by Liz Meldon
“She’ll survive.” Moira checked on her best friend, who was currently shuffling along beside Alaric, her cheeks crimson. “You both will.”
Behind her, the angels drifted toward a stirring Aeneas, and just before she reached the bars of the cell, Moira stopped.
“Wait.” She made sure Malachi had Severus’s full weight before she stepped back. “I’ll be right behind you guys.”
Malachi hissed her name, but she ignored him, gesturing for the exit with a pointed look before power-walking back to the angels. None of them seemed to notice her—or, more likely, none of the remaining four had any interest in acknowledging her presence. Not deterred in the slightest, she reached up and tapped Cassiel’s right wing, stumbling back when he whirled around, his expression hard.
“What?”
“Look, I didn’t ask to be this,” she said shakily. “I don’t really know what’s happening for me, and I don’t know what else is coming. When the demon he ordered to torture me did it, he cut into my back and said I had wings. I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing. Maybe you could help—”
“Your fate will be decided in Heaven’s courts, abomination,” Cassiel told her, his words articulated so clearly, so pointedly, that she felt each one like a knife. “Until that time, we have no obligation to entertain you. Heed you. But rest assured that should they call for your extermination, we will know where to find you.”
He whirled back around, wings shutting out her view of a bloody Aeneas on the ground. Mouth hanging open, Moira stood there, feeling as though Cassiel had struck her. Arms limp at her side, she looked down to the scattered feathers, to the blood of her father, then back up again to Cassiel’s wings.
How could these really be angels?
Angels were supposed to be good. They were supposed to be kind. They were supposed to protect and love humanity—and Moira was half human. She might look like Aeneas, but she was still Lara Aurelia’s daughter.
She still had her humanity.
Heavy tears zipped down her cheeks, and she didn’t bother to brush them away as she stumbled off toward the cell door. Her foot caught on one of the bars as she tried to climb through, and she stumbled. The others moved at a steady clip down the hall, but she knew they would wait for her at the elevator. Sniffling, she wiped at her cheeks with trembling hands, fighting the urge to just sit down and really cry.
She shouldn’t feel like this. They had found Severus—alive. The angels had spared them. Ella had survived this morning’s assault with only a few bumps and bruises. Moira was allowed to go home with the demon she loved. Aeneas had been thoroughly punished, and she was sure there was more where that had come from.
So, why did she feel like she was on the cusp of broken?
“Moira?”
She whipped around and faltered into the bars of the cell on the other side of the hall, a demon bellowing for help inside. It was easy to block him out, however, as she watched Zachariah’s hulking frame barely fit through the opening in Severus’s cell door. When he straightened, the top of his bald head was only about a foot away from the ceiling. Her hands warmed at the sight of him reaching inside his shredded trench, and he hastily held up both of his.
“Easy,” he rumbled, then extended his left hand—a business card tucked between two fingers. “You needn’t suffer for the sins of your father. It isn’t right. And it isn’t the law. Until Heaven tells me otherwise, I’d like to help you with whatever you might need.”
Swallowing hard, Moira tentatively moved toward him. “Really?”
“Yes.” He held out the business card so she could see the writing on it. Zachariah Lewis, Security Specialist. His thick finger pointed to the three sets of numbers on it. “This is my office line. This is my cellular telephone number. This is my home landline. And, wait…”
She pressed her lips together, smiling at the fact that he had a landline.
“And this is my fax,” he added, showing the card to her again with an additional row of numbers added. “If you need to talk, or you would like to meet, you can reach me through any of these.”
Moira blinked up at him, then plucked the card from his grasp, pressing it to her chest. “Thank you.”
“You say you have wings?”
“Supposedly.”
“Can you feel them?”
She shrugged. “A little, I guess. Now that I know they’re there, anyway. Do Nephilim normally have wings?”
“Not all.” He slipped his large hands into his trench coat’s pockets. “Some. They will be different than our wings. Not as easy to hide, I fear.”
