Of Wings and Wolves

by SM Reine

  Summer chuckled and picked him up, letting her cat puddle in her arms. He immediately flopped onto his back. His belly fluff spread against her chest.

  “What is that?” Nash asked, recoiling.

  “This is my one true love,” Summer said, tickling her fingers through his fur. “Nash, meet Sir Lumpy. Sir Lumpy, meet Nash.”

  “Sir Lumpy.” He repeated it flatly, emotionlessly.

  “I’ve had him since I could barely talk, and ‘lumpy’ was one of my first words. I don’t know why I thought he looked lumpy, but he definitely grew into the name. He lumps around the house like a pro.” A line of drool slid down Sir Lumpy’s face and left a dot on Summer’s shirt. “You want to pet him? He’s friendly.”

  “No,” Nash said, “I think I’ll do without.”

  She opened her mouth to accuse him of not being a cat person—one of the greatest crimes anyone could commit, as far as Summer was concerned—but then the news on the TV behind him caught her eye. The sleek Adamson Industries logo was being displayed in the background.

  “Wait,” she said, leaning around him to unmute the TV.

  The sound returned just in time for it to switch from the newsroom to a reporter standing outside the Adamson Industries building in Wildwood. Crews of news teams were crowded in front of the door behind her. “Adamson Industries released a statement today saying that Mr. Adamson, head of the company, has stepped aside to permit new leadership to take control.”

  The camera switched to another angle of the building’s front steps. It looked like footage from earlier in the day, when a man in a suit held a press conference. Summer recognized his red hair and glasses. He was one of the men that had offered her the internship. He talked about fresh ideas, a “new direction” for the company, and changing CEOs.

  She turned questioningly to Nash. The emptiness in his eyes was terrifying.

  “Turn it off,” he said coolly.

  Summer immediately hit the power button. “What’s going on? You didn’t step down from running your company, did you?”

  “No,” Nash said. “I did not.”

  ten

  Summer had thought that her life hit apex weirdness at about the time a sexy, winged billionaire saved her from creepy children with claws, but she had been wrong. It was much weirder to be in the back of a limousine with Nash and her entire family. Gran looked totally out of place in her overalls, and Abram just looked mad, because he hadn’t wanted to come along at all.

  Summer ignored her brooding brother and focused on the news unfolding on the TV set into the mini bar. It didn’t look like there were any new developments. Just the same thing over and over: new direction, fresh leadership.

  Gran opened the minibar, blocking Summer’s view of the news. She picked through the bottles. There was very expensive brandy and vodka in tiny bottles, and the sight of them seemed to displease her. “Never did trust a man that isn’t properly stocked on good beer,” she muttered.

  “You don’t drink beer,” Summer said.

  “I’ll drink anything when the situation calls for it.”

  They finally reached the gates of the Adamson manor, and Nash threw his phone to the seat. “This is a joke,” Nash said. “I started this company hundreds of years ago. There is no line of succession. There is no board. There’s no way there could have been a vote to take the company in a new direction!”

  “So it’s bad?” Summer asked.

  His eyes flashed. “It’s bad.”

  Margaret met them at the steps, just as Summer had hoped she would. She embraced the maid while Abram was still helping Gran out of the limo.

  “Jesus,” Gran breathed, taking in the size of the manor on the side of the cliff, the lake below, the sweeping gardens.

  “Did the shipment arrive?” Nash asked Margaret.

  “Yes, sir. It’s in your office.”

  “Make the guests comfortable,” he ordered, and then he rounded on Summer. “You’re coming with me.”

  Abram looked like he wanted to protest, but Summer shot him a look that kept him silent. She left her family in Margaret’s capable hands and followed Nash inside.

  “I’ve had the computers from the archaeological dig delivered here,” he said. “I need you to assemble them now.”

  Summer frowned. “Wait, what about the takeover?”

  “It will be addressed,” Nash said. “Trust me. But first things first.”

  As promised, there were three large crates waiting in his office. The contents were mostly padding. She grounded herself and took all of the parts out of the boxes one by one, careful not to touch anything that looked delicate. When she was finished unpacking, the office was a delightful mess of computer organs—most of which she didn’t recognize.

  Summer started trying to arrange things in a logical order, but some of the parts were so weird that she couldn’t begin to guess at their purpose.

  “What is this?” Summer asked, turning the device over in her hands to peer at it closely. “These cables look like something out of a computer, but I’ve never seen a disc like this.”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Nash said.

  She held it up next to the memory drive in the bay of the computer. “I think it’s like the optical memory,” Summer decided. “I can work with this. Building computers isn’t my specialty, but it can’t be that hard, as long as I’ve got all of the pieces.”

  “They delivered everything that we found. It should all be intact.”

  “Then it’s just like a puzzle. Easy stuff,” she said. “Guess it’s time to earn my keep.”

  She got to work. He lurked at the edge of the room as she began piecing things together, but Summer quickly lost herself in the task at hand and forgot he was there.

  That port connected with this cable. This funny little plug fit into this socket. And all of these little metal frames—those were meant to hold this box, the disc thing, the circuit board. Some of the shapes reminded Summer of archaic computers that she had seen in her history of technology class, and everything fit together pretty well. But when she had run out of pieces to jam together and flipped the switch, nothing happened. Something was missing.

