With her life in jeopardy and the Demon Army regrouping, Chayyliél and Sophie will have to put all their trust in one another to claim a love that will not be denied.
Chapter One
Caleb Charles
June 6, 1985 - August 12, 2016
Beloved Son and Brother.
A Hero.
The last two words weren’t there, but they would be, as soon as possible.
The marble headstone gleamed in the afternoon sun, blinding Sophie. She wouldn’t put on her shades. The pain spiking her swollen eyes mimicked the pain in her broken heart. She crouched down, bringing herself level with the headstone, and reached for the deeply carved lettering. The rough lettering was warm on her fingertips in comparison to the cool September day.
She traced her brother’s name over and over, her mind numb yet each nerve ending throbbed as her last memory of him stormed through her brain. The rainy morning and wet headstones surrounding the gaping hole in the ground, his burial plot a scar on the lush green landscape. The casket waiting to be lowered into the earth, never to be seen again.
No! Don’t go there. Sophie shored up the mental block protecting her from bawling, something she’d done nonstop in the past forty-eight hours. She went from shocked at her recovered memories, skipped right over denial because the truth slapped her sideways, and landed squarely in anger. Evident by the destruction she had unleashed on her hotel room.
Now, she wallowed in recriminations.
“Hey, little bro.” Her throat closed on a sob for a minute. “I was stupid. I should’ve listened to you,” she wheezed as the pain in her chest gave a slow twist. “When have you ever been wrong? Shit. You were right about everything. I can’t deny it anymore, you were always smarter. If only…” Fuck! She hated those words. If only he liked her, loved her, understood her, didn’t fracture her ribs, didn’t bust her lip. Seemed she’d spent half her life prefacing every sentence with “If only.” No. More.
“I’m so sorry, Caleb. God, if I could just go back.” Her forehead dropped and pressed against the stone as more tears squeezed out of her worn ducts. “You shouldn’t be here. You should be fishing or skiing. Starting that graphic design business you talked about. Meeting your future wife. Not dead because you chose to rescue me and I…”
Her knees gave out and she slumped into the stone. Caleb was the one with all the ideas. She was the fuckup, the big sister with the bad judgment. The one who hooked up with an abusive asshole and wouldn’t leave because she loved him.
She could breathe, feel the heat from the sun beating on her skin, smell the freshly cut grass, drink a beer, watch a movie, bitch, whine, and anything else she could dream up. None of which her brother could ever do again. “I don’t know how to fix this. I can’t fix this. Tell me how to fix this!”
Four years older, she was supposed to protect him. Not the other way around. He may have been younger, but Caleb was wise in a way that didn’t count his years. He had an old soul and kindness that encompassed all things. If she hadn’t stolen his future, he would’ve grown up and changed the world.
Sophie doubled over. Her stomach gave a vicious yank and up crawled the taco she’d had for lunch.
She sat back on her haunches and watched the chunky mess splayed on the manicured lawn as she dragged her arm across her mouth, cleansing her lips on her cable-knit sweater. “God. I’m a real piece of work. Can’t even come to pay my respects without fucking it up. Two years later and I’m still a fuckup, Caleb. Damn.” She swiped at the tears running down her face.
The return of her memories brought a boatload of insecurities along for the ride, insecurities cultivated by Ozzy. He was excellent at pointing out how badly she did…everything. She wasn’t good enough, smart enough, sexy enough, didn’t make him hard anymore, her belly was a turnoff. On and on it went.
A shadow crossed over her. It was too big and too dense to be a cloud, especially when the sun spilled over her from the opposite direction. She spun, her hand in her purse wrapped around a Glock, not quite sure she could pull the trigger.
Chayyliél, formerly The Powerful One in the Celestial Order, stood a foot away from her, bathed in sunlight. Rays glinted off his hair, highlighting hidden coppery strands mixed into the thick, dark chocolate curtain framing the sharp angles of his cheeks, angular jaw, and deep set pewter eyes rimmed by a thin crimson circle. A breeze lifted his hair, and, for a brief moment, she caught a luminescent glow emanating from his skin that wasn’t previously there. He practically glowed. She blinked hard to make sure she hadn’t hallucinated. Nope. He still glowed from an ethereal inner light.
