Sins of the Lost

reach the same conclusion as our Creator has. There is no other way to do this. No way to both stop Lucifer and save her.”

“But how in Hell can we survive without someone to—?” Aramael stopped. A cold knot formed deep in his gut. “Not Seth.”

Mika’el said nothing. He didn’t have to.

Aramael tested the idea. The Appointed, who had already abdicated his role twice, returning to Heaven, taking over from his mother, ruling over all of Creation. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t imagine it. The knot drew tighter.

Bloody Hell, if Seth was the best they could come up with . . .

He looked back to Mika’el.

“Protect the woman,” the other Archangel said. “However you must.”

Chapter 17

Alex placed the dishes in the sink and then stood, hands braced against the counter. She stared at her reflection in the darkened window, blocking out the voices of Seth and her sister and niece in the dining room behind her—if the miniscule apartment cubbyhole could be called such. She should be pleased with Seth’s sudden display of interest in something other than her. Should be thrilled with the first attempt he’d made to fit in with her life instead of insisting she remake it to suit him. He’d gone to a lot of trouble, surprising her by inviting Jen and Nina, making dinner . . .

And all she wanted was for her only family to leave.

Because all she’d been able to think about was the same thing that had eaten at her all day. Michael’s visit. His words.

“We need him to take it back.”

Take back the power that had been the price of his choice to be with her. That had caused the implosion of the alley in which they’d stood when he had given it up. That had connected him to the divine and made him the pawn in some bitter, cosmic game of chess played by his parents.

How could Michael think for an instant that she would help convince Seth to do such a thing? And why would he ask?

Damn, she wished she’d let him at least state his reasons.

“Are you clearing the table or hiding?” her sister’s voice intruded. Alex opened her eyes to Jen’s reflection beside her own in the window, the smile on her sister’s lips at odds with the furrow between her brows.

“Long day,” Alex said. “Sorry.”

“Long many days.”

While Jen’s words were neutral enough, her voice held an underlying accusation. A guilty part of Alex wondered again when her family might leave.

She forced a smile. “I know I should have called, but things are a little chaotic at the moment.”

“Which I might know if you’d bothered returning any of my two dozen voice messages.” Jen scraped the remains of dinner from a plate into the garbage. She rinsed the dish and placed it in the dishwasher.

A quick glance into the dining room told Alex that Seth and Nina had retreated to the living room, out of earshot. She folded her arms and settled back against the counter, waiting for the lecture. Jen wouldn’t rest until she’d had her say.

“I’m worried about you, Alex.” Another plate went into the dishwasher, this one with a little more force behind it. “Ever since everything before—the killer, Nina, the fire—you just haven’t been the same. I’d hoped you’d make progress with Dr. Bell’s help, but—”

“Bell can’t change what’s happened.”

“It’s not about changing what’s happened, it’s about coping with it. And you didn’t give him a chance.”

“What chance? If I told him half of what’s going on in my life right now, he’d have me in a straitjacket,” Alex retorted. “Shrinks don’t care about real, they care about normal—and in case you haven’t noticed, nothing about my life qualifies as that anymore. Neither does yours, but you don’t want to admit it.”

Jen stared at her, fine lines around her mouth marking her tension. “Well. Do feel free to get your feelings off your chest, Alexandra. Don’t hold back on my account.”

Alex put a hand to her temple, where a wrecking crew threatened to take up residence. The tension of the day—the last many days—thrummed through her like an overextended rubber band.

“This is why I don’t return your calls,” she said. “Because whatever you might tell yourself, you’d rather not know what’s going on in my life. You can’t handle it.”

Jen’s chin lifted. Stubborn denial darkened her doeskin-brown eyes. “That’s rather harsh, don’t you think?”

Alex stared at her. The internal rubber band snapped.

“Harsh?” she echoed. “Harsh? Goddamn it, Jennifer, you can’t keep pretending things are just fine. A Fallen Angel tried to kill me because I—we—descend from the Nephilim. The angel sent to stop him is the soulmate I can never have. The man I’m sleeping with is the son of the One and goddamn Lucifer for chrissakes, and he gave up his divinity to be with me.”

She paused to swallow against the tightness building in her chest—and the admission of her rape by Lucifer, a detail she hadn’t yet shared with her sister and one Jennifer didn’t need to know.

“Heaven and Hell are at war because of me, Jennifer. Our world is coming apart at its seams because of me.” A whisper deep inside her suggested she might be oversimplifying things just a little. She ignored it. The Archangel Michael had been right. She’d been the cause of Aramael killing his brother and breaking the Pact. Everything happening now—the war, Seth’s presence on Earth, all of it—stemmed from that. Stemmed from her.

She forged on, her voice thick and ragged, “This is what I live with. This is my reality. And you’re right, I’m not coping with it. I’m trying to goddamn survive it.”

Jen stared into the dishwasher for a long moment before reaching to tear a sheet of paper towel from the roll suspended beneath the cupboard. She folded it, dabbed at her eyes, blew her nose, added it to the garbage can. Then, in typical Jennifer fashion and at complete odds with what she preached about opening up and sharing, she said, “Thank you for dinner. It was nice getting to know Seth a bit better. It will make Nina’s birthday dinner more comfortable for everyone, I think. That is, if you’re still planning on coming to her birthday.”

The tightness in Alex’s chest rose to grip her throat. She crossed her arms against the desire to reach out to her sister, because she didn’t trust herself not to choke Jen instead of hugging her. Despite what she’d said, a part of her did want to talk. Desperately. She would like nothing more than to unburden herself to someone who wouldn’t brush off what she said, wouldn’t try to rationalize, wouldn’t judge, wouldn’t have her committed. Someone she could talk to about Seth and Lucifer and how the two had become so entwined in her psyche. About the war she was certain was brewing in a realm she had never seen but knew to be real.

About the panic that gripped her when she thought of how humanity’s potential savior had chosen her over his responsibility to the very universe itself.

Panic that had increased tenfold in the wake of Michael’s visit.

Hell, she’d give just about anything to talk to someone. But not Jen. As strong as her sister had seemed over the years, as much of an anchor she had been after their parents’ deaths, the events of the past couple of months had shown Alex that it was Jen who had taught her to bury her feelings in the first place. Jen who had always shut down the emotional discussions before they started. Jen who had truly failed to cope.

And who would almost certainly fail to appreciate the irony if Alex were to point it out.

Heart aching, Alex mustered a smile. She nodded. “Of course. Thursday night, six thirty sharp. We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”