Sins of the Lost

Steady blue eyes regarded him. “It’s not humor that makes me smile, Mika’el, but admiration. You’re the most powerful warrior in all of Heaven. You led the battle against Lucifer himself. Do you know of any other being, mortal or otherwise, that might have the nerve to tell you what she did? This Naphil has great courage.”

He closed his eyes again, this time pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t need her courage, I need her cooperation.”

“Then earn it. Speak to Seth. Perhaps he will surprise us.”

“Neither of us believes that. The Appointed has twice tried to avoid his responsibility. We have no reason to believe he will do otherwise now.”

He avoided adding what he privately thought, but peering through his fingers at Verchiel, he saw the same concern—no, the same certainty—written across her face, too. Seth, son of their Creator, was weak. Very possibly too weak to do what they needed of him. Which would leave them all—Heaven and Earth alike—in an unspeakably fragile position.

Verchiel’s chin lifted. “Even if you’re right, even if he refuses you, at least you’ll have tried. Perhaps the woman will be more inclined to step in then.”

“I have no time for perhaps, Seraph. I need certainties.”

“Fine. You certainly won’t solve anything sitting behind your desk.”

Sheer surprise at the tart rejoinder made him drop his hand. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Mika’el. The One has given you a task. No matter how distasteful you find it, you cannot avoid the inevitable forever.”

He glowered at her. “There’s another complication.”

“Is that possible when things are already so complicated?” Verchiel asked wryly.

“Samael is watching her.”

All hint of amusement dropped from the Highest Seraph’s expression. “What possible interest could he have in her?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be sitting here racking my brain for answers instead of going after the Appointed.”

Verchiel raised a brow at his thinly veiled snarl. Then she frowned. “Wait—you haven’t left her unguarded?”

“Samael would have taken her by now if he wanted to do so.”

“Unless he noticed you hovering around her.”

“He did see me, but only today. He could have taken her anytime before—” Remembering how Aramael had watched over the woman before him, he stopped. He rotated a quarter turn one way and then the other in his swivel chair.

“There has to be a reason Hell is interested in her,” Verchiel pressed. “We can’t afford to take chances, not with the state things are in right now.”

She had a point.

“I’ll put a watch on her.” Seeing her shoulders straighten, he held up a hand. “No. I know what you’re thinking, and it’s out of the question.”

“This isn’t just any Fallen One we’re talking about. It’s Samael. If he makes any kind of a move, none less than an Archangel can stop him.”

“There are five other Archangels.” Well, four that he could use, because putting Raphael anywhere near his traitor of a brother would be just plain stupid.

“None of whom have any experience inhabiting the human realm. Aramael was a Power before he was an Archangel, Mika’el. He has walked among the humans before, and is less likely to draw attention to himself.”

“He still feels a connection to her.”

Her lips pursed. “Another reason it should be him. The others will follow orders as best they can, but in their eyes, the woman remains tainted by her bloodline. None will fight harder to keep Samael away from her than he will. None will give up his own life for hers.”

“Is that what we want? An Archangel giving up his life for a Naphil?”

“Of course not. But if Hell is interested in her, then you can’t risk her, either. Not until you know why they’re interested.”

Twisting the chair back and forth again, Mika’el studied her. “You never used to be this”—he hesitated to use the word cold—“pragmatic.”

“I never used to be responsible for Heaven trying to save the world, either. I don’t like what I suggest, but neither do I see a choice.”

Verchiel rose with a rustle of robes. Crossing to the door, she reached for the handle, then looked over her shoulder. “And, Mika’el, just so you’re clear, you will need the Naphil’s courage. If we’re to convince Seth to return to his rightful place here, with us, you’ll need all the courage she possesses and more.”

Chapter 15

The scuff of boot against rock snagged Aramael’s attention. He looked down the mountainside to see Raphael emerge from a crevice. The Archangel’s dark skin was almost indistinguishable from the black armor he wore, making him little more than a massive shadow amid the many other shadows.

Albeit one with a sizable grudge.

Raphael paused and stared up. Aramael couldn’t see his eyes, but he felt his gaze—and the animosity behind it. He returned to his vigil, resting his right hand on the hilt of his sword. Raphael’s glowering looks over the last few days had made it clear their previous encounter hadn’t been forgotten. Frankly, Aramael was surprised it had taken him this long to get around to a confrontation.

The other Archangel crested the hill, the reflection of the distant flames of Hellfire dancing across his burnished face.

“News?” Aramael asked, careful to keep his voice even. Mika’el would be pissed in the extreme if two of Heaven’s protectors went at each other; Aramael had created quite enough conflict in the world without starting something else here now.

“You know that’s not why I’m here.” Raphael stopped a half dozen feet away.

Aramael’s fingers contracted on his sword’s pommel. He stared out across the barren wastelands and the band of Hellfire beyond, the last, thinning barrier between two armies sworn to fight to the death. If Lucifer ever got around to taking the first swing.

“I don’t suppose an apology will do any good, but in the interests of maintaining peace, I’m sorry I called you a bastard. As I remember, the circumstances were somewhat extenuating.”

If that’s what one wanted to call being ripped out of the human realm by force and handed over to the Seraph responsible for engineering his downfall.

Raphael shifted his stance, settling his feet more firmly into the sparse, arid soil. “I’ve been called worse, Power. That’s not why I’m here, either.”

Aramael raised a brow at the other Archangel’s use of his former designation. So that’s what this was about. “Issues with my promotion?” he inquired.

“Issues with your track record.”

“You think Mika’el made a mistake.”

“I think he has a lot on his mind and might not have thought this through as well as he should have. I think you’re more liability than asset.”

A flare along the fiery border drew their attention. Aramael stared in its direction, waiting. Brilliant yellow turned red, and the ripple of tension across his shoulders faded. If the flare had turned blue, it would have meant an attempted breach. But red was good.

He looked back at the other Archangel, who still stared across the wasteland. “Was there something else, or was that the only insult you wanted to deliver?”

“It wasn’t an insult. It was a statement of fact. You’re a liability, and I’ll be watching you. We have enough to