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.
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—
Michael.
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 he was imagining—
Michael!
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. Impossible. Not even an angel could send forth a summons between Earth and Heaven. There was simply no way a Naphil, thousands of generations removed from her divinity, could achieve such a thing.
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.