Sins of the Warrior

by Linda Poitevin

  The call of an eagle overhead pierced the morning, echoing over the trees. Mika’el closed his eyes and steeled himself.

  “The Nephilim,” he said. “Humanity will never survive the Nephilim.”

  Emmanuelle caught her breath. “You want me to—”

  “No.” The word came out sharper than he intended. He laid his forehead against hers in apology. “No,” he said. “Not you.”

  Utter silence came between them. Long seconds slipped by. Then Emmanuelle went rigid beneath his touch. She pulled back, away from him, taking her warmth with her. Her heartbeat.

  “I can’t ask you do that,” she said, “and I—”

  “You’re not asking.”

  “And I won’t let you,” she finished, her eyes flashing. “You’d never survive the fall, Mika’el. They may be Nephilim, but they’re children, too. No matter what they’re destined to be, you won’t be able to separate yourself from the innocence they are now.”

  His soul shuddered at the truth of her words, but he steadfastly held to the truth of his own. “There’s no other way, Emmanuelle. It must be done.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders, but she shrugged him off. Anger and denial warred in her expression. Fear underlined both.

  She shook her head. “No. No way. I’m not doing this without you, Mika’el. I can’t. I know nothing about ruling the realms!”

  “You’ll have help. Verchiel will guide you, and Gabriel will see that the others—”

  “That the others what…don’t turf me out on my ass?” Emmanuelle’s chin quivered.

  Despite himself, Mika’el smiled at the idea. “You know that won’t happen. It just might take a bit of time for them to warm to you, that’s all. Gabriel will help pave the way.”

  “And us? What about us? I’m just supposed to stand by and watch my soulmate throw himself on the pyre for me? I’m supposed to give my blessing? Are you fucking kidding me?” Emmanuelle planted hands on hips and swung away. Her heels thudded as she stomped along the short width of the deck.

  Mika’el didn’t have an answer for her. Not one that she would like.

  “Hell,” she muttered. And then again, “Hell.”

  She flicked a look over her shoulder. “Can’t someone else…?”

  “No one else has the power. It has to be me, Emmanuelle.” Mika’el took a deep breath. “It should have been me when all this began. I could have stopped your father then, but your mother wouldn’t let me because she couldn’t bear to lose me, and instead we lost you. You need to be stronger than that. You need to let me stop this.”

  His soulmate leaned back against the deck railing, her fists bunched at her sides, her hair blowing across her face. She stared at him, looking small and lost and infinitely sad.

  “I don’t think I can,” she whispered. “Not when I’ve just found you again.”

  “Don’t.” He shook his head. “Don’t make this more than it needs to be. Even if I stayed, too much has come between us. Too many years. Too many lessons.”

  “Even though we’re soulmates?”

  “Especially because of that. The ruler of Heaven should be connected to all souls, not just one. Don’t make the same mistakes as your mother, Emmanuelle. Don’t need anyone. Don’t need me. Let me go. Let me do what needs to be done. Please.”

  She held his gaze for a long, silent minute. Then she gave a tremulous sigh and straightened away from the rail. Standing tall, she lifted her chin and blinked back her tears.

  “You know I’ll miss you every day of my life, Mika’el of the Archangels.”

  “I know.”

  “But I’ll make you proud. I may not be what Heaven or Earth is used to, but I’ll be the best damned ruler they’ve ever seen. And I’ll defeat my brother. You have my word.”

  I know hovered a second time on Mika’el’s lips, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it, because they both knew the outcome of this battle was far from certain.

  Emmanuelle raised a new topic, saving them from his lie.

  “What of the woman?” she asked.

  “She made a pact with Bethiel—Mittron’s life for hers. At first, I tried to prevent it, but now—” Michael broke off with a sigh, then finished quietly, “I want her safe from Seth.”

  A tiny frown pulled at Emmanuelle’s forehead. “You care for her.”

  “She has earned my respect,” he said, “and my gratitude for all she has done. All she has sacrificed.”

  “Mika’el.”

  Though Emmanuelle spoke only his name, it was a command all the same. An insistence that he be honest with her—and with himself.

