Sins of the Lost gl-3

by Linda Poitevin

  She paused to swallow against the tightness building in her chest—and the admission of her rape by Lucifer, a detail she hadn’t yet shared with her sister and one Jennifer didn’t need to know.

  “Heaven and Hell are at war because of me, Jennifer. Our world is coming apart at its seams because of me.” A whisper deep inside her suggested she might be oversimplifying things just a little. She ignored it. The Archangel Michael had been right. She’d been the cause of Aramael killing his brother and breaking the Pact. Everything happening now—the war, Seth’s presence on Earth, all of it—stemmed from that. Stemmed from her.

  She forged on, her voice thick and ragged, “This is what I live with. This is my reality. And you’re right, I’m not coping with it. I’m trying to goddamn survive it.”

  Jen stared into the dishwasher for a long moment before reaching to tear a sheet of paper towel from the roll suspended beneath the cupboard. She folded it, dabbed at her eyes, blew her nose, added it to the garbage can. Then, in typical Jennifer fashion and at complete odds with what she preached about opening up and sharing, she said, “Thank you for dinner. It was nice getting to know Seth a bit better. It will make Nina’s birthday dinner more comfortable for everyone, I think. That is, if you’re still planning on coming to her birthday.”

  The tightness in Alex’s chest rose to grip her throat. She crossed her arms against the desire to reach out to her sister, because she didn’t trust herself not to choke Jen instead of hugging her. Despite what she’d said, a part of her did want to talk. Desperately. She would like nothing more than to unburden herself to someone who wouldn’t brush off what she said, wouldn’t try to rationalize, wouldn’t judge, wouldn’t have her committed. Someone she could talk to about Seth and Lucifer and how the two had become so entwined in her psyche. About the war she was certain was brewing in a realm she had never seen but knew to be real.

  About the panic that gripped her when she thought of how humanity’s potential savior had chosen her over his responsibility to the very universe itself.

  Panic that had increased tenfold in the wake of Michael’s visit.

  Hell, she’d give just about anything to talk to someone. But not Jen. As strong as her sister had seemed over the years, as much of an anchor she had been after their parents’ deaths, the events of the past couple of months had shown Alex that it was Jen who had taught her to bury her feelings in the first place. Jen who had always shut down the emotional discussions before they started. Jen who had truly failed to cope.

  And who would almost certainly fail to appreciate the irony if Alex were to point it out.

  Heart aching, Alex mustered a smile. She nodded. “Of course. Thursday night, six thirty sharp. We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Chapter 18

  Samael watched the females get into the vehicle: the Naphil’s sister and niece that Lucifer wanted so desperately to find. This was it. His chance to redeem himself with the Light-bearer. Here. Now. All he had to do was follow them to their home, and Lucifer would have what he wanted. An heir to lead the Nephilim army that would wipe out the One’s mortal children. And then . . .

  And then what? War with Heaven but without a leader?

  He looked up at the roof of the apartment building and the impassive Aramael, too far away to have sensed his presence. What was it about the Naphil that commanded such watchfulness?

  A car engine sputtered to life, pulling him back to the departing girl and woman. Damn. Stay or follow? A cold breeze swept bits of debris past him. The sweat on his brow turned icy. His gut insisted Heaven had a reason for keeping vigil over the Naphil. If he helped Lucifer kick his plan into action now, he might never have the chance to figure it out. But if he didn’t follow the women, if he didn’t report them—

  Then Lucifer would kill him for letting the opportunity pass. The Light-bearer would take one look into his eyes, into his soul, and know. And then he would kill him.

  Slowly and with great finesse.

  Samael rubbed the scar at the corner of his eye.

  The vehicle pulled away from the curb. Indecision tore at him. Follow the car or his suspicions? All day, something about Mika’el’s meeting with the Naphil had nagged at him. That Heaven wanted Seth to take back his powers had been stunning enough, but Samael was certain there was more to it. More that he needed to figure out before Lucifer completed his machinations and damned Hell itself to extinction.

