarcasm.
“Then I will conceal you from the Fallen for as long as I’m able,” he announced. “In exchange, you will find Mittron. Agreed?”
“On two conditions.” She lifted her chin. “I need your help finding someone, too.”
“You are hardly in a position to demand conditions, but I’ve heard about your niece. I assume she’s the one you wish to locate?”
Alex nodded, blinking back the prickle of hope behind her eyes.
“What is the second condition?” Bethiel asked.
“If we find Mittron before Seth finds me…” Alex closed her eyes and stared into the hollowness she had become, seeking…what? A way out? Something to change her mind? But there was nothing. Nothing except that single word perpetually reverberating in her core.
Choices.
Without flinching, she met the zircon gaze and voiced the thought whispering through her.
“I want you finish what Samael sent you to do.”
CHAPTER 17
Bethiel gaped at her. “You want me to kill you?”
Alex walked—no, jittered—to the coffee table where she’d left the bottle of Scotch. She picked her glass up from the floor where it had rolled, poured yet another drink, and balefully eyed the two-thirds empty bottle as she set it on the table again. The adrenaline rush of Bethiel’s visit had erased the alcohol’s effects, putting her right back to square one. Drinking herself to sleep became more expensive by the day.
She looked up to meet the not-quite-Fallen One’s zircon gaze. “Yes,” she said.
The exiled angel’s brow furrowed. “You’re serious. You want to die.”
Alex gave a short, humorless bark of laughter. “I don’t want any of this. But if I have to choose between death and whatever Hell Seth has sentenced me to, then yes.” She took a deep breath. “I want to die.”
“You cared for him once.”
A small, hard ache formed beneath her ribs. She turned away from it.
“I cared for what he was,” she said. “What he could have been. Not what he’s become.”
Bethiel held her gaze for a long, silent moment, and then he looked out the window beside him, his expression flat. Unreadable.
“You ask a great deal of me,” he said finally. “I never intended to carry out Samael’s instructions.”
“But you came here—”
“To find out what he was up to. Why he had it in for a mortal. But not to kill. Three thousand years in Limbo may have had its impact on me, Naphil, but my loyalty to the One has never wavered. Not once. I will not murder.”
The despair she’d expected earlier gripped her at last, snuffing out the tiny spark of hope that had sprung up in her heart. She fought back the desire to curl into a fetal position in a corner somewhere. Made herself breathe in, out, in.
This. This was why she hadn’t let herself think about Seth, or what he’d done to her, or how she would never escape. Goddamn it to Hell, there had to be some way to convince Bethiel.
She drained the glass and blinked back tears not entirely caused by the burn of alcohol. “What about Mittron?”
“Mittron deserves no such loyalty.”
“So you’ll kill him.”
“I will.”
“Isn’t that still murder?”
Bethiel didn’t respond. Alex closed her eyes, willing him to agree. To see that this would be the compassionate thing to do, that it would be her one chance to be free of Seth, free of an eternity of loss and anguish and—
“Very well.”
Her eyes shot open. She had to swallow twice before she found enough voice to whisper, “You’ll do it? You’ll…”
Kill me? Despite the desire, the words still stuck in her throat. But Bethiel nodded anyway.
“I will end your life,” he agreed.
“Like fucking Hell you will,” a new voice snarled.
In the space of Alex�
�s single, startled inhale, massive black wings unfurled between her and Bethiel with a thunderous crack, overturning the coffee table and smashing through the drywall between the living room and hallway. The bottle of Scotch flew across the room to shatter a framed picture of Jen and Nina before dropping to the floor in a shower of glass and liquid.
And a sword left its sheath with the unmistakable hiss of metal against hardened leather.
“Michael, no!” Alex launched herself at the Archangel, catching his sword-arm in mid air. The force of his swing hurled her over the couch and into the wall. She landed with a grunt and the audible snap of at least one rib. A streak of pain lanced through her, but she fought past it and scrambled to her feet. As the Archangel recovered from her interference and swung again, she threw herself in front of Bethiel.
The sword’s blade stopped against the side of her neck.
