Queen of Darkness (War of Heavenly Fire Book 1)

by Devyn Sinclair

  The angel notices my gaze with curiosity. “You recognize it.”

  Not a question. And there’s no way I can lie about it now, so I nod.

  “You know what I am?”

  Archangel. And because of who I am, I know that there are only three left, though I don’t know which of the three he is. The same three that I’m supposed to seduce and murder.

  Fuck, I am so screwed. I nod again. The angel studies me carefully. Looks at me so long that I have to look away. “I want to help you,” he says. “Take you somewhere safe. But to do that I have to touch you. Will you allow me to do that?”

  I search my memory. Never in my life has anyone asked me if I wanted to be touched. Not even Cassian. The question makes my stomach clench with nerves. I’m on unfamiliar ground when I need to be the most confident I’ve ever been. “Yes.”

  Reaching out, he gathers me into his arms and lifts me like I’m nothing but air. Shimmering wings like the palest grey dawn appear out of nowhere, and even without the blooming light of his power I can see them glitter. We rocket into the air together over the city, freezing air stealing my breath.

  But I’m not cold. Not when I’m cradled by a furnace filled with holy fire.

  For all that I’ve said and done in my life, I’ve never crossed the lines that heaven has drawn. Now I’m being taken into the heart of enemy territory.

  Carried by one of the archangels that I was sent to kill.

  CHAPTER SIX

  _______

  The wind whips around us as we fly low over the buildings of Venice. Honestly, I can’t believe that I didn’t figure it out sooner. How many cities have canals like this? Not that many.

  Despite being high enough in the air that the fall would kill me, it’s impossible to ignore the arms that are holding me. Nearly infinite strength in power is contained in his body. I can feel it humming against my skin.

  I also can’t ignore the fact that I like it. Being close to that kind of power. It’s like laying on a beach in the sun. Perfectly content. I’ve only gotten to do that once, while I was on an assignment. But it’s still one of my best memories.

  More than that, his power feels good. It’s completely opposite of the shattering pain I feel whenever I call on infernal power, and I’m only adjacent to this magic. It has me wondering what it would feel like to have that power running through me and not raised against me.

  I have to work not to lean into him and the inexplicable feeling of safety. He asked to touch me. I didn’t think something so simple could mean so much. But it does. Looking up at him, his hair streaks in the wind turn our own making. He does look like Cassian, but not. Completely breathtaking in his own way. A way that should not be as tempting as it is given that I was just soul bonded to someone else.

  The angel starts to drop in the air, and I turn my head to see where we’re going. But as soon as I do, there’s no doubt about it. The building is lit up like it’s in the center of Manhattan rather than on the edge of the world in Venice. It’s palatial and ancient, on its own island away from the main city. In a way it makes sense. Heaven is made of light—or so they say. Of course where angels live would be lit up even in the middle of the night.

  Though why the High Trinity are in Italy, I couldn’t say.

  As we grow closer to the structure I see gardens and courtyards. Angels, too. Some are in those gardens enjoying the fountains and luxurious atmosphere. But I also notice those that are in the air as we pass them, guarding this place.

  My stomach swoops as we drop lower, directly into one of the gardens in the center of the palace. I don’t have another word for it. Along the garden there are French doors, all blown open to a gathering of angels. Blazing light and music and dancing. A riot of color and glitter and merriment. Terror grips me on instinct. Even when I’ve had to fight, I’ve never seen so many angels in one place.

  “Forgive me,” the angel says quietly. “For choosing speed over privacy.”

  I’m still only in his shirt. In the brilliance of angelic light, I can see the dirt caked on my legs and the spattered blood. It’s clear that I’m bare beneath what he’s given me, and I’m not sure that I’m ready to face the forces of my heaven like this. I have a role to play here, and for once I’m grateful. It gives me the excuse I need to turn my face into his chest, hiding my face briefly so I can conceal the blood burning in my cheeks.