  The car’s signal light flashed. Follow them or find out more about why the Naphil was so important? Lucifer’s orders or his own instinct? Damn it, he needed more time.

  Across the way, Aramael’s head swiveled with uncanny accuracy in his direction. Samael drew farther back into the shadows. Now that the Archangels knew he watched the Naphil, they would be actively looking for him. He’d never get anywhere near her, especially not with her soulmate in attendance.

  He snorted. The Naphil’s soulmate guarding her. The Appointed had to love this turn of events. Except Seth wouldn’t know about it yet, would he? Not if Mika’el was trying to recruit—

  Samael’s mind went still. Son of a bitch. That was it. That was the reason he’d hesitated. The answer had been staring him in the face all day. Mika’el hadn’t told Seth, because the Appointed had already chosen the woman over Heaven. The Archangel needed the woman’s help to convince Seth to take back his powers, needed her to convince him that some things were more important than their relationship. More important than his love for her. More important than him.

  Talk about the ultimate déjà vu.

  Taillights flashed at the end of the block, then rounded the corner and disappeared. With a smile, Samael stepped out from the sheltered doorway and stood in the pool of light beneath a streetlamp. He would not give up on the war. He would not give up on the possibility of returning to Heaven. And he sure as Creation itself would not risk losing Hell.

  He turned his face upward. Atop the roof, Aramael’s wings snapped open with a crack that shattered the quiet night, setting off a car alarm and sending a half dozen neighborhood dogs into hysterics.

  That’s right, Archangel, I’m here. Watch for me. Protect your precious Naphil. Because as long as you’re with her, you won’t get in the way of what I really want.

  Sketching a mock salute, Samael pulled out of reach.

  * * *

  Only when night had fallen silent again did Aramael slowly fold his wings together. So Mika’el had been right. Samael did watch Alex. Watched but did nothing more, even though he’d had ample opportunity to take her between Mika’el’s departure and Aramael’s own arrival: when she’d left work, or pulled her car into the parking lot, or walked to the building, or reached to unlock the door. Samael had almost certainly been present when she’d done all those things, and yet he’d made no move. Why not?

  Aramael’s wings gave an irritable twitch. The Fallen One’s motives were Heaven’s concern, not his. His problem was more immediate. The nature of Alex’s job made her comings and goings irregular, unpredictable. With no reliable pattern of movement and no Guardian watching over her, he had no way of staying close enough without her noticing. In which case . . .

  He grimaced down at the sidewalk vacated by Samael.

  Mika’el was going to love this.

  He preferred not to think what Alex’s reaction would be.

  Chapter 19

  Alex twisted the dead bolt home. Never had she been so glad to see the back of her sister. Jen’s icy silence had made those last few minutes downright torturous. And just think, Alex had agreed to do this all over again at dinner on Thursday. Leaning her forehead against the door, she let the quiet of the hallway wash over her. From the kitchen came a clatter of pots and pans as Seth cleared away the last of the dinner.

  Seth.

  Her shoulders sagged.

  Seth—and the conversation she’d avoided all day. How the hell was she going to tell him about Michael? About the mother who’d decided she needed his help now that he’d survi
ved her assassination order? She squeezed her eyes shut. Would life ever resemble anything close to normal again?

  A throat cleared behind her. “I’m no expert on mortal relationships, but I’m guessing that wasn’t the most successful evening.”

  “Not really, no.” She sighed, facing him. “But it wasn’t your fault. Things between me and Jen have been . . . strained for a long time.”

  “As strained as they are between me and her?”.

  She smiled in spite of herself. “Maybe not that strained, no.”

  “I never thought of myself as the invisible type.”

  “Trust me, you’re not. And besides, she did thank you for saving Nina’s life, remember?”

  Seth snorted. “More like she thanked the wall.” He leaned a shoulder against the doorpost beside him and slid his hands into his pockets, watching her. “You know the war will reach Earth eventually.”

