“You don’t scare me, protector,” the general snarls.
“Take her to the safe house,” Asher states, using an even tone.
It takes a moment for it to register that he’s talking about me. “No,” I shout.
“That was fucking brilliant, blood of Eden,” McKenna says offhandedly.
At my outburst, the entire demon legion locks their focus onto Gage and me. Guess Asher was vague on whom for a reason. Moving as one unit, the army begins to advance.
“Fuck,” Asher spits out, turning and facing us. “Get her out of here, Gallagher!”
I struggle in Gage’s arms. “No,” I screech again. “You need my light source.”
Asher’s expression hardens. “I need you safe, siren.”
“I can help fight!” I reply, panicked.
“You don’t have wings. I can’t keep you airborne and fight at the same time,” Asher counters.
I shake my head adamantly. “I won’t go without you, Asher,” I cry.
Asher’s callous gaze meets mine. “It’s not your decision.”
“Don’t do this,” I shriek and plead. “Don’t let me go.”
At my words, Asher’s expression becomes wrecked before he looks away.
“NOW, GAGE!” he orders coolly.
Eligos lunging for Asher is the last thing I see before we disappear into the night.
Chapter 9
Slip Away
In the blink of an eye, Gage and I slip away and are safely relocated into a dark, warm room. I spin, slamming my hands into Gage’s stomach, pushing him back and tearing myself free of his grasp. I wheeze, trying to draw in a breath. Crap. I’m having a panic attack.
The walls begin to close in on me, and my chest squeezes tightly. I struggle through my breathing, and on shaky legs, fight through reality. My gaze slowly lifts to his guarded one.
“You need to calm down, love,” Gage says in an attempt to pacify me.
Is he serious? I cock my arm back and smash my fist into his perfect jaw. A sick satisfaction wraps itself around my insides while I watch him lift his hand to his shocked face, rubbing the red spot where I pathetically sucker punched him.
“Take. Me. Back,” I bark through a tight jaw.
Gage snaps forward, his face contorted in frustration. “No.”
I match his stance. “I need to help them. They need my light source.”
He grunts and lowers his hand. “Because the light source worked so well against the dark army at Notre Dame. Right?”
“Fuck you,” I seethe. “Fuck YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU!”
“There’s the eighteen-year-old. Nice to see her again.” Gage steps around me.
I jerk back at the insult. “You can’t just expect me to sit around and wait here for them.”
“That is exactly what you will do, Eve.” He moves around the room, flicking on switches.
One by one, the lights pop on, revealing our location. As I take in my surroundings, everything around me slows. A raw pain runs through my heart and I suck in a breath.
“Why are we here?” I whisper in a defeated voice.
Gage’s expression softens. “This is the safe house. Garrick and the dark army can’t find you here because Michael has it well protected. We’re to stay here until the clan arrives.”
I meet his stare and pinch my lips. “I can’t stay here, Gage.”
He sighs. “You will. It’s a direct order from your mate and future king.”
My expression turns violent. “I’m human. I don’t take orders from Asher. Or you.”
“If you’re to be our future queen, love, then I suggest you brush up on how our world works.” He throws me a sharp look. “I need a smoke. Feel free to come find me when you’re finished with your temper tantrum,” he murmurs, storming toward the front door.
“If anything happens to him, I will never forgive you,” I throw over my shoulder.
Gage doesn’t respond. He steps onto the front porch, slamming the door behind him. The house rattles from the force, and my shoulders sag. Reluctantly, I turn and take in the warmth of my comfortable childhood home. Memories flood me, and tears begin to sting my eyes.
With apprehension, I approach the antique chest housing the snapshots of my life. Each one is a sorrowful reminder that my mother, Elizabeth, is dead. Being here without her feels wrong somehow, like I’m an intruder.
A painful lump grows in my throat as I pick up the framed photo from last Christmas. We’re all in front of the tree, and everyone looks happy. Forcing away a sob, I place it back.
