“Harsh?” she echoed. “Harsh? Goddamn it, Jennifer, you can’t keep pretending things are just fine. A Fallen Angel tried to kill me because I—we—descend from the Nephilim. The angel sent to stop him is the soulmate I can never have. The man I’m sleeping with is the son of the One and goddamn Lucifer for chrissakes, and he gave up his divinity to be with me.”
She paused to swallow against the tightness building in her chest—and the admission of her rape by Lucifer, a detail she hadn’t yet shared with her sister and one Jennifer didn’t need to know.
“Heaven and Hell are at war because of me, Jennifer. Our world is coming apart at its seams because of me.” A whisper deep inside her suggested she might be oversimplifying things just a little. She ignored it. The Archangel Michael had been right. She’d been the cause of Aramael killing his brother and breaking the Pact. Everything happening now—the war, Seth’s presence on Earth, all of it—stemmed from that. Stemmed from her.
She forged on, her voice thick and ragged, “This is what I live with. This is my reality. And you’re right, I’m not coping with it. I’m trying to goddamn survive it.”
Jen stared into the dishwasher for a long moment before reaching to tear a sheet of paper towel from the roll suspended beneath the cupboard. She folded it, dabbed at her eyes, blew her nose, added it to the garbage can. Then, in typical Jennifer fashion and at complete odds with what she preached about opening up and sharing, she said, “Thank you for dinner. It was nice getting to know Seth a bit better. It will make Nina’s birthday dinner more comfortable for everyone, I think. That is, if you’re still planning on coming to her birthday.”
The tightness in Alex’s chest rose to grip her throat. She crossed her arms against the desire to reach out to her sister, because she didn’t trust herself not to choke Jen instead of hugging her. Despite what she’d said, a part of her did want to talk. Desperately. She would like nothing more than to unburden herself to someone who wouldn’t brush off what she said, wouldn’t try to rationalize, wouldn’t judge, wouldn’t have her committed. Someone she could talk to about Seth and Lucifer and how the two had become so entwined in her psyche. About the war she was certain was brewing in a realm she had never seen but knew to be real.
About the panic that gripped her when she thought of how humanity’s potential savior had chosen her over his responsibility to the very universe itself.
Panic that had increased tenfold in the wake of Michael’s visit.
Hell, she’d give just about anything to talk to someone. But not Jen. As strong as her sister had seemed over the years, as much of an anchor she had been after their parents’ deaths, the events of the past couple of months had shown Alex that it was Jen who had taught her to bury her feelings in the first place. Jen who had always shut down the emotional discussions before they started. Jen who had truly failed to cope.
And who would almost certainly fail to appreciate the irony if Alex were to point it out.
Heart aching, Alex mustered a smile. She nodded. “Of course. Thursday night, six thirty sharp. We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Chapter 18
Samael watched the females get into the vehicle: the Naphil’s sister and niece that Lucifer wanted so desperately to find. This was it. His chance to redeem himself with the Light-bearer. Here. Now. All he had to do was follow them to their home, and Lucifer would have what he wanted. An heir to lead the Nephilim army that would wipe out the One’s mortal children. And then . . .
And then what? War with Heaven but without a leader?
He looked up at the roof of the apartment building and the impassive Aramael, too far away to have sensed his presence. What was it about the Naphil that commanded such watchfulness?
A car engine sputtered to life, pulling him back to the departing girl and woman. Damn. Stay or follow? A cold breeze swept bits of debris past him. The sweat on his brow turned icy. His gut insisted Heaven had a reason for keeping vigil over the Naphil. If he helped Lucifer kick his plan into action now, he might never have the chance to figure it out. But if he didn’t follow the women, if he didn’t report them—
Then Lucifer would kill him for letting the opportunity pass. The Light-bearer would take one look into his eyes, into his soul, and know. And then he would kill him.
Slowly and with great finesse.
Samael rubbed the scar at the corner of his eye.
The vehicle pulled away from the curb. Indecision tore at him. Follow the car or his suspicions? All day, something about Mika’el’s meeting with the Naphil had nagged at him. That Heaven wanted Seth to take back his powers had been stunning enough, but Samael was certain there was more to it. More that he needed to figure out before Lucifer completed his machinations and damned Hell itself to extinction.
The car’s signal light flashed. Follow them or find out more about why the Naphil was so important? Lucifer’s orders or his own instinct? Damn it, he needed more time.
Across the way, Aramael’s head swiveled with uncanny accuracy in his direction. Samael drew farther back into the shadows. Now that the Archangels knew he watched the Naphil, they would be actively looking for him. He’d never get anywhere near her, especially not with her soulmate in attendance.
He snorted. The Naphil’s soulmate guarding her. The Appointed had to love this turn of events. Except Seth wouldn’t know about it yet, would he? Not if Mika’el was trying to recruit—
Samael’s mind went still. Son of a bitch. That was it. That was the reason he’d hesitated. The answer had been staring him in the face all day. Mika’el hadn’t told Seth, because the Appointed had already chosen the woman over Heaven. The Archangel needed the woman’s help to convince Seth to take back his powers, needed her to convince him that some things were more important than their relationship. More important than his love for her. More important than him.
Talk about the ultimate déjà vu.
Taillights flashed at the end of the block, then rounded the corner and disappeared. With a smile, Samael stepped out from the sheltered doorway and stood in the pool of light beneath a streetlamp. He would not give up on the war. He would not give up on the possibility of returning to Heaven. And he sure as Creation itself would not risk losing Hell.
He turned his face upward. Atop the roof, Aramael’s wings snapped open with a crack that shattered the quiet night, setting off a car alarm and sending a half dozen neighborhood dogs into hysterics.
That’s right, Archangel, I’m here. Watch for me. Protect your precious Naphil. Because as long as you’re with her, you won’t get in the way of what I really want.
Sketching a mock salute, Samael pulled out of reach.
Only when night had fallen silent again did Aramael slowly fold his wings together. So Mika’el had been right. Samael did watch Alex. Watched but did nothing more, even though he’d had ample opportunity to take her between Mika’el’s departure and Aramael’s own arrivaclass="underline" when she’d left work, or pulled her car into the parking lot, or walked to the building, or reached to unlock the door. Samael had almost certainly been present when she’d done all those things, and yet he’d made no move. Why not?
Aramael’s wings gave an irritable twitch. The Fallen One’s motives were Heaven’s concern, not his. His problem was more immediate. The nature of Alex’s job made her comings and goings irregular, unpredictable. With no reliable pattern of movement and no Guardian watching over her, he had no way of staying close enough without her noticing. In which case . . .