by C. Gockel
Isaac shook his head, his back to Clark. He said something like, “No, the blood is the problem.” But Clark wasn’t sure he heard correctly.
“What?”
“Do you remember who the ruined fallen are?”
Clark frowned. His focus shifted solely on his father. “Of course. We learned about them in school. They are kept in the Descendants’ prison on the compound.”
Isaac made a face. “Don’t act like you never snuck in and saw them. I know how young Descendants act.”
“Um,” Clark said, shifting on the tailgate. “Well…”
“Do you remember what happened to them?” Isaac asked.
“Yeah. They were rogue fallen angels who drank human blood and went, like, totally crazy.”
“Human blood is addictive,” Isaac said. “And the ruined fallen angels drank too much, and they became diseased. Their wings fell out. They couldn’t even move. Now we keep them in the prison without binds, because they’ve never woken from their coma. The very essence that made them angels disappeared, leaving only their shell behind.”
Clark had indeed snuck into the prison to see the ruined fallen. He remembered the angels’ limp bodies stretched across the cold metal gurneys. They were listless, dead in every way but the one that mattered. They still breathed; their hearts beat. But their bodies were shrunken, nearly skeletons. Their eyes had long since decayed, and their eyelids drooped uselessly into the sunken pits. Where their wings had once been, their backs were twisted and vile, like the bones grew back in the wrong positions.
The young boys with Clark had acted tough while they were there, but every one of them had nightmares for weeks afterwards. The angels were disgusting, and Clark hadn’t let himself think of them again. Until now.
“What about them?” Clark asked.
Isaac sighed. He shrugged and turned away. “Just what popped into my head when you said Cassie was drinking blood.”
“Oh…” Clark shifted uncomfortably on the tailgate. “Michaela will probably want to leave soon. We had a solid lead on finding where Cassie works,” Clark said.
“Are you sure?” Isaac asked, his focus returning to the toolshed where Michaela still hadn’t emerged.
“About what?” Clark asked.
His pile of rust flakes crumbled with the breeze and blew to the ground, scattering into the orchard. He used to play out here with his mom. Before, when they were a happy family, Isaac would drive them out here for a picnic. And Clark would sit on the tailgate just as he was now, playing with his toy trucks, while his parents ate and talked until late in the afternoon.
“If she will want to go back to Charleston,” Isaac clarified.
“Of course she will. We are close to figuring out what Lucifer and Cassie are doing. The souls are the whole reason Lucifer agreed to the deal with the Aethere. If Michaela can figure out Lucifer’s real plan with the souls, then she might be able to prove the Archangels’ innocence.”
Isaac walked back to the truck and sat on the tailgate with Clark. “She’s been fighting a long time, Clark—a lot longer than we can even imagine. She’s tired. All of her closest friends and family have been hurt by this war. She can only take so much, and I’m worried that this,” Isaac nodded to the toolshed, “might be the last straw.”
“But you said earlier it would make her stronger,” Clark said.
“I hope it does. I really do. I think she can find the courage to continue, because I believe in her.”
Clark frowned. “But she wouldn’t give up. We are so close to fixing everything.”
“Are you sure finding out about the souls will fix anything? Or will it just be the start of a new battle?” Isaac settled his arm around Clark’s shoulders and squeezed. The gesture moistened Clark’s eyes, and he had to fight to keep the tears in. “But maybe you’re right. She might want to leave early in the morning, so you should get some rest. I can sneak you into the compound.”
“No.” Clark shook his head. “I’m staying out here with her.”
Isaac’s smile was small as he regarded his son. He squeezed Clark’s shoulders one last time and rose, bones creaking, from the tailgate. “Okay. I brought some food and water.” He pulled a rucksack from inside the truck. “There are some blankets in here too. Don’t turn on any lights. Try to stay quiet. The night guard won’t see you out here.”
Stepping away from the truck, Clark took the bag and settled it onto his shoulder. “Thanks, Dad.”
Isaac reached out his hand. It took a moment for Clark to recognize his intentions. He bit down hard on his tongue and shook his father’s hand.
