Sins of the Lost gl-3

by Linda Poitevin

“Samael is watching her.”

  All hint of amusement dropped from the Highest Seraph’s expression. “What possible interest could he have in her?”

  “If I knew, I wouldn’t be sitting here racking my brain for answers instead of going after the Appointed.”

  Verchiel raised a brow at his thinly veiled snarl. Then she frowned. “Wait—you haven’t left her unguarded?”

  “Samael would have taken her by now if he wanted to do so.”

  “Unless he noticed you hovering around her.”

  “He did see me, but only today. He could have taken her anytime before—” Remembering how Aramael had watched over the woman before him, he stopped. He rotated a quarter turn one way and then the other in his swivel chair.

  “There has to be a reason Hell is interested in her,” Verchiel pressed. “We can’t afford to take chances, not with the state things are in right now.”

  She had a point.

  “I’ll put a watch on her.” Seeing her shoulders straighten, he held up a hand. “No. I know what you’re thinking, and it’s out of the question.”

  “This isn’t just any Fallen One we’re talking about. It’s Samael. If he makes any kind of a move, none less than an Archangel can stop him.”

  “There are five other Archangels.” Well, four that he could use, because putting Raphael anywhere near his traitor of a brother would be just plain stupid.

  “None of whom have any experience inhabiting the human realm. Aramael was a Power before he was an Archangel, Mika’el. He has walked among the humans before, and is less likely to draw attention to himself.”

  “He still feels a connection to her.”

  Her lips pursed. “Another reason it should be him. The others will follow orders as best they can, but in their eyes, the woman remains tainted by her bloodline. None will fight harder to keep Samael away from her than he will. None will give up his own life for hers.”

  “Is that what we want? An Archangel giving up his life for a Naphil?”

  “Of course not. But if Hell is interested in her, then you can’t risk her, either. Not until you know why they’re interested.”

  Twisting the chair back and forth again, Mika’el studied her. “You never used to be this”—he hesitated to use the word cold—“pragmatic.”

  “I never used to be responsible for Heaven trying to save the world, either. I don’t like what I suggest, but neither do I see a choice.”

  Verchiel rose with a rustle of robes. Crossing to the door, she reached for the handle, then looked over her shoulder. “And, Mika’el, just so you’re clear, you will need the Naphil’s courage. If we’re to convince Seth to return to his rightful place here, with us, you’ll need all the courage she possesses and more.”

  Chapter 15

  The scuff of boot against rock snagged Aramael’s attention. He looked down the mountainside to see Raphael emerge from a crevice. The Archangel’s dark skin was almost indistinguishable from the black armor he wore, making him little more than a massive shadow amid the many other shadows.

  Albeit one with a sizable grudge.

  Raphael paused and stared up. Aramael couldn’t see his eyes, but he felt his gaze—and the animosity behind it. He returned to his vigil, resting his right hand on the hilt of his sword. Raphael’s glowering looks over the last few days had made it clear their previous encounter hadn’t been forgotten. Frankly, Aramael was surprised it had taken him this long to get around to a confrontation.

  The other Archangel crested the hill, the reflection of the distant flames of Hellfire dancing across his burnished face.

  “News?” Aramael asked, careful to keep his voice even. Mika’el would be pissed in the extreme if two of Heaven’s protectors went at each other; Aramael had created quite enough conflict in the world without starting something else here now.

  “You know that’s not why I’m here.” Raphael stopped a half dozen feet away.

  Aramael’s fingers contracted on his sword’s pommel. He stared out across the barren wastelands and the band of Hellfire beyond, the last, thinning barrier between two armies sworn to fight to the death. If Lucifer ever got around to taking the first swing.

  “I don’t suppose an apology will do any good, but in the interests of maintaining peace, I’m sorry I called you a bastard. As I remember, the circumstances were somewhat extenuating.”

  If that’s what one wanted to call being ripped out of the human realm by force and handed over to the Seraph responsible for engineering his downfall.

