No, she would never win.
But maybe, just maybe, she could die trying.
“Yes,” she said.
*
There wasn’t much finesse to swinging a broadsword to begin with, and Alex possessed even less than Mika’el had hoped for. He blocked her every swing without effort, watching pain spasm across her face each time metal clashed against metal, ripping a grunt from her as a shockwave traveled along her arms and down her spine. In soberingly few minutes, she was soaked with sweat and panting, and he felt certain the sword remained in her grip through its own energy and not hers. His jaw tightened grimly as she let the weapon droop to rest against the ground.
“Enough,” she gasped. “I can’t even lift it anymore.”
He set the tip of his own sword in the sand and balanced his hands on its hilt. “Rest. We’ll continue in a minute.”
Blue eyes met his, anger and despair warring in their depths in equal measure. “Are you serious? This is useless. I can barely swing the damned thing, let alone land a blow.”
“And yet you disabled Seth in that washroom even before I had the sword remade to fit your hand rather than Aramael’s. You might have killed him if you’d known where to strike.”
Alex tossed the blade onto the rocky beach. “That was different. He didn’t expect me to—he wasn’t fighting back.”
“And no Fallen One who comes after you will expect it, either.”
“So now you think I can kill one of them?” She held up a trembling hand and snorted her disbelief.
“If you get lucky, you might.” Mika’el waved off the objection forming on her lips. “The way I see it, this can go one of three ways. Kill a Fallen One, and the next to come after you won’t be as willing to follow instructions and bring you back alive. Wound a Fallen One, and you gain another day here. Engage a Fallen One in battle, and you might—might—get lucky and suffer a fatal blow. Especially if you know how to put yourself in the path of that blow.”
Alex stared down at the shoreline between them. She nudged a broken oyster shell with the toe of her boot. Then she looked up again. “And what if it goes a fourth way?” she asked quietly. “What if it’s not a Fallen One who comes for me, but Seth?”
“Then you will have one, and only one, very small chance to finish what you started.”
She weighed his words, her expression alternating between fierce determination and the despair of self-doubt. Mika’el sheathed his sword and went to stand before her.
“I can make no promises to you, Alex. I don’t know whether this will work or not. But I can give you the only chance you will have.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and let a fraction of his energy course through her, healing the damage to her muscles, soothing her overwrought nerve endings. Surprised relief reflected back at him. He let his mouth curve into a half smile.
“And I can do that for you,” he said, stepping back. “As often as you need me to. Ready to go again?”
He watched her flex her hands, testing the absence of pain.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “I’m one life among billions, and of Nephilim descent to boot. After we find Emmanuelle, what happens to me won’t matter. Not to Heaven.”
Mika’el held a hand out over the sword she had dropped to the ground, and it flew up into his grip. He extended it toward her, hilt first. “It will matter to me. You were right, Alex. You’ve lost enough. I may not be able to save you outright, but let me do what I can to help you save yourself.”
She hesitated, then reached to take the sword from him. Her jawline flexing, she swung Aramael’s blade in a wide arc toward him. Metal clashed against metal in a shower of sparks, and a handful of seagulls that had landed on the shore took flight, their protests loud and discordant. Alex stumbled. Michael put out a hand to steady her. She shrugged it off and spun away from him, returning with a grunt and another swing of the sword. Another clash. More sparks.
It was going to be a long day.
CHAPTER 33
EMERGING FROM THE TUB, Alex reached for the towel hanging on the bar. Air hissed between her teeth as her hand closed over the rough fabric. Michael might have been able to keep her on her feet for the day-long sword lesson, but his healing efforts had long since worn off, and the Epsom salts had barely taken the edge off the abuse through which she’d put her body. Right now, pain ranged from a dull, nagging ache in every joint to a fire-like sensitivity across both palms…and it covered just about every degree and body part between. But it had still been worth it. In more ways than one. Her lips pulled into a tight smile as she gingerly toweled her arms.
By the end of the day, Michael had pronounced himself satisfied with her progress—he might even have looked pleased in an unguarded moment. The faint praise he’d given her had somehow taken the edge off the emptiness that had invaded her center, made it seem less likely that it would take her over.
It had even made her less inclined to want it to do so.
Alex paused, studying her reflection in the mirror over the sink. Purpose stared back at her. For the first time since Seth had turned her immortal, she felt like she still had some control over her life. She might not be able to save the entire world—or even Nina—but as faint as the chance might be, she might yet manage to keep herself out of Seth’s grasp, and that translated into a reason to keep going. A reason to hold onto that last, infinitesimal sliver of hope.
Hell, after all that activity, she might even sleep tonight. Without her usual liquid aid.
She dried between her toes and worked her way up each leg, leaving the contortions required for her back until last. Another hiss escaped her. Damn, that hurt, and it would only get worse by morning. She returned the towel to its bar and reached for the robe Riley had left for her on the back of the door.