Shocked silence filled the room. No one moved. A trickle of warmth made its way down Alex’s neck and over her collarbone. Slowly, not daring to even breathe, she raised her eyes to Michael’s. The stunned emerald gaze impaled her. She cowered from the gathering fury there but held her ground. At last, his face a hardened mask of control, Michael moved the blade from her skin and lowered it. He didn’t, however, return it to its sheath.
“Talk,” he growled. His gaze flicked past her shoulder to the angel radiating heat at her back. “Not you. Her.”
Alex held up a hand for time. She took a deep breath for the sake of her oxygen-starved brain. Her ribs screamed instant disapproval, and she grunted at the error. Holy hell, she hoped broken bones healed as quickly as sliced skin. Speaking of which—she pressed her free hand to the side of her neck to stanch the trickle that had become a flow when Michael withdrew the sword. Blood seeped between shaking fingers. Michael’s jaw flexed.
Alex spoke before he decided to take another swing at Bethiel. “He came to help.”
“By threatening to end your life?” Savage eyes narrowed on the other angel. “Not helpful.”
“Samael sent him.”
Michael’s gaze snapped back to her. “Samael! Why?”
“Because Seth—” Alex looked away and swallowed. She focused on the shattered picture hanging askew on the wall, splinters of glass disfiguring her sister’s face. “Seth wants me back. With him. In Hell.”
The clock on the wall ticked into Michael’s lack of response. Bethiel’s wings rustled as he shifted. From the corner of her eye, Alex saw Michael’s sword-tip drop to the ground.
“Explain,” he ordered. This time he spoke to Bethiel. “And I suggest you start with who you are.”
CHAPTER 18
IN THE SILENCE FOLLOWING Bethiel’s departure, Mika’el joined Alex in the tiny kitchen, flexing wings that ached to be unfurled, to launch him away from there, away from what he had come to do. What no angel should ever do.
“You sent him away.” Accusation rang in Alex’s voice. She didn’t turn around.
Mika’el studied her back, rigid and unyielding, screaming defensiveness and hurt and fear…and a thousand other emotions he couldn’t begin to untangle. Knowledge of her pain sat cold and heavy in his own heart. He might have lived among humans for the better part of six millennia, but he doubted that twice that time could have prepared him to take on the chaos churning inside this woman. So much was broken in her, so much more than he’d thought, he didn’t know where to begin.
He cleared his throat.
“He can’t protect you,” he said. “Not from Seth.”
Alex’s entire body flinched, folding in on itself for a moment before she stood tall again. She sent a look of pure dislike over her shoulder. She wasn’t going to make this easy.
“Well, he sure as Hell can’t now.” She slammed a mug onto the counter and reached for the pot of coffee.
“I needed to speak with you. Alone.”
“And you don’t trust him.”
There was no point to disagreeing.
“No,” he said simply. “Bethiel may have been loyal to the One at one time, and I’m sure he would like to think he still is, but Limbo isn’t a pleasant place. It does things to an angel’s mind, and he spent three thousand years there.”
“Well, I do trust him. And I want him back.”
Belligerence underlined her words, defiance her tone. They both knew why she wanted to continue her association with the exiled Bethiel, and under the circumstances, Mika’el didn’t blame her for seeing death as her most attractive option. But neither could he let it happen. Not when his purpose was to protect life.
Precious seconds ticked by. Mika’el strived again to find the words he needed. The words Alex needed. As long as there remained the barest thread of chance he might elicit her voluntary compliance, he had to try. For both their sakes. He sighed.
“Bethiel can’t protect you,” he said, his voice flat, “but I can.”
“Your protection in exchange for my help? Times must be tougher than I thought if Heaven has resorted to blackmail.”
Filled mug in hand, Alex turned to face him. The wound on her throat from his sword had already healed, but her free hand went to the ribs he knew she had broken. He sensed their ache, along with that of the heart they sheltered.
Mika’el slid his hands into his pockets and leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. He saw no point in wasting time. “Heaven is losing.”
Mug halfway to her lips, Alex stared at him. She blinked.
“Losing,” she echoed. “As in…?”
“As in Hell is winning, and if I don’t find a way to change that, the entire universe, your realm and mine, angels and humanity alike, will fall to Seth.”