My steps are light on the hardwood floors as I make my way into the eggshell-blue kitchen. With a light touch, I brush my fingertips over the modern bronze handles and smile at the recollection of when my mother and I found them in the hardware store.
I take two more steps into the petite kitchen and gaze out the windows, over the sink, onto the now unkempt garden. At the sight of something she put so much love and time into, being in such disarray, my heart splits, and I’m suddenly filled with irrational anger.
I don’t recall how I got outside. One minute I’m staring out the window, and the next, I’m kneeling in between the overgrown plant life, pulling and yanking at the weeds. I choke and clench my teeth irritably, trying to steady my breathing. I struggle to keep the tears from stinging my eyes. I push away the anger that everyone I love has been taken away from me.
My eyes slide shut and I tighten them. Please. Please bring Asher back to me. I need him. I beg anyone who will listen to the plea before reopening them. Out of nowhere, my gaze lands on a lone perfect pink rose presenting itself in the decaying garden. I tilt my head in curiosity and cup it gently with my palm, reminded of Aria. Another person I love, gone.
Sadness sweeps through me like a current and, without thought, I crush the flower between my fingers, releasing a raw, painful bellow. I cover my face with my hands and rock on my knees, trying to make all the hurt just stop.
In an instant, Gage is there. Protective arms wrap around my body. “I’m here, love. I’m here,” he whispers into my hair and tightens his hold on me.
“It’s too hard,” I snivel.
Gage sits on the dirt floor and pulls me into his lap. “I know.” His voice cracks.
Clutching onto his shirt, I weep uncontrollably into his chest.
His fingers tangle in my hair as he sways. “Let it out.”
At his words, my sobs become deeper and more painful. He holds me tighter, engulfing me in the mixed scents of cigarettes and spice. After a while, my hiccups slow and I pull back, wiping my tear-stained cheeks with the backs of my hands. My eyes drift downward in embarrassment that I’ve unleashed so much emotion on him.
Reaching for my chin, Gage lifts my face. “Asher will come back to you.”
“I know,” I whisper and sniff in. “I’m just overwhelmed by being here.”
Gage helps me to a standing position. With his right hand, he brushes the lingering drops of water off my cheek. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He smiles sadly.
I nod and let him lead me back into the house on Martha’s Vineyard. Once in the kitchen, he motions to the countertop and I slide myself onto it, dangling my feet like a child. He tears off some paper towels and runs them under the faucet before gently wiping under my eyes.
I still, watching him, unsure of how to react to how nurturing he’s being.
“You know, the first time I reentered the loft after Camilla’s death, I destroyed everything that was hers. Or reminded me of her.” He flips my palms over and begins to wipe the dirt from them. “It’s my one regret. I wish I’d kept one thing. Just one. Something. Anything, to remind me that she was real,” he admits.
My watery eyes meet his and his jaw ticks. Angrily, he balls up the wet towel and throws it in the trash before running his hands over his face and through his golden blond hair.
“I’m sorry I punched you earlier. I may have overreacted just a bit.” I wince.
Gage nods o
nce. “I can’t say I didn’t have it coming, love. Let’s just call it payback for all the times I’ve dropped you in a pool of water after teleporting.”
An awkward snort bursts out of me and I sniff again. “Deal.”
Gage folds his arms and cocks his hip, leaning on the counter next to me. “Sometimes we have to sacrifice our own wants and needs to help others fulfill theirs. Asher couldn’t protect you while fighting tonight. As you so elegantly pointed out a few moments ago, you’re human. There are limits to your capabilities. Fighting in flight is a limit. That’s why he sent you away. Not because he doesn’t trust your ability to help.”
I release a slow exhale. “I know.”
“Why don’t you go shower, so when he gets here, you don’t look like . . .” he pauses, looking me over, and frowns. “Well, like this.” He motions at me. “I’d rather not be on the receiving end of another I told you to take care of Eve lecture from your overprotective mate.”
I slide off the counter with a small smirk. “Understood.” Before I make my way out of the kitchen, I stop in the doorway, throwing him a quick glance over my shoulder.