  Raphael shifted his stance, settling his feet more firmly into the sparse, arid soil. “I’ve been called worse, Power. That’s not why I’m here, either.”

  Aramael raised a brow at the other Archangel’s use of his former designation. So that’s what this was about. “Issues with my promotion?” he inquired.

  “Issues with your track record.”

  “You think Mika’el made a mistake.”

  “I think he has a lot on his mind and might not have thought this through as well as he should have. I think you’re more liability than asset.”

  A flare along the fiery border drew their attention. Aramael stared in its direction, waiting. Brilliant yellow turned red, and the ripple of tension across his shoulders faded. If the flare had turned blue, it would have meant an attempted breach. But red was good.

  He looked back at the other Archangel, who still stared across the wasteland. “Was there something else, or was that the only insult you wanted to deliver?”

  “It wasn’t an insult. It was a statement of fact. You’re a liability, and I’ll be watching you. We have enough to worry about in this bloody war without having one of our own screw things up for us. One misstep, one hint that you’ve lost control . . .” Raphael made a snick sound as he drew a finger across his throat. “Am I clear?”

  Seeming satisfied his message had been delivered, he started down the hill. Aramael held back a fuck you and waited until the other had taken several steps. Then he cleared his throat. Raphael slowed, stopped, and looked over his shoulder.

  “The decision was Mika’el’s,” Aramael reminded him. He was all for keeping the peace, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t respond to whatever Raphael wanted to start. “The One sanctioned it. Like it or not, I’m one of you now, and—”

  The other Archangel’s blade pressed against his throat before he could finish. Aramael froze, staring into the vicious golden eyes inches from his own.

  “You are not one of us,” Raphael hissed. “We have passed through Hellfire itself, and we bear the scars on our souls to prove it. You might wear the armor and carry the sword of our kind, but you will never be one of us. Ever. Do you understand?”

  Even if he’d wanted to nod assent, the finely honed metal nestled below Aramael’s jaw discouraged him from doing so. Wordlessly, he held Raphael’s glare until the Archangel sheathed his sword. Stalking down the hillside once more, Raphael flicked a last glower over his shoulder.

  “Remember what I said, Power. I’m watching.”

  Chapter 16

  “All quiet?” Mika’el asked as he topped the rubble knoll where Aramael stood.

  Aramael shrugged. He adjusted the armor chafing under his arms. “One flare-up that settled down,” he said. “And one visit from Raphael. The latter was by far more exciting.”

  Mika’el settled a foot on a boulder and leaned forward, bracing his forearms across his armor-clad thigh. His lips quirked. “He’s a little gruff, but to coin a human phrase, his bark is worse than his bite.”

  Aramael shot the Archangel a sidelong look, remembering the edge of steel against his throat. “I somehow doubt that.” He returned his attention to the distant strip of Hellfire. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “When you chose me to take Samael’s place among you, did you consult the others?”

  “The decision was mine to make.” Mika’el’s words held no arrogance, only a statement of fact. “There was no need
for consultation.”

  “Did you know they would”—Aramael sought the right word—“object quite so strongly?”

  “I figured you were a big enough boy to handle it. You aren’t the only one in Heaven to lose a brother to Lucifer’s allure, Aramael. Raphael would have had a difficult time with anyone replacing Samael. You just raised more issues for him than another might have. As for the others, they’re understandably protective of one of their own. Give them time. They’ll come around.”

  Raphael—and Samael? Aramael turned his attention back to the band of Hellfire. He hadn’t expected that. A grudging sympathy edged out the memory of Raphael’s sword. His presence would have hauled a lot of unwanted memories back to the surface for the other Archangel—along with an accompanying sense of betrayal with which he himself was all too familiar.

  “I don’t suppose you could have thought to mention this to me at the time,” he said.

  “My job is to protect Heaven and the One, not your feelings.”

  “Seems to me you’d do a better job of it if you weren’t pitting your own warriors against one another.”

