Her lack of skill facing Sammiél was a lesson in humility. All her training with Gideon and her continued advancement after his fall, none of it made a difference. Even her Empyreal sword hadn’t changed the outcome. He certainly lived up to the moniker, Archangel of Death. If an Empyreal sword couldn’t stop him, what could?
Scarla wrung her hands together. “They’re really not that bad. None of them are really that bad.”
Something worse than an UnHallowed, Dina didn’t want to meet. “They are UnHallowed, Scarla.”
The girl’s shoulders stiffened along with her spine. Her hands curled while her features turned glacial. “As am I.”
Through no fault of your own. Silently, Dina finished Scarla’s sentence and found a growing bud of respect. She defended the UnHallowed—her surrogate fathers as they defended her. If the UnHallowed could care for a fragile infant, nurture that child to adulthood, if they were prepared to die for that child and if that child returned that same loyalty…maybe what Dina continued to see in Gideon could be found in the others of his kind.
The book in the archives detailed all their wrongs. It was time she discovered if anything redeemable lay within their condemned bodies. “I’m sure you are the best of them.”
A small smile tweaked the corner of Scarla’s lips. She popped her hip out and dropped her hand on the curve. “You got that right.”
Dina found herself smiling with the Halfling. “Thank you for today, Scarla. It was most memorable.”
Scarla snorted. “Which part? The ass kicking or the shopping?”
What a choice. Both were equally horrid. “Honestly, both. I shall never forget either.” Another thought came to her. “Why does Sammiél have wings and others don’t?” Meaning why didn’t Gideon have wings when others did.
Scarla shrugged. “Don’t know. Some do. Some don’t. Many of the former Archangels retained their wings. Though, some didn’t.”
That some included Gideon.
Dina reached for her armor. Scarla rushed Dina and took her by the arms. “Don’t say it’s over! The guys are here and you can’t just tuck tail and run.”
The guys had to be the UnHallowed. Dina ignored the chill streaking down her spine and said, “I have no intention of tucking my tail and running anywhere.”
“Oh,” Scarla released Dina. “Well, that’s good.”
Dina sat on the edge of the bed. “There were others with Sammiél. Their faces were indistinct. Who are they?”
Scarla’s face screwed up in contemplation. “If I had to guess I would say Kushiél. He was once the Archangel of Atonement. Now, he’s way into punishing everyone for everything. Try having him as a babysitter. It was not fun.” She shuddered and seemed to push the memory away. “Riél, I mean Tahariél wouldn’t have been there. He was the Archangel of Purity, now he’s the exact opposite. He couldn’t survive long in the shadows. A lot of UnHallowed live in the shadows. Some never leave. It could’ve been any one of them.” She threw up her hands.
Dina wouldn’t give up. “There was another angel. A third. He argued with Sammiél to cease.” He may have saved her.
“Oh, that had to be Bane. He brought you here. He likes to say he’s nothing special. Though he’s like a big brother, I think he’s smoking!” A sly glint entered Scarla’s eyes and she gave Dina an appraising stare. “I know what we should do.”
The sudden eagerness of Scarla had Dina rising from the bed to grab her chest plate and greaves. “What?” she said with a good bit of hesitation.
Scarla snatched the armor out of Dina’s hands and turned her toward the bathroom. “Trust me.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The weight of the chancellor’s body was insignificant to the lead flowing beneath Gemma’s skin. She carried him—No! She cradled the husk of what remained of the man she’d known as the leader of their school. Pressed to her bosom, she extended her aura around him, shielding him from the harsh winds as she returned him to the place of his creation.
Wings flaring to slow her descent, Gemma touched down at the end of the training field. Her fellow warriors, now an impromptu honor guard, flanked her in a V-formation, their swords drawn and pointing towards the sky. The clang of steel striking steel ceased and the trainees cleared a path.
Steps measured to keep her knees from collapsing, Gemma walked the length of the field. A whimper came from her right and a trainee dropped to the field, weeping. One by one, the rest followed until their wails became an operatic lamentation. Lightning cracked the clear blue sky, a precursor of what was to come.