Conscience twinged. She really needed to give that poor woman a break at some point. The psychiatrist had nothing but good intentions where she was concerned. She and Henderson both. They’d stood by Alex through crap that would have sent most people running. Would it really be so bad if she told them what she faced? What Seth had done to her? His plan to have her by his side for eternity?
Her brain shied sideways at the thought of the shock and sympathy that would follow. And the questions.
“What will you do?” she imagined Riley asking.
“I’ll try to pick a fight with a Fallen One,” she heard herself answer, “and then throw myself on his or her sword in exactly the right way, so that it pierces the immortality I never wanted in the first place. I’ll try to die.”
Suicide by Fallen One.
That would be a new one even to Henderson.
She traced fingertips over the center of her chest, where Michael said Seth’s little gift to her resided, safely encased behind her breastbone. Remembered the phosphorescence that had leaked from Aramael’s wound. The trickle of life-giving energy she hadn’t been able to stem. Had it hurt? Had trying to protect her made it worse? If he’d remained still until the others had come to his aid, would they have been able to save him? If she’d tried harder—
Fuck.
Alex exhaled shakily. Reaching for the doorknob with one hand, she flicked off the light switch with the other. It was time to test her sleep theory.
Michael looked around from the French doors when she reached the living room. He hadn’t turned on any of the lamps in the room, but enough light filtered from the hallway behind Alex that she saw his brows twitch together.
“You’re in pain,” he said.
She shrugged, then regretted doing so. “Nothing a couple of painkillers and a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”
He straightened away from the door and Alex watched him approach. For the first time, it crossed her mind how hard it must be for him to be cooped up here, in a tiny apartment in a human city, babysitting a single Naphil when his own kind fought for the existence of the universe. And she thought she chafed at her impotence?
Michael stood in front of her
. “You should have said something earlier.”
“I thought the bath would help.”
“And stubbornness didn’t enter into it?”
She looked away.
Michael placed gentle hands on either side of her neck, just inside the robe’s edge. His thumbs rested on her collarbones. A tingle spread outward from his touch, warm and electric. Her muscle fibers eased and joints unknotted in its wake. Alex closed her eyes and didn’t even try to hold back a sigh.
“Better?” Michael asked. She heard the smile in his voice.
“You have no idea. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
His hands remained in place for a few seconds more, until she thought she might embarrass herself by folding into a heap at his feet. Then, with a final light squeeze, Michael withdrew his touch. Alex rolled her shoulders experimentally. She opened her eyes.
“Can all angels heal like that?”
“Not exactly like that, no. But to one degree or another.”
“I see.”
He raised a dark eyebrow. “And what do you see, exactly?”
“Disparity.”
“You want to know why we don’t help humanity with its illnesses. Its diseases.”
“Because the One told you not to, would be my guess. The whole no interference bullshit.”
Pain shadowed Michael’s eyes, but he blinked and it disappeared. “Did Aramael ever tell you about Heaven? What it’s like there?”
“We didn’t have many opportunities for small talk.”
“Of course. I’m sorry.”
She lifted a shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. But what does life in Heaven have to do with whether or not angels are allowed to heal?”
“It’s beautiful,” Michael said, as if she hadn’t spoken. His face took on a faraway expression. “A place of gardens and forests, knowledge and learning. Our library contains a copy of every word humankind has ever inscribed on paper, our archives a record of every event in your history. Do you know how the One spent her days? Gardening. She loved to grow things. Her rose gardens are—were—stunning.”
“I’m sure they were, but I still don’t see—”
“You once had everything we do, Alex. Just as the One created mortals in her own image, she created your Earth in Heaven’s image. The gardens and forests, the capacity for learning and knowledge and growth. The potential remains, but only if you choose it.”
“You’re saying our free will got us into this mess.”
“And it can get you out of it again.”
“But you could still help us. Guide us…” her voice trailed off. “The Guardians.”
“Yes,” he said again. “What the Grigori did, what they shared with you, was wrong. We knew that. The One knew it. That’s why she gave you the Guardians. Little bits of her own energy, her own consciousness, there to guide humanity through its childhood. You have everything you need to become great, to become like Heaven, but the whole point of free will is that you must choose to do so.”
“That’s all well and good, but I’m not asking you to transform the planet, Michael. If you could just heal—”
Michael wheeled, his wings half-open, knocking a stack of books from an end table to the floor. He threw his arms wide. “How many times?” he demanded. “How many times should we heal you, Alex? How many generations? Your world—the world you created—is toxic. Your very societies are toxic. We cannot save you from yourselves. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“You?”
“Me.” He stooped to pick up the books he’d toppled. He set them back on the table, straightened them. Then he folded his wings behind him and looked up at Alex, his green eyes shadowed, his face without expression. “When I left Heaven—left the One—I came to Earth and lived among you as a physician. For five thousand years, I did all I could to heal those who crossed my path. Sometimes one at a time, sometimes an entire village. The knowledge the Grigori gave you didn’t just contain harm, it contained good. As much as I could without violating the One’s laws, I tried to show you that good, just as the Guardians try to do even now, every day, with billions of other souls.”