Speaking of which—his had disappeared, just like Verrier’s, and she wondered if she would find two giant holes in the back of his coat too.
“Different how?”
“I cannot say just yet.” Zachariah offered her a small smile. “We’ll have to wait and see, but I can help.”
Touched, Moira brushed away the sudden rush of tears before they could fall. “Well, thank you. I really appreciate it.”
Zachariah nodded. “And are you well?”
“Am I—?”
“I found you in the stadium,” he said casually, like it was nothing. “I’ve been tracking Aeneas’s movements for years. I had suspicions that he associated with demons in his free time, but this was the last thing I expected. I raised you from the wreckage. Brought you to the hospital. Asked my police contacts to let you be. I knew you were good, Moira Aurelia. I knew it from the moment I saw you in the lobby with that incubus. Please allow me to apologize on behalf of the garrison for—”
He stiffened when Moira closed the distance between them in a few long strides—and hugged him. It was like hugging a granite statue.
“I’m well,” she whispered, standing on her tiptoes, head craned up so that she could almost reach his shoulder. “Thank you.”
Zachariah stayed stiff and silent for the duration of the hug, and when she finally stepped away, he looked—flummoxed.
“I, uh, you…” He cleared his throat, smoothing his hands over his torn suit. “Tell your friends to behave. Aeneas was careless as our commander, but Cassiel is merciless. Do you understand?”
When Moira nodded, he smiled faintly again.
“Good. Come,” he gestured down the hall, “I’ll escort you all out.”
Clutching his business card tight in one hand, she hurried after the others, Zachariah marching about three paces behind her. As she’d predicted, her squad stood near the elevator, waiting, and Verrier rolled his eyes at the sight of Zachariah before stabbing the little gold button. The angel hung back as Moira threaded her way through the group, not stopping until she was back by Severus’s side again. He squinted at Zachariah, still leaning heavily on Malachi to stay upright, and Moira grabbed his other arm, throwing it over her shoulders as well.
“Moira, why is he…? What are you doing?” Severus muttered, his tone sharp—and somewhat panicked. She kissed his cheek gently, then slipped Zachariah’s business card into her pocket. Just for that moment, her world felt right again. She wasn’t naïve enough to think it would last. Something was bound to go wrong—maybe even the second they stepped off the elevator. But for the time being, she could finally breathe again.
“I’m clawing my way out of the pit, Severus,” she told him, “and I’m taking you with me…”
Chapter Eight
At Nocturna Resort and Spa, supervised sessions with our human support staff are available for the following supernatural entities: vampires, land-based merfolk, incubi and succubi, and hybrids. Please note that hybrids must submit applications before their check-in time at the resort in order to convene with any of our highly qualified human staffers…
“Yikes.” And her world continued to get weirder and weirder. Moira scrolled through the rest of the resort’s Services page, which, to their credit, consisted of more normal procedures than not. Couples massages. Hydrotherapy. Full-body wraps. Facials. Sunrise yoga.
She really ought to
be used to the weirdness by now.
Still, who would have thought there were supernatural-only resorts—and within an hour’s drive from Farrow’s Hollow, at that. Before he and Cordelia had disappeared for dinner with his dad, Alaric had given her the website name and the password to gain access. The prices were positively outrageous, but as Severus inhaled deeply beside her, stirring in his sleep, Moira had no qualms about paying them. After what Severus had been through, he deserved all the rest and relaxation she could buy.
True to their word, the other angels had let them leave Seraphim Securities untouched. The carnage outside had made Ella puke again; demon bodies piled high in the street, and by the time Moira and the others made their way up there, the angels had cast an illusion of their own to hide the aftermath of the assault from the general public.
Cleanup must have gone over well; Moira hadn’t heard a peep about any death and destruction on the news, though there had been a story about a gas line bursting at Seraphim Securities. Cassiel had even appeared on the morning broadcast stating that while the security services would be operating as normal, it would take a few weeks before the offices were open again to the general public.