  The second we walk through the doors, the sound of voices ceases, and the lovely music cuts off in a jangle of strings. The change in atmosphere jerks my head up from its hiding place, and I find eyes on me. So many eyes. But he didn’t bring me in here to show me off. He brought me in here to call the two angels that I can feel from across the room. The light pouring off of them fills my mind. The same way I felt when the one holding me approached. These are the other points of the holy triangle I’m here to break apart.

  The one on the left is stark in a room of brilliance. Dark skin like nothing I’ve ever seen in an angel. And the one on the right is all gold. Golden skin, golden hair, nearly golden wings extended. Right now, their combined, overwhelming focus is on me.

  My own guardian jerks his head in the direction we came before striding back out into the garden, leaving ripples of whispers behind us. We pass by angelic guards and go up stairs and down hallways that seem vast and numerous. I should be tracking them. I should be aware of every detail of what’s going on around me so that I can complete this assignment as quickly as possible.

  But the only thing that I’m aware of is the warmth of the arms around me, and all I want to do is fade into them and sleep. Just for a while.

  We sweep into an open apartment. A balcony overlooks the lagoon, and a bed larger than any I’ve ever seen dominates half the space. But the angel rests me on the couch, setting me down gently. I know that the other angels will be here soon. I have a second to figure out my approach to this. My normal disguise—A giggling innocent girl who’s secretly wanton—is off the table. You cannot be that girl when your target has seen you naked and covered in blood. There is no innocence there.

  The best disguises are rooted in truth. I’ve already admitted that I know he’s an archangel, so I need to lean into that. I make the decision just in time. Silvery light flares into sconces and candles around the room just as the other two angels stride through the doors.

  “Malakai,” the golden one says, voice rich like honey.

  My angel walks over to them and they speak in rushed whispers. But they’re not far enough away to conceal what they’re speaking of.

  “Why would you bring a human here?”

  “She was attacked,” the one named Malakai says. “Demon. She managed to injure the host enough to escape, but I think it’s obvious what was about to happen.”

  They all glance at me at once, and the intensity of their gaze makes me shrink back.

  “I can feel darkness all over her,” golden says.

  “Could be the demon. Could be something else. But I couldn’t just leave here there. At the very least she might lead us to that demon.”

  Golden doesn’t look happy, but he can’t argue with Malakai’s logic. And his face goes slack when he hears what Malakai says next. “She recognized the medallion.”

  “All right.”

  The darker angel approaches me slowly, sitting in front of me on the low coffee table so we’re face to face. He’s beautiful too, with that same light that pulls me towards him like a magnet. What the hell is that? Every other angel I’ve encountered has been like oil and water. No doubt that we’re on opposite sides, shoving me away. But with them, I feel like sparks could spring up between us at any second.

  “What’s your name?” he asks softly.

  His voice is deeper than the others, reaching deep and caressing a part of me I didn’t know needed soothing. “What’s yours?”

  He smiles, and it’s easy. Brilliant. “My name is Atlas.”

  Atlas.

  They never told me the names of the new High Tr
inity. Speaking the names of archangels in hell is as dangerous as giving voice to Asterium’s name.

  “Arielle,” I say, answering his original question.

  “That’s a beautiful name.” The words stir something in my gut, and I push it away. “Are you harmed, Arielle?”

  That’s really not an easy question to answer. Especially not to them. But for the injuries that they are able to see, I’m fine. I shake my head. “No,” I say. “Nothing more than a few scrapes.”

  He smiles again. “Seems like you were lucky then.”

  I’m not sure that counts as luck, but I manage a small smile. “I guess so.”

  Atlas leans forward on his elbows. Close enough to make it feel like we’re comfortable, but not so close that he’s crowding me. “I can heal those scrapes, if you’ll let me. Just a little bit of power.”