Aron landed in front of her. His ash and gold wings trembled when he saw the bundle in her arms. “Where—What?”
She shook her head. “Not here.”
He nodded once and reached for the chancellor.
“No.” She tightened her grip on the husk.
Aron ignored her and attempted to take him.
“You were supposed to protect him. Not let him die on your watch.” She shouted. Her rioting emotions overwhelmed her sense of propriety. The wails tapered to silent condemnation. Aron spun and faced the trainees. Their palpable hostility made him retreat. Gemma swept past Aron and continued with her solemn task of delivering the chancellor to his beloved school.
One hundred yards. It seemed like a mile when actually the distance to the podium wasn’t long enough. But the journey was almost over. Gemma stopped at the opposite end of the field from where she landed. Clouds formed and poured from the sky to coalesce and form a high altar. She climbed the marble steps and gently lay her burden down on the altar.
I’m done. You’re home.
A sense of completion filled her, only to be dashed away when she turned and faced the sudden throng of angels on the field and in the sky. Around them, clouds continued the transformation process of changing their surrounding from a school to a cathedral with soaring pillars, archways, and vaulted ceilings.
Angels crowded the narthex, the nave, both transepts, every cranny. They looked to her for answers when she had none. What answer could she give to this atrocity? All she had to share was the vengeance she swore on the beast who stole the chancellor from them.
Her lips parted to vent her rage. In the sky, the glint of six white and gold wings emerging from the clouds caught her attention. Her words halted, caught in her throat by a force she couldn’t defeat. Truthfully, she didn’t even try because before her startled eyes, the crowd parted and Michael, the greatest of them all, landed in the newly formed cathedral.
All bowed in greeting, except Gemma with her frozen muscles. Petrified, on the inside, as well as the outside, she watched his approach. Power coiled around him, yet had the fluidity only an angel of the highest order had mastered.
First, he stopped at the altar. His features a mask of pain, his words whispered so low she couldn’t catch them. He bent his body and bowed his head to touch the chancellor’s robes. His deep respect evident in the fine tremor shaking his shoulders and the single sob that reached her ears.
He straightened and his aura washed over her, ending her paralysis. His gold-rimmed white pupils seemed to pierce right through her body. In scant seconds, he judged her, weighed her merit on an invisible scale, convicted, and sentenced her in one harsh glance.
“Come with me, Gemma.”
Seraphim Michael knew her name. She had a ‘What The!’ moment, then dutifully, Gemma followed Michael to the chancellor’s office, aware of the flapping of their wings in the otherwise vacant halls. The doors to the chancellor’s suites opened on their approach. Michael flew inside, waited for her entrance and closed the door, leaving Aron in the antechamber. The surprise on his face morphed into fury at being excluded.
“You were about to say something to the mourners. I want to hear your words.” Back facing her, Michael’s tri-level gold edged, white wings were tucked close to his back. He paced the length of the spacious room, his tread a metronome.
Gemma swallowed the sudden lump blocking her throat. She couldn’t
outright lie. Right now, she could hardly speak. “Upon deeper consideration, my words—”
“Would have incited an uprising, possibly led to another cleansing.” Each word fell like a hammer to her head. “What were you going to say, Gemma?” Not a request, but a demand.
She imagined this was how a human felt when staring down the barrel of a loaded weapon. She clutched her hands together so they wouldn’t shake. It didn’t help the rest of her quaking body. “I was angry.”
“Why?” He had yet to turn and face her.
What kind of question was that? “The chancellor has been murdered. Have you forgotten the shriveled corpse on the marble slab on the training field!” She pointed to the open archway.
One did not raise their voice in the presence of the Seraphim Michael, never mind direct that raised voice at him. Other than Father, Michael’s word was to be followed without question. Yet she scolded him like an errant schoolboy.
His feathers fluttered though no breeze had entered the room. He turned with a precision that spoke of his patience. “Is that what you had planned to say? ‘The chancellor has been murdered’?”
“Yes.” A single tear rolled down her cheeks.
