her memories of Lucifer?”
“According to Uriel, they succeeded, for all the good it does us. We were fools to think he would actually pass the information along. And that would have been the first part of her brain they scrubbed clean.”
“Naturally. It doesn’t matter. She stays.”
Azazel nodded, rising. “I’ll be in soon.”
The sky was inky dark, the moon barely a sliver. He soared upward, past the clouds and mist that always enshrouded Sheol, into the clear, cool night. The stars were pinpricks of light, and he banked and turned, feeling the wind rush past him like fingers through his hair, kissing his face, and he thought of Rachel far below. He had to let go of her, release her as he had released Sarah.
He pushed upward, higher and higher, and the air grew colder. He could see his favorite perch down below, on the edge of the cliff, but he’d sat and brooded long enough. He was pulsing with the energy Allie’s blood had given him, and he wanted to glide and soar through the sweet-smelling night air, dancing on the wind.
He moved farther out over the ocean, where the waves rolled on top of the water in little ruffles of foam, and he turned, spun, and plunged downward, hitting the icy water in a smooth, clean dive that barely disturbed the surface.
He went deep into the bracing salt sea, and he felt its healing power rush through him, making him whole once more. He breathed in the water, letting it fill his body, his lungs, then moved upward to breathe in air again. He dove once more, and the dolphins were there, the ones he knew. They welcomed him as one of their own as they swam through the currents, turning over in the pleasure of the water, swimming with their friend with the odd fins.
He lost track of the time he spent in the water. The sun was coming up by the time he tired of it, and he pushed upward again, high enough into the air that the heat dried his clothes so that they were stiff and salt- encrusted, and when he landed lightly on the beach, Michael was waiting for him. Michael, the fighter, who never would have let the Truth Breakers take Rachel.
“Welcome back,” he said. “Raziel says you’re here to stay this time.”
“I am.”
Michael nodded. “We’ll need you. The few Nephilim that are left are gathering. Turns out the dumb bastards finally realized they could fly.”
“Wonderful,” Azazel said grimly. For a moment he remembered chaining Rachel in that deserted house in the Australian bush, and he felt sick. In the end, he’d saved her, he reminded himself. He’d saved her twice.
Because he’d tried to kill her twice. He’d been so terrified of a prophecy that he’d been ready to sacrifice her without finding out who and what she really was.
“You’ll be ready to fight?” Michael asked.
He thought of Rachel, lying in the hospital bed, so close to death. He thought of the guilt that smothered him. Exactly what Uriel would want. He needed a distraction, and he needed it now. “I am ready to fight,” he said.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE DAYS PASSED. EACH DAY HE asked Allie if Rachel was ready to see him, and each day she said wait, until he thought he’d go mad with it. Once he faced Rachel, he could let go. The prophecy was clearly false, broken. He had been able to turn her over to the Truth Breakers with no hesitation, even if he hadn’t been able to keep from coming back for her. He hadn’t meant to do that. He’d had the vain hope that they would be merciful, but one look and something had cracked.
He’d feel that way toward anyone. Torture was an abomination, and it was little wonder he felt guilty for handing her over. And he had no excuse for shoving her up against a wall and having sex with her before they took her. He hadn’t been able to stop himself, and he’d told himself that if he could come inside her and then give her to the Truth Breakers, then the prophecy must be a lie.
And so he had. He’d proven what he needed to prove, and whatever knowledge she had wedged in her brain about where Lucifer lay trapped had been extracted and stolen. Uriel had it now, though presumably he’d already known it in the first place. When the Supreme Being had passed the reins to the last archangel, he’d ordered him to watch over the universe he’d created. There was no telling what the details were.
Uriel had seized his new role with a vengeance, wielding ancient power to smite evil wherever he could, sending plagues and floods and fires and devastation wherever he saw fit. Some humans saw it as God’s curse; more enlightened ones declared such tragedies the law of nature, to be endured with God’s help. They had no idea that God’s minion had visited disaster upon them.
Just as he’d fed on Azazel’s own fear that he was doomed to spend eternity as the mate of a horrific demon. And Azazel had been fool enough to let him.
He was tired of waiting. He was doing his best to get along with Allie, but she was still a strongminded female who was slowly turning the laws of Sheol upside down, while Raziel watched carefully, seldom restraining her. She ruled the infirmary; she ruled the house and the women. She was the Source for the unmated Fallen, she was omega to Raziel’s alpha. But he was getting tired of her shit.
He was perched on the outcropping, high over the ocean and the vast building that housed the Fallen. The moon was shining down, mirrored by the dark sea, and he suddenly surged upward into the dark sky, then settled lightly on the damp sand. The time had come.
He didn’t recognize the young girl sitting at the desk in the anteroom of the infirmary. Clearly she’d been left on duty, and he put the Grace of sleep on her lightly, so that she’d wake in a few hours. He didn’t want to put Rachel at risk by knocking her caretaker out so thoroughly, but if she needed help Allie would know and leave her bed. Rachel would be in no danger.
He pushed open the door silently and slipped inside. She was asleep, as she had been those first days after he’d brought her and he wouldn’t leave her bedside. He could recognize her now. Her battered face was no longer swollen, the bruising faded to an ugly yellow. She was healing, slowly but surely.
She no longer had tubes connected to her body, though she looked very small and frail in the big white bed. It wasn’t right. He thought of her as strong, powerful, not a vulnerable human.
She still had bandages around her arms and legs, and her torso looked swollen under the sheet, either from
