Michael smiled, taking the glass from Gabriel’s hand. “As you say.” He lightly clinked his glass against Gabriel’s. “A toast, then. To us.”
“To us,” Gabriel said. “And to there always being hope in the world.”
Michael’s smile grew. “As you say.”
They sipped their wine, and as the musicians in the corner of the club started playing a selection from the Glenn Miller Orchestra, Gabriel set his glass down and held his hand out to Michael. “Would you dance with me, Saint Michael?” he asked formally.
“I would be honored to, Saint Gabriel,” Michael said, taking Gabriel’s hand.
Gabriel led the way onto the dance floor, and Michael stepped into his arms. They moved together, dancing with the infinite gracefulness of those who are not human and who spend a good portion of their lives training for war, flying, and fighting. The steps of the dance were so well known to the pair of Archangels that they did not need to think about them; they moved instinctively.
Michael was smiling, Gabriel realized, a small, fond smile, a smile that reached his eyes. Those dark eyes were sparkling, and Michael’s body language radiated contentment.
“Are you happy?” Gabriel asked.
“Very.” Michael gave Gabriel a quick kiss. “Are you?”
“Aye, I am.”
They danced until midnight, pausing only for another glass of wine, and when the hour ticked on toward one in the morning, Gabriel led Michael from the dance floor.
“Shall we go home?”
“If you would like.” Michael reached up to brush his fingers through Gabriel’s blond hair.
“I’d like, aye, but I want to know if you’d like too.”
“I would.” Michael smiled. “You should be aware that there is little I object to when it comes to you, Gabriel.”
“You’re too kind,” Gabriel said.
“Not often enough, I fear.”
Gabriel shook his head. “You’re too hard on yourself, solnyshko. Let’s go home.”
“As you say.” Michael moved closer, sliding his arms around Gabriel’s neck.
Gabriel took a quick look around the club, encouraged the other patrons to look elsewhere with his power, then discreetly moved them back to the island. They appeared in the world on the beach, the moon shining down benevolently on them as Gabriel pulled in a pile of driftwood with his power and set it alight.
“Da bao?”
“Just because we’re home don’t mean we can’t still dance,” Gabriel said, moving slowly.
Michael moved with him, brushing his fingers over the nape of Gabriel’s neck, just above the collar of his shirt. “You are very romantic.”
“You inspire me. You’re, like, my muse.”
“A poor one, I fear.”
“Nup.” Gabriel dipped Michael, kissed the tip of his nose, and lifted him. “The stars are bright tonight. Aquila is singing.”
Michael tilted his head to one side. “Do you speak to Aquila often?”
“Aye. I check in to see how things are going with the imprisonment of Semjaza. Aquila don’t really like him much. I don’t blame the constellation for that. I don’t like Semjaza much myself.”
“Although it may be uncharitable of me to say it, I do not like him either.” Michael wrinkled his nose. “I always found him… overly brash. And when we learned what transpired with the humans he and the other Grigori chose as their consorts and high priests and priestesses….”
“I know.” Gabriel shook his head. “I remember. We were so angry.” He paused, his expression growing distant. “I remember Uriel were aflame with holy fire. Literally.”
“You were not much better,” Michael said. “You wanted to flay Semjaza and his followers.”
“You didn’t object,” Gabriel said with a shrug.
“No. Although his ultimate imprisonment in Aquila was far better than anything we came up with at the time. He can see but he cannot participate in what happens on Earth, or in Hell, or in Heaven.”
“Aye. And I bet he’s well pissed about Ishtahar and Remi.”
Michael scowled. “If he should seek to somehow interfere with that noble lady or with Remiel, I may yet flay him.”
Gabriel leaned in and kissed Michael at that pronouncement.
“Gabriel?” Michael sounded confused, even as he kissed back.
“You’re so hot when you get all grr.”
“You are strange.”
“So you keep saying.”
Michael hummed as Gabriel deepened the kiss, and pressed closer as Gabriel moved his hands to his wings.
“I want you,” Gabriel murmured between hot, hungry kisses.
“Then have me,” Michael said, tugging Gabriel down to the sand.