“Thank you, Gage, for being here for me tonight—and protecting me.”
His lips press into a flat line, and his face becomes ashen. He dips his chin in acknowledgment of what I said, but I swear he looks as if he is about to be sick.
I clasp the last button to my flannel pajama top and put the hair dryer back under the sink. Since our belongings burned along with the plane, I had to rummage through my dresser and pull out a pair of my old pajamas. I’d forgotten how comfy my Victoria’s Secret sets are.
My bare feet grace the last step of the staircase just as the aroma of greasy cheese and tomato sauce hits me. Before I can seek out the pizza, I’m grabbed by a large set of familiar arms. The well-built owner smashes my face against his chest, making breathing difficult.
“Welcome home, princess,” the archangel Uriel’s rich, masculine voice greets.
Using all of my strength, I push at his chest. “C-can’t breathe.”
He releases his hold with a grimace. “Sorry, angel, I forget that you’re human.”
I take a step back and inhale slowly. “What’s with the princess and angel?”
Uriel gives me a sheepish look. “I’ve been told it’s normal practice for uncles and nieces to have terms of endearment. I’m trying out different ones to see which one sticks.”
I arch a brow, suddenly aware of how tired I am. “How about, just Eve?”
Uriel’s expression contorts. “If that’s what you want, just Eve.”
I roll my eyes. Clearly, he misinterpreted my request. I turn to the other divine being watching us curiously with his deep jade eyes. “Hello, Michael.”
“Eve.” He dips his head formally.
As I study the warrior of Heaven’s straight-faced expression and flawless skin, I’m instantly transported back to our first meeting. I note the angel’s dark-blond, neck-length hair is still pushed back with effortless style. Once again, he’s wearing black dress pants and a white button-down shirt. Michael’s powerful presence is meant to intimidate. And it does.
Inhaling, I elevate my chin and fold my arms over my chest protectively before sliding my gaze to Uriel. Unlike Michael, his larger-than-life gold wings are on full display.
In contrast to the warrior of Heaven, this archangel’s blond hair is flowing down the warrior’s neck and casually lying across his broad shoulders. I laugh internally, noticing he’s still wearing his gold armor. The chest plate is decorated with a scroll, and his forearms are adorned with metal shields, one on each arm. Red silk fabric drapes on his lower body.
“Still refusing to wear pants?” I smirk and point to Uriel’s muscular bare legs.
Warm, good-natured amber eyes dance with amusement at the jab. “As I have mentioned before, daughter of Heaven, if you had these calf muscles, you wouldn’t wear pants either. It’s really too bad you got your tiny little chicken legs from your dad.”
At the reminder that Michael is my biological father, the room falls silent.
I clear my throat and meet Gage’s unreadable expression. “Any word from Asher?”
“No, love. Sorry.”
“Wait, he gets to use a nickname?” Uriel throws Gage an exasperated look.
I shrug. “He’s one of my protectors.”
“I’m blood,” the archangel counters.
“Technically, Uriel, you are not,” Michael interjects.
A second awkward pause of silence beats between the four of us.
Uriel’s voice rumbles through the quiet room. “So, Mikey, how does this work?”
“How does what work, Uriel?” Michael inquires formally.
“Do we tip the babysitter? Or do I just offer him some pizza and a ride home?” he asks.
Gage narrows his eyes at the archangel in some weird form of challenge.
“Sorry, protector,” Uriel apologizes. “I’m new at this whole uncle thing.”
Gage’s expression turns sour. “Christ, I need another cigarette.”
I toe the floor, tongue-tied, and watch him escape drama for the second time tonight.
Uriel puts his brawny arm around my shoulder and heaves me to his side. “There, there, just Eve. Daddy and Uncle Urie are here now. There is no need to be gloomy.”
My gaze slides to Michael’s displeased look. “Uriel,” he warns sharply.
“What are you both doing here?” I ask dejectedly.
Michael takes a cautious step toward me with a concerned expression on his face.
“Mr. Gallagher said you had an emotional breakdown earlier. Is that true?”