  “I know.”

  “Will all mortals respond the way your sister does?”

  “Pretending that it doesn’t exist, you mean? Some will.”

  “And the others?”

  Settling against the front door, she lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “Some will look for an explanation they can accept, others for a way to exploit things for their own purposes. Some will lash out in fear.”

  “And when the fear spreads? You can’t protect humanity from itself forever.”

  She closed her eyes. “I know.”

  “I’ve decided to help.”

  Shock snapped her eyelids open again. “I thought you didn’t want to get involved. You said this was between—Heaven and Hell.”

  She’d been about to say your parents, but her brain still tended to dance around the fact that she was living with the son of —well. It was just easier not to think about the idea, let alone not voice it.

  “Why the change of heart?”

  His mouth twisted. “This isn’t going to go away, is it? Your job, you trying to save the world . . .”

  “No. It’s not.”

  “Even if you know it’s a hopeless cause.”

  “Even then.”

  “Then that’s why. If this quest of yours is going to consume your days—and, frankly, many of your nights—I might as well help. At least it will let me be near you, that being the whole reason I chose to be here and all,” he added dryly.

  “You’re sure.”

  “You want answers. I can help you get them. I’m sure.”

  The weight of Mika’el’s visit grew heavier, pressing down on the relief she wanted to feel. The gratitude. She drew a breath. No more secrets. She had to tell him. “Seth—”

  “Alex—”

  They both stopped. She mustered a smile. “You first.”

  A muscle flickered in front of his ear. His dark eyes looked away. “There’s just one thing. Did you mean what you told Jennifer? About Aramael?”

  She searched her memory but came up blank on specifics. “I’m not sure what—”

  Seth cut her off. “You called him the soulmate you can never have. Is that how you think of him?”

  The roughness of his voice scraped across her heart. He’d overheard? Damn it. “No! Lord, no, Seth. I was angry and trying to make a point and—”

  “Do you regret choosing me?”

  She put a hand out to him. His arm, already rock-hard, contracted beneath her touch. She gripped harder. “I will never regret choosing you, Seth Benjamin. Ever.”

  “Then you do love me?”

  She looked up into a pain that sliced to her very quick. Viciously, she pushed away the guilt that plagued her, the doubts that haunted her. She remembered the agony of standing in a Vancouver alley, certain she had lost him. Remembered how his name had been the first she’d thought of when she regained consciousness. Remembered and wanted—needed—to believe. In herself, in him, in them.

  “With all my heart,” she said.

  For a moment, he didn’t move. Then he folded her into his arms, his chin atop her head. “Me, too,” he said.

  Silence fell between them. Seth’s hand moved rhythmically against her back, making slow, gentle circles. Closing her eyes, she focused on the steady rise and fall of his chest, the thud of his heartbeat, his warmth merging with hers. However badly the evening had ended with Jennifer, she preferred to focus on all the things that had gone right. Seth’s attempt to bridge the gap between them, his efforts to belong, and this . . . one of those precious, priceless moments where the world seemed to fall away and leave the two of them suspended in a secure, protected bubble.

  “It’s your turn,” his voice rumbled beneath her ear.

  “What?”

  “You wanted to tell me something.”

  Michael.

  Her throat closed. She couldn’t. Not now. Not after that.

  “It can wait,” she said. “It wasn’t important.”

  His hand resumed its massage, but the bubble enclosing them had already begun to shrink.

  Chapter 20

  “Any questions?” Alex shrugged into her coat and then reached for her scarf. Seth beat her to it, folding it in half, looping it around her neck, tucking the ends through the fold. Exactly the way she did it. She stretched up to kiss him.

  “Apart from remaining skeptical about this whole Internet thing mortals have created, you mean?” He shook his head. “I still don’t see the point in relying on a tool that contains so much misleading—or wrong—information.”

  “You just have to filter out the garbage. The real-time capacity is invaluable. It’s the best way we have to figure out where the babies have disappeared to—and who took them, on the off-chance that it isn’t the Fallen Ones after all. If humans are behind this, at least we can intervene.”

