Chapter 82
Mika’el strode through the great hall, angels scattering from his path, the other Archangels fanned out behind him in tight-lipped silence. Raphael followed closest, his glowering disapproval a near palpable weight across Mika’el’s shoulders. A justified one.
The One had been gone for less than an hour, and already cracks were appearing in Heaven’s foundation. For the first time ever, the others questioned Mika’el’s judgment. He slammed a fist against a bookcase as he passed by, and a collective gasp went through the hall.
He’d been certain Aramael could overcome his connection to the Naphil, but he’d obviously underestimated the former Power’s feelings for the woman. Now his newest recruit was imagining a call for help across two realms, and Mika’el had believed him. Let him go. What in the name of the Creator herself had he been thinking? He had bloody Armageddon looming and—
He stopped in his tracks, and the boulder-solid form of Raphael slammed into his back. Armor clanged against armor, underscored by cursing.
“Damn it, Mika’el, warn me when you’re going to—”
“Quiet.” Mika’el held up a hand. “Did you hear that?”
Raphael looked up from buffing a scratch on his breastplate. “Hear what?”
Mika’el scanned the faces of the other Archangels. “A voice. Saying my name. None of you heard it?”
Blank looks met his. Heads shook. He scowled. Wonderful. Now
His head snapped back. That wasn’t just his name, it was his Earth name. One that none in Heaven ever called him. He went still, stopped breathing.
Could she?
He whirled. “Azrael, you’re in charge here. Nothing gets past that border, understand? The rest of you, with me.”
Raphael caught his arm, fingers almost as dark as the armor on which they rested. “Mika’el, what the Hell is going on?”
“Aramael is in trouble.”
Instinctively, almost as one, every Archangel’s hand went to the sword hanging at its owner’s side. Including Raphael’s. Whatever doubts they might have about the Aramael’s appointment to their ranks, he was still one of them. Then Raphael’s golden eyes narrowed.
“Wait. I thought he went to Earth. To the Naphil.”
“He did,” Mika’el said. “And I think she just summoned me.”
“It’s over, Alex.”
The voice struck with physical force, each syllable a hammer blow against Alex’s soul. Cowering, she held fast to Aramael’s hands beneath the protection of his wings.
Hands still warm to her touch.
Still alive, but barely—and for how much longer?
Feathers shifted above her, and for an instant—a brief, cruel instant—her heart soared. It plummeted again when she saw Seth’s fingers grip the limp wing and shove it aside. Aramael toppled sideways, resisting her attempts to hold him upright, landing with a soft grunt amid the rubble on the floor. His hands pulled away from hers and dropped to nestle against dull black feathers. The final loss of physical contact was more than she could bear.
She exhaled on a moan of denial, a harsh, monstrous sound that came from the very core of her being. The place where her soulmate resided. Aramael of the stormy gray eyes and bolt-of-lightning touch; Aramael, who had risked falling from Heaven itself for her; Aramael, who had stood by her and protected her life with his own even after she had chosen another over him.
Another, whose hand stretched down to her now, waiting to pull her to her feet.
Fighting to control her breathing and unlock her throat, Alex stared at the outstretched appendage. Slowly, she looked up, following the arm to which the hand was attached; tracking along a shoulder and then a neck; settling on a face. Calm and expressionless, with no reflection of what its owner had just done. No acknowledgment. No remorse. Nothing.
“It’s over,” the voice repeated, the face’s mouth moving with the words.
Rage obliterated all else. Knocking the hand away, she surged to her feet and shoved against Seth’s chest. He didn’t so much as sway.
“Fuck you!” she bellowed. She shoved again. Then a third time. And a fourth. Each with more fury, more despair, more impotence. The One had been right all along. Seth’s choices were at the heart of all of this: Armageddon, the Nephilim babies, everything—and Alex had lost everything because of those choices. Her sister, her niece, Aramael—even the love she had once felt for Seth himself. All were gone from her world, and she could do nothing to bring them back. Nothing to stop what would come next, what hovered just beyond her ability to reason. Panic licked at the edges of her anger. She stopped shoving and started shaking, vibrating from head to toe.
The emptiness that had once been Seth—funny, wry, loving Seth—reached for her. He held her against his chest, his face buried in her hair, and heaved a deep sigh.
“There,” he whispered. “Now you’re free. There’s nothing to stop you from being with me anymore.”
“Don’t,” she choked back. “Please, Seth. Don’t.”
“Shh.” His hands crawled over her, one tangling in her hair, one stroking her back.
She pushed against him. His grip tightened. It began. A tiny, sharp tingle, sparking along the skin of her extremities, crackling with heat. She writhed against his hold.
“Damn it, Seth,
He ignored her. The heat slithered beneath the surface and traveled along her nerves, her veins. Trickling at first, then increasing to a rush toward her center. Toward her chest. Her struggles increased tenfold. He paid no attention. The heat pooled, intensified—and turned to pure, liquid agony, as if her very heart were melting.
She tried to scream but had no voice.
Then, through the haze that descended, a hand. Strong. Clamping onto her shoulder. Pulling her back, flinging her away. Other hands catching her, pushing her to the floor. The rustle of many wings. And a voice. Michael’s voice. Snarling, furious, agonized.
“In the name of all that is holy, Appointed,
Chapter 83
Mika’el grabbed a panting Seth by the shirtfront, threw him against the remains of a support pillar, and held him there. He shot a look over his shoulder at Uriel, who was bent over the prostrate Aramael. The other Archangel shrugged and shook his head.
Mika’el turned back to the creature he held. Fury and an overwhelming sense of failed responsibility rolled through him. Aramael had said something was wrong, and now he was dying because Mika’el hadn’t believed him. Hadn’t bothered to send someone with him. How in all of Creation had he let this happen? He seized Seth by the throat and slammed his head against the pillar.
“Damn you, Appointed! What in bloody