Moira, Malachi, Cordelia, Alaric, and Ella had watched his performance, all huddled around Alaric’s laptop at the breakfast bar that morning. While the angel had emoted far more in five minutes than he had in the entire time Moira had known him, the subtext of his interview was clear: any demons who stepped out of line would face severe penalties.
Which was fine with her.
As far as she was concerned, she was done with demon-angel power struggles. Diriel had been forbidden from living anywhere near a hell-gate, which meant he was at least out of Farrow’s Hollow. Aeneas had been de-winged and booted from the garrison, which had to mean his powers were gone too—right along with his dignity. Severus was back. All the people she cared about were safe.
It was time to finally breathe again.
Severus shuffled once more beside her, his dancing eyelids falling still as he rolled onto his back. He had been in and out of consciousness on the way back from Seraphim Securities, and after she and Malachi helped him shower and put him to bed, Cordelia had stepped in with a freshly brewed batch of milky white paste—the same Severus had used on Moira’s wrist and hand in Hell—to lather onto the wounds on his back. They were deeper than Moira realized, more brutal, and after they were bandaged up, the incubus was dead to the world.
Nearly fifteen hours later, he finally stirred with a wince.
“Moira?”
“Welcome back,” she whispered, shutting off her tablet’s screen and setting it on the nightstand. As he rubbed at his eyes, she crept out of bed and padded across his room to the light switch. Seconds later, a soft yellow glow blanketed everything. Severus blinked rapidly, his forehead creased as he took in his surroundings, then rolled onto his side with a little half smile as she climbed back into bed. Grinning, she snuggled down beside him, running a hand through his hair as she studied him. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” he rasped. “Still some ways to go, I think.”
“You look better,” she told him. The bruising around his eyes had faded over the course of the day, as had the smattering of color across his cheek. Cordelia had rubbed some of the medi-paste on his lips too, and Moira was pleased to find them smooth and inviting again. Two of her fingers ghosted along them before she brushed the backs of her knuckles along his cheek. “What hurts?”
Cordelia had left a few giant jars of the paste behind, along with some home-brewed pain remedies. Potent stuff, apparently, which should only be used under dire circumstances. From the way Severus looked at her now, his eyes dark and warm, his smile fixed, Moira suspected she might not need to bring out the big guns just yet.
“A little bit of everything,” he murmured as one arm snaked under his pillow, propping him up a little, and the other drifted toward her waist. “You?”
She shrugged. “Same.”
It felt like an eternity ago that she had thrown herself onto an angel’s back, only to be hurled to the ground seconds later. In reality, it had all happened today. At three o’clock this morning. The same exhaustion that had struck Severus, Ella, and Malachi should have hit her too, but Moira had been operating on a high ever since they got home.
Sure, her entire body ached, and it was getting harder and harder to stand back up every time she sat down, but she hadn’t felt tired—not until now, not until the warmth of Severus’s half-naked form soaked into her as he dragged her closer. Moira giggled, snuggling against his chest, the only part of him not bruised.
Arms folded between them, she closed her eyes, savoring the moment. The hum of his steady heartbeat. The feel of his arm around her, the weight of it. She had missed this. She had missed him. If she could have it her way, they’d stay in his bedroom until next year.
“Severus?”
“Hmm?”
“Did he… Did Aeneas do that to your back?” Unfortunately, they couldn’t laze around forever. Conversations needed to be had—old and new. Moira swallowed hard, peering up at Severus as he stiffened. She didn’t need to see them to know the bandages were there; strips of white linen taped across his back, trapping Cordelia’s paste against his wounds. She had told Moira that she could remove them all tomorrow morning, that his back would be almost good as new by then. She wanted to do it now. She wanted him better. She wanted them both to be whole—finally.