  Mika’el looked out over the treetops. He thought back on the unwavering strength of the woman he had come to know better than any other human in all his time on Earth. The sheer, dogged refusal to give up, even when she wanted to. The pain she had endured, the trust she had placed in him, the honor and integrity that drove her every step.

  And the spark that had flared between them, catching them both by surprise.

  Did he care about Alex? Yes. More than he wanted to, and far, far more than he should. But none of that mattered. None of it held meaning. Not anymore.

  Meeting Emmanuelle’s waiting gaze, he knew he didn’t have to tell his soulmate any of that. She knew. All of it. And she struggled with it, the shadows in her eyes reminding him briefly—chillingly—of Seth. Of Lucifer.

  Too much. Too many years. Too many lessons.

  Emmanuelle shook her head and tightened her lips. “Damn, but we’ve made a mess of things, haven’t we?”

  She didn’t refer to war.

  He didn’t know how to answer.

  Emmanuelle sighed. “I can remove her immortality,” she said. “Give her back her life.”

  “And if Seth comes after her again? If—” Mika’el broke off, unwilling—unable—to voice the unthinkable.

  If you don’t defeat him?

  Emmanuelle’s chin lifted, but she didn’t object. Didn’t deny the unspoken possibility. Couldn’t deny it, Mika’el thought. None of them could.

  The door opened at the other end of the deck, and Gabriel’s voice intruded on their silence.

  “We might want to hurry it up,” she said. “Seth is in the city of Vancouver. It isn’t faring well.”

  Mika’el’s gaze met and held Emmanuelle’s. “Are we ready?”

  The leather-clad god laughed, a short, sharp bark of sound that held more sadness than it did mirth. “We’ll never be ready, Mika’el. Not for this. Never for this.”

  Before Mika’el could respond, one of Emmanuelle’s biker friends shoved past Gabriel onto the deck.

  “She’s gone,” said the man. “Jezebel is gone. And she took the baby.”

  Silence met the announcement.

  Then Emmanuelle sighed. “Bloody fucking Hell,” she muttered. “It doesn’t matter whether I’m ready or not, does it? Things are just going to happen regardless.”

  She scowled at the bearded man and the Archangel in the doorway. “Gabriel, you stay. Wookie, wait inside for me.”

  “What about Jez? Shouldn’t I go after her?”

  “No. You’re safer here.” Iridescent eyes flicked back to Mika’el’s, understanding in their depths. “I need to know the ones I care about are safe.”

  A tiny fraction of the weight across Mika’el’s shoulders lifted. Emmanuelle looked back to the others.

  “Wait inside,” she said again to Wookie. “And send Bethiel to me.”

  CHAPTER 57

  ALEX STOOD IN THE back corner of the kitchen, apart from the others, ignoring their curious looks, uninterested in their murmur of conversation. She stared at the baby monitor on the counter. Soft noises filtered through it: snuffles, whimpers, the movement of a tiny body.

  “Do you want to see her?”

  Alex jumped. She turned to the harshly bleached blond who had appeared by her elbow. “What?”

  “The baby.” The woman nodded at the monitor. “She was your niece’s, so t
hat makes her yours now. You should meet her.”

  Bile surged up into Alex’s chest. Her throat. She gagged. Swallowed. Curled fingernails into palms.

  “That,” she grated, “is a monster, not a baby. You should have done us all a favor and left it on the beach.”

  Startled brown eyes, eyeliner tattooed along their lids, blinked at her. The woman’s mouth opened to object, but Alex turned her back on her. She had no interest in argument. No interest in the woman. And didn’t even want to think about the creature that had taken Nina’s life. The monitor wailed again, and the woman hurried from the kitchen in response. Alex’s stomach rolled. A Naphil in the purest sense. Lucifer’s bastard, born to lead an army. She shivered.

  “Here. This will help.”

  Another voice intruded on her thoughts, this one belonging to Father Marcus. He held out a cup of tea to her.