And if that weren’t enough, all six feet two inches of lean, hard, sculpted muscles were packed into a shirt tight enough to showcase his rack of abs and broad chest, and a pair of dark jeans that hugged his long, muscular legs. She blinked and squinted at him. Her assessment was wrong. Since she’d last seen him less than a week ago, he’d grown a few inches. Not only was he taller, he was wider, at least two inches vertical and across his chest, legs, and arms. Before, she’d thought him to be the least intimidating out of all the UnHallowed. Not anymore.
Chayyliél, The Powerful One. “Formerly” no longer applied. To her it never had. Heat spread from her core, always her automatic response, which she hated as much as she once loved the chemical, sexual reaction he caused from his mere presence. Her senses reeled. She ached but now for a different reason. It was wrong. He shouldn’t be here distracting her from her grief.
A tic working his jaw was clearly visible under his scruffy beard and hinted at his anger. His hands hung at his sides, completely non-threatening; however, she did feel threatened, though not from any perceived violence, but something equally as dangerous. She missed him, desperately.
“What are you doing here?” she asked around a sharp gasp, trying and failing to quell her body’s reaction.
He squinted, silver glinted in his pewter eyes, adding to the intensity of his stare. “I’m here for you.”
Had his lips moved or did she imagine the four words that made all her muscles clench in anger? She refused to acknowledge it was anything else. “Leave.” She removed her hand from the gun.
“I will after I ask—”
“Do not ask if I’m all right.” Her knees creaked as she climbed to her feet and faced him. “Do I look all right? I just vomited on my brother’s grave. Does that seem all right? You can’t possibly be that fucking dense.” She cranked her head to the side and folded her arms, holding herself together. She was done being timid. All timid had ever gotten her was a black eye, stitches, a miscarriage, and her mind erased. The last one by the UnHallowed with the gall to be standing in front of her. That’s right! Remember what he did!
Chay’s chest expanded on a slow inhale, as if he was preparing for battle or striving for patience. Though he was strung tight and tension came off him in waves, she didn’t sense any violence coming from him, not in his stance or in his gaze. Still, she didn’t trust him. Not anymore.
“I don’t mean to invade your privacy—”
“Yet you’re here. At my brother’s grave. Uninvited.” Her hands balled into tight fists.
His gaze dropped to her fists and narrowed. His nostrils flared. “You want to take a swing, go ahead.”
Violence raced up her spine; her limbs trembled. She wanted to do more than take a swing at him. Pummeling him for an hour wouldn’t suffice either. Beating him until there was nothing left of her would barely crack the surface of the pain she wanted to inflict.
“I can take it.” He stepped closer, into her personal zone so that she strained to keep eye contact. “I deserve it but know this…I’m not sorry I blocked your memories, and I would do it again. So, take your best shot.”
His low and steady voice washed over her, inciting a riot in her nervous system. She fluctuated between a hot flash of lust singeing her blood and anger that he caused the unwanted reaction. After what he’d done, he didn’t deserve the former, only t
he latter.
Sophie gave him her back. This pointless conversation was over. She came here to grieve, not argue with someone who refused to understand the line he’d crossed. Caleb gave his life for hers. For two years she’d been furious he’d thrown it away in a barroom fight, instead of honoring his memory, his sacrifice. “I’m sorry,” she whispered and touched his headstone one last time.
She paused before marching away. There was one question Chay could answer. “What did you do with Ozzy’s body?” She had no memory of attending her ex’s funeral.
She faced him when he didn’t give her an answer. “I asked you a question.”
He stood there, lips zipped. A Goddamn statue.
She closed the scant distance separating them and got right in his face, all five feet and seven inches of her. “So help me, I will rip your face off if you don’t tell me.” And she meant every word.