  “What’s this for?” she asked, lifting a cable that extended from the back of the computer’s case.

  “My engineers believe that it’s for conducting electricity,” Nash said, picking up the phone. “We may need a battery. I’ll contact my men.”

  Summer kept fiddling with the computer, but there was nothing left for her to do with it. Three letters were stamped on the side of the brushed metal casing: “UKA.” She wondered what it meant.

  After a few minutes, Nash hung up the phone.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, throwing some of the packing material back into the crates to clear a path to the door. “I have to make a trip to Wildwood to pick up the battery.”

  Summer followed him out the door and down the stairs. There was no sign of Abram or Gran. “Do you think that’s a good idea? I thought you said we’d be safer all together. That’s the whole reason we came here.”

  “You’ll be safe enough in this house without me. My guards have been instructed to shoot intruders on sight.” He took his jacket from Margaret and slipped it over his shoulders. The maid was stealthy. Summer hadn’t even seen her approach. “Stay close to the house. The gardens will be safe, but avoid the beach and forest.”

  “Maybe I should come with you,” Summer said.

  Nash hesitated with his hand on the door. His expression was inscrutable. Was he hot again, or cold? It was impossible to tell. “No,” he said. “I prefer to know that you’re safe here.”

  “You’re not going to do something stupid, are you?”

  He took her hand. Summer was surprised when he brushed his lips over her knuckles. It sent electricity shooting straight between her legs—like he had kissed somewhere much more intimate. “I will return to you, Summer. I promise.”

  Nash operated out of offices
in a nearby town called Wildwood. It was somewhat larger than Hazel Cove, though not by much; Adamson Tower was the tallest building there, and it was only seventeen stories. Indeed, Adamson Tower was the tallest building in the entire world. There wasn’t a lot of competition.

  He could have had one of his men bring a battery straight to his house, but curiosity had gotten the better of him. Nash needed to know who was fucking with him.

  His valet met him on the street outside, and she looked shocked when he emerged from his car and tossed the keys to her. “Sir,” she said.

  “Good morning,” he replied, shooting her the kind of look that made it clear questions were unwelcome.

  Some of the surprise likely stemmed from the fact that he had arrived without his entourage—those damned leeches in expensive suits that wanted to curry his nonexistent favor—but he suspected that most of her surprise was because of something his “successor” had done.

  What had the usurper told them? That he was taking a long leave of absence? Retiring, perhaps?

  Someone was going to have Hell to pay for this ridiculousness.

  He swept through the front doors of the tower.

  Human engineers could never match the ingenuity of angelic architects, so he had designed the tower himself. The sweeping glass sculptures that formed the centerpiece of the foyer had been sketched by his hand four hundred years prior; the smooth stone beneath his feet had been quarried from land that he owned east of Wildwood. He had dictated that the builders should find the whitest, purest stone, so that it resembled the buildings back home. It wasn’t as good as using ethereal bone, but nothing mortal was an adequate replacement for what angels produced.

  Conversations fell silent around him as he entered. The receptionist all but fell out of his chair behind the curved desk. All activity in the lobby died within moments.

  Nash caught the elevator door before it could close, and three faces, colorless with shock, stared at him from the other side. He thought that they probably worked for him. If he had been more like Summer, he probably would have known their names and positions, too.

  “Out,” he said, and they rushed under his arm to vacate the elevator.

  When the doors opened on the seventeenth floor, Nash found nobody waiting at his personal receptionist’s desk. His office door stood ajar.

  Nash shoved it open.

  A woman stood behind his chair. She was the same height as Nash, though much slenderer; her curveless body was draped in an elegant gown of filmy, peach-covered material. The light shining through it showed every line of her ribs, her waist, her hips. Brown hair fell to her elbows in soft waves. Her skin was a dark shade of olive.

  He knew that skin, that hair, those ribs. He knew them as well as he knew his own.

  “Leliel,” Nash said.

  She turned to face him. Like all angels, she moved like she had eight foot wings sprouting from her back, even when they were invisible.

  “Nashriel,” she replied warmly. Leliel’s face was still arrestingly beautiful. The blue eyes typical of their kind were striking against her skin, and she had the kind of high cheekbones and strong jaw that would have suited a pharaoh.

  After so many thousands of years, Nash had thought that seeing Leliel again wouldn’t fill him with the same bitter anger that he had felt the last time they spoke. Yet it returned immediately, undimmed by time, and he was tempted to wrap his hands around that slender, beautiful throat.

  “You’re the one that took charge of Adamson Industries?” he asked. “You ordered that damn press conference?”

  “Indeed.” Leliel lifted an eyebrow. “Adamson? Really?”

  There was nothing else she could have said to drive him to fury faster than that.

  He crossed his office in a flash and slammed Leliel to the window. It was triple-paned and reinforced; nothing short of a bomb could have broken it. But it cracked at the impact of her bouncing skull.

  She shoved him away. “I didn’t come to fight you.”

