by Meg Collett
“You told me to do the same thing. But I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do, and I did it in spite of you all.”
***
Gabriel shifted out of Michaela’s way, his eyes focused on her face. Her eyes were reddened and tired, downturned to avoid even seeing him. She bit her bottom lip so hard he knew it had to hurt. She only did that when she was about to cry. She was in pain.
Pain he’d caused.
But her shoulders were tight and pulled back. Her long strides carried her out the door quickly, because she was too proud to show weakness. She stirred the air, sending crippling wafts of her scent—warm peaches and sweet musk—into his nose, reminding him how much he missed her.
Then she was gone, closing the door quietly behind her.
Gabriel sighed heavily, raking his hand across the scruff on his face. The others were flickering shadows in the sparse light of the oil-filled lanterns. The sounds of the locusts were almost like background noise to Gabriel.
“We need to take it easier on her,” he said. They were hard words to say, but Gabriel forced them off his tongue. He knew they were right. He knew he should heed his own advice. But it was bitter medicine.
“Why?” Uriel’s question was a harsh expletive. Her brown eyes bright with sparking rage.
“This hasn’t been easy for her.” That was the truth, and it was much easier to say. Gabriel looked at Simiel and Ophaniel, who both nodded.
“What about you?” Raphael asked, crossing his thick arms across his massive chest. “What about what happened to you?”
“She didn’t do this to me,” Gabriel said through gritted teeth. “I did this. I never blamed her for my decision. I would have done anything to save her.” He swallowed, drew in a breath. Swallowed again. “I shouldn’t have blamed her for anything.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“She doesn’t deserve this.” He looked at Uriel. “And she doesn’t deserve our anger.”
“Your anger was a rational reaction,” Ophaniel said. Gabriel was about to argue until he saw her reassuring smile. “What changed your mind?”
Gabriel knew they would ask him this question. Its answer was one he had been working on understanding. It had been stewing in him for days. “Lucifer owns my soul now. But she has every other piece of me that matters. My body, my heart, rebels against any ounce of hate I feel toward her. I’m not right without her.”
When he finished, no one spoke for a long moment. Finally, Ophaniel reached over and squeezed his arm. “I’m glad you changed your mind.”
Uriel snorted and paced away.
“It’s so much easier when we all just get along,” Simiel said, collapsing into a chair with a smile.
“So no more fighting,” Gabriel said.
“She brought this on herself,” Uriel spat.
“Uriel, watch it.” Gabriel’s words were quiet and far more intimidating than her bitter ones.
Everyone stared at him, some with acceptance and others with outright anger. But no one spoke. Gabriel didn’t know how much his opinion of Michaela had affected the others until now. “We should all work to forgive her. Including me. Especially me.”
17
It didn’t take her long to reach her room even though she kept her pace steady and her eyes dry. She swung open her bedroom door and tried to slam it behind her. A hand reached through and caught it before it could latch and lock. Michaela knew that hand.
Gabriel stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him.
“Why are you still here?” she demanded.
Her body was rigid in the middle of her room as she regarded Gabriel. He looked around, taking in the sparse décor. He remained where he stood next to the door.
“I can’t exactly leave.” His stare landed on the window behind her where the locusts still drummed away.
His voice wasn’t kind or soothing, but it wasn’t hostile like Michaela had grown used to. She sagged onto the bed, exhausted. She felt his stare on her skin until she glanced up at him.
His eyes had grown dark seeing her sitting on the bed. Rivets formed up his jaw as he clenched his teeth. Seeming to force himself, he looked away.
“Gabriel, what happened?” Michaela’s voice was quiet. Her anger drained away too, her tone matching Gabriel’s hollow one.
Gabriel shrugged, not looking at her. In that moment, Michaela realized he was ashamed even though he hid it well under the rigid set of his shoulders. His face was tense and angry, but the sadness in his eyes was a revelation.
“I don’t even know how to explain it,” Gabriel said, his words clipped and short. But he was searching, lost. He seemed to be reaching out to her through his anger.