Using his power to get them naked—and send their clothing back to the house—Gabriel used his power again to pull a beach blanket to him and managed to get them onto it without becoming coated in sand in the process. They laughed as they rolled together on the blanket, touching, kissing, speaking words of love and affection in Aramaic. Gabriel rolled Michael onto his back and used his power to slick his cock, then slowly pressed into Michael’s willing body, gripping Michael’s hips hard enough to bruise.
Michael moved his own hands straight to Gabriel’s wings and alternated between tugging handfuls of feathers and stroking along the line of the tendons. Gabriel leaned down and kissed Michael hard, groaning into the kiss. They moved together by the bonfire on the beach, passion rising between them as Gabriel worked a hand between them to wrap around Michael’s cock and stroke. Michael mewled into Gabriel’s mouth, arching into his body, and Gabriel’s thrusts sped up until he was fucking Michael hard and fast, with no finesse, just animal want.
They came one after the other, crying each other’s name, the beach lighting up with a silver and gold glow as the light of their power bled through their human forms with the release that came with orgasm. And as they lay together, panting, touching each other with slow, languid caresses, basking in the afterglow, Gabriel felt that all was right within his world once more.
As he ran a hand over the curve of Michael’s hip, Gabriel broached the subject that had put them at odds. “So,” he began, “we should talk about the elephant in the room, huh? Or elephant on the beach, as we’re on the beach and all.”
Michael looked confused and propped himself up to look around them. “There is an elephant on the beach?”
Gabriel bit the inside of his cheek hard to keep himself from laughing. “Ah. No, no there ain’t. It’s a turn of phrase. It means the big thing that we ain’t talking about. Sort of.”
“I see,” Michael said in a tone of voice that indicated that he didn’t see at all.
“We should talk about Israfel, I meant,” Gabriel said.
“Ah.” Michael was silent for a moment as he got comfortable on the blanket once more, cuddling close to Gabriel. “I judged hastily and rashly. I attributed to him behaviors of Tabbris because he is Tabbris’s friend. That was unfair to Israfel and uncalled for on my part, and I regret it greatly.”
Gabriel was speechless. It took him a few moments to find his voice. “So you’re okay with Israfel and Raph being in a relationship?”
“It will take me some time to adjust, but overall, yes.” Michael smiled ruefully. “I fear that I have behaved poorly. I will apologize to both Israfel and Raphael for my behavior and my misjudgment. I should not have behaved in such a way. After all, God has said that we must not judge lest we ourselves are judged, and I forgot that.”
Gabriel hugged him tight. “I am so proud of you, Mishka. And I love you, very fucking much.”
“Language.” Michael hugged Gabriel back. “I love you also.”
“I’m still sorry I bit your head off, before,” Gabriel added.
“I am sorry I was harsh to you. I never wished to be. Not to you.”
Gabriel rested his forehead against Michael’s. “Then we’re good.”
“Yes.” Michael kissed Gabriel’
s nose. “We are.”
7
SHATEIEL was meditating in the back garden of the house he and Agrat lived in, his Grace winding around the lush plant life and touching the consciousness of the carp that swam in the small pool beneath a banana tree. Agrat was in Lithuania, helping rescue women from a large sex trafficking ring, and Shateiel was taking the day to relax and rest. He was alert for Agrat’s voice, should she call him, asking for him to help her; the two of them had established a routine for the work Agrat did helping victims of sex crimes.
Relaxed but alert, Shateiel, eyes closed, touched Heaven with his Grace, feeling the all-encompassing love and comfort of his home wrap around him. It wasn’t often he did this, for he was usually on missions for Gabriel. Gabriel had given him time for R and R, so he was enjoying the unusual sensation of having no plans and no wars to fight.
Shateiel was jolted from his peaceful reverie by the sound of pounding on the front door of the house. He opened his eyes, frowning as he got to his feet. His frown deepened as he walked into the house and the pounding grew more frantic.
“Agrat!”
Shateiel raised an eyebrow as he opened the door. Israfel stood on the threshold, his expression one of near panic.
“Where’s Agrat?”
