Razael

by Alisa Woods

  “But she also had a child without Falling again.” Laylah’s voice had dropped to a whisper as if she were afraid to say such things in his presence.

  And his daughter’s child was both his great joy and his bitter reminder he had failed where she had succeeded—in creating a family born of Love. “Again, a child of the treaty.”

  “There are whispers about Oriel, too. And Tajael,” she said. “Both spent time in shadow. Both returned to the Light.”

  “Again, brief spells in Sin.” Razael sighed. “I fear the common factor is a Fall so brief as to be more a stumble than anything. These special cases do not bear on an ordinary shadow angeling’s chance at Redemption.”

  “Asa was an ordinary angeling.” The shine in her eyes betrayed what she actually thought, even if Razael hadn’t been able to see the wound gaping in her soul.

  “He was not,” he said with Kindness. “As you well know.”

  “Well, sure, I mean…” Her face wrestled to keep the tears at bay.

  “He was full of Virtues, Laylah. As are you.” Angelings didn’t truly understand the gift of their humanity—even when they Fell, dragged down by their angel side falling into shadow, their human souls still shone with Virtue. For angels, this was not the case—he was made of Sin in a way they were not. He never told them—there was no use to it—but perhaps he was mistaken. Perhaps this was key to Redemption, at least for them.

  “I was never good enough for Asa.” But Laylah said it without bitterness as if there were some measure to which she simply didn’t equal. Still, she swiped a hand at her face, roughly wiping away the incipient tears. “But he was in shadow for a decade. If he can do it…”

  “Why can’t we all?” His smile was pain once again. “I wish for it, Laylah. But there’s great danger in this. I need you to tamp down the rumors while we continue to prosecute the war. We cannot be distracted, or all will be lost.”

  She put on a mask of determination. “Of course, my lord.”

  “Our best hope still lies in turning Elyon’s son, Micah,” he said, gently. “How fares the woman carrying his child?” She was one of the humans he was protecting, but he had yet to visit the nursery Asa had constructed for them. Razael had stayed away just as he’d instructed his Regiment to do. He’d authorized more frequent orgies to satisfy the urges brought on by the womens’ nearness, but he did not partake himself. Most angels in shadow indulged in the Sin of Lust with the ones they protected, but Razael never did—he was setting an example, he hoped, or perhaps just clinging to the few Virtues he could. Chastity had never been his strongest Virtue in the Light, but he found it easier in shadow. Laylah was one of the few he trusted to guard the nursery—partly because he knew she had a preference for men, and partly because her heartbreak with Asa was still fresh.

  “Micah tells Ren that he loves her,” Laylah explained. “She must have True Love of him because she’s in a constant state of distress about their separation. And she’s upset that Molly has left to be with Asa.” Laylah winced as she said that but carried on. “And she’s concerned about Eden, the other one—the one carrying Elyon’s child.”

  Razael frowned. “What is her concern there?” His focus had been on the external threats to the women—from his own Regiment or Elyon coming to claim them.

  Laylah sighed. “That’s actually what I came to see you about. She hasn’t eaten hardly anything since she’s arrived, and it’s going on four days now. If she were angeling, I wouldn’t be concerned, but…”

  Razael rose from his chair. This woman was starving herself? And he’d been too focused on his own troubles to notice a human wasting away under his supposed protection? “A human must eat more frequently. And especially one with child. Is she ill?”

  “Well, yes… but an illness of the soul, my lord.”

  Even worse. A thousand curses in angeltongue flashed through his mind. How negligent could he be? “What is the source of this?” He could sense their souls shining bright—as all humans do—from across the palace, but to truly peer into a soul and discern its troubles, he needed to be in the same room. He turned and strode to the door of the throne room, already resolving to see for himself before Laylah answered.

  She hurried to catch up. “She was with Elyon, my lord.”

  Razael threw her a sharp look—she was holding something back. “This is known.”

  “Many times.” Laylah grimaced as she strode at Razael’s side. “She has no love of him, my lord.”

  Rape. Wrath surged through Razael’s body, sudden and sharp. Elyon was an angel of the darkest sort, but he was most known for his untempered Lust. He had surely used his dark magic to induce pleasure in the woman as he formed a child within her—and he probably carried on with the physical act as well. That was trauma enough, but only once was required to get her with his child. Repeated violations… Razael’s Wrath seethed. There was no reason for it save the evil delight Elyon took in tormenting the humans he loathed.

  Laylah had to run to keep up with him.

  He did not slow his pace until he arrived at the door to the nursery.

  The guard there startled up to standing. “My lord!”

  Razael ignored him but paused before the door. He needed to contain his fury and bring only gentle Kindness with him into the nursery.

  “She has not eaten?” he confirmed with Laylah.

  “Nor spoken, that I’m aware of.” Laylah frowned. “Ren was convinced she would come out of it. Asa offered a life kiss, but she flinches away from the touch of any male. I tried, my lord, but she’s like a… a cup that is cracked and ready to break. I feared—”

  “You were right to come for me.” Angelings can bestow blessings and life kisses—tapping their angel side to bring healing and life-giving power—but they do not have the power or finesse of an angel. “I will find a way to her, Laylah. I won’t let Elyon claim her even in his absence.”