“Please try. I need to understand what’s happened to us.” Michaela wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill growing in the room. Gabriel hovered by the door.
“I…” Gabriel started, struggling to find the words. He seemed to think long and hard before understanding sparked in his eyes. “I hate myself so much sometimes…all the time.” Gabriel raked his hands over his face and hair. “But you are such a part of me. You run so deep within me that when I hate myself, I have to hate you too. Because you are right there, right next to that hate. And I can’t control it. I can’t separate us. So please forgive me, because I can’t stop hating myself for what I’ve become.”
Gabriel’s face contorted, and for one horrible moment, Michaela thought he would start crying. If he lost it, she would too. The anguish on his face tortured her. She saw his rawness just beneath his bitter surface and it burned. She could understand his rage if it was rooted in disgust for himself.
She didn’t know how, but her legs propelled her from the bed and across the room. Slamming into Gabriel like a hammer to a nail, she wrapped her hands into the lapels of his coat. His scent, smoke and wood, tingled into the most sensitive parts of her nose. He was tense beneath her hands, but she ignored his unease.
She kissed him.
His lips were unyielding against hers, unwelcoming and foreign. She groaned in frustration into his mouth, and, suddenly, he was around her, deepening and opening up in front of her until she was drowning in his kiss.
He was desperate, clinging, and ashamed just as she had guessed. It took a kiss to tell, but now she knew. His longing for her was real. She felt it in the needy grip of his hands, the furious way he worked his tongue into her mouth.
More importantly, the helpless feeling she felt in his arms surprised Michaela. He needed her now more than ever. But Michaela didn’t know how to help him. If she kept her eyes closed, she didn’t see the black in his. His touch was so familiar she could almost forget she was in the arms of a fallen.
He pushed their bodies back, easing them toward the bed until the backs of her knees pressed against the edge of the quilted corner. Her fingers tugged at the buttons of his coat as he worked to pull her shirt from her pants.
His hunger for her seeped through her skin so that she only experienced him. She finally understood that this was what he needed now. Her. Her body. Michaela allowed him to push her back onto the bed.
Gabriel pressed his hands beneath her heavy layers of shirts and coat. They roamed up her sides, grazing across her ribs and sending chills down her spine until she trembled beneath him. With the fire warming the room, and Gabriel’s heat bearing down on her, Michaela found a moment of peace.
She wound her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. They lost themselves in the kiss, remembering each other, exploring one another again. Hours might have passed while they touched each other, wound into a twist of limbs on the bed, but Michaela didn’t want to be anywhere else. Gabriel was all that mattered in that moment.
The door banged open, and Michaela caught sight of wild, freshly dyed, cotton-candy pink hair from the corner of her eye. Clark stuttered to a stop, his hand on the doorknob. Michaela rolled her eyes to the ceiling as Clark coughed, uncomfortable. Gabriel lowered his head unto the crook of her neck and groa
ned, the sound vibrating throughout his whole body.
Michaela pushed against his shoulders, and Gabriel rolled onto the bed beside her. She rose, rearranging her clothes and stared at Clark, a blush rising up the back of her neck. “What?”
“Erm…the locusts are gone. Thought you might want to know unless you’re, you know…busy,” Clark said. Michaela caught his sly smile. He wasn’t that uncomfortable if he could make fun of her.
“We’ll be out in a minute.” Michaela narrowed her eyes as Clark left the room. He left the door wide open.
Michaela looked back. Gabriel was sitting up on the bed, raking his hands through his short hair. He looked tired. Michaela hadn’t noticed that before. With a sigh, he stood and walked over to her.
“I’m sorry for this, Michaela,” he said, taking her hand and kissing the soft skin on the back. “I am who I am now, and I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you, Gabe.” When their eyes met, she had to look away.
“You do, and I certainly don’t want you kissing me out of pity.”
He let go of her hand and pulled on his jacket. She didn’t want him to go, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask him to stay. “It’s more complicated than that.”