“Lithuania. What is wrong, Israfel?”
Israfel wrung his hands in distress. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”
“Israfel. What is wrong?”
The Angel of Music looked up at Shateiel, his eyes full of worry. “Raphael’s missing.”
Shateiel felt his eyebrows shoot up. “Missing? What do you mean, missing?”
“Missing! The opposite of here!” Israfel waved his arms in agitation, and Shateiel wondered if perhaps he should shake him.
“Israfel, I do not know what you mean. Please, explain. Perhaps I can help.” Shateiel projected calm with his mental voice, glad that he had the ability to speak telepathically when he had been created to be, among other things, the Angel of Silence.
Israfel took a deep breath, nodded, and ran his hands through his mussed dark-blond hair. “Okay. Yeah.” He pushed past Shateiel and rushed into the house, and Shateiel, bemused, closed the door and followed him.
Israfel paced in the living room and Shateiel sat down, regarding the other angel in concern. Something had happened, and Israfel was clearly on the verge of a panic attack. Shateiel could not imagine Raphael vanishing for any reason, so he waited patiently for Israfel to explain his announcement that Raphael had disappeared.
“I went to Crete,” Israfel began, “because I was going to meet up with him there today. He was going to take a few days to calm down because Michael annoyed him. I figured that a few days by himself, he’d be fine, you know? I’d get there, and he’d be his usual self and we could move on.
“So I went to Crete, and the house was empty. He hadn’t been there at all.” Israfel wrung his hands again. “I went outside, using my Grace to seek out his Grace, like we do when we’re looking for angelkind, yeah? Yeah. Anyway, I couldn’t find him anywhere in Crete at all. Which is weird in itself, because Raph wouldn’t lie and I know he was looking forward to me meeting up with him there.
“Anyway, one of the neighbors found me on the street, ’cause I was wondering what the fuck to do, and she said that Raph had come there a few days ago, and then some people in robes had grabbed him. So I freaked out and went and got Tabbry, and he’s hunting through Greece and Macedonia for me, and he said I should come here and see Agrat and see if she could reach him, only she’s not here.”
“Raphael has been kidnapped?” Shateiel got to his feet, his expression stern. “This is serious, Israfel. It must be reported to the General and the Field Marshal.”
“I don’t know if he’s been kidnapped!” Israfel wailed. “I just… can you feel him? In the Host? I can’t. Tabbry can’t. And Tabbry can feel anyone, because he’s got that whole free will thing and anytime anyone makes a decision, he can feel it!”
Shateiel raised a hand for silence. He didn’t really care how Tabbris used his powers; Tabbris himself did not offend Shateiel as he did the majority of the Host. Tabbris was, Shateiel thought, what Gabriel called “full of piss and vinegar”—his words were wind and he forgot half the things he said almost as soon as he said them. That Tabbris was looking for Raphael was, in itself, unusual—Tabbris cared little for anyone except himself and Israfel.
Reaching out with his power, Shateiel sought the familiar touch of the Archangel of Healing. What he found was a vast silence—and even more alarming, that there was a crisis developing among humanity.
Shateiel opened his eyes. “We are going to Tzadkiel’s. You will tell the Brotherhood what you know.”
“It’s serious, isn’t it. I knew it.” Israfel sniffled.
“It is more serious than you know,” Shateiel said. “The disappearance of Raphael will lead to medical problems, if it has not already.”
“Huh?”
Shateiel shook his head. “We will speak with the Brotherhood.” Before Israfel could say anything else, Shateiel touched his shoulder and moved the both of them to Tzadkiel’s apartment in Savannah, Georgia.
Tzadkiel was more than a little surprised to see who his visitors were, but Shateiel, with the sense of impending disaster fueling him, waved aside the questions the Archangel had. Instead, he concentrated, reaching out through the Heavenly link and calling the rest of the Brotherhood. Shateiel’s worry conveyed itself through the link, and as Israfel and Tzadkiel looked on, there were eight distinctive pops, and the rest of the Archangels appeared.
“Shateiel?” Gabriel strode forward. “What’s going on?”