  I tense up. I’m not even sure what part of me is acting and which is a pure reaction. They can’t know what I am, and the second that their power brushes mine, they will kill me. No questions asked. He sees my reaction and holds up his hands. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

  “Will you—” I swallow, looking away from him. “Will you be able to read my mind? Take me over?”

  I hate that I’m doing this. The pull between us makes me absolutely hate that I’m pretending to be anything else but real. But this is just a job. The same as any other. I need to treat it like that, or I’m never going to go home. Win them over. Fuck them. Kill them. Try to stay alive while doing those three things.

  Simple.

  Atlas smiles. It’s gentle, meant to reassure. “I could read your thoughts, if you gave me permission. But I will not. I swear on Asterium’s star.” I manage to control flinching when he says heaven’s name. It’s not a problem for them to say it, and that’s not an idle promise. It’s one that he cannot break. “What I will do now will only be external. Just to make you more comfortable.”

  Okay. Bullet dodged. I nod, and he reaches out a hand. He touches my wrist, and light washes over my skin. Not a literal one, though it almost feels like I can see it. Atlas’s power feels like...like warmth. And I swear I can almost taste the shifting flavors of comfort. Almond and vanilla and honey and tea and cedar.

  That persistent cold that’s clung to my skin since I came out of the canal disappears, and I slowly relax. The bruises forming from falling on stone and fighting Nissa ease, along with the scrapes from the altar and the cobblestones. I feel almost like new, and something in my chest eases. I miss the warmth of the light when it’s gone.

  “Better?”

  “Yeah, thank you.”

  He smiles again. “You are welcome.”

  The way he says it, it’s like more than an acknowledgement. Like he’s telling me that I am welcome here with them.

  My first angel—Malakai—is standing a little ways away. “Arielle, we have some questions, if you think you’re well enough to answer them. If not, we can speak in the morning after you’ve slept.”

  I glance over at the still nameless golden angel. He doesn’t look happy at that suggestion, and I’m guessing it would be easier on me if I answered them now. “Now is okay.” I make sure to keep my voice soft and my eyes downcast.

  Atlas moves a little farther away from me, giving me space as golden speaks. “What happened?”

  I blink. “I—uh...” I clear my throat. “There’s a lot that’s happened. You’ll have to be more specific.”

  “When you were attacked, what happened?” Atlas says, his voice far gentler than golden. It coaxes words from me.

  “I was trying to find some clothes,” I say. “And he came out of nowhere.” That’s all true.

  Malakai frowns. “You were looking for clothes?” Clearly he thought that the demon had stripped them off me in his attempted assault. “Why?”

  I’m about to pull my feet up under me, but I see how dirty they are and change my mind. “I didn’t have any when I left—” I cut myself off. I want them to make the connection. And it’s better if I don’t volunteer where I am from. Let them fill in the gaps.

  Atlas is the first to understand. I can see it on his face. “Malakai said you know what we are?”

  I glance at his arm, where the silver medallion and chain is wrapped around perfect muscle. Just visible below the sleeve of his shirt. It shines in pale light.

  “You’re archangels,” I say quietly, adding awe to my voice. It’s not entirely fabricated. The amount of energy and potential in this room could wipe out the world.

  Golden’s face turns hard, and he glares at me. “How do you know that?”

  Atlas is still staring at me, but now I see the sadness and the pity. “Because she ran away from Tartarus,” he says. “She has been touched by darkness, and that is what you felt, Solomon. And it explains why she was chased by a demon. Am I right?”

  I swallow and nod. Solomon—that’s the golden one’s name—looks shocked. And I see them draw the lines between why a human woman would be running from Tartarus without any clothing. And they’re not wrong. I know that it happens, and I have not been able to do anything to stop it.

  When I am Queen of Tartarus, no more human women will cross our borders without consent.

  There’s a silence that hangs in the air. None of them really know what to say. Or rather, they want to speak to each other without me being able to hear.

  Finally. “Were you there a long time?” Malakai asks.

  You have no idea. “Yes.”