  Mika’el went silent for a moment. “No Archangel would turn against another,” he said finally, “but your point is taken. I’ll speak to Raphael.”

  More silence. Aramael’s gaze narrowed on the other Archangel, who still stared into the distance. “You didn’t come here just to check up on me.”

  “No.” With a heavy sigh, Mika’el straightened up. “No, I’m not here to check up on you. We’ve run into a complication. Samael is watching the woman.”

  “The—” Aramael’s heart jolted. “You mean Alex?”

  A scowl crossed the other’s features. “The Naphil, yes. We’ve no idea why he’s interested in her, but I think we can safely assume it’s not a good thing. We need someone to watch her.”

  It took several seconds for Mika’el’s intent to sink in. Several more to force a swallow in a throat that had gone as dry as their surroundings. Of all the Archangel might have divulged, this would have been what Aramael least expected. Watching Alex on his own, in secret, had been one thing. He’d been careful not to let himself get too close. But what Mika’el suggested—watching her with Heaven’s permission? Its blessing? That was something entirely different.

  He stared toward the Hellfire. He was an Archangel now. He couldn’t afford to give in to the baser instincts. Not anymore. Not again.

  “You know I still have feelings for her,” he said at last, feeling duty-bound to tell the other warrior.

  “I suspected as much, yes.”

  Aramael’s fingers curled around his sword hilt. “Then you’ve chosen me because . . . ?”

  “Two reasons. First, because without a Guardian to help you, you’ll need to track her on a physical level. Your experience as a Power means you’ll fit into the human realm better than the others. And second, because you do still have feelings for her. We need more than just a watcher, Aramael. If it becomes necessary, we need her protected. The others would stand in Samael’s way, but . . .” Mika’el’s voice trailed off.

  “But they wouldn’t die for her as I would,” Aramael finished. He scuffed the toe of one boot against the hardened soil, remembering Raphael’s accusations. “And you trust me to do this.”

  “I have no choice.”

  Well. That had been nothing if not blunt.

  “May I at least know why I’m being asked to play sacrificial lamb?”

  Again.

  “We need her help. With Seth.”

  Slack-jawed, Aramael stared at him. “You have got to be kidding me. You want me to protect the woman to whom I am soulmated so she can help you with the one she chose over me? Even if I wanted to—”

  “The One is leaving us.”

  Aramael stared at him. He snapped his mouth closed. “I don’t understand. Leaving us how?”

  “Permanently.”

  “She can’t leave. She’s the Creator, the All. Heaven cannot survive without her.”

  “And the world can no longer survive with Lucifer. It’s the only way she can stop him.” The tightness in Mika’el’s voice told how much the words cost. “She needs to bind with him, to become what she was before she created him from herself. Seth stands in the way. Giving up his power created an imbalance that’s ripping the mortal world apart. Controlling it is making her weak. We need him to take back what he gave up.”

  Take back . . . Despite the gravity of the situation, Aramael’s heart leapt beneath his ribs. “You mean become immortal again?”

  Mika’el glowered at him. “Don’t even think of going there. Regardless of what happens with Seth, the Naphil remains out of your reach, is that clear? This isn’t about you—or her, for that matter. It’s about honoring the One’s wishes.”

  “I should think it would be about saving the One rather than honoring her wish to die.”

  The other Archangel’s eyes darkened with an anguish that lanced through to Aramael’s own core, making him wish he could retract his words. His cruelty. None in all of Heaven had been more loyal to the One; none would do more for her than the Archangel Mika’el. To suggest otherwise verged on blasphemy.

  “I spoke out of turn—” he began.

  Mika’el cut him off. “I have been over this a hundred thousand times,” he said quietly, “and every time, I reach the same conclusion as our Creator has. There is no other way to do this. No way to both stop Lucifer and save her.”

  “But how in Hell can we survive without someone to—?” Aramael stopped. A cold knot formed deep in his gut. “Not Seth.”

