Lucifer, whose gloating words were indelibly etched in her memory. “With her extraordinary Nephilim blood—and it is extraordinary, you know—mixed with mine, the child she carries will be a leader among his kind.”
Her Nephilim blood.
The same blood that ran through her sister’s veins.
And her niece’s.
Her stomach cramped, twisted, rolled. The Fallen One had never been after her. He’d wanted her family. The family she hadn’t been here to protect. A touch on her elbow made her open her eyes again. Roberts, his forehead wrinkled with worry, held out his phone to her.
“It’s Elizabeth Riley,” he said. “Your sister has regained consciousness.”
Chapter 60
Samael stood rigid in the center of Lucifer’s office as the Light-bearer prowled around him in silence. He had delivered his explanation to Hell’s ruler just the way he’d rehearsed it with Mittron, relaxed, confident, without excuses or apologies—
Hadn’t he?
He stared at the dark blotch on the carpet near the fireplace, so out of keeping with Lucifer’s usual fastidiousness. Was it because Lucifer no longer cared about such details? Or because he intended it as an intimidation tactic? If the latter, it was working.
The Light-bearer circled closer. Samael went rigid.
“You look tense.” Lucifer stopped in front of him, hands in his pockets, the picture of calm.
He made his fingers uncurl, saw the Light-bearer’s gaze drop to them. He’s waiting for me to lie. He’ll take it as a sign of guilt.
“I have reason to be tense,” he responded. “My life is on the line if you don’t believe me.”
Cool purple eyes watched him. Weighed him.
“I don’t believe you, Samael.”
Cold trickled through Samael. Run, a voice whispered in his head. His feet, cemented to the floor, disagreed.
“But you have a point.” Lucifer swung away from him and crossed to the sideboard. Lifting a decanter of port, he raised an eyebrow in Samael’s direction.
Samael shook his head. Fought to control the quiver coursing through him. “I don’t understand.”
Lucifer poured a glass of deep ruby-red liquid, replaced the crystal stopper in the decanter, and wandered over to the fireplace. Flames crackled to life in the stone recess. He rested a shoulder against the mantel. “I don’t believe for a second you’ve had my best interests at heart, Archangel. I do, however, think you make a valid point about my army needing to be looked after should anything happen to me. Or to you.”
Undecided on quite how to reply to grudging praise and a distinct threat delivered in the same breath, Samael decided that remaining silent was his wisest course of action.
Lucifer swirled his glass. Clockwise. Counter. “You’re certain you can convince Seth to take back his powers and change sides.”
“He’s almost there now. A couple of nudges will tip him over the edge.”
“And you’re willing to stake your life on this?”
That one was a little more difficult to answer, but Samael managed a nod.
“All right.”
All right? Samael made a conscious effort not to gape at the Light-bearer. Mittron’s idea had worked? He would never have believed it possible, let alone this eas—
“You have twenty-four hours.”
“Twenty-four—but, Lucifer—”
“My army will be born at that time, Samael. If my son is not at my side, ready and willing to take over my cause if necessary, you die.”
“Be reasonable. This is—” He ducked as Lucifer’s glass sailed past his head and shattered in a spray of crystal shards and port against the bookcase behind him.
“Twenty-four hours,” the Light-bearer repeated. “Less an hour for every objection you make.”
Clenching his teeth, Samael turned on his heel and left. The Light-bearer wanted to be replaced twenty-four hours from now?
That was fucking fine by him.
Chapter 61
Aramael drove her to the hospital. He didn’t walk her in.
“Mika’el wants to see me,” he said, holding out the keys to her as they stood at the rear of her sedan in the parking garage.
She stared at them for a moment before taking them. “Will you be back?”
“I don’t know.”
Of course. Now that Heaven knew Jen and Nina had been the targets, her own protection no longer mattered. She studied her soulmate, the Archangel who would have given his own life to protect hers. A few days ago, she had wanted nothing to do with him, wanted nothing more than for him to get out of her life.
Now she couldn’t imagine her life without him in it.
She turned to walk away. Swung back. “Aramael.”
Tall and strong and silent, he waited. Quiet fire burned in his gray eyes. For an instant, she wondered what he would do if she crossed the space between them. If she burrowed against that powerful chest and wrapped her arms around him and—
No. She wouldn’t do that to him. Or to herself. Even before all of this had happened, even before Seth had happened, together had never been an option. Aramael had been right all along. They were a mistake.
It was up to her to put that mistake behind them once and for all.
“Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”
For getting me here, for saving me, for watching over me, for caring even after I chose another. Thank you—and good-bye.
The fire in Aramael’s eyes dimmed, flickered, died. His gaze traveled over her, lingering on her face as if he would commit every detail to memory. Then he spread his wings wide—his magnificent, coal-black, mighty wings—and gave her a rare small smile.
“Go,” he said. “Your sister is waiting.”
She walked away, her footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. When she looked back from halfway down the aisle of cars, he was gone.
Minutes later, Alex stepped into a hospital emergency ward yet again. The television in the waiting area was tuned to the news. She flinched from the image of herself emerging virtually unscathed from the fireball of the explosion. A few people seated nearby looked around as she walked past, but no recognition sparked and she made herself relax again.
Reaching the desk, she flashed her badge at the triage nurse, who nodded and buzzed her through the doors separating the waiting room from the ward.
“Jennifer Abbott?” she asked.
The nurse glanced at his computer screen. “Bed number six.”
Following the point of his finger, she skirted a gurney wheeled by paramedics, a woman pacing the corridor with a fractious baby in arms, a young girl about Nina’s age on crutches. The girl offered a smile as she passed. Alex had none to return.
Elizabeth Riley emerged from the curtained cubicle as Alex arrived, compassion softening her usually sharp features. Her blue eyes brightened with relief.
“It’s good to see you,” she said, folding Alex into an unexpected embrace. “The explosion is all over the news. How are you?”
Alex stepped back from the contact and swallowed the lump it had triggered. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just a few stitches.” She motioned at the curtain. “Jen?”
“Sedated . . . and restrained.” Riley put out a hand to stop Alex’s instinctive step toward her sister. “Wait. Hear me out first. We had no choice, Alex. One minute she was unconscious, and the next, her eyes were open and she was shrieking nonstop. She gave one of the nurses a broken nose before we pinned her down.”
Alex didn’t pull back this time. Instead, staring at the beige fabric before her, she made herself focus on Riley’s touch. Let it be her anchor while the world slowly righted itself again. She cleared her throat.