“We returned it to his family. They buried him.” He said through gritted teeth.
“Where?” She ground out between her clenched jaw.
With a snarl, his lips peeled back from his perfect set of teeth. “Jacksonville. Jacksonville Memorial Gardens.”
She spun and headed for the exit.
“Sophie,” he said sharply with enough aggression to halt a charging bull. She wasn’t immune. All her muscles froze, though she couldn’t blame the automatic response on mind control. Not this time. It was the concern layered with the heat in his tone that had her obeying his unspoken command.
“Leave me alone. This is goodbye, Chay. I don’t want to see you again, ever,” she said without turning around.
Grass crunching told her he approached. “Does that apply to Scarla also?”
Her heart twisted. Scarla hadn’t stopped calling in the days since Sophie had last seen her. Since that horrendous moment when Sophie discovered how her bestie and the UnHallowed she’d fallen for had wiped her mind clean for two years. They’d conspired to keep her oblivious to the truth of Caleb’s death and the loss of her pregnancy.
Rage coiled in her belly and sent ice shooting through her veins. They’d kept her in the dark to what she’d done, her grief stagnant, and still fresh. Because of them, she’d killed her brother and lost her baby two days ago, not two years ago. Raw and bleeding, she was surprised a puddle hadn’t gathered under her feet. She was an open, pus-filled wound that had never healed. Right now, she wasn’t capable of forgiveness, maybe she never would be.
She felt him at her back, blocking the sun from her skin. “It applies to Scarla, you, and all the UnHallowed who knew what you were doing to me.”
Sophie didn’t wait for a response as she strode to her car, stronger with every step she took away from Chay and her brother’s grave, anticipation in each stride. There was one more grave she had to visit…make that desecrate.
Maybe then could she begin to heal.
~~~~~
It took everything in Chay not to drag her back to his side. Fuck, drag her back to Detroit. Drag her back into his life. Into his arms. Into his bed.
Yeah, that was never going to happen. Wiping a woman’s mind has a way of eroding any trust, which is kinda necessary in the romance department.
Goodbye? No damn way was this goodbye. Even if he had blown any chance with her, he would not leave her alone. It was too dangerous.
However, a small, less territorial, possessive part of him wondered if she could be correct. Letting her go, removing her from the UnHallowed sphere, could make her safer, possibly. It had to be considered, even though all of him revolted at the idea. Never seeing her again, he wouldn’t, couldn’t…but if it kept her safe, how could he igno—
Chay’s sword formed in his hand and he struck to his right. The clang of steel meeting steel had him pivoting to face his…foe?
An angel, battle ready in full empyreal armor had blocked his blow. Her wings, white feathers edged with evergreen, flared, prepared to fly her away. In her hand, an empyreal blade. However, her stance was wrong because her center of balance was slightly off. Also, the grip on her blade was too tight. The only reason she hadn’t collapsed when he struck was because he knew an angel lurked. He sensed her presence when he shouldn’t have been able to. Thank you, Braile. Another benefit from the archangel’s sacrifice.
So far, Chay could read minds, walk in the sun, and now tell when an angel was near. What else would return?
He studied the fear leeching through her wide, gold eyes, even though her face was partially shielded by her helmet. Everything about her screamed unskilled, untrained.
“Who and what are you?” He kept his sword inches away from her throat.
“Axelle.” Her voice wavered on the last syllable.
He increased the pressure on his blade, until the edge touched her skin. “Answer the second question.”
“I am a warrior class angel.”
Doubt laced every word. “How long have you been a warrior?” No angel who had achieved the rank of Warrior ever included class in the title.
“As you know, time passes differently in Heaven. Suffice to say, not long.”
He knew a deflection when he heard one. “Were you allowed to leave, or did you escape the Celestial Order?”
Her lips thinned, and light danced along the edge of her white and evergreen wings. He’d struck a nerve.
“What were you before, Axelle?” he continued when she didn’t answer. “My guess is a watcher. An angel on the lowest rung. Damn, they are truly scraping the barrel if they hauled you up the ranks.”
