Sins of the Lost

how much you love him, Alexandra. And I know why. But he’s not your responsibility . . . When he chose you, he did so over the fate of all humanity. And he did it knowingly.”

Knowingly. Alex hadn’t wanted to believe the One that night, but now, seeing what Seth had become, glimpsing what he was capable of . . .

She drew a jagged breath and stepped back, away from him. “I can’t,” she said.

For an interminable moment, Seth didn’t reply. Then, slowly, he lifted his head, straightened, turned to face her again. His gaze met hers, no longer hurt or empty, but burning with a fierce, hot determination. “Then I’ll make you.”

Her every fiber went cold. He wouldn’t. Couldn’t. “Seth—”

A gust of wind knocked her sideways. Papers and files scattered. Chairs tipped over.

From the destroyed doorway, a familiar voice growled, “She said no, Appointed.”

Chapter 79

Mittron gazed down in mixed horror and fascination at the seethe of bodies below him. Every inch of every street within view held a Fallen One carrying a newborn infant. Even through the newly replaced window, the squalls were deafening. He shook his head. This chaos was to be Lucifer’s legacy? The army that would destroy humankind? Samael might be a brilliant military strategist, but his organizational skills in this arena were severely lacking.

The door opened behind him, and he looked around. A Naphil girl-child of about six mortal years stepped into the room and surveyed him with large blue eyes. Mittron raised an eyebrow.

“You wanted something?”

“You don’t look like the others,” the girl said. “Where are your wings?”

“Where are your manners?” he countered.

She shrugged, her oversized gray T-shirt—the uniform for all of Pripyat’s Naphil occupants—sliding down her shoulder. She tugged it back into place. “I don’t need manners. I’m a soldier.”

“Indeed.”

“Are you one of us?”

“A Naphil, you mean?” He shook his head. “No.”

Her head tipped to one side. “Then why would Samael want to speak with you?”

“I’m helping him.”

The Naphil considered his explanation for a moment, then gave him a bright smile. “That’s nice of you,” she said. She skipped to his side and took his hand, her fingers small and warm as they wrapped around his. “I’ll take you to him. You can tell me a story on the way. I like the one about the Archangels getting burned in the Hellfire. Do you know that one?”

Of course he did, but as the girl led him from the room and down the dank, narrow hallway, she kept up an endless stream of chatter that made it impossible to get a word in edgewise, let alone tell a story. By the time they reached their destination, down four flights of stairs and through a maze of corridors, he was exhausted, annoyed, and more than happy to see her skip away after delivering him to Samael.

He threw himself into a chair and scowled at Lucifer’s aide. “Let me guess,” he said sourly. “You’re planning on having the Nephilim talk humankind to death, right?”

Samael looked around from the window. “Don’t get comfortable,” he replied, ignoring the remark. “You have a job to do. Things are moving faster than we expected. Lucifer and the One are gone.”

Mittron sat up straighter. “What? When? I heard about no battle.”

“A short time ago, and there was no battle to hear about. Verchiel invited Lucifer to Heaven, he went, and now he and the One are gone. End of story. Except for this mess.” Samael stared out again, feathers rustling irritably. He crossed his arms and scowled. “Already the Fallen are dividing, and I’m still not a hundred percent certain we have Seth on board. I need that backup from Limbo. How long to open it?”

Mittron tried to wrap his mind around the sudden turn of events. “There are no guards, so once you get me there, a few minutes at most. But remember the risk, Samael. Some of the Fallen have been in there for thousands of years. They’ll be beyond reason. Beyond your control. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“If we’re to hold on to Hell long enough to put Seth in place?” Samael’s expression turned grim. “Yes.”

Chapter 80

Alex’s heart had leapt at the sight of the winged figure looming in the doorway. An Archangel, fully armored, sword at his side, controlled wrath rolling off him in waves. Aramael. But as Seth’s face morphed into a mask of pure hatred, hope evaporated. She stepped forward, intending to put herself between them, but an invisible force knocked her from her feet before she could. She landed on the floor with a grunt of pain and surprise.

Aramael’s scowl deepened. His expression granite-hard, he stalked across the room, shoving aside overturned chairs, ignoring the scattered papers beneath his feet.

“Leave her be, Appointed. You’re done here.”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Seth snarled. “Do you really think I’ll just walk away and leave her to you? Do I strike you as that stupid?”

“That’s not what this is about. I can no more have her than you can. I told you that.”

“You lied!”

A tiny blue spark snapped beside Alex’s cheek. She cringed and, scrambling to her feet, flicked a panicked gaze over the room. She’d seen sparks like that only once before, wielded by Lucifer in a Vancouver alley. But there was no sign of the Light-bearer now. There was only Aramael, her—and Seth.

Another spark ignited beside her face. She inhaled sharply.

Seth?

“You lied,” Seth repeated. “I have had her, Archangel. I’ve held her, and loved her, and possessed her, and I am not giving her up. Not to you, and not to the mortals. She belongs to me.”

Raw pain flashed in Aramael’s eyes at the words, but his voice held steady. “She belongs to no one but herself.”

Seth stared at Aramael, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Then, after a long moment, he turned to Alex, his eyes tired. Sad. Lost. “You truly don’t want to be with me?”

She hesitated, still loath to hurt him. Still hoping she could somehow make him understand. Uncurling her fingers, she spread her hands wide. Made her voice gentle. “It’s not that—”

“Answer me!” he snarled.

She jumped. Then she straightened her shoulders. He was right. She’d tried explaining, tried to ease this, but no matter how she phrased it, Seth would never see it as anything more—or less—than outright rejection. He just had to accept it.

“No,” she said. “No, Seth, I don’t want to be with you. I’m sorry.”

The blue crackles intensified, filling the air around him. “So am I,” he said. “I didn’t want it to be like this.”

Seth spread his hands wide in the gesture his own father had once turned against him. Alarm raced over Alex’s skin, standing every hair on end. But before she could react, strong arms wrapped around her and held her tight against a broad, muscled chest. She barely had time to inhale the familiar warmth of Aramael before massive wings folded around both of them—and then chaos erupted.

From every direction, every angle, objects bombarded them. Desks, chairs, glass from windows imploding into the room, ceiling tiles, light fixtures. The very air itself turned solid, slamming into them with a force that made Aramael stagger and the cocoon of his wings open slightly. Alex looked up into his eyes and quailed at the