He stepped closer and Gemma forced herself not to shrink back from his overwhelming presence.
“And after swords were drawn and the battle cry filled the air, what then?” His lips hadn’t moved, but the words filled the space between them.
Gemma squared her shoulders and raised her chin. She met his flinty gaze with one of her own. “We would scourer the earth and find the killer.”
“And if innocent humans get in the way?” Again, his lips didn’t move and he took another step closer.
Kill them too. The words almost slipped from her lips. But then she thought of the toddler in the stroller she’d met earlier today.
Michael bent and she couldn’t see what he retrieved near her feet until he straightened and held a single lavender feather in his hand. Now, she quaked for a different reason. Angels lost feathers for only one reason.
“Your existence is balanced on the edge of a blade that you wield, Gemma. I speak now as one who is concerned for your well-being. Turn away from your current path. Seek comfort in the rituals you have learned from the elders and from the chancellor…or you shall fall.”
All Gemma could do was bow her head and mumble, “Yes, Seraphim Michael.”
“I am only a seraph while I guard our Father. Archangel will suffice.” He clarified what she should’ve known, yet had forgotten in all the turmoil. “I suggest you retire and prepare yourself for the coming ceremony. It will be arduous.” Once again, he gave her his back and walked to the window overlooking the altar and the body of the chancellor.
Gemma exited as quickly as her wings could carry her and didn’t stop until the door to her room closed behind her. Her armor melted from her body and reformed in the corner, leaving her clad in the myst under tunic.
Angels didn’t have a need for mirrors since vanity was strictly a human emotion. She made do with her shield and contorted herself into every imaginable position to see her wings. Was it just the one feather or were there more she hadn’t noticed? How close was she to the fall? Was she too late?
Unable to see, and overwhelmed with her near catastrophe, Gemma flung herself onto the bed. She refused to think about the chancellor or her actions, instead choosing to close her eyes and do exactly what Michael suggested, meditate on the rituals she learned as a cadet.
It worked for a while until her thoughts turned to Dina. Where was she? Dina had shirked her duty and avoided the battle. A battle where two of their warriors had given all to stop the horde of Darklings. The captain didn’t know of their deaths or that of the chancellor. A gong sounded. The chancellor’s ascension ceremony would begin within the hour along with the ceremony for the rest of their dead. Dina would be horrified if she wasn’t here to see them sent on his way. Gemma wouldn’t begrudge Dina that final farewell.
Focused on something other than herself, Gemma called to her armor. Instantly, it coated her body. She went to her window and balanced on the edge. Wings tucked, she dove into the nearest cloud and disappeared into the night.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Gideon walked into Lusted, the bar next to the training center, his temper, and patience perched on a razor’s edge.
The day had been nothing but a frustrating waste of time. Through the conduits in the shadows, he searched for the telltale signature of a new Cruor, and found nothing. A ripple did course through the conduits about an hour ago. Something had disturbed the balance of the shadows. It wasn’t the Cruor. He tried to track down the anomaly, but even that proved fruitless. The shadows were vast, mostly untamed realms weakened only by the rising sun and strengthened each evening when the sun completed its journey. Many of his fallen brethren chose to remain there in eternal darkness rather than be a part of the chaotic human world.
Dina’s aura spiked his senses. She must’ve returned to the training center, and didn’t that just crank his frustration up several notches. A tremor he couldn’t control raced down his spin and tightened his balls. The wall separating the two establishments did nothing to dull his awareness of her. She was a potent drug he wanted to mainline. He went directly to the bar for a shot of Hibiki and ended up drinking the neck and shoulders of the bottle. Only after the liquid sloshed around in his stomach did he notice the lack of human occupants. Even the music was subdued to a level where one could think without competition.
In the VIP section, Chay and Riél slouched on the couches, along with Bane—not unexpected—and Kushiél. Fuck. That bastard was definitely unexpected. He rarely left the shadows. What the—
Gideon spotted Sammiél looking rather human with his slicked back hair and normal five o’clock shadow. When did he decide to make an effort?
