Another blast of ice water. He thought—he’d convinced himself—oh, dear God. She breathed carefully around the knot unraveling in her chest. Forced her hands to remain at her sides and not strike out at him while she worked through her realization and its terrifying consequences.
A stalker. Seth Benjamin, son of the One and Lucifer, bearer of immeasurable power, had become nothing more than a classic, delusional stalker—on a cosmic scale. Even now he was convinced she wanted to be with him for eternity. He had arranged for exactly that. Horror bubbled up in her again, this time on a whole new level, a whole new scale.
Seth’s arms slid around her.
I’ll never escape.
He buried his face in her neck . . .
I can’t escape.
. . . murmured her name . . .
Not even through death.
. . . whispered, “I love you, Alex Jarvis. Forever.”
“Leave . . . her . . . alone,” grated a hoarse voice.
Aramael. For an instant, sheer, wanton relief surged in Alex’s breast. He was conscious. He could hold off Seth until the others arrived. But then Seth went still—terrifyingly so—and euphoria turned to panic. Dread.
Aramael could never survive another fight. Not wounded as he was. Seth would kill him this time, finish what he had begun. Pain squeezed through Alex’s chest. No. She wouldn’t let him. She put her hands up to Seth’s face, forced herself to hold it. To hold his attention. To lie.
“I love you, too,” she croaked.
Sudden joy flared in Seth’s black eyes, and he cupped her face gently, reverently. Locking her gaze on his, she tried to project the adoration he craved from her and not let him see the desperation crawling along her every fiber, turning her inside out.
Oh please oh please oh please don’t do anything more to him.
“I said leave her!” Aramael snarled.
Seth’s jaw went rigid beneath her touch. She tightened her hold, clinging to him, clinging to hope, searching for the right thing to say. If she could make him believe her, if she could keep him focused—
His fingers wrapped around her wrists. He pulled her hands from his face and pushed her away. Blue crackles snapped in the air around him. He turned. Over his shoulder, Alex saw Aramael standing tall and straight, his wings spread as wide as the tight space would allow. She caught her breath. He looked so capable, so confident. Had he recovered? Was he—
A fresh trickle of phosphorescence welled from the hole in Aramael’s armor. His glorious, powerful wings trembled ever so slightly. Hope morphed into despair and sent cruel tentacles to wrap around her soul. She grabbed for Seth’s arm, but he shook her off, forcing her back a step. Stumbling, she put a hand out to steady herself against the counter. Her fingers closed over the hilt of Aramael’s sword.
“Take it,” the Archangel Gabriel’s voice whispered through her.
“Again, Archangel?” Seth snarled at Aramael. “How many times do I have to kill you?”
“How many times does Alex have to say no?” Aramael countered. “I won’t let you take her.”
Alex lifted the heavy, hardened steel blade. Gabriel had said it would slow down a Fallen One, but that’s not what Seth was. He wasn’t an angel at all but something other. Something more. What if it didn’t work against him?
The blue crackles came together, weaving themselves into a wall before Seth. “Then you’ll die,” he told Aramael. “Again.”
Over Seth’s shoulder, Alex met her soulmate’s calm certainty. Aramael’s mouth curved upward in the slightest of smiles. He knew what she considered. Nodded his approval. Blinked his good-bye. He turned his attention back to Seth.
“So be it,” he said.
Alex stretched a hand toward him. No. Oh, God, no . . .
Aramael threw his wings and arms wide. Hardened feathers splintered the wall tiles and tore through a metal stall door with a screech, then swept toward Seth. Power struck crackling energy with a force that gusted outward, shattering mirrors, sinks, toilets. And then Alex swung the sword with all the strength she possessed, down in an arc toward Seth.
“You owe him,” whispered the memory of Gabriel’s voice.
The blade sliced through the flesh between Seth’s ribs and hip. An unearthly bellow ripped through the washroom. The clash of divine energies exploded into a blaze of white.
Aramael dropped like a stone.
Chapter 86
Mika’el’s blade sliced through collarbone as if it were butter, cleaving all the way down to the center of the Fallen One’s chest and shattering the hardened sphere of immortality hidden within. He tugged the sword free with grim satisfaction. The third kill in a fight only fifteen minutes old. Samael truly had forgotten the power with which he dealt.
A hand settled on his shoulder, and he looked into Gabriel’s piercing, deep blue eyes. Impeccably trained, the others closed around them in a protective ring, blocking them from harm while they spoke.
“The woman is safe?” he asked.
She nodded. “But we have another problem. A Guardian is seeking our help. A Fallen One is wreaking havoc in a crowded gathering place not far from here—a mall, he called it.”
“All right. We can take care of those remaining here. You go—and Gabriel, fly there. Use your physical approach to draw him out and away from the mortals.”
“I’ll be seen.”
Thou shalt not interfere with the human race.
His grim gaze swept over the wreckage surrounding them. The cardinal rule might have had its place once, but no longer. Not after this. “I’m pretty sure our secret is out.”
Gabriel nodded, turned, and launched herself through what little remained of the exterior wall. Mika’el turned back to the fight, but before he could choose a target, a small hand tugged on his sleeve. He glanced down at the ethereal, almost translucent figure of a Guardian, its fierce look of concentration a measure of the effort it took to achieve even this much physical form.
“It’s all right,” he told it. “Gabriel has gone to the mall. She’ll look after the Fallen One there.”
“But I haven’t come from a mall,” the Guardian objected as he turned away. “There is a museum a short distance from here. Two Fallen Ones have attacked the patrons there.”
A second attack? Hell. Mika’el caught Zachariel’s eye and the Archangel raised an eyebrow. Mika’el nodded. Stepping back from the battle, Zachariel launched himself in Gabriel’s wake. The wisp of a Guardian followed.
Mika’el raised his sword. Two Archangels remained, along with nine Fallen. The odds were still firmly in their—
“Mika’el!” Raphael’s voice pulled his attention away from the battle yet again.
Mika’el looked toward him, then followed the tip of the other’s head. Another Guardian had shimmered into form along the wall, and two more were taking shape on either side of her.. In an instant, Mika’el understood.
“Stop!” he roared.
Silence dropped over the assembly, broken only by the harsh breathing of winded fighters. And Samael’s chuckle.
“You’ve figured it out.”
“How many?” Mika’el demanded. “How many have you sent out?”
“As many as I needed to. One more activates every three minutes until I say otherwise.”
“Call them off.”
“Not until I have what I came for.”
“I can get more help,” Mika’el said. “Heaven still outnumbers you.”
“You can,” Samael agreed. “It wouldn’t bother me in the least to fight the entire war right here on Earth. But are you sure that’s what you want?”