  She regarded it, remembering the last cup of tea he’d offered her, heavily laced with whiskey, just before Bethiel had arrived with—

  Father Marcus lifted her hand and wrapped it around the cup handle.

  “There’s nothing in it this time, I’m afraid,” he said, his voice brusque. “The only thing I could find in the house was a bottle of cherry liqueur, and that didn’t seem like such a good idea.”

  Alex took the cup without comment.

  “Do you want to talk?” he asked.

  The others had vacated the room, leaving the two of them alone. The woman’s voice drifted from the plastic box on the counter, singing Rockabye, Baby.

  Nina’s baby.

  Nina’s and Lucifer’s.

  Alex put the cup in the sink.

  “Alex—” Father Marcus began.

  “He’s dead,” she said.

  Marcus frowned.

  “Hugh,” she said. “He’s dead. So is Elizabeth.”

  The priest sagged against the counter. His face turned grey, aging before her eyes.

  “He can’t be,” he whispered. “He’s too strong. He’s made it through so much…survived so much…”

  A tear trickled down Marcus’s lined cheek and dropped onto the black clerical shirt. A second followed in its wake. He swiped at his eyes and made a visible effort to gather himself.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice wobbling. “You’ve lost so much already, and now this. I know how close you were to him. To both of them. I’m so sorry, Alex.”

  She looked away as breathing became an act of willpower. Tears fogged her vision. Pain clawed at her throat. And then Marcus was reaching through his own loss to envelop her in his arms. Cradling her. Rocking her.

  There was no struggle with madness this time, only a sharing of grief. For their friends, for Alex’s family, for their world. Alex cried until she could cry no more. Until her tears ran dry and Marcus’s shirtfront was soaked against her cheek, and her breath came in huge, shuddering hiccups.

  And still Marcus quietly rocked her.

  When she pulled away at last, only emptiness remained. Not the dark, terrifying emptiness of before, but the quiet kind. The sad kind. The kind that simply was.

  And would be for eternity.

  The kitchen door opened, and Gabriel stood framed in the doorway. Her sapphire gaze met Alex’s.

  “You’re needed,” she said.

  *

  Alex stared at Michael, her mouth dry, shock sitting like lead in her belly. His gruff, infinitely compassionate words reverberated in her skull. “I won’t stand in Bethiel’s way.”

  The unspoken message behind them reverberated just as loudly in her soul.

  I’ll let him kill you. I’ll let you die.

  She inhaled a shallow, cautious breath into lungs that felt as if they might shatter. It was what she’d wanted all along. But now that it was here…her gaze flicked to Emmanuelle, daughter of the One, wondering if there might not be an alternative. If someone equal to Seth might be able to—

  “She can,” Michael answered her unspoken question. “But even if you’re mortal again, you’ll still carry a piece of Seth in you. He’ll still be connected to you. Still be drawn to you.”

  And there’s no guarantee that Emmanuelle will defeat him. That he won’t come after you again and again and again. That he won’t find you. Take you. Own you forever.

  More unspoken words—possibilities too horrifying to voice. Alex swallowed. She tried to make herself nod but seemed to have lost communication with her body.

  She was going to die.

  Bethiel would take her out into the woods and kill her.

  She would be done fighting and running, but she would never know if Heaven won, or if humanity survived, or if everything—everyone—she’d lost had been in vain, because she would be gone.

  “Alex?” Michael’s voice prompted. Still gruff, still gentle.

  “I didn’t think it would be like this,” she said. “I thought I was ready—I am ready—but it’s…”

  “It’s the human spirit.” Gabriel spoke up from the corner. “You don’t want to die.”

  Alex’s gaze moved to her. The Archangel’s sapphire eyes were suspiciously bright.

  Tears? For her?

  Gabriel scowled as if she’d heard Alex’s thoughts. She crossed her arms. But she continued speaking.

  “When the One made you in her image, it wasn’t just physical. The life spark that exists within each of you is an echo of hers. It drives your species’ very survival.” She shrugged, the top curve of her black wings brushing the ceiling. “It’s stronger in some of you than in others.”

  Perhaps. But was it strong enough to endure forever?