  “And if it is the Fallen?”

  She took down the strongbox from the closet shelf, unlocked it, and took out her service pistol. Slipping its magazine into place, she glanced at Seth. “You’re sure they’d still be here, in this world? Lucifer can’t take them?”

  “To Hell? I’m sure. He wouldn’t even if he could. Their presence would sully his realm.”

  She blinked at the idea that Lucifer, of all beings, could consider humans—or half-humans—dirty. Thrusting aside the incongruity, she slid her weapon into its holster at her waist and replaced the box on the shelf.

  “Call me if you find anything?”

  Seth arched a black brow. “Will you answer if I call?”

  Heat crawled across her cheeks. “I will,” she promised.

  Walking down the hall toward the elevator, she made another promise, this one to herself. Come Hell or high water, she would talk to someone today about her intimacy issues. She had no idea how she’d dance around the whole angel/demon thing in such a conversation, but she’d find a way. She had to. If Seth was willing to work at this, he deserved at least the same effort from her. They both did.

  And maybe doing so would finally make telling him about Michael easier, too.

  * * *

  Alex’s good intentions lasted right up until she stepped out of the office elevator and into chaos.

  She leapt out of the way as two of her fellow detectives pushed past her, boarding the elevator she’d just left, and dodged three others headed for the stairs. All were gone before she had a chance to formulate a single question. From behind the Homicide door, voices competed with the shrill of telephones.

  Then, above all else, the roar of Staff Inspector Roberts. “Where the hell is Jarvis?”

  She pulled open the door. “Here,” she called, waving her hand for Roberts’s attention. “I’m here.”

  Roberts’s gaze met hers, relief warring with something dark and awful in its depths. “My office,” he said. “Now.”

  She headed across the office, catching snippets of conversation as she passed by desks. Enough to know that there had been an incident in the Leaside neighborhood, not enough to figure out that incident had been. Joining her supervisor, she closed the door against the commotio
n. Roberts paced the tight space behind his desk. Filing cabinet to wall, window to desk.

  “There’s been a stoning.”

  His voice was so quiet, Alex didn’t think she’d heard right. Was certain she couldn’t have.

  “Excuse me?”

  “A stoning,” Roberts repeated. He stopped to stare out the window, holding apart the slats of the horizontal blind covering it.

  She shriveled inside. “A stoning. As in—?”

  “As in an honest-to-God, straight-out-of-the-fucking-good-book stoning.” Roberts released the blind with a metallic clatter and turned to her, his face ashen. “Two of them, actually. Women. Buried up to their necks in a playground in Leaside.”

  Alex’s hands curled at her sides. Horror rose in her. Words to describe it didn’t exist. Things like this just didn’t happen here. Not in Toronto. Not in a civilized world.

  “At least one of them was pregnant,” Roberts continued hoarsely. “They haven’t pulled out the other one yet.”

  “Where do you want me?”

  “Now that you have a partner again, on scene. Bastion has point, report to him when you get there.”

  Partner? What partner?

  “Thank you for that, by the way,” her staff inspector said. “I still don’t know who he is exactly, and I would have preferred you give me a heads-up, but I’m happy to have him back. Bringing someone new into Homicide in the middle of all this”—he waved an encompassing hand—“would have been a nightmare.”

  A brick slid down her throat and landed with a sickening thud in her gut. She swallowed twice before she found a semblance of her voice.

  “Him? Him, who?”

  “Trent. He stopped by a few minutes ago—” Roberts broke off. “You didn’t know.”

  He continued speaking, but the buzzing in her ears drowned him out. Trent. Jacob Trent, a.k.a. Aramael, angel of the Sixth Choir, the Powers. Aramael, who had killed his twin to save her and had endured exile for his sin; who had been sent to assassinate Seth and then, at the last minute, chosen to help her save him instead. The room tilted sideways.