  Laylah nodded and quickly magicked open the door.

  Before he entered, he changed form—reducing his size to that of a normal man. If she were skittish in the presence of males, then he would do everything he could not to frighten her. She need not know what he was… he merely needed to reach her to heal her. But when he stepped into the room, he only made it halfway across before being arrested by the sight of her. She had the face of an angeling—the purest of human beauty elevated by a touch of the divine—but that external beauty was marred by the dark circles under her eyes and the limp blond hair that fell past her shoulders. Yet it wasn’t the physical beauty that captured him—the shine of her Virtues was blinding. He’d seen Protector class angels with fewer and of less power. Combined with the beaming purity of the child she carried, she was a small sun lighting the room with her soul.

  All except for the deep chasm that had nearly broken her in two.

  He saw now what Laylah meant by her… fragility. One wrong thing, one slight harm, and her soul might shatter completely. A body could live on without a soul, but not for long. And she was with child…

  Razael stood absolutely still, stunned by the realization of what stood before him. The reason her Virtues shone so strongly was precisely because of the cataclysmic break inside her—she was holding her soul together by sheer force of will, for the benefit of her child.

  She literally lived for the child within her.

  It was breathtaking in its glory and grace.

  He was drawn forward like a magnet, even as a surge of warning coursed through him. He’d loved a woman like this once—a woman who shone so bright he could scarce look away. Elizabeth. He would have rather burned to ash than turn away from her brilliance, she was that instantly addictive. He had loved her in the first moment, and that love had only grown as he’d come to know her. It was a trap from which he hadn’t wanted to break free… and it had broken him.

  This woman isn’t Elizabeth. And yet, their souls could be twins. “What is her name again?” he whispered to Laylah as he slowly approached her.

&n
bsp; “Eden,” Laylah whispered back.

  Eden. God’s perfect state before humanity’s free will brought their Fall. Even her name called to him.

  She didn’t notice their approach, curled up in her chair, knees slumped to the side, arms wrapped protectively around the belly that held her child. Her eyes were open, but she stared at nothingness.

  Razael knelt at her side.

  The chasm in her soul screeched with pain.

  It wracked him. “Eden,” he whispered. “I’ve come to help you.”

  Chapter Two

  The mist cleared as Eden walked.

  Glided was probably a better word. As if this misty world had no friction, and her bare feet could just slide along the clouded crystal floor. She heard children, and it made her smile inside, although her face was frozen—stiff like it was straining too hard at something unknown, unseen. But holding fixed that way was essential. She knew this. One laugh would undo her. One frown might unravel her like a skein of yarn just waiting for someone to pluck a string, and then she would spin and spin and spin…

  She was spinning now, and the mist swirled around her.

  The children’s laughter grew.

  Eden flung her hands out to stop. She wore a white gown, and it had twirled with her, but now it came to a rest, winding around her legs then swinging back.

  She held still.

  The spinning had stopped, so it was safe to go on.

  She kept her blank expression fixed and glided forward, waving the mist away. It parted and revealed a playground of clouds. Children with tiny white wings bounced from one to the other, some game, but a kind one. Bouncing and catching and bouncing again, they were chasing each other and laughing, laughing… their laughter was a song, filled with beauty and harmony. A tiny one crawled along the mist-kissed floor, stirring the nascent clouds with her perfect little body clad only in a diaper. The baby reached for the cloud-things, which were as substantial as cushions then misty like air but definitely out of reach.

  Eden hurried forward to lift the little one. Her skin was delightfully soft, and her big eyes turned to Eden with wonder, the cloud forgotten. A tiny-fingered hand reached for Eden’s face, and the child’s touch made her want to weep with happiness. But she couldn’t. She must show no emotion, not a single crack in her façade, even as the child’s bright-eyed wonder lifted her heart. The baby’s hands explored her face, touching it everywhere.

  One child on the clouds called for her, and the baby turned. She reached her short arms toward the playing children, and tiny wings burst forth from her back. Their feathers were soft as down and brushed Eden’s arms as the baby struggled to escape.

  To be free.

  Eden lifted her high and released her, even though it left a vacuum, a quiet emptiness, in her arms. A chill washed over her, raising goosebumps as if the tiny hairs on her arms wished to fly away as well. She folded her arms against her chest, hugging herself to stay warm, careful to keep her face fixed, immobile, unfeeling.

  To feel is to spin. To spin is to unravel. To unravel is to be undone.

  And she had a cloud full of children to care for.

  One called to her, perched on his fluffy white seat—a young boy, bare feet dangling from the diaphanous ledge. He smiled, and it captured her—his child-sized teeth, perfectly straight. His brilliant blue eyes, alive and intelligent.

  He called her name, beckoning her with a slight curl of his fingers.

  Her feet glided across the misty floor until she reached him. She had to look up, he was perched so high above her. She wanted to ask him, What do you need? But her face was fixed so she could form no words. Instead, she just peered at him, trying to understand his perfect smile, his angelic face, the words that were falling from his rosy lips. She couldn’t—they were in the child-language. Angel-speak. For she knew what they were. Pure and innocent. Belonging to God. She was just their guardian, but that was okay. That’s all she had ever wanted to be.