“It doesn’t matter, Moira,” he rumbled, his gravelly rasp vibrating deep within his chest, buzzing against her fingers. “It’s over now. You said he had his wings removed. He’s fallen. Diriel’s banished. It’s done.”
“But—”
“Moira—”
“It matters to me,” she whispered. Maybe it shouldn’t. Maybe she shouldn’t dwell on the fact that Severus was in all this pain, that his back had been flogged to shreds, because of her dad. What benefit would she gain in knowing? Would it help them move on from this?
He sighed heavily, and Moira thought back to how he had been after her time with Diriel. Severus had never pushed her. He had never pried for information. He had never asked for more than she could give—and it was time to return the favour.
“Never mind,” she murmured, peppering a trail of kisses from his chest to his chin, grinning at the way his skin prickled in response. “You’re right. It’s over. You can tell me another time if you want, or not at all. Both are fine by me.”
His hand drifted up her back before threading into her recently washed hair. With another sigh, his lips found her forehead, pressing hard against it for a moment. She closed her eyes, then shuffled up with some difficulty, wanting to look him in the eye as they talked. Much to her relief, his irises were dark again—not as dark as she wanted them, but there was time for that. Nocturna Resort and Spa had humans for that. Gently, she cupped his face, careful of the healing bruises, careful not to push too hard, and let her lashes flutter closed.
For a little while, she lost herself in this—in the way his soft exhales danced across her skin, in the way his fingers massaged the base of her scalp, in the sweet silence that blanketed them. Sleep almost took her.
Until Severus jolted, as if jabbed with a taser, and her eyes snapped open to find him panicked.
“Ella.”
“She’s fine,” Moira told him, smoothing her thumb across his cheek. Severus shook his head, pulling back out of her grasp.
“In the cell, she… We—”
“So, Ella wasn’t supposed to even be there,” she explained. Severus had gotten a very, very basic rundown of what had happened that morning before he passed out, but given how exhausted he’d been, he likely needed a refresher on everything. Moira pursed her lips, recalling the moment she had seen her best friend strolling toward the fight with a pair of handguns strapped to her hips. “Alaric brought her in at the last minute, when there wasn’t time for one of us to run her back to the house.”
“Bastard,” Severus said affectionately as he settled back in beside her.
“Ella volunteered to help you. She knew about the, er, side effects. Kind of.” Knowing what happened when an incubus touched a human, Moira could have been jealous. She could have raged over the fact that the demon she loved had gotten her best friend off—but she didn’t. In fact, she tried not to think about it. Had there been there a climax involved? Who knows? Who cares? As far as Moira was concerned, her best friend had sacrificed some of her life essence to help Severus in his hour of need. That was what mattered. Moira smiled at the thought, then added, “But she might not be able to look you in the eye for the next little bit. Don’t take it personally. I think she’s just a bit embarrassed.”
Severus nodded, looking a little too serious for her liking. “I’ll speak to her—smooth things over.”
“Don’t,” Moira said with a weary chuckle. “Seriously, that’ll probably just make it worse. She wanted to help. She did. She… We’re all good. Me and her are fine. You and her are also fine. Don’t worry about it.”
Ella had tried to talk to her about the experience this afternoon after she woke up, but she had stammered and rambled and blushed up a storm until Moira put her out of her misery. She didn’t need a play-by-play. Ella had slept off most of the effects of Severus’s skin-to-skin contact anyway, and if she was too uncomfortable to talk about it, Moira had no intention of pushing her. In fact, she would rather forget the whole thing had happened. Not Ella’s sacrifice, but the fact that Moira herself couldn’t touch Severus and bring him back from death’s door.
“Are you sure you’re fine?” Severus asked after a beat had passed, eyeing her somewhat skeptically. She nodded.
“Really. I’m all good. Trust me.” If she hadn’t gotten upset over the fact that he had been escorting for the entirety of their relationship, she wasn’t about to now, especially under the circumstances. “I’m glad she could help you, and I’m glad you didn’t hurt her in the process. Win-win.”