“Sir.” Shateiel bowed to his CO. “There is a problem. A grave one. Raphael is missing and as a result, I fear that all the scientific discoveries and advances in medicine are beginning to fail.”
The silence that met this statement was so absolute that one could have heard a feather drop. Raziel was the first to react, his dark-blue eyes narrowing as he reached out to examine the world with his power. Shateiel watched, holding his breath as Raziel’s expression changed from skeptical to worried to shocked.
“Holy crap,” Raziel said. “He’s right.”
“Pardon?” Michael’s expression was foreboding. “What is going on, Raziel?”
Raziel shook his head, and Shateiel realized that the full impact of whatever it was Raziel had seen was beginning to weigh on him. Shateiel saw the minute changes in body language as the Archangel of Secrets and Mysteries began to appreciate just how enormous the problem was.
“Raphael is missing, and there is plague in northwestern Africa. Plague that has not been seen since the thirteenth century. In Europe. There is influenza in Russia that defies all medications. There is an increase in deep-vein thrombosis cases in those who travel by airplane frequently. There are increases in the common cold. In short, disease is resistant to all medication. All disease.”
“How is this possible?” Michael asked, his voice hushed and full of horror.
Raziel spread his hands. “As long as we live, those things that humans accomplish in the fields that we manage—like medicine, Raphael’s field—survive and endure. Our power makes them work, if you will. Take away the Archangel whose power governs that field, take away the ability of the field to work. So, take away Raphael, and advances in medicine that worked for many, many years… no longer work at all. And doctors worldwide are at a loss, and scientists are beginning to panic. And scientists”—Raziel squared his shoulders—”are not given to panic. I know this because I am one.”
“This is serious, Michael,” Tzadkiel said. “Is Raphael alive?”
“He is.” Michael nodded. “If he were dead, we would all have felt it. The death of one of angelkind would ricochet through the Host like a bomb blast. An Archangel… it would be a thousand times more devastating. I have no desire to experience such a thing. God told me of this before the Fall, before there were humans. His word was sufficient to fill me
with fear of the death of one of our Brotherhood for the rest of my days.”
Silence fell once more, and the Archangels looked at each other, their expressions mirroring Shateiel’s worry and concern.
Israfel broke the silence, making Shateiel start. He’d almost forgotten the angel was there at all.
“So where is he, then?” Israfel demanded.
“I do not know,” Michael said. “Tell us how you learned of his disappearance, Israfel.” His voice was kind, and Shateiel quirked an eyebrow. He caught Gabriel’s eye and his CO shook his head slightly. Shateiel felt his eyebrow rise a little higher, but he said nothing.
Israfel shrugged, a helpless gesture that filled Shateiel with compassion. Israfel, like Tabbris, was not a member of any choir or Brotherhood of angels; he was unique. He was not a Seraphim or a Cherubim or an Ophanim or a Throne or Dominion. He was Israfel, Angel of Music, as Tabbris was Angel of Free Will, as Agrat was Angel of Prostitution and Sex, and as Shateiel himself was Angel of Silence and lieutenant to Archangel Gabriel. They had no peers and they had no choir. Perhaps, Shateiel thought with a sudden flash of insight, that was why Tabbris was so disliked. His uniqueness wasn’t appreciated by those who belonged to a choir or Brotherhood.
As those thoughts ran through Shateiel’s mind, Israfel filled in the Archangels on what had happened and on Tabbris’s search through Greece and Macedonia. As he reached his conclusion, Sophiel and Brieus joined them, as ever at Tzadkiel’s side as Shateiel was at Gabriel’s.
“This is disquieting,” Michael said. He looked seriously at Israfel, his dark eyes unblinking. “I wish to apologize to you, Israfel, for my harsh words earlier and my judgment. It was wrong of me. I want you to know that I will do everything in my power to find Raphael, and not just because he is a beloved member of the Brotherhood of Archangels, but also because he is your beloved.”
Israfel’s mouth formed a perfect O of surprise, and he was speechless as Michael turned to the other Archangels and Sophiel, Brieus, and Shateiel himself.
No Surrender, No Retreat Page 10
