Sins of the Warrior (15 page)

“Maybe you’re right.” Seth rested an elbow on the fireplace mantel. Idly, he traced a finger across his lips. “But can we win the war in just one week? Heaven—”

“Is weak and growing weaker,” Samael assured him. “Without the One to lead them, the angels are scattered at best. With a strong leader of our own…” He trailed off, willing Seth to finish the thought—to interpret the words the way he needed him to.

Hell had no chance of winning the entire war in a week, of course, but with the troops rallied behind Lucifer’s son, answering his call to arms, it could certainly create a distraction. One that, with luck, would draw Mika’el’s attention away from the Naphil for a moment or two. Long enough for Samael to finish what he’d sent Bethiel to do before Seth recovered and crossed the realms to fetch the love of his life—and Hell lost his interest forever.

Just as they’d lost his father’s.

Seth grunted. For the first time since his arrival in Hell, it seemed he might actually be listening. Samael allowed himself a quiet exhalation of satisfaction.

“And Earth?” Seth asked. “What about that?”

“The Nephilim army grows strong under Mittron’s care. They’ll have their own leader soon, your father’s final gift to you. They will ensure the destruction of humanity, you will be able to disavow responsibility, and Alex…” Samael paused for effect, and then delivered his lie. Blithely. Purposefully.

“Alex will have a new home,” he said. “Here with you. With us. In time, she will learn to appreciate your consolation. And you’ll have eternity to convince her to do so.”

Long moments ticked. Seth drummed fingers against the mantel until Samael was ready to scream and rip them from his hand. At last, the black gaze met his again.

“You make a convincing argument, Archangel,” Seth said. “Where do we start?”

And just like that, Samael had the time he needed to rid himself of their Naphil problem—and the power to do so.

RAYMOND JOLY WAS WAITING
for Alex when she emerged from the briefing. Her step faltered when she saw him, and she had to blink away their shared memory of the four dead cops before she could summon a semblance of a smile.

“You’re back.”

“Sitting by myself at home wasn’t doing anybody any good.” Joly shrugged. “Least of all me.”

Alex nodded understanding. She searched for something to say but came up dry. Small talk seemed beyond her these days.

Michael had followed her from the conference room, and stood off to one side. As he’d promised, no one had taken notice of his presence among them.

Joly’s handlebar mustache twitched from side to side as he pursed unseen lips. “Abrams told me about your sister,” he said finally. “I’m sorry.”

Again, Alex nodded but didn’t speak. Again, there were no words.

“Do you know yet when the funeral is?”

“I haven’t—I don’t—” She shrugged. “No.”

Her friend and coworker stared at her. Then he closed the space between them and wrapped her in a hug. “Goddamn, Alex. You don’t deserve this. Not any of it.”

Standing in the circle of her colleague’s arms, Alex waited for the grief to wash over her, the loss to envelop her. There had been so much. Too much. But she felt nothing but hard. Empty. Jen had died in her arms last night, and already it felt like a lifetime ago. Nina was still out there somewhere, but the driving need to find her had been swallowed by the overwhelming needs of others.

So many others.

Her gaze fell on the board detailing the bombing in the church basement. She read the names of the seven women who had died. Thought about the families they had left behind.

So much pain.

She drew a shallow breath—her ribs no longer seemed to want to expand enough for a deep one—and returned Joly’s hug. Then she stepped back.

“None of us deserves this,” she said. Her gaze met Michael’s over Joly’s shoulder. “None of us,” she repeated.

The Archangel’s features might have been carved of marble for all the reaction he displayed. Resentment sitting like bitter dust on her tongue, Alex looked back to Joly.

“I’m okay,” she told him. “Really. And we have bigger things to—”

A shout interrupted her, and she and Joly both turned to see Abrams waving everyone to silence. Those who remained in the office gathered around the television screen mounted to the wall in the corner. Alex and Joly followed as Abrams pointed the remote control at the screen, and the volume rose.