“I know.” Gabriel stepped away and paused by the door. Michaela stood helplessly in the middle of the room. Tears pricked the back of her eyes, but they never fell.
“I miss you,” she said, the words a whisper. She forced herself to look at Gabriel’s face, his expression telling her how much he missed her too. “Are we okay though?”
“I’ll always love you, but I can’t change this. And you don’t hide your repulsion well.”
“I’m not repulsed.” Liar, the word screamed in her head. Michaela walked toward him until she saw his body stiffen.
“Don’t lie to yourself, Michaela. I get it. I really do.”
With that, Gabriel walked out. She heard his heavy boots thumping down the stairs. He didn’t wait for her. But then again, she didn’t expect him to. She tried to steady her breath, but her heart wouldn’t stop pounding. It took her breath away. She pressed her hand against the raging organ, begging it to hold itself together.
She was shaky, but she turned and started toward the stairs. It’s okay, she told herself over and over as she followed Gabriel. You’ll be okay.
Downstairs, the wood that had been slapped across the front door was lying neatly beside it. Michaela stepped around them and outside into a brand new world. She stifled a gasp.
Her feet crunched as she walked down the front, battered steps. Over her shoulder, the house stood like a ragged, worn doll. The roof was torn apart, shingles strewn around the yard. The chimneys were broken, leaving their rocks to crumble down in mini avalanches to their bases. Smoke billowed out across the house. All the windows were broken. The original white washed siding was riddled with the remains of thousands of locust bodies.
Michaela looked away, her eyes finding unmoving lumps in the fields in the shape of horses and cows that hadn’t made it to the barn. Nephilim and the Archangels were huddled around something in the yard. Bracing against the coldest lash of wind yet, Michaela walked to where everyone gathered.
On the ground was a young man. His brown eyes were wide with fear. A locust was caught in the thick black netting of his patchy beard. His mouth was gaping open, revealing a darkness within that moved and fluttered. Michaela realized the movement was from bugs lodged deep within his airway. He was suffocating, and no one could save him. Nephilim kneeled beside him, resting their hands on his body. Their prayers were the only sounds.
Michaela stepped back. She couldn’t look at the boy anymore. Her hands trembled until she shoved them into the pockets of her jeans. As she turned to leave, her throat thick, she felt a touch on her arm.
She looked at the hand, following the length of the pale arm to Simiel, who watched her with somber green eyes. Ophaniel came to her other side and squeezed her hand. Her smile was small and reassuring.
Michaela took a deep breath and nodded at the two Archangels. Simiel pulled her underneath his arm, tucking her into him like he had done many times before. Ophaniel kept a strong hold on her other hand.
The Archangels were coming together once again. These plagues were just beginning, and they would only get worse. Raphael met her eyes and nodded, even though the movement looked reluctant. They would work together once again.
From across the group stood Iris. She met Michaela’s eyes and smiled. But the smile was sad, ominous, and Michaela got a chill.
She looked around for Gabriel, but he was gone.
***
Gabriel smelled the demon long before he saw Beliar. Hell has its own scent—a mixture between smoke and burnt flesh that only leaves one to believe the scent is despair itself. Beliar constantly stank of it.
The Nephilim had cut wood from a small clearing in the forest beyond their outer fields. Stumps like broken, jagged fingers probed up from the ground. Beliar sat on one waiting for Gabriel. The demon looked up when Gabriel entered the clearing.
“Funny seeing you here, Beliar,” Gabriel said. He saw his breath in the air in front of him. It was getting colder. Cold enough that Gabriel pulled his coat tighter around his body.
“Not that funny.” Beliar’s voice contained no emotion. His face was completely empty.
“Why’s that?” Gabriel stopped quite a distance from the demon, weary and watchful.
“Because I came to kill your girlfriend.”
Gabriel didn’t react. Or move. Or even blink. His breathing remained even. He looked at the demon and saw a monster. “Did Lucifer send you?”
