“Oh . . .” The word drew out into a sigh.
Alex braced herself for the words of comfort, the false reassurance, but Riley merely reached out and stroked back her hair, as if she understood the enormity of the failure. Tears clawed at Alex’s throat, burned behind her eyes. A phone call. She could have at least made a phone call, or sent an e-mail, or texted . . .
A hundred recriminations stabbed at Alex’s soul. She’d failed the two people who mattered most to her in the world. Opened them up to monsters beyond their understanding and then left them to fend for themselves. And three weeks from now, Nina would die giving birth to Lucifer’s baby.
Sweet, sweet Nina, little more than a child herself.
Alex levered herself up from the chair. She motioned to her sister. “Will you stay?” she asked Riley. “Will you look after her for me?”
Riley rose to her feet. “Of course. You’re going to look for Nina?”
“Not look,
Chapter 62
“What do you mean, no?” Aramael towered over the desk, glaring down at the Archangel Mika’el.
Mika’el glowered back. “I
“And her niece? Are we done with her, too?”
“There are more than seven billion mortal souls on a planet that is about to implode. Do you really think we can drop everything and go running after a Naphil who is going to die whether we find her or not?”
“Protecting mortal souls from the Fallen is our
“No. What we do is stand between Earth and Hell so that mortals can live their lives independently, according to their own choices. We maintain balance, Aramael.
“But she carries the child of
“Which changes nothing. With or without a leader born of the Light-bearer, the Nephilim are not our concern. You know this, Aramael.”
Short, angry strides carried Aramael across the room. Mika’el was right. He did know it—had always known it. But somehow it had become muddled during his time with Alex. Less clear-cut. Infinitely more difficult. He spun to face Mika’el.
“This was easier when I was a Power,” he growled.
“When you were a Power, you had no free will of your own. No reason to question your path.”
“What about you? You left before the Cleanse. You didn’t give up your free will when the rest of us did. Does that mean you’ve always lived with this level of conflict going on inside you?”
“Or worse,” Mika’el agreed.
“So deciding to leave when you did . . .”
The Archangel’s jaw flexed. “Wasn’t easy. Just as this isn’t easy for you. I get that. But I ask nothing of you or any of the others that I wouldn’t do—that I haven’t already done—myself. I need you here, Aramael. With us.”
Hands shoved into his pockets, Aramael stalked over to the suit of armor, identical to his, standing in the corner. He scowled at it, his back to Mika’el. “You hold me to an awfully high standard.”
“Because I know you’re capable.”
He thought of Alex, left alone to face her own impossible choices. How much more could she take? How long before Heaven’s demands broke her? He closed his eyes as the ache in his chest spread to engulf his soul. And how long would he be able to stay away, knowing her pain?
Bleakly, he turned back to the other Archangel. “I hope you’re right.”
Alex pressed the lock button on the key fob and then stood by her vehicle, staring up at the light shining from the apartment she shared with Seth. She didn’t want to go up there. Didn’t want to face him. Didn’t want to do this. Especially not now, with Jennifer and Nina—
She breathed in raggedly, exhaling a plume of steam. She didn’t want to, but she had to. She’d already avoided it long enough, and he deserved better from her. Hell, she hadn’t even called him after the explosion on the Hill this afternoon to reassure him she was all right, never mind let him know she’d come back to Toronto. It was time to stop being a coward.
She let herself into the building and crossed the foyer to the elevator, her boot heels thudding hollowly on the ceramic tiles. Her internal voice kept up a running monologue of instructions, without which she might not have moved.
She drew a lungful of air. For something that was supposed to be an autonomic body function, she’d had to remind herself to do that a lot since leaving the hospital. Several times in the car while she’d waited for Aramael, before admitting to herself he wasn’t coming back after all. Several more times before she managed to insert the key into the ignition and get herself out of the parking lot. Many more on the way home. She closed her eyes.
She’d wanted him gone, and now he was. The Fallen hadn’t been after her, and so there was no need for him to continue watching her. No reason for him to stay. He was gone, Nina was gone, Jen was as good as gone, and Alex had no choice but to send Seth away.
The elevator door slid open onto a hallway as empty as her world had become.
Chapter 63
“Going somewhere?”
Seth looked up from throwing things into the overnight bag on the bed. Samael lounged in the doorway, his expression one of mild interest. Seth took a pair of socks from a drawer.
“Beat it,” he said. “I’m not interested.”
Ignoring him, Samael strolled into the room. “There’s remarkably little personality to this abode. Have you noticed? None of the clutter mortals are so prone to collect. It has such an impermanent feel to it.”
Seth clutched the edges of the overnight bag. He didn’t want to answer, but the words were torn from him—much as a groan would be torn from a man whose open wound had just been poked with a hot knife. “She’s been a little busy trying to stop your kind from destroying her world.”
“Of course. I wasn’t being critical, Appointed. Just making an observation.”
“Yes, well you can take your observations straight back to Hell with you.” Seth zipped up the bag. “Because I’m done. No more journals, no more innuendo. Not interested. Get out.”
“So things are better between you two. I’m glad.”
“Like Hell you are.” Seth slung the bag over one shoulder, switched off the bedside lamp, and headed for the door.
Samael tagged along behind him. “I am, believe me. Still, that performance Aramael put on this afternoon must have irked just a little. Flaunting his connection to her that way.”
Seth’s fingers gripped the bag’s strap a little harder. “He saved her life.”
“Raising questions about how she survived in the process.” Samael’s tone took on a chiding note. “You and I