“—in what the Russian government is calling a nuclear missile test gone horribly wrong,” the grave newscaster said. “This footage from a Slavutych resident’s cell phone shows the dramatic mushroom cloud over the town built to accommodate survivors from the city of Pripyat after the Chernobyl disaster in 1986. The immediate death toll from today’s disaster is expected to be anywhere from fifteen to twenty thousand, virtually wiping out the town’s population, with long-term numbers even higher. Ukrainian government officials…”

The newscaster’s voice droned on, but her words were lost in the buzzing in Alex’s ears, the heat spreading through her body. Her lungs screamed for air, but she couldn’t expand them against the room crushing in on her. Hands settled on her shoulders, vise-like in their grip, warning against a struggle she couldn’t have summoned if her life depended on it. She stumbled in the direction they steered, away from the others, to the back of the office, where her supervisor waited. The hands dropped away.

“Breathe,” Roberts ordered.

Alex stared at him. At his haggard ace and shell-shocked eyes, at the determined rigidity of his shoulders. Tiny little lights swam across her vision. The hands settled on her shoulders again, softer this time. Gentler.

Michael.

Breathe
, his touch urged, echoing Roberts’s command.

She inhaled slowly, experimentally. Then, when she didn’t shatter, deeply. Air filled her lungs. The lights across her vision disappeared. And then fury slammed into her gut. She shrugged off Michael’s hands and met her supervisor’s grim, raw horror.

“Lang,” she bit out. “Boileau.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Yes. We do. That was no accident, Staff, and you know it. The government—
every
government—has lost its fucking collective mind.” She swallowed hard. Twenty thousand people. An entire city. Her entire being vibrated with horror.

“I warned Lang,” she said hoarsely. “I
told
him they couldn’t get at them.”

“Get at whom?” Michael intervened.

When Alex didn’t respond, Roberts sighed. “The—”

“Don’t bother,” she snarled. “He doesn’t care.”

“I never said I didn’t care, Alex. I said—”

“If I told you the Fallen had engineered that”—she pointed at the television—”what would you do?”

Michael’s expression turned stony. Despite the fact she’d expected the reaction, Alex’s heart did likewise. She fought off the heaviness threatening to settle again in her chest.

“That’s what I thought,” she said, her voice flat. “Say what you like, Michael. In my book, refusing to help is the same thing as not caring.”

She turned her back on him and glared at Roberts, furious at his passive acceptance, hating that his would be the attitude of so many. Too many.

Enough that the Langs and Boileaus of the world would continue pushing humanity to the brink of extinction.

“If that’s everything,
sir
,” she said. “I have a demonstration to attend.”

“Twenty-four hours, Jarvis,” he called after her. “Twenty-four hours and then you’re gone.”

“YOU’RE CLEAR ON WHAT
to do?” Samael asked the Cherub slouching against the wall. Razor-cut, bright blue hair made Zuriel’s agate-colored eyes seem paler than they were. She’d stand out more than he would have liked, but she had a reputation for efficiency.

Despite the posture and attitude that suggested otherwise.

Zuriel raised an eyebrow dyed to match her hair. “Follow Bethiel, find the Naphil, report back to you. I think I can handle it.”

“And?”

“Tell no one.”

“
And?
”

She rolled her eyes. “And don’t let Bethiel see me. Covert ops, Sam. I get it.”

Samael’s hand itched to reach out and slap the insolence from her demeanor. He’d seen a lot of that attitude from the troops in recent days. He knew how much dissatisfaction it masked, and it would quickly become outright insubordination if it wasn’t handled.

Seth had damned well better make good on his agreement to step up as leader.

And Zuriel had damned well better follow through on finding the Naphil.

The blue-haired Cherub exaggeratedly cleared her throat. “Am I done here?” she asked. “Or did you want to go over the details a fourth time?”

Samael gritted his teeth. He waved a dismissal, and Zuriel tugged open the door beside her and disappeared into the corridor.

Now
, he amended his thought. Seth had better step up
now
.

Seth watched the blue-haired Cherub emerge from the war chamber and close the door behind her. He studied her. He didn’t think he’d ever seen one with matching hair and wings. The effect was…interesting.

The Cherub strode down the corridor toward him, oblivious to his presence until he stepped from the shadows into her path. Her hand went swiftly to her sword. It was half-unsheathed before she stayed herself.

“Bloody Heaven,” she grumbled. “Jumping out of dark corners is a good way to get yourself killed.”

A corner of Seth’s mouth tipped upward. “I doubt that,” he said.

Pale, agate-colored eyes surveyed him from head to toe, then widened.

“Appointed.” She resheathed her sword. “I didn’t recognