Sins of the Lost

knew he resented, knew he was nowhere near ready to let her go.

She knew, and in that knowledge, remained tied to Heaven. To him.

For a moment, a brief, wholly selfish moment, he hesitated. Lucifer had begun a conversion to incorporeal energy that he most likely couldn’t stop. He would cease to be an issue for Heaven, no longer be able to interfere with the mortal race or rule over the Nephilim army he had created. Why not keep the One with them, then? Why not save her from this so that she could continue ruling, at least until they were ready to lose her? Until he was ready.

Words spoken by the One a few days before whispered again through his mind. “Loss isn’t something you’re ever ready for, my Archangel. It’s something you survive.” He shook his head at them, and his breath caught, harsh in his throat. But deny them as he might, they found a reluctant echo of truth in his heart.

His Creator was right. He would never be ready to lose her. None of them would, because the very concept of losing her was simply too big, too impossible. But the struggle to come to terms with it was his, not hers. And tying her to him, to them, because of his own shortcoming would be the ultimate betrayal of her love—and his own.

Lifting his head, Mika’el looked into the struggling glow around his Creator. A Creator that wanted— needed—to be more, to be whole again. Grief trickled into the vast hollowness that had become him. He studied the One, burning her every detail into his memory. He breathed in her presence one last time. And then he whispered the final words of release.

“I’ll miss you,” he said.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the light around the One’s form gave a sudden surge, burgeoning outward to touch that of Lucifer. It meshed, merged, grew so bright that Mika’el raised a hand to shield himself from it. But he didn’t look away. He would not miss this last moment with her. He could not.

Eyes watering, he stared into the growing brilliance, watching the two beings within merge until one was indiscernible from the other. One that he loved with all his soul, the other he had detested just as much—if not more. Two halves of a whole, the yin and yang of the universe, united again at last.

The light flared outward . . . and was gone.

But Mika’el swore he felt the brush of the One’s fingers against his cheek as it passed.

Chapter 74

Alex watched Seth’s advance across the office. Her brain screamed at her to run, but her feet were rooted to the floor. She schooled her features into a calm that couldn’t be further from truth and cleared her throat.

“Seth,” she said again. “What are you doing here?”

“I gave you what you wanted,” he said. He spread his hands wide and smiled, oblivious to the weapons trained on him. “Your world is safe. From me, at least.”

“I know,” she said. “Thank you.”

“And now it’s your turn.”

“My turn?”

“To give me what I want,” Seth said, coming to a halt in front of her, mere inches away. “What we both want.”

What we—? The question died unformed as she tipped back her head to meet the black void of what had once been his gaze. Her innermost self went still. She’d forgotten what his power looked like. No. Scratch that. She’d never seen his power look anything like this.

“Now that I have my power back,” he continued softly, “I can make you like me.”

Apprehension dug its claws into her shoulders. “I don’t understand.”

“Immortal, Alex. I can make you immortal, so we can be together always.”

All around her, hands holding weapons wavered and then steadied. At her side, Roberts took a step forward, scowling. She put out a hand, stopping him, and regarded Seth. He couldn’t be serious . . . could he? Was it even possible?

“You need to clear the office,” she told her supervisor.

“There’s no way—”

“Staff. This is between me and Seth. You can’t do anything.”

“There is no goddamn way—”

“You heard the lady,” Seth said.

His voice held a dangerous edge that made Alex’s fingers dig into Roberts’s arm. The entire room seemed to wait. Roberts turned his head away from Seth and dropped his voice to a bare whisper. “Do you really think he’d . . . ?”

She wanted to say no. Wanted to believe the man she had loved was incapable of violence. But this wasn’t him. This wasn’t her Seth. Not anymore. This was the divine being from the Vancouver alley that she’d tried to save . . .

And failed.

“Just go,” she told her staff inspector. “Please. I’ll be fine.”

Roberts’s struggle with angry denial played out across his face. “Damn it, Alex—”

His arm ripped from her grasp as he lifted from the floor. He flew past and slammed against the wall of his office, ten feet away. A collective gasp ran through the office. Alex stepped forward to go to her supervisor’s aid, but a single word stopped her in her tracks.

“Stay,” said Seth.

She obeyed, afraid of what he might do otherwise. Heart hammering, she watched Roberts put a hand to the back of his head and bring his fingers away covered in blood. He scowled and climbed to his feet.

“I’m not leaving you with him, Jarvis.”

Still blinking at the speed with which her supervisor had been tossed back—had Seth even moved?—Alex opened her mouth to argue. She snapped it shut again as, one by one, pistols held in trembling hands throughout the office turned to point at their owners’ skulls. Fingers curled against triggers. Panic rolled through her, and she whirled back to Seth. “Don’t!”

Seth stared past her at her supervisor. “It’s not up to you, Alex. It’s up to him.”

“They’ll leave, I promise. Just—don’t.” She looked over her shoulder. “Staff, please.”

Roberts’s gaze held hers for a moment longer, his eyes wide with shock, sharp with denial. Then his shoulders sagged. He nodded.

“Put your weapons away,” he ordered, his voice hoarse. “And clear the room. Alex, we’ll be—”

“The building,” she interrupted. “Clear the building.”

Thank God it was Saturday, with so few people at work.

“I can’t—”

Raymond Joly’s weapon came up again, this time to point at the head of the administrative assistant who had taken shelter beside him. The woman’s face lost all hint of color. Sweat broke out on Joly’s forehead in his effort to redirect his hand, but to no avail.

“The building,” Roberts agreed, his face as white as the assistant’s. He limped forward from the wall to join the others, pausing at Alex’s side.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked. Then, turning his face away from Seth, he mouthed, “ETF?”

She shook her head. She couldn’t risk it. Wouldn’t risk it. If Seth could exert the kind of control he’d just demonstrated, not even the highly trained Emergency Task Force could do anything. And if he spoke the truth about making her the same as him, making her—God, she couldn’t even think the word—then there was no telling what kind of power he’d have to bring to bear to do so, or what havoc such power might wreak.

“I’m sure,” she told Roberts.