I avert my gaze. “This is the first time I’ve been home since my mother died.”
“This is your home, Eve. Libby would want you to be happy here. Not despondent.”
“Yeah. I’ll work on that . . . Dad.” My voice drips with sarcasm.
Michael lifts an arched brow at my statement. “I forget how young you are, Eve, until you use tonal inflections like the one you just used on me,” the archangel reprimands.
“Mikey, I believe the word you are in search of is sass. She sassed you. You know, often a teen’s behavior cannot be explained, justified or understood. It just is,” Uriel offers.
I sigh and change topics. “How is she?”
Michael’s expression brightens. “Libby is well. She’s gardening and spending quite a bit of time correcting what she perceives as inappropriate human behaviors and divine habits.”
Uriel releases a boisterous laugh. “Basically, she’s retraining him.”
I nod. “She deserves to be happy. You both do . . .” I trail off.
My self-appointed uncle drops a kiss to my head. “Sorry it’s taken so long for us to come, but I had one very unhappy goddess to placate.” He shivers as if the memory terrifies him.
A small grin crosses over my lips at the memory of our recent visit to the Ice Catacombs to meet with Zyla, the demigoddess of protection. Apparently, the goddess granted me the gift of protection, in the form of my light source, a deity favor to express her love for Uriel.
It would seem the archangel and demigoddess have, an on-again, off-again relationship. Which he spat on when he slept with her sister, hence the need to calm her anger. I snort, thinking how perfect Callan’s shirt saying is. Family drama: the gift that keeps on giving.
“So she’s forgiven you then?” I ask with a guarded tone.
“I believe I’ve managed to tame her rage for the time being. A deity as powerful as Zyla is not a goddess who easily forgives, just Eve,” he explains. “Given the opportunity, I do believe she’d freeze my gentlemanhood, until they are blue, to make a point.”
I release a slow breath. “Stop calling me just Eve.”
Uriel’s brows pinch. “I thought that was what you wanted me to call you?”
“No. I meant, just. Call. Me. Eve,” I clarify. “No nicknames.”
“Tell you what, I
will stop calling you ‘just Eve.’ However, we are going to work out this pet-name situation, lollipop,” he retorts. “Speaking of sweets, where is Callan? I’ve been craving his cookies like a mad angel.” He unceremoniously rubs his stomach.
My gaze shifts between the two divine beings. “He’s with the rest of the clan. Fighting the dark army. We were attacked mid-flight on our way here.”
Uriel frowns. “Well, in the meantime, little one, I brought pizza.”
“I’m not hungry,” I declare at the same time my stomach growls loudly.
The archangel rolls his eyes. “There is nothing I despise more than when someone says they’re not hungry, and then their stomach growls like a bear. It’s not cute. It’s annoying.” He sighs and points to the stools at the counter. “Sit. Eat. We’ll visit.”
I begrudgingly follow his orders, taking a seat and picking up a slice of the cheesy goodness.
Michael drops his tone to a whisper as he addresses Uriel. “Really, brother? There is nothing that you despise more than a human’s growling stomach?” he challenges.
Uriel inhales two wedges. “Well, evil sucks. Other than that, nothing comes to mind.”
My gaze lifts to Michael’s. “Isn’t there anything you can do to help Asher and the clan?”
Michael’s face falls. “Eve, you know—”
I cut him off. “We don’t get involved in matters of supernatural disputes.” Irritated, I mimic his words.
“If you know this, why do you ask again and again?” he questions.
“I don’t ask all the time,” I argue like a petulant child.
“You do have a habit of repetition, DOH. When we first met, after your ascension, you repeated a lot of what I said back to me,” Uriel points out. “It was adorbs.” He grins widely.
“D-O-H?” I replicate.
“Daughter of Heaven.”
I put my half-eaten piece down. “No.”
Uriel waves his hand dramatically. “I wasn’t married to it either.”
Michael takes a seat next to me and thoughtfully watches me.
“So you both came down from your divine duties to what? Babysit me?” I ask.
Restoration Page 11