“No.” Beliar drew a long, pure bone sword from his scabbard. Most knives these days were merely laced with Michaela’s bones. To have a pure bone blade was unheard of, but if anyone were to have one, it would be Beliar since he’d made them.
“Then you probably shouldn’t do it.”
A tiny smile crept up the sunken corners of Beliar’s mouth. The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. “But I want to. And I’m ordering you to help me.”
18
“You know I will never help you. I won’t even let you near her.” Gabriel didn’t mind the anger lacing his snarling voice. For once, he’d finally found a deserving recipient. “And you even speaking her name damn near pisses me off.”
“I thought you were done with her.”
“No,” Gabriel answered simply. “I’m not done with her.” He would be done with her when he was dead, and even then it was questionable.
Beliar shrugged and jumped off the stump. “Good thing I didn’t come to ask her out then.”
Beliar walked toward Gabriel with a daring look in his eyes. The demon wanted a fight. Since Gabriel had signed his soul over, Beliar had been brewing to throw a few punches, eager to knock the Archangel out of Lucifer’s favor.
Gabriel stepped aside with his head down as if he was submitting to Beliar. The demon paused with a smirk before he continued into the woods, heading in the direction of the Nephilim’s farm. Beliar didn’t even look back. He didn’t understand love or faith or loyalty. It was his fatal mistake.
As the demon walked past, banging his shoulder into Gabriel’s, Gabriel remained still. It was not an honorable thing to attack someone’s back. But that was honor. And Gabriel was fallen.
His movements were lithe, deadly. The knife in his hands was not laced with bone, but it didn’t need to be for this kill. The blade sank deep within Beliar’s back; the muscles tensed and spasmed. No blood spilled from the cut. The skin and muscles cutting around the knife’s edge sounded like paper tearing. Beliar’s insides felt hollow around Gabriel’s knife.
The demon was no match to an Archangel’s strength, but Beliar didn’t fight back. Gabriel wrapped one arm around Beliar’s neck and slung him backward onto the ground. Taking the demon’s sword, Gabriel crouched, pressing a knee into the demon’s bony chest. Beliar didn’t struggle, didn
’t move, or even flinch. He watched Gabriel with unblinking, unafraid green eyes.
“I could kill you,” Gabriel snarled, inches from Beliar’s face. He used all his strength to keep Beliar pinned in case the demon decided to fight back. But no attack came.
“You better, because I want her.” Beliar whispered the words as his neon eyes flared to life. “I want to feel her underneath me and watch her disappear as I stab my sword deep into her chest. I want to feel the feathers from her dead body caressing my face. I want her death so badly I can taste her skin in my mouth.”
Beliar’s leering smile unfurled Gabriel’s anger. He growled. He couldn’t find any mercy for the perverted demon. In one easy motion, Gabriel swept his knife across Beliar’s throat. It was like cutting through clay. There was no blood or torn muscle.
Gabriel looked away and hacked Beliar’s body.
When the demon was nothing but pieces on the ground at Gabriel’s feet, the fallen angel set to building a fire. The fire started as a small plume of smoke, drifting into the gray smudged sky. As Gabriel gathered and threw more wood onto the fire, it grew. Even in the cool, brisk afternoon air, he was sweating. His actions were fevered, because he didn’t have long to finish the process.
All the while, he kept a close eye on Beliar’s parts.
They twitched where Gabriel laid them, far from the reach of the others. One of Beliar’s hands tried to drag closer to a piece of the demon’s leg. Gabriel kicked them apart as he walked by. From a large piece of Beliar’s chest, Gabriel saw the hint of heartbeat underneath the skin. Beliar’s eyes followed Gabriel’s movements, and the demon kept smiling even though his head was separate and rolled over on the ground.
When the fire was hot enough, Gabriel threw the pieces of Beliar into the brightest, hottest part and watched him burn. It took nearly an hour, but he waited until the smell of sulfur faded before he doused the flames with precious water from the Nephilim’s pond, the only water in these parts that wasn’t contaminated with blood.