  He looks over at Solomon, and the angel nods. Of the three of them, Solomon looks the most...stricken by the revelation.

  “You must be tired,” Atlas says quietly. “You will be safe here. I think after everything you need to rest, and the four of us can speak more in the morning about...everything.” He’s careful not to specify what they’ll do to me. Or with me. But I’m hoping the story I let them piece together will convince them to let me stay. If not, I may have to fabricate something else to make them believe that I need their protection.

  A tingle prickles down my spine. If Telem is sending violent demons after me...I might actually need their protection. “All right,” I say.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” Malakai says. It seems like he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t.

  The three of them drift to the door. “If you need anything, there will be a guard at the door,” Solomon says. It’s both a comfort and a warning. You are welcome here, but do not run.

  There’s a hesitation from all of us, and I feel that magnetic pull towards them again. I don’t know what to say to them, but I don’t want them to leave. They seem to feel the same.

  “Thank you,” I say, to break the silence.

  Atlas smiles, the last one out the door. “Sleep well.”

  He closes the door behind him, and they’re gone. I’m alone and trapped behind enemy lines. Exactly where I wanted to be.

  Now comes the hard part.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  _______

  I open my eyes to sunshine pouring in the open balcony. After they left last night, I was overwhelmed with exhaustion. I didn’t even care about the dirt caking my skin or making the sheets dirty, I just climbed into the bed and fell asleep.

  But this is a pretty great bed, and even now that I’m awake I don’t really want to leave it. It’s fluffy and soft, the blankets settling around me like clouds. If I could have tailor made a bed for myself, this would have been it. Unfortunately, no matter how amazing the bed, I can’t stay in it. I need information. I’m behind enemy lines and on assignment. This isn’t a time for rest.

  I still feel like I could sleep for a hundred years.

  There’s a breeze coming in off the lagoon, and it’s the perfect temperature. The island must have angelic boundaries around it—I have no doubt that it does. They can control the temperature and the weather, and more importantly know exactly who’s within the borders at all times.

  The view from the balcony is stunning, Venice visible in the
distance and the water of the lagoon is that beautiful teal that you only see in pictures. I take a second to breathe and relax. The only time I ever get to see things like this is on assignment, and I’m rarely alone. Moments like this are all I have to soak up the beauty in the world.

  Another thing I’ll do when I’m queen. Take time to leave Tartarus.

  A thought rises in rebellion—the idea that I could simply walk away. I push it down. I know that it’s not that simple, and even if it were an option, I wouldn’t. I was born for this, even if I never asked for it. I’ve trained for it. If I wasn’t born for this, then for what?

  I soak in the view for another second. Glittering city and blue sky. Sun on my skin and a gentle breeze. I think that I could live in this moment.

  But that’s enough.

  I’m still wearing Malakai’s t-shirt, and my skin is still grimy from the alley and leftover sweat from fighting and fucking. I re-enter the apartment and take a more careful look around than I did last night. It’s the opposite of my quarters in hell. Everything is decorated in shades of white and silver and the palest of grays. The walls shimmer like pearl and it feels like one of those places that I’ve seen on human magazine covers. Stunning and beautiful.

  My stomach twists. I do not belong in a place like this. Not with what I’m trying to do.

  The woods in the room are dark mahogany in perfect contrast, including a giant armoire in one corner. It’ll be nice to have something that’s not a shirt. And there’s a door into a bathroom that’s nearly as large as the apartment itself. A tub that’s more like a jacuzzi, given the amount of people that could fit comfortably inside it. An equally large shower, vanity and everything I could ever need.

  I remember an assignment I was sent on to a resort that was kind of like this. My target was staying there, and because of that, so did I. Hard to believe that luxury like this is commonplace for some. My quarters in Tartarus aren’t bad, but I don’t think anyone would call them luxurious. They’re spartan. I’ve added things I love like soft blankets and a few cosmetics that I enjoy. But places like the one I’m standing in?