Ascending Passion
HEAVEN’S HEART, BOOK FOUR
AMANDA PILLAR
About Ascending Passion
Is the truth really worth dying for?
Becoming a bodyguard isn’t exactly on Yael’s list of dream jobs. In fact, he’s much better at killing than he is at saving people. But when the most powerful witch Crone in the Americas asks him for a favor, he isn’t left with much of a choice. And the worst part? His new client doesn’t believe in magic and she’s human.
The love of Rowan Broome’s life is dead, killed in a horrific car accident. Rowan seeks escape, only for it to be offered in the opportunity of a lifetime: become an excavation director for an archaeological dig in Egypt. But her boss isn’t the magnanimous Luke M. Starre, as she believes; he’s Lucifer, ruler of Hell.
Burdened with a bodyguard she doesn’t want, but desperate to forget her past, Rowan is drawn closer and closer to Lucifer. Can she survive the twisted web he’s woven, or will Yael have to save her from herself?
Contents
About Ascending Passion
Dedication
Valley of the Kings
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
More by Amanda Pillar
About Amanda
Dedication
To all my readers. You guys rock so hard.
Valley of the Kings
Map of the Valley of the Kings with new tombs in blue
(After https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:East_Valley_of_the_Kings_Sketch_Map_(Topo).png)
Chapter 1
Nine months earlier…
Archangels are terrifying.
Yael realized he probably shouldn’t be focusing on that fact right now, considering he was sitting in front of one, but he couldn’t stop the primordial fear from skittering along his spine.
And Gabriel was one of the…nicer archangels.
They were seated in a small office that had gold-veined marble walls, a glass desk and a softly carpeted floor. Yael hoped his boots weren’t leaving scuff marks behind. Everything in the office was organized with the utmost precision; he had a feeling he was the untidiest thing here.
Gabriel’s gold-threaded wings arched behind him as he concentrated on a scroll, tapping his fingers as he read over it.
I’m glad my wings have silver.
Yael’s parents had dearly wanted him to be an archangel, but he was happier with his warrior status. He’d grown up playing in the cloud-scudded yard of an archangel, whose gold-threaded wings soared proudly in the sky above. But he preferred to spend time with the silver-threaded warriors, rose-gold healers, and bronze scholars. Secretly though, he’d wished for pure white wings; they meant you could largely choose your destiny.
And Yael had always wanted the ability to choose.
At least I like fighting.
Finally, Gabriel glanced up. “You wished to speak to me?”
The archangel’s dark hair hung messily over his forehead, his violet eyes piercing in their intensity. It was like the other angel could see into Yael’s soul, right down to the sinful and jealous part of his nature.
He didn’t like it.
“Yes, thank you for fitting me in to your schedule.” As Heaven’s spymaster, Gabriel was one of the busiest angels in all the Heavens. Yael leaned forward. “I heard you are recruiting.”
Both of Gabriel’s dark eyebrows rose. “You are a member of the Darts. Surely that is quite enough.”
He nodded, because he couldn’t lie to an archangel. Being a member of the Darts was prestigious, but he didn’t find it satisfying. “It is important work. But I have skills that are better suited elsewhere.”
His military unit was small—it only comprised six members in total—and was supposedly made up from the best of the best. And his fellow Darts were excellent. Dina, their captain, was almost as powerful as an archangel, while Raziel was composed, calm, and utterly focused. Azrael was perhaps one of the most skilled fighters Yael had ever met, while Zadkiel was impressive, for one so young.
And then there was Seraphina.
She was the fastest flier he’d ever met, and the inspiration for this visit: she’d been one of Gabriel’s scouts, before she’d been recruited for the Darts. She’d had nothing but praise for her former master, which was vital. In a world full of powerful beings, it was rare to find one who led with compassion and integrity, even in Heaven. And if Yael was going to jump from the frying pan into the fire, he didn’t want a cruel master.
His parents were bad enough.
Gabriel studied him. “You do realize the kind of work I am involved in?”
“Spying. Assassination.”
The archangel’s violet gaze narrowed. “Most just say spying.”
“Yes, but it’s the assassination I am interested in.”
Does that make me a psychopath?
Maybe. Possibly?
Most likely.
Yael much preferred his favorite weapon, the garrote, to a sword. It made him unique—and unsettling—in a world full of pacifists. Swordplay was an art they could understand. You should practice it simply because it was beauty in motion. But sharp wire designed to slice and choke? No, that was too gruesome.
And, for his parents, it was a little too ‘common’.
Maybe that was why he liked to get up close and personal when he killed. He never was very good at meeting his parents’ expectations.
“I will review your service record,” Gabriel said. “But that is no guarantee of a position with me. I expect absolute commitment, dedication, and loyalty.”
“Thank you.” Yael shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was more than he could have asked for, really. But he had a suspicion that Gabriel thought he lacked the ‘loyalty’ element—Yael was, after all, going behind backs of the other Darts in requesting this position.
“Come back in a week.”
Yael nodded and stood. “I appreciate it.”
As he left Gabriel’s office, he thought, I will not be a glorified guard.
He didn’t want that for his future. For centuries, Heaven had been impervious to attack. When would he ever see battle, guarding an ancient relic that no one cared about?
That’s unfair.
Lots of angels were interested in the artifact. Pilgrims came from all over the Heavens to see Heaven’s Heart—but they were unlikely to steal the object. None would dare.
He was almost back at his rooms when he heard Azrael’s mental shout.
Come to the sanctum, now!
Fiercely controlled panic underlaid every word.
Hand hovering over the doorknob, he shot back, What’s happened?
*
Heaven has been raided.
The impossible had happened. The Celestial City had been breached by demons, the stench of their flesh polluting the air with sulfur and ozone, even after they’d escaped. The Inner Sanctum, the squat building that had sat undisturbed for centuries, had been broken open, cracked like an egg to reveal its insides.
And the insides?
Gone.
Heaven’s Heart, the relic he had guarded for the past hundred years, had been stolen.
Is this a prank? A test?
Two archangels stood before them, their power and anger forcing the remaining Darts to their knees, the stone floor hard against bone. There was no sign of Dina and Zadkiel—the two squadron members who had been on guard duty—and they hadn’t replied to his telepathic queries, either.
Kidnapped.
It was either that, or they’d been in on the raid. But the scattered blood and lost feathers indicated there’d been a fight. And he couldn’t believe that either would betray Heaven. Betray them.
The archangel Michael laid a heavy hand on Azrael’s shoulder, and Yael saw his fellow Dart grit his teeth. Azrael’s gaze was locked on the Inner Sanctum’s burned door, as if he could will it back together.
Michael spoke, fury saturating his every word. “You will all be punished for this.”
Yael bowed his head, the other Darts doing the same.
“Do you know who breached the walls?” Raziel asked, his deep voice filling the hall.
“At this stage, it does not matter who attacked us,” Michael replied, while the other archangel, Uriel, scowled. “Heaven’s Heart has been stolen. Do you understand what you’ve all done?”
Yael clenched his jaw to keep from arguing. What bullshit! The identity of their attackers was the most important piece of information they could obtain; the second was what had happened to Dina and Zadkiel. The archangels knew that. He knew that. So why were they being so dismissive?
And why are they blaming us?
The archangels themselves had decreed that only two guards were required to patrol the Inner Sanctum, which was why there were only six Darts—they took shifts. If it had been up to the Darts themselves, there would have been bigger patrols and more soldiers.
“Sire,” Raziel murmured, “if you will let us search, we will find the Heart and bring it back.”
Michael’s long brown hair swung over his shoulder, the braid brushing over his robes as he moved. His massive gold-threaded wings soared over his shoulders, while his pure white eyes surveyed them. “Oh, you will search for the Heart,” he said. “But first, you must pay the price for your failure.” A huge sword appeared in his right hand, conjured there by his power.
No.
No fucking way.
Another sword appeared in Uriel’s hand, the golden metal a perfect match to the archangel’s robe, his ebony skin glinting with blue highlights. A pulse of power indicated that more angels had arrived.
Gabriel. Lorath. Mirare. The latter two weren’t archangels, but they were powerful in their own right, and generals in Heaven’s vast army.
Yael met Gabriel’s violet stare, which was filled with pity.
He swallowed against the panic, but it wouldn’t abate. His pulse roared in his ears, while his fingers clenched into a fist. I’m going to lose my wings.
I don’t deserve this.
We don’t deserve this.
“Word of this will have reached all of Heaven before sunset,” Uriel said. “Examples must be made.”
“Examples?” Seraphina’s voice rang out, and Yael applauded her courage.
If he ever fell in love, it would be with someone like her.
Michael stepped closer, his white gaze cold and empty. “You will all be exiled from Heaven.”
Exiled.
No. He had finally taken the step toward mastering his own life, only to have it stolen away…
“You will only be allowed to return if you find all three pieces of the Heart and give them to us,” Michael continued.
Wait.
“All three pieces?” Yael demanded.
“We guarded but one part of the Heart,” Michael said. “It is time all three were rejoined and stored here for safety.”
He met Gabriel’s burning stare, and the archangel had the decency to look away.
Those fuckers.
They’ve given us an unwinnable quest.
But he would do it. No matter the cost, he would do it. There was no way he would be kept from returning to Heaven, from taking his rightful place among his peers.
“Can you give us any information on what we might seek?” Raziel asked, ever practical.
Michael shook his head. “This is a punishment. We will not help you with it.”
“Then we shall leave at once, so we may find the stolen piece and its brethren.” Raziel’s tone was filled with purpose.
How optimistic.
But those swords hadn’t been conjured just so the archangels could look like badasses.
“There is something else that must be done first,” Uriel said, and Yael swore the archangel fought a smirk.
Without warning, Azrael was shoved face-down onto the blood-stained marble floor. Yael jerked as a strong hand grabbed his shoulder, pushing him forward. He turned his head, meeting the violet eyes of Gabriel. The archangel appeared sad, defeated.
“This must be done.”
He stretched out one of Yael’s wings then, holding it out straight, exposed the part where the tendons met the back muscles.
Breathe, just breathe, you’re stronger than this.
Agony erupted through him, the pain so intense he blacked out and his heart jerked to a stop, before restarting with a vengeance. Each beat shot new pain through his every limb, and nausea threatened to empty his stomach before them all.
Breathe, just breathe.
Then it was done.
Wings shot with silver threads were thrown on the ground, just inches from his reach. Twin stumps that had once joined living flesh provided an obscene reminder of their past. Of his past. Of what he had once been.
He met Gabriel’s pitying look over the top of his mutilated wings.
I will never give up.
Ever.
Chapter 2
The Human Realm, present day
Tears wore familiar tracks down Rowan Broome’s cheeks as the coffin was lowered into the ground, the gaping maw of the earth ready to swallow its latest victim.
Death.
It wasn’t pretty, nor was it welcome.
She’d begged for a cremation, but she’d been overridden. They wanted a coffin, a funeral, and a place to grieve. Rowan had wanted something safe, something that wouldn’t be excavated in a few hundred years by someone like herself. To know that her loved one would be unrestricted, scattered on the wind, free to sweep through the world at will.
“You are doing well.” The crackly voice was accompanied by a gentle pat on the shoulder.
Rowan turned to her gran, taking in the familiar wrinkled visage that was both welcome and unwanted simultaneously.
“Thanks.” She twisted back to the grave, to the place where the man she loved was being laid to rest.
She bit back a sob.
She loved her gran, loved her family, but they all believed in magic, in what couldn’t be seen, measured or studied.
In short: they were crazy.
Before, she’d been happy for them to have their delusions
, to sell magic and hope to others so they could make a living. But three months ago, she’d helped her gran and suffered a head injury in the process. She’d lost memories. Lost time.
Her gran and her ‘magic’ hadn’t been able to help her.
And when she’d gone to her gran after learning about Eric, her grandmother—‘the most powerful witch in all of America’—had failed to save him. Had just let him die. Her future grandson.
Proof yet again that her magical powers were nothing more than smoke and mirrors.
Everything Gran represented was a lie, while Rowan was drowning in the truth: Eric Gunner had been the love of her life, and now he was gone.
Fatally injured in a car crash.
Fate was a cruel, fickle mistress.
A soft touch on her arm snapped her back to reality. The coffin had reached the base of the grave. Stepping forward, Rowan grabbed a handful of dirt from the damp soil piled next to the hole. Eric’s mother did the same. Together, they faced the pit and threw the earth onto the wooden box below, the sound like pattering rain. The dirt sealed his fate: trapped him in the ground.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…” The priest’s voice droned in the background, but Rowan couldn’t absorb the words.
Sobs wracked her: she had lost more than just a person with Eric’s death. She’d lost the children they’d joked about, the future they’d dreamed of, the world they’d wanted to create for the two of them.
Kind hands touched her forearms as mourners streamed past her, each telling her how sorry they were, how sad it all was. It meant little. They couldn’t bring him back. They couldn’t take her pain away.
Their apologies were worthless.
Finally, Gran took hold of her elbow, and steered her toward the town car. “The wake is on in an hour.”
Rowan dutifully climbed into the back of the Mercedes and stared straight ahead. “Take me straight there.”
Gran called instructions to the driver.
A short silence ensued, one Rowan barely noticed.
“I am sorry, you know,” Gran said quietly.
Rowan turned to her, dabbing at her cheeks with a handkerchief. “Not sorry enough.”
“Magic can’t bring the dead back to life. Some things are against the laws of nature.”
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