Bit by bit, the pain receded. When it became bearable, Samael groped for the doorknob, pulled himself upright, and opened the door enough to slip into the corridor. Lucifer’s voice stopped him halfway through.
“One last thing, Archangel.”
Samael looked over his shoulder. Cringed. Waited.
“Just so we’re clear, death as sacrifice for success is infinitely preferable to that which would accompany defeat. You’ll want to remember that.”
Samael stood in the corridor for a long, long time, staring at the closed door, waiting for the vestiges of pain to ease. Slowly the terror that had claimed him under Lucifer’s grip gave way to cold fury.
Necessary sacrifice? Was the Light-bearer serious? He really expected all of them, all of the Fallen who had followed him out of Heaven and believed in him, to throw themselves on the swords of their kin as sacrifice?
Samael exhaled a long hiss into the silence.
Of course he did.
He always had.
He’d told him so, when the Pact had been shattered and the remains of peace between Heaven and Hell had hung in tatters: “War was never my priority. I’ve never pretended otherwise.”
Samael hadn’t wanted to believe him then. He’d clung to the certainty that, when the time came, Hell’s ruler would come to his senses and lead them in the war to reclaim their rightful home.
Now, however . . . Samael put a hand to his shoulder. Now he believed him.
And there wasn’t a bloody thing he could do about it.
Because while the others might welcome battle as much as he did, might even turn their backs on Lucifer’s idea of success for the chance to return to Heaven, they would never be able to pull it off without a leader. Jockeying for control would begin immediately, and Samael didn’t kid himself for a moment that he was powerful enough to replace Lucifer as ruler. If he had the backing of a half dozen Archangels the way Michael did, perhaps. But alone? Not a chance. Once the infighting began, Hell would be awash in the blood of its own occupants.
Footsteps approached on the other side of Lucifer’s office door, jolting Samael back to the present. If the Light-bearer found him standing out here dithering over his future, there would be questions. And, when he couldn’t or wouldn’t answer, more pain. Or worse.
He needed to stop worrying about a future if he intended to live long enough to have one. More importantly, he needed to find a Naphil.
Chapter 14
“It didn’t go well.”
A statement, not a question.
Head tipped back against his chair, Mika’el didn’t bother opening his eyes. “No,” he said. “No, Verchiel, it did not go well. Did we really expect otherwise?”
He listened to the Highest Seraph settle into one of the chairs on the opposite side of the desk.
“What did she say?”
“She told me to grow a set and talk to Seth myself.”
Silence. Then what sounded like a muffled snort. Cracking open an eyelid, he found Verchiel struggling to hide a smile. He scowled. “The world is ripping itself apart, and the one mortal who might have helped me hold it together has refused. I fail to see the humor.”
Steady blue eyes regarded him. “It’s not humor that makes me smile, Mika’el, but admiration. You’re the most powerful warrior in all of Heaven. You led the battle against Lucifer himself. Do you know of any other being, mortal or otherwise, that might have the nerve to tell you what she did? This Naphil has great courage.”
He closed his eyes again, this time pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t need her courage, I need her cooperation.”
“Then earn it. Speak to Seth. Perhaps he will surprise us.”
“Neither of us believes that. The Appointed has twice tried to avoid his responsibility. We have no reason to believe he will do otherwise now.”
He avoided adding what he privately thought, but peering through his fingers at Verchiel, he saw the same concern—no, the same certainty—written across her face, too. Seth, son of their Creator, was weak. Very possibly too weak to do what they needed of him. Which would leave them all—Heaven and Earth alike—in an unspeakably fragile position.
Verchiel’s chin lifted. “Even if you’re right, even if he refuses you, at least you’ll have tried. Perhaps the woman will be more inclined to step in then.”
“I have no time for perhaps, Seraph. I need certainties.”
“Fine. You certainly won’t solve anything sitting behind your desk.”
Sheer surprise at the tart rejoinder made him drop his hand. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me, Mika’el. The One has given you a task. No matter how distasteful you find it, you cannot avoid the inevitable forever.”
He glowered at her. “There’s another complication.”
“Is that possible when things are already so complicated?” Verchiel asked wryly.
“Samael is watching her.”
All hint of amusement dropped from the Highest Seraph’s expression. “What possible interest could he have in her?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be sitting here racking my brain for answers instead of going after the Appointed.”
Verchiel raised a brow at his thinly veiled snarl. Then she frowned. “Wait—you haven’t left her unguarded?”
“Samael would have taken her by now if he wanted to do so.”
“Unless he noticed you hovering around her.”
“He did see me, but only today. He could have taken her anytime before—” Remembering how Aramael had watched over the woman before him, he stopped. He rotated a quarter turn one way and then the other in his swivel chair.
“There has to be a reason Hell is interested in her,” Verchiel pressed. “We can’t afford to take chances, not with the state things are in right now.”
She had a point.
“I’ll put a watch on her.” Seeing her shoulders straighten, he held up a hand. “No. I know what you’re thinking, and it’s out of the question.”
“This isn’t just any Fallen One we’re talking about. It’s Samael. If he makes any kind of a move, none less than an Archangel can stop him.”
“There are five other Archangels.” Well, four that he could use, because putting Raphael anywhere near his traitor of a brother would be just plain stupid.
“None of whom have any experience inhabiting the human realm. Aramael was a Power before he was an Archangel, Mika’el. He has walked among the humans before, and is less likely to draw attention to himself.”
“He still feels a connection to her.”
Her lips pursed. “Another reason it should be him. The others will follow orders as best they can, but in their eyes, the woman remains tainted by her bloodline. None will fight harder to keep Samael away from her than he will. None will give up his own life for hers.”
“Is that what we want? An Archangel giving up his life for a Naphil?”
“Of course not. But if Hell is interested in her, then you can’t risk her, either. Not until you know why they’re interested.”
Twisting the chair back and forth again, Mika’el studied her. “You never used to be this”—he hesitated to use the word cold—“pragmatic.”
“I never used to be responsible for Heaven trying to save the world, either. I don’t like what I suggest, but neither do I see a choice.”
Verchiel rose with a rustle of robes. Crossing to the door, she reached for the handle, then looked over her shoulder. “And, Mika’el, just so you’re clear, you will need the Naphil’s courage. If we’re to convince Seth to return to his rightful place here, with us, you’ll need all the courage she possesses and more.”