  Mika’el said nothing. He didn’t have to.

  Aramael tested the idea. The Appointed, who had already abdicated his role twice, returning to Heaven, taking over from his mother, ruling over all of Creation. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t imagine it. The knot drew tighter.

  Bloody Hell, if Seth was the best they could come up with . . .

  He looked back to Mika’el.

  “Protect the woman,” the other Archangel said. “However you must.”

  Chapter 17

  Alex placed the dishes in the sink and then stood, hands braced against the counter. She stared at her reflection in the darkened window, blocking out the voices of Seth and her sister and niece in the dining room behind her—if the miniscule apartment cubbyhole could be called such. She should be pleased with Seth’s sudden display of interest in something other than her. Should be thrilled with the first attempt he’d made to fit in with her life instead of insisting she remake it to suit him. He’d gone to a lot of trouble, surprising her by inviting Jen and Nina, making dinner . . .

  And all she wanted was for her only family to leave.

  Because all she’d been able to think about was the same thing that had eaten at her all day. Michael’s visit. His words.

  “We need him to take it back.”

  Take back the power that had been the price of his choice to be with her. That had caused the implosion of the alley in which they’d stood when he had given it up. That had connected him to the divine and made him the pawn in some bitter, cosmic game of chess played by his parents.

  How could Michael think for an instant that she would help convince Seth to do such a thing? And why would he ask?

  Damn, she wished she’d let him at least state his reasons.

  “Are you clearing the table or hiding?” her sister’s voice intruded. Alex opened her eyes to Jen’s reflection beside her own in the window, the smile on her sister’s lips at odds with the furrow between her brows.

  “Long day,” Alex said. “Sorry.”

  “Long many days.”

  While Jen’s words were neutral enough, her voice held an underlying accusation. A guilty part of Alex wondered again when her family might leave.

  She forced a smile. “I know I should have called, but things are a little chaotic at the moment.”

  “Which I might know if you’d bothered returning any of my two dozen voice m
essages.” Jen scraped the remains of dinner from a plate into the garbage. She rinsed the dish and placed it in the dishwasher.

  A quick glance into the dining room told Alex that Seth and Nina had retreated to the living room, out of earshot. She folded her arms and settled back against the counter, waiting for the lecture. Jen wouldn’t rest until she’d had her say.

  “I’m worried about you, Alex.” Another plate went into the dishwasher, this one with a little more force behind it. “Ever since everything before—the killer, Nina, the fire—you just haven’t been the same. I’d hoped you’d make progress with Dr. Bell’s help, but—”

  “Bell can’t change what’s happened.”

  “It’s not about changing what’s happened, it’s about coping with it. And you didn’t give him a chance.”

  “What chance? If I told him half of what’s going on in my life right now, he’d have me in a straitjacket,” Alex retorted. “Shrinks don’t care about real, they care about normal—and in case you haven’t noticed, nothing about my life qualifies as that anymore. Neither does yours, but you don’t want to admit it.”

  Jen stared at her, fine lines around her mouth marking her tension. “Well. Do feel free to get your feelings off your chest, Alexandra. Don’t hold back on my account.”

  Alex put a hand to her temple, where a wrecking crew threatened to take up residence. The tension of the day—the last many days—thrummed through her like an overextended rubber band.

  “This is why I don’t return your calls,” she said. “Because whatever you might tell yourself, you’d rather not know what’s going on in my life. You can’t handle it.”

  Jen’s chin lifted. Stubborn denial darkened her doeskin-brown eyes. “That’s rather harsh, don’t you think?”

  Alex stared at her. The internal rubber band snapped.

  “Harsh?” she echoed. “Harsh? Goddamn it, Jennifer, you can’t keep pretending things are just fine. A Fallen Angel tried to kill me because I—we—descend from the Nephilim. The angel sent to stop him is the soulmate I can never have. The man I’m sleeping with is the son of the One and goddamn Lucifer for chrissakes, and he gave up his divinity to be with me.”