Coffee sloshed dangerously near the rim of the cup she held. Haggard, haunted eyes met his. “I can’t…I don’t…”
Mika’el’s heart twisted.
So broken.
She clamped her lips together and inhaled deeply through her nose. Exhaled. Inhaled again. Then, “How?” she asked.
“You know that one-third of the angel host fell with Lucifer.”
“Ara—” She bit down on her soulmate’s name, grief contorting her mouth. “Yes. I know that much.”
“Their choices pitted them against those who remained loyal to the One. Their own kin. Husband against wife, mother against son, brother against sister. The pain of having to fight those we loved…” Mika’el paused, remembering the agony that had filled Heaven in that dark time, feeling again the One’s own despair. He shook off the memory of his parting from her and returned to his story. “The One offered the angels a Cleanse. An erasure of the memories of soulmates and families, a lifting of their free will. Her intention was that they would no longer need to choose between her and the ones they loved. No more regrets, no more pain.”
Alex’s gaze flickered. “But?”
“With no will of their own, they became dependent on hers, and now that she’s gone, they have nothing driving them anymore. Nothing to fight for. They’re lost, and they’re losing, and I can’t help them. Heaven needs a leader, Alex, and I’m not it.”
The coffee cup dropped to the floor, shattering in a spray of liquid and ceramic shards that shot across the room. The color drained from Alex’s face, leaving lake-blue eyes adrift against skin the color of paper. Bloodless lips parted but made no sound. And what little had been left of the broken woman began to crumble away.
In an instant, Mika’el realized his error. He lunged across the room and seized her shoulders. Shook her. “Damn it, Alex, no. That’s not what I meant. Not Seth. Did you hear me? Not Seth.”
Shock-glazed eyes slid past his, unfocused. Unable to focus. Bloody fucking Hell. He thrust her onto a chair and knelt before her, taking limp hands in his. The cold of her touch knifed to his core. He was losing her.
“Did you hear me? I’m not asking you to find Seth. This isn’t about him, it’s about his sister. Emmanuelle.” He shook her, not as gently as he might have done, desperate to stop her disintegration before she was beyond even
an Archangel’s reach. He gathered himself, reaching inward, preparing to chance his connection to Heaven itself. Hoping against hope itself that the Cardinal Rule would not apply where a Naphil was concerned. That if it did, the risk would at least be worth it.
He took a deep breath.
Concentrated his entire being on the woman seated before him.
“Seth has a sister?” Alex croaked.
*
Bethiel stood on the sidewalk below the Naphil’s apartment, staring up at the single square of light in the otherwise dark building. The Archangel Mika’el had lost none of his highhandedness over the course of the millennia. None of his autocracy. Arriving the way he had, in the middle of what had been a private negotiation, taking over as if Bethiel’s wants and needs were of no consequence. The Archangel had simply assumed Bethiel would agree and fall in with his wishes, that he would comply without argument.
As he would have done at one time. Before Limbo twisted him up inside so that he barely recognized himself anymore. Bethiel passed a shaking hand across his brow. Three thousand years of plotting Mittron’s downfall warred with an almost, but not quite, lost loyalty to Heaven. To the One who was no more. To the warrior who fought on in her name.
Mika’el was right that events had grown beyond simple revenge. On a higher level of himself, Bethiel knew that. He even wanted to be a part of it: to do as the Archangel asked, and help in the search for Emmanuelle, the fight against the Fallen, the fight to save humanity. He wanted it badly.
But not entirely.
Because one way or another, the orchestrator of this whole fucking mess still had to pay.
And Bethiel still intended to make him.
CHAPTER 19
“LET ME MAKE SURE I have this straight,” Alex said. “In five thousand years, all of Heaven hasn’t been able to find Emmanuelle, but you think I can. How?”
They sat at the dining room table, she and Michael, the stench of spilled Scotch wafting between them. Michael leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on knees, fingers clasped.
“Verchiel—Heaven’s executive administrator—has pointed out to me that you have connections we don’t,” he said. “Humanity’s technology can take a search global, and you’re our fastest way to access that capacity.”
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