  “You’re the only one who can decide,” Michael said.

  She scowled at him. Did he read all her thoughts these days?

  Emmanuelle cleared her throat. “He’s escalating,” she said. “We need to move.”

  Michael’s gaze didn’t leave Alex’s. “You need to choose.”

  Alex closed her eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. None of it was supposed to be like this. Not Aramael, not Jen or Nina, not Hugh and Elizabeth, not Michael…

  And sure as fucking Hell not Seth.

  Seth, whom she’d once saved and tried to love, because she’d seen something in him. Seen a spark of his mother. A spark of promise. A whisper of good.

  But all that was gone now, and if she chose to live, she would have nothing but memories. Regrets. Loss.

  Eternity.

  She took another breath, savoring it as one of her last, and looked across the room to meet Bethiel’s gaze.

  She nodded her decision.

  He nodded his understanding.

  Michael broke the silence.

  “I can wait no more than half an hour,” he told Bethiel. “After that…”

  “I’ll be there,” Bethiel said. “Thank you.”

  Michael looked to Gabriel. “Look after her,” he said, nodding at Emmanuelle. “Be more than just her warrior.”

  There was no mistaking the sheen in Gabriel’s eyes this time. Or the quiver that ran through the wings tightly folded against the Archangel’s back as she squared her jaw and stood tall, meeting Michael’s gaze without flinching.

  “You know I will,” she said.

  Alex scowled. Preoccupied though she might be by her own impending death, the undercurrents running through the room were hard to miss. Something was up. Something more than—

  She shut her thoughts down cold. The war between Heaven and Hell was none of her concern anymore. It belonged to the angels now. To Michael and Gabriel and the others who followed them, and to Emmanuelle and Seth. Whatever Alex might sense beneath the surface here, it was out of her control.

  It was none of her business.

  She watched Michael take Emmanuelle’s hands in his. Volumes seemed to pass between them, though neither spoke a word. Unutterable sadness settled over Emmanuelle’s expression. But even as Alex crushed a spark of curiosity, a niggle of doubt, the One’s daughter took a deep breath and stretched up on tiptoe to pre
ss her lips to Michael’s cheek. Briefly. Fleetingly.

  “Heaven is with you, my warrior,” she said. “Always.”

  Then, turning, she was gone, Gabriel in her wake.

  Michael’s eyes closed for a moment before his attention returned to Alex. His gaze burned into her with the intensity of the sun itself, leaving no room for shadows, no thoughts unseen. Sorrow crept out from a hidden place deep within her, fragile and lost and achingly empty.

  “Alex,” he said.

  Her breath caught. This was it. This was the last time she would marvel at the strength and sheer beauty of the powerful wings rising behind him, the last time she would hear the rumble of his voice.

  “Michael…” She trailed off, the rest of her words tangling in her throat. Her heart.

  I don’t want to die. I don’t want to lose any more. I’m afraid.

  I’m so afraid.

  Michael wrapped her in the cocoon of his wings and held her against his chest. His heart thudded beneath her ear, strong and steady.

  “I wish I could do it myself,” he said. “I owe you that much. But I—”

  “No.” She shook her head against him. “I would never ask that of you, Michael. Bethiel…we had a deal. Bethiel is enough. Thank you.”

  His hands cupped her face, and one thumb wiped away a tear that rolled down her cheek. Emerald eyes looked into hers one last time. Warm lips brushed against her forehead.

  “I’m glad you’ll be safe,” he whispered.

  And then he, too, was gone.

  CHAPTER 58

  SETH STARED AT THE remains of Elizabeth Riley’s home. The empty remains, for Alex hadn’t been here after all.

  Behind him, sword clashed against sword in a cacophony of sound that nearly drowned out the wail of sirens that came from every corner of the city. Around him, the wind of a hundred wings snapped trees off at their bases and hurled cars down the street.

  Seth ignored it all.

  None of it mattered, because Alex had been here. The residual energy of her presence whispered to him from every ruined nook and cranny. Her presence…and Mika’el’s. Intertwined. Linked. Inseparable.