Sins of the Lost

grimness she saw there. It wasn’t just her; he hadn’t expected this force, either. Hadn’t expected Seth to be this strong.

A shard of glass flew between the gap in his feathers, slicing open his cheek. The wound sealed itself almost instantly, but not before crimson spattered onto her own cheek and pain winced across his features. Behind him, a support post ripped out of its mooring and spun toward them. She closed her eyes as it thudded against the arch of Aramael’s wing. The floor bucked beneath her feet. .

Dear God in Heaven, what had she loosed on the world?

“Enough,” Aramael growled.

Her eyes shot open as he put her away from him, his hands solid and reassuring in their grip on her arms. “Stay behind me,” he ordered. “My wings will protect you.”

She clutched at him when he tried to let go. “What are you going to do?”

His gray eyes hardened with resolve. “What I should never have let you talk me out of in Vancouver,” he said. “I’m putting an end to this. Now.”

She wished she could object. Wished Seth had given her some reason—any reason, however small—to do so. But whatever Seth might have been, whatever he could have chosen to be, that chance had long since passed.

“He’s not your responsibility,” the One’s voice whispered in her memory. Her throat tight with fear, regret, and a multitude of other emotions it would take a lifetime to identify, Alex let go her hold on Aramael’s sleeve.

Metal hissed against hardened leather as he drew the sword from its scabbard. It glinted dully in the light coming from the broken windows, plain, unadorned, built for one purpose and one purpose only. His wings lifting clear of Alex, he turned.

“Be careful,” she whispered.

Chapter 81

With his wings unfurled to their fullest to protect the woman sheltering behind them, Aramael raised his sword to deflect a jagged piece of metal aimed at his head. “By all that is holy, Seth Benjamin, enough!” he shouted.

Nostrils flaring and chest heaving, the Appointed hesitated. Then, returning Aramael’s glare, he let his arms drop to his sides. The power that had pressed in on Aramael subsided to a low, sinister pulse.

“You cannot stand against me forever, Archangel,” Seth panted, sweat trickling down his forehead. “I’m not one of you. I’m more, remember?”

“Mika’el stood against your father,” Aramael reminded him grimly. “And I will stand against you.”

“Mika’el had five others of your kind with him. You have a Naphil.” Seth spat the word.

“Fine. If you think you can take me, let’s not waste time.” Shifting his grip on his sword, Aramael spread his feet apart and settled them into the remains of the thin carpet. “Take your best shot.”

Seth narrowed his eyes. Shook his head. “You really do care for her, don’t you? You can’t help but try to save her. It’s a compulsion for you.”

“And it always will be.”

“Then save her from this.”

An ominous rumble sounded behind Aramael, followed by the screech of metal tearing under stress. Alex gasped. Whirling, Aramael lifted his wings up and over her just in time to shield her from the collapse of a section of the floor above them. Concrete chunks showered down, battering outspread feathers hardened against attack. Twisted steel beams followed, and then a desk and—

He felt a sudden, sharp pain centered in his back, between his wings. Instinctively, he arched away from it, but it followed, pressing into him, piercing deeper. More pain erupted in his chest. He looked down at the jagged metal he had deflected only seconds before, its now crimson tip protruding from the breastplate of his armor. From the inside. Fury at himself joined his rage at Seth. Damn it, he should have expected that. Wrapping his free hand around the projectile, he braced himself to pull it through—and then stopped. Stared. Went cold. There, mixed in with his blood, traces of phosphorescence.

Seth’s makeshift weapon had pierced his immortality. His gaze sought Alex’s, and he saw his shock mirrored there.

Bloody Hell.

Steps sounded behind him. Warm breath stirred against his ear.

“There you have it, Archangel. My best shot. Good enough for you?”

Aramael felt Seth seize the metal projectile and twist it. White heat seared through him. His sword dropped to the floor, and he lurched forward, trying to escape.

Too late.

The metal left his body with a wet, sucking snick. His own roar of agony filled his ears even as a part of him distanced itself, shutting out the pain. His knees buckled, and he dropped to the floor. His voice became hoarse, trailed away. Another sound penetrated his awareness.

“Aramael? Aramael! Goddamn it, how do I get you out of this?”

Alex.

She knelt before him, her hands roving frantically over his armor, trying to remove it, to get to his wound. He tangled his fingers in hers, holding fast, shaking his head. Lifted his gaze to hers. To the terror, the denial, the anguish. Failure swelled in him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare. You’re not going to die on me, Aramael. I won’t let you.” She pulled her hands from his and cupped his face. “You can call someone. Call Michael. He’ll—”

The pain in his chest sank deeper, radiating inward, brushing against his core. He swayed and would have toppled but for Alex’s hold.

“I can’t,” he said. “I can’t call from here. It’s too—”

The word far died on his lips. He had been in Heaven when Alex called him. Somehow her voice had done what no angel’s could and reached across two realms to pull him to her side. Not even their soulmate connection could fully explain that.

“Alex.” He cradled her face, smearing her cheeks with his blood. “Where is Seth?”

“He’s over there, watching. He said—” Her voice broke, and she made a visible effort to recover. “He said he would give us time for our good-byes before he—he—”

“Sh.” He laid his forehead against hers. The pain sank into his center. He fought it off. “There’s one last thing we can try. I can’t call Mika’el from here, but you can. Just like you called me.”

“But you and I—we’re soulmates—”

“It doesn’t matter. He’ll hear you. I’m sure of it.”

He has to.

The pain took on an exquisite edge that stole his breath. He was running out of time. Pulling his wings over her, he tried to shelter her one last time, if only for a few seconds.

“Call,” he whispered, willing her to stay strong. “Call Mika’el.”

Her eyes—the color of a summer sky—brimmed with tears, and she covered his hands with hers, squeezing fiercely. Desperately.

“I love you,” she said. “I tried not to, but I do. I always have.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead, drawing on her warmth to ward off the cold in his core for another instant. Another labored heartbeat. “I know,” he said. “Now call.”

Her gaze locked with his, and he felt her go still. Felt her reach inside herself, past the fear, past the pain. Heard her whisper the name of Heaven’s greatest warrior in the very depths of her soul.

Aramael’s world went dark.