  “You can’t have thought I would greet you with a kiss and songs of joy,” Nash spat, reaching for her throat.

  She deflected his hand with her forearm. “Stand down, Nashriel!” she snapped. Her energy crackled around them. The lights flickered, buzzed. The bulb on his desk lamp exploded in a shower of sparks. The rest went dark.

  The glow of her wings filled the darkness left behind. Leliel had always been the most beautiful angel, with her red-gold feathers and impressive wingspan, and she had the force of energy to match it.

  Nash hadn’t felt another archangel’s heavenly light in so long. He hadn’t even realized that he had missed it.

  She smoothed her hair down with both hands and took a deep breath. Her wings vanished.

  The lights flickered and turned back on.

  “Let’s have a talk,” Leliel said, her voice forcibly serene. She pushed him lightly in the chest. The back of his legs hit the chair, and he sat.

  “I’m surprised you’ve survived the war.”

  Her expression turned pitying. “The war has been over for centuries,” Leliel said. “More than two thousand years.”

  “So have you come to free me?” Nash asked.

  Her laugh was as light as one of her feathers. “No, my love. I have not.”

  “Two thousand years isn’t punishment enough?”

  She touched the back of her head, and her fingers came away glistening with silver. “This isn’t a punishment, Nash,” she said, showing him the blood on her fingertips. “You’re still as dangerous as you’ve always been, and here you will stay as long as you present that danger.”

  Nash’s hands gripped the arms of his chair. “You mean until you kill our Father.”

  “He’s no father of mine,” she said, and he could tell that she was about to lose a grip on that serenity. She paced to the window and folded her hands behind her back again as she gazed at the street below. The wound on the back of her head was already closing again.

  “So what are you doing, if you haven’t come to release me?” he asked. “Have you chosen to exile yourself now?”

  Her eyes burned with blue fire as she bent down to rest her hand over his heart, and he stiffened. “I know that you’ve found a way out of the Haven,” she said softly. “I’ve felt the disturbances of doors opening and closing in recent years. Obviously, that hasn’t been your doing, or else you wouldn’t be here now. But I’ve brought friends to help me close the doors before you find them.”

  Of course that was her plan. It had been far too much to hope that the woman he once loved would have forgiven him.

  “So you’re dealing with balam and gibborim now. Have you truly fallen so far?” Nash asked.

  “You have no clue how far the glory of angels has fallen since you left.” Her hand clenched into a fist, and she leaned her weight into him. “It won’t take long to resolve my business here. I wanted to see you one last time before saying goodbye for the rest of eternity as we know it.”

  “You shouldn’t have wasted your time,” he said.

  Her lips twitched. “Tell me, my dearest one—you’ve had a very long time to think on what you did. Are you sorry yet?”

  He pushed her hand off of him. “I will never be sorry for choosing the right thing when others were too weak.”

  “Perverse,” she murmured, straightening her back. “A leave of absence from Adamson Industries would do wonders for you, don’t you think? Your first vacation in millennia. Savor it, Nash, because once I am gone and these doors are permanently sealed again, you will never have another vacation like it.”

  She glided to the elevator and tapped the button.

  “I could kill you now,” Nash said in a low growl.

  Leliel smiled. She knew as well as he did that he couldn’t hurt her. “I noticed that you’ve had a guest at your house. A young woman. A human. Tell me—what is she to you?”

  “She’s an intern.”

  “There’s no need to lie to me. You wouldn’t be
the first angel to fall into fascination with a mortal.” The doors opened, and she stepped inside. He caught the door to stop her. “What, Nashriel? Do you want me to give you my blessings?”

  “If you had the slightest sense of decency, you would let me go home.”

  Leliel’s lips pursed. “And leave the girl behind? Perhaps you aren’t as fascinated as I suspected. Perhaps I should remove that distraction from your life.”

  “If you touch her, I will kill you.” It burst out of him before he could think to shut his mouth.

  “I believe you,” she said.

  Nash stepped back. “Good.”

  The doors slid shut.

  eleven

  Summer found Abram standing barefoot on the beach with the tide slowly sucking his feet into the sand. Abram’s gaze was fixed at the distant mountains on the other side of the black lake, but it looked like his thoughts were a million kilometers away. “Angels,” he said softly.

  Summer sighed, leaned against his side, and wiggled her bare feet into the sand. “Yeah. Angels. And Gran’s been lying to us.”

  “I know.”

  “We don’t come from around here.”

  “I know that, too,” he said. “I think I’ve known that for a while.”

  The water was cold slopping over her feet. Her toes were already numb. “And if she’s lied about that, then what else do you think she’s keeping from us?”

  “It doesn’t matter. If Gran’s lying, she has a reason. I trust her,” Abram said.

  “But don’t you think she needs to trust us, too? We’re adults now. We can handle anything she throws at us.”

  “If it’s bad enough that she thinks we shouldn’t know, then she’s probably right to keep it to herself.”

  She used one of her feet to shovel a clump of sand into the water. “I wish I had your faith.”

  Abram wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave it a brief squeeze. Usually, a hug from her twin brother would have been more than enough to calm Summer, but it didn’t help at all this time.