“I was a guardian angel to the human female you desire.” She bristled.
Slowly, he removed his blade from her throat. She put some distance between them, though not as much as she’d probably wanted.
Her sword lowered, but she was smart enough to keep it in her hand. The way she held the weapon, he could tell she wasn’t comfortable with it, hadn’t bonded to the empyreal steel. It wielded her rather than the other way around. “Why are you here?”
Her gaze cut to Sophie’s dwindling form. Chay blocked her line of sight. “Do you know who I am?” he asked.
She paused, then said, “Chayyliél. Once an archangel named The Powerful One. Now, an UnHallowed.”
He hid his surprise. “Is it common knowledge or do me and my kind remain a secret?”
“Guardian, comfort, and watcher angels always had knowledge of your existence. Especially when you and the other UnHallowed bonded with the Halfling. Warrior class angels were ignorant until very recently.”
That he wasn’t surprised. “What do you want with Sophie?”
“I felt her pain.”
Fury surged through him for everything Sophie had been through, everything she’d survived. The ground rumbled beneath his feet, an occurrence that hadn’t happened since the Fall. Exactly how much of his power had returned?
“Now you feel her pain? After all her suffering, you chose now to show your presence?” His sword edged up. “You were charged with her care and failed her.” He would gut this angel and Michael if necessary.
Again, light danced along the edges of her outstretched wings. “I was called away from her side to begin my training when she was eight. No one else was assigned, so I returned when I could, helped her when I could.” Her chin hiked up in the air and though he towered over her, she managed to look down on him. “You will not judge me when I was there when you took it upon yourself to erase her memory. What happened that her memories have come back to cause her enough torment to draw my attention again?”
He noticed the angel didn’t condemn his actions. Wise decision because he wouldn’t tolerate a reprimand from anyone, least of all from her.
“I didn’t erase her memories. I blocked them. A temporary fix.” Once, he could’ve erased her memory with a single thought and enough precision to leave the rest of her mind intact. To do so after he lost his grace would’ve left her a vegetable.
Chay studied Axelle, reading her true intentions through the subtle aura surroundi
ng her, another one of his abilities returning. For whatever reason, she cared. It was the only reason she left her new station to see to the needs of a human. His respect for her grew from nonexistent to a thimble full. “Can you be her guardian again, temporarily?” he pleaded.
She shook her head. “Not possible. I must return to the Celestial Order to complete my training.”
Her answer frustrated him, but he understood. The training had to come first. “Will another take your place? A comfort angel perhaps?” He’d take any help he could get.
She paused, gave him hope, and then said, “Unlikely. Many have joined the military ranks since, well, since the Celestial Army’s defeat on the plains of Kilimanjaro. Additionally, you can sense us when previously you couldn’t. It is…unnerving. A comfort angel won’t come near you.”
Comfort angels were a timid bunch, usually unsuitable for anything other than taking care of distressed humans. He couldn’t help their reaction to him. “Any Comfort that aids Sophie will find the UnHallowed grateful, myself especially. I will be in their eternal debt.” He pressed the issue. Having an UnHallowed indebted to you could not be lightly ignored.
Axelle tipped her head to him; however, he caught the gleam in her gold rimmed eyes. She wasn’t opposed to the idea. “I will pass your request along.” She paused, her gaze darting to the blade in his hand. “How is it an UnHallowed wields empyreal steel?”
He glanced at his weapon. Somehow, he managed to squash his gasp. In his hand wasn’t the ordinary steel he’d used since he’d fallen from grace. No, that weapon was gone, replaced with the sword he’d taken the time to fashion with his own hands. Power thrummed through the blade, up his arm, and into his chest. The grace beneath his skin sizzled.
Holy fuck!
His insides blazed from an internal roasting he’d forgotten.
The angel waited, her inquisitive eyes full of speculation. She wouldn’t get her answers from him. “Who is your chancellor now?”
Only You (UnHallowed Series Book 3) Page 23