Alex tugged the robe’s lapels closer, folded her arms over it. “I didn’t know.”
“No one ever has.”
“You had a whole universe to choose from. Why here?”
“At first, because of my love for the One. My entire existence had been for her until that point. It damn near killed me to leave her, and I thought I could remain close to her in some way by looking after the children she’d created. Then, as I got to know you, I began to see what she saw in you. Your potential for good, your capacity for love. I want to see humanity survive, Alex, but humanity needs to want it, too.”
Alex padded across to the French doors, the hardwood floor cool beneath her bare feet. Outside, the tiny back yard had become a garden of shadows in the night, shades of dark and darker. Beyond it, a street lamp highlighted the bare, skeletal branches of the trees lining the road.
Beyond those, lights sparkled from the windows of houses and apartment buildings that made up a city.
And beyond that, an entire world filled with other cities and towns and villages. The billions of souls Michael had tried to serve. Tried to influence. She refocused on the reflection in the glass. Michael, standing in the middle of the room, tall and capable and oh, so powerful.
And still unable to change the course of humanity.
She turned, leaning back against the doors. “You have more faith in us than I do.”
“I disagree. You wouldn’t be a cop if you didn’t believe in your fellow humans.”
“I’m a cop so I can try to save—” She broke off with a grimace. “Touché. But even if I believe some people are worth saving, seeing how the world is reacting right now, I’m not sure it’s possible.”
“Anything is possible. You’re living proof of that.”
“Me?”
“Only one Archangel chose to follow Lucifer’s fall from Heaven. You carry the blood of Samael within you, Alex. One of the most traitorous souls in the universe. And yet look at what you’ve become. What you’ve made of yourself without even the benefit of a Guardian’s guidance. If you’re not the epitome of the triumph of free will, I don’t know what is.”
She snorted. “Given the number of bad choices I’ve made?”
“None of us is perfect. The One herself made questionable decisions. What matters is that you’ve persisted. You’ve cared enough to keep trying, even now.”
A little tingle of warmth formed in her belly at his words. She ignored it, shaking her head. “You’re wrong. You’ve no idea how close I’ve come to just walking away from all of this.”
From you.
“I do know,” he said gruffly. “I also know you stayed.”
The warmth spread outward. Alex straightened. “It’s late. I should get to bed.”
Michael stepped back to let her by, but his hand on her arm stopped her as she passed. A flutter followed in the wake of the warmth. She stared at the strong, tanned fingers against the white of her robe.
“You stayed,” Michael repeated.
She raised her gaze to the steady green of his. “So did you.”
His mouth twisted. “Staying to protect you for my own interests isn’t quite the same thing.”
“No, but doing what you did for me today is. Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome. I only wish I could do more.”
“It’s more than I’ve had for a while,” she assured him. “That makes it enough.”
Michael looked as if he searched for words to say more, but Alex made herself pull away from his touch. Away from him. Away from a sudden what the hell flare of awareness she didn’t want to feel. Had no business feeling. Refused to even consider. She stepped away from the silken brush of wings that had somehow moved to half-encircle her.
“It’s enough,” she said again, and then retreated to the bedroom for what would almost certa
inly be less sleep than she’d hoped for.
CHAPTER 34
MIKA’EL STARED AT HIS palm long after the click from the end of the hallway told him Alex’s door had closed. What in bloody Hell had that been? And how in bloody, bloody Hell could he have let it happen? He slammed his open hand against the doorframe, just controlled enough not to shatter the wood. The unwelcome tingle remained, and a tightness in his chest moved up to grip his throat.
He closed his eyes. It wasn’t what he thought, he assured himself. It had to be something else. Compassion, perhaps. After watching her go through so much, it was inevitable he feel something of the sort. He wouldn’t be true to his nature if he didn’t.
His hand tingled anew.
Bloody Hell.
He drew a steadying breath, forced his mind to calm, shook off the shock that clouded his thinking. He was the Archangel Mika’el. Whatever he thought he might have felt, he couldn’t have. Wouldn’t so much as consider the idea, because it went against everything he believed in, everything he fought for. Everything he was supposed to—
“Bad night?” a voice behind him inquired dryly.
Mika’el’s sword was in his grasp before the thought of it had completed itself. Bethiel threw himself backward, out of reach of the swing.
“Easy, warrior!”
Mika’el caught short a second lunge. “Damn it, Bethiel—I might have killed you! You should know better than to sneak up—”
Jaw flexing, he stopped, glowering at the other angel. That anyone could sneak up on him at all should have been impossible, and they both knew it. But he was damned if he’d discuss it with one no longer even of Heaven. He shoved his sword back into its sheath.
“You’re supposed to be looking for the girl.”
“And she”—Bethiel inclined his head toward the hallway—”is supposed to be looking for Mittron.”
“She’s done what she can for the moment. If and when she learns anything, I will let you know.”
The other angel’s face turned stubborn. “I want to speak with her.”
“She needs sleep. You can speak with me.” Mika’el narrowed his gaze. “How did you even find us here?”
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