  The one who watched over.

  The one who protected.

  The one who saved.

  “Eden,” the boy-angel said, his voice suddenly clear but coming from far away, like a bell rung in the distance. “I’ve come to help you.”

  She couldn’t frown. Couldn’t speak. Her face must remain fixed. But she tilted her head, studying him. He was just a child. He was confused. Because she was here to help him.

  She lifted her arms to him, reaching for the perfect boy on the cloud—

  Everything faded.

  The children, the clouds, the mist—all lost color and brilliance and faded into nothingness as if they had never existed. Her arms were still reaching—but for a man.

  A man humming with power.

  She gasped and pulled back, hastily reeling her arms in, heart lurching as she folded them across her chest and buried her face in her hands. Everything inside her constricted. No, no, no. The room telescoped down to a tunnel of darkness with the man’s face at the end. She slid a hand down to protect her belly—her child—and kept the other shielding her face, squeezing her eyes shut. If she didn’t look at him, didn’t acknowledge him, maybe he would go. Maybe he would leave her alone.

  But she knew that was stupid. He would do what he wanted.

  Her whole body convulsed with the anticipation of his touch.

  No, no, no. Please, go away. Please don’t…

  She didn’t know this man, but it didn’t matter—she knew his kind. Eyes deceive, words lie, but that hum in the air, that power emanating from him… her heart knew what he was.

  And he had come for her.

  She twitched with his nearness. Her lungs burned. She gasped because she had to breathe. Had to keep breathing. Had to keep her heart beating. No matter what. She must live until… until the baby could live… beyond that…

  “I’m sorry.” A deep voice. The words echoed in her head. Sorry, sorry, sorry. They made no sense.

  She stayed huddled in her chair. She could endure this. She would endure this. She would escape to somewhere else inside, again and again, as often as necessary to stay alive. There was no other option. She would go there now… back to the misty land, the place where the children were sweet and innocent and pure…

  “Eden, I will not touch you.”

  Touch.

  The touching was the worst. Not the actual act of violation because by that time, she was already lost in the revulsive pleasure the angel’s touch had brought. Elyon. It always started with him touching her… and at that moment, she could still remember herself. She knew she had no choice, that she did not wish for his touch or the pleasure that came with it, but it was forced upon her, like a lollipop jammed down her throat, making her choke, until… eventually… the choking subsided, and the pleasure swamped her mind. Then her body did his bidding. Willingly. It was a nightmare, uncontrolled and surreal, her body jumping and jerking against the overwhelming, humming force of his, all his power taking over her mind, her body, her will.

  When it was done, she was spent and sick and in pieces, she had to slowly gather herself, bit by bit, to reassemble the person she was. She knew she had no choice—that she could stop none of it—but that didn’t keep her from burning with shame that she hadn’t. That, somehow, miraculously, with her meager human body, she should have been able to stop the enormous demonic power of his. It was stupid. Worse, it was damaging. She knew that. Yet, she felt it all the same.

  Her mind had practiced running away—it was the one thing she could control—and now she had gotten so good at it that the misty world seemed like home and the nursery was the nightmare.

  “Eden, I promise you.” The angel was still near her, still talking. Her eyes were still shut. “I won’t touch you at all. I just want to help the baby.”

  The baby.

  She gasped in air—she’d been holding her breath again, willing him away. She opened one eye, peering at him between her fingers splayed across her face.

  His gaze was intense—blue eyes like
the sky at dusk—but he had moved back. Out of arm’s reach, both hers and his. And his body… it wasn’t the oversized, dominating one that Elyon had always used with her. She’d seen the angel in many forms. It was part of her degradation for him to take her in that way—the head of a goat but the body of a man. Hooves and haunches of a horse, head of a dragon, but always a man where it mattered—the parts he used to violate her and bring that horrifying, shameful pleasure, again and again. She shuddered, reflexively, at the memory, but this man before her—the one beseeching her with his eyes but keeping his hands to himself—this angel appeared nothing more than a man.

  Oh, she knew what he was—the power was rolling off him and trembling the air—but he chose to appear as merely a man. If she didn’t know better, if she hadn’t spent months in a hellish underworld, she could have mistaken him for an ordinary twenty-something human. Blue eyes. Long jet-black hair tucked behind his ears. Not ordinary in any real sense—in the outside world, his kind of beauty would grace magazine covers and major motion pictures. But he could be confused for mortal in this form he had taken.

  Why?

  “Will you let me?” he asked.

  Her body automatically twitched in response, and she almost closed her one eye again.

  “Let me help the baby, I mean,” he added hastily, frowning, eyes roaming her tucked-up form. But he wasn’t lascivious with that gaze. He wasn’t caressing her with it for his own pleasure. He was looking for something.

  The baby.

  Elyon had only asked about her child—his child—once. It was after he had finished with her, and the violence of it had left her bruised and unable to move without gripping her belly to keep the contents inside. If you lose this one, he’d said, I will simply make another.