“See you in the morning.”
Clark watched as the truck fired to life. He heard the strains of Johnny Cash as the truck bounced onto the farm road until it disappeared deep into the orchard’s trees. The sun had set when he walked back to the toolshed.
Michaela was asleep on the sleeping bags with Zarachiel wrapped tight in her arms. Clark didn’t risk laying a blanket over her for fear of waking them both. Instead he walked back to his car and settled in for the night. He kept the door open so he could hear Michaela if she woke.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Michaela stood outside the toolshed. The hint of a breeze pressed against her cheek but did not blow. The trees’ small budding leaves leaned against their slender stems, caught in between movements. The air was quiet, still. Clark lay in the car, feet propped on the dashboard, drool suspended from his bottom lip. Time paused, and she managed to channel Gabriel.
Michaela heard a sharp intake of breath behind her. She pivoted, slicing through the thick air. Gabriel, blinking in surprise, reclined against the shed wall. She smiled. Immediately the tension in her shoulders eased. She walked to him and sank to the ground.
“You’re getting better at channeling,” Gabriel commented. He took her hand in his. Michaela noted the new claw marks.
“It took me a while to get you here,” she said. She rocked her head back against the wall so she saw into his eyes, which she was glad to see were once again their normal warm gold. After their last encounter, she didn’t know what to expect. Understanding, he squeezed her hand.
“I’m glad you did,” he said, and Michaela knew he meant it. She breathed a sigh of relief.
He leaned over. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her lips parted, freeing a shaky breath. His lips met hers softly for the briefest of kisses, but it was enough to send her stomach clenching in spasms. She smiled at him again when he drew back. The warmth from his hand seeped into hers.
“Where are we?” Gabriel asked, glancing around.
The moment had passed too quickly, taking Michaela’s brief happiness with it. “Zarachiel is in there. It’s bad, Gabe.” She watched Gabriel’s face carefully. His lips twitched, and his eyes hardened slightly.
“What happened?”
Michaela glanced down. She fought to keep the racking guilt she felt from her voice. “Abel took his wings and threw him to Earth. Luckily, Isaac found him before anyone else.”
“How is he?” Gabriel’s voice was as tight as his tense body.
“Not good,” Michaela said, staring at the ground. “He is conscious enough to speak, but I can’t understand him. Sometimes his body jerks, like he is flinching away from something. They burnt all his feathers off…I think he is too weak to even heal himself.”
Gabriel stayed quiet when Michaela finished. Their shoulders were pressed together. His grip on her hand was tight.
“Abel left me a message in Zarachiel’s skin,” Michaela said. She leaned her head against Gabriel’s bare shoulder, seeking comfort. “He asked if I was proud. I always regretted taking Lucifer’s wings. Abel knew how it tortured me. I even went to him for advice, asking if he thought the punishment fit, because he was the leader of the Aethere. He was the only angel who would know if I acted incorrectly. He knew I hated myself for what I did to Lucifer. He’s using it against me, to punish me.”
They were silent a long time. The sky
was a dark orange above the treetops, stuck between twilight and night. It was beautiful, Michaela noted, but she didn’t appreciate it. She grew tired of channeling Gabriel and never really seeing him. His dream self was not enough to sustain her.
“I don’t know what to do,” she breathed.
“I’ve told you how I feel about this,” Gabriel said. Michaela heard his anger.
“I know.”
“This never should have happened,” Gabriel said quietly, angrily. He ground his teeth together.
Michaela jerked like he had slapped her. She reeled back, staring at him with shocked eyes. “Gabe, I know. But I can’t keep Abel from hurting angels.”
With a growl, Gabriel shoved to his feet. Michaela deserved his anger. It was her fault Zarachiel was hurt. She knew it, but to hear the words, to see them even in his eyes, would crush her. Michaela stood behind him, trembling not with anger but in fear of what he would say. He was careful, though. Nothing crossed his face except for scorching anger.
“Damn it,” Gabriel snarled. He surged toward her. “I don’t want to talk about this now.”
He pulled her against him before she even registered his motions. His hand raked through her hair, clenching it in his fist at the base of her skull. His other hand gripped her hip, pressing her into him. With a tug that bordered on painful, he pulled her hair so that she stared, wide eyed and mouth agape, at his face.
It was a storm—a hot, out-of-nowhere storm—that fried lands and flooded rivers. He was a tornado sucking her into him. His golden eyes sparked as he stared at her, making her insides quiver and melt. Her arms shook, her knees knocked when his jaw clenched, forming rivets up the side of his tanned face. Even her teeth threatened to chatter from desire. He snarled, diving toward her face like he might consume her whole. She gasped, but he covered the sound with his mouth.
He was relentless. He poured himself into her, and Michaela only held on. Her lips swelled beneath his onslaught. When his tongue stroked hers, she moaned at the wild, uncontrolled taste of him that she had never had before, not like this. His breaths were shaking gulps in her mouth.
He worked his hand underneath the hem of her thin t-shirt, scrapping his fingers up her ribcage. She shook uncontrollably when the roughness of his hand found her sensitive nipple. He squeezed, making her gasp again.
It took Michaela a moment to notice he had pulled away. She opened her eyes and felt a clench deep inside when she saw the expression on his face. “All I want is you,” he said the words like a deep throated growl.
He pulled her hair again, bending her neck even farther so her body bowed into his. His hardness pressed against her belly. His lips were on her neck, sending shivers down her spine, and her fingers were numb from digging into his back. She whimpered.
The sound undid him. He let her hair go. His other hand lifted from her back. Surprised, Michaela opened her eyes once again. He had his fingers on the band of her jeans, waiting. He was finally asking for permission.
She nodded. Or at least she thought she did.
He yanked. The material of Clark’s worn out jeans ripped violently, shredding into a million pieces. The zipper screeched with a metallic resistance. What was left of her pants fell to her calves in tattered pieces.
“You’re not wearing underwear.” Gabriel’s voice was husky and deep.
Blushing, Michaela said, “I don’t have any.”
Gabriel groaned and sank his lips onto hers again. His fingers found the spot between her legs. His explorations made Michaela’s body convulse. She had never been touched like that before, and the sensations burned deep in her belly, searing her from the inside out. The noises he made her make were foreign to her ears. She sank into his hand, her knees giving way.
He caught her. Like she was a feather drifting in front of him, he lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his hips. His eyes were searing flames, like she stared straight into the center of fire without blinking.
“Keep your eyes open the whole time,” he commanded. His voice was hot an inch from her mouth.
A while later they lay on the ground. Michaela was draped over him, naked and still breathing heavily. His arm was wrapped lazily around her. “Are you okay?” Gabriel asked. He spoke into her hair, tickling strands across her ear.
“Yeah,” she said with a rasp in her voice. She lifted her head and smiled at him.
“I’m sorry it was a little…rough,” Gabriel said sheepishly. His smile was tentative and slightly crooked, but extremely pleased. “I probably should have slowed down for our first time.”
Michaela blushed, ducking her head down onto his chest. Gabriel traced his finger along the scars on her back. Goose bumps prickled along her arms.
“When I wake up,” Michaela said, her eyelids drifting closed, “will my jeans be shredded?”
She felt his laughter beneath her chest. It was nice, to find the laughter in something. It almost made her forget that in reality, she was holding Zarachiel and not Gabriel.
“They will be fine,” he answered, smiling.
They laid there, tangled together, for a while longer. Michaela found she couldn’t stop smiling. Gabriel had been her best friend since her creation, but she had never felt as close to him as she did right then. The guilt she felt earlier receded, because, surely, this was not a sin.
Gabriel’s chest tightened beneath her. She heard his mouth open as though he meant to ask her something. Yet, he never did.
“What is it?” she asked finally.
Gabriel cleared his throat. Michaela realized he was uncomfortable. His hand stilled on her back. “Nothing is happening between you and the Descendant, right?” he asked.
“Clark?” Michaela laughed. Gabriel returned her gaze like he didn’t think it was funny. His eyes were simmering with worry and possibly jealousy. “No, he is just a friend—a really good friend, actually.”
“Good. I’m glad,” Gabriel said. He relaxed beneath her, lowering his head. He let out a breath.
“You’re glad about what? Nothing happening, or that he is my friend?”
“Both.” Gabriel grinned.
They stayed like that for a while, holding each other and making the other smile. Even Gabriel’s finger on her ruined back didn’t make her anxious. They talked as though they hadn’t in a while. No one grew angry; no one made accusations. They were like they always had been. But it wasn’t true. They had changed their relationship irrevocably.
Michaela finally lifted her head. The pull of consciousness hummed in the back of her skull. She thought she heard something like a shout from the distance. If she looked close enough, she almost saw the edges of the orchard folding into itself as the dream withered away. Gabriel noticed it too. He sat up, brushing Michaela’s hair from her eyes.
She couldn’t help but smile. It was easy with Gabriel. Words bubbled up, forming a sentence deep within her throat. Her heart clenched with nerves.
“Gabe, I lov—”
But she never got to finish.
Chapter Thirty
“You, bitch!”
The steel-toed, thick-soled boot smashed into the side of Michaela’s face. Her nose flattened with a sickening, wet crunch. Blood, warm and bitter, poured into her open, gasping mouth. She rolled, dodging another blow to her face, causing it to land solidly against her ribs.
Michaela struggled to shift away from Zarachiel as the hits kept coming. The plastic on the floor twisted around her legs, making her stumble and slide. She fielded them until she saw who attacked her.
The angel backlit by the morning sun wasn’t familiar. The shoulders were narrow; collarbones pointed like sharp razors into the sky. Michaela saw the short, black hair cut into a symmetrical, no nonsense bob. When she saw the hollowed cheeks, the slashing cheekbones, and almond shaped eyes, she finally knew.
“Uriel,” Michaela gasped. “Stop.”
Uriel reached down, grabbing Michaela by the shirt and hair. “You’re not the boss of me anymore,” Uriel whispere
d. With a mighty heave, Uriel flung Michaela into the wall with such force, her body crashed through the wooden slats. She slammed into the ground on the outside of the shed, her body jarring like tumbling bricks.
Michaela struggled to her knees when Uriel came at her again. The punches and kicks rained down, but Michaela did not fight back. Guarding her head, wrapping her arm around her ribs, she waited for Uriel to stop.
Clark shouted in the distance. “Michaela!”
A car door slammed, but that was it. From there on, Michaela only saw the slashing, raging anger on Uriel’s face. Michaela found it surprisingly easy to sit there, taking the hits one after the other. She welcomed them, to an extent even enjoyed them, because ultimately she deserved them.
“Uriel, you’re on Descendant property, and I have to ask you to refrain from royally beating the hell out of your General.”
“She isn’t my General anymore,” Uriel spat, but she quit hitting Michaela.
Michaela cracked open an eyelid. Uriel towered over her with bloody fists clenched at her sides. Isaac was the one who had spoken. Clark must have called him when he saw Uriel, which made Michaela wonder how long Uriel had been beating her. She sat up, wincing at the pain.
“That’s an interesting point,” Isaac responded like he was discussing the next election. “And I guess that technically you are right, Uriel.”
Clark crouched beside her. “Are you okay?” Concern etched wrinkles onto his young face, his blue eyes worried. He rubbed his hand across her back, supporting her as she got her legs underneath her. Michaela turned and spat the blood from her mouth when she stood.
“Why are you here?” Michaela asked Uriel.
Uriel spun to face Michaela. Her eyes were cutting. “Why?” Her words were a guttural sound behind her snarling lips. “Why do you think I’m here, Michaela?”
“No,” Michaela cleared her throat. She still tasted blood, but thankfully the only thing broken was her nose. “I meant how you found out about Zarachiel.”