The atmosphere seemed easy, relaxed even. Since when was a gathering between the UnHallowed any of those things? Suspicious, Gideon studied each person searching for a Trojan horse. On a good day, they tolerated each other. So, what made today better than a good day?
Dina stepped fully into the lighted VIP section.
Dressed in a black leather, laced up bodice with a sweetheart neckline that dipped well into her cleavage, matching leather leggings, a lace shrug playing peek-a-boo with her toned arms and shoulders, and a slim satin choker circling her slim throat had a devastating effect on Gideon. The demure outfit he purchased for Scarla two weeks past after taking the brat on a shopping spree for her birthday was the exact opposite on Dina’s fuller figure.
Though all of her was covered, the leather molded to every curve and hollow Dina possessed. And her breasts, more generous than Scarla’s, the creamy tops jiggled enough to draw every pair of UnHallowed eyes to their perfect swells.
And was that lipstick slicked across her lips? And makeup on her eyes? What the fuck had Scarla done to her? Why was she smiling at Riél? What had that horny bastard said to make her cheeks turn rosy and sparkling eyes to lower?
Was she…flirting?
The smile froze on her face when she looked at Sammiél. Her eyes narrowed and the sparkle flickering in their depths faded. All of her stiffened and her sword hand curled in preparation for a weapon. Conversations swirled around them, yet everyone was dialed in, waiting for the first to strike.
Sammiél tipped his head in a conciliatory manner and she did the same. Something was going on between them, and he meant to find out what that something was. Gideon crossed the room to the VIP section. The group spotted him and the conservation quieted.
Gideon made a quick study of all the UnHallowed.
“Hibiki? That ain’t cheap,” Riél said when Gideon’s gaze landed on him.
“Bill me.” He no longer wanted a drink, yet held on to the bottle. “Dina.” His gaze shifted between her and Scarla. “I see you two are now BFF?”
Dina’s brows furrowed. “BFF? I don’t know the meaning of the term.”
“It me
ans best friends forever. Jealous, Gideon?” Scarla smirked, goading him. Then her watch beeped and she jumped up. “Awe, hell. I’m late for Sophie. I’ll see you guys later.” She hugged Dina and whispered something in her ear before dashing to the exit.
“So, are you gonna stand there or are you joining us? I vote for joining us ‘cause I want some of that Hibiki.” Chay downed the contents of his glass and held it aloft for Gideon to fill.
Gideon obliged and turned to Dina. “Care to try this, maybe you’ll like it better than the beer?” A discoloration on her cheek caught his attention. He took Dina’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and angled her head so light spilled upon the area.
“What happened to your cheek?” A bruise marred her skin. With her quick ability to heal, it had to be recent. Or made by someone powerful.
Dina jerked away and dipped her head, hiding her cheek with her hair…but not before her gaze darted to Sammiél.
Gideon pivoted and faced his fellow UnHallowed. Tunnel vision narrowed his sight on Sammiél’s stoic face, which hadn’t changed since Gideon had walked over. If anything, it was even more blank. Not an ounce of emotion showed. Yet, he wasn’t relaxed. His entire body hummed with expectation. He was prepared for violence.
And then his lip curled, showing an obscene amount of teeth in a mockery of a grin and he nodded once, an acknowledgment of the bruise on Dina’s cheek.
Crimson filled Gideon’s vision a microsecond before he lunged forward, tossing Bane and Riél out of his way. Sammiél didn’t move as Gideon hooked him around the neck and flipped him backward over the sofa and onto the floor.
Fueled by rage and on autopilot, Gideon pummeled Sammiél. He attacked with all his wrath at the sight of Dina’s bruise and the knowledge that an UnHallowed he considered a friend had touched her.
Blow after blow, Sammiél lay there as Gideon expelled his rage and frustration. Sammiél’s acceptance of Gideon plowing a fist into his face spoke more of his guilt than any words. That thought registered in the recesses of Gideon’s mind, though his arms didn’t slow their pile driver actions.
Only the Fallen (UnHallowed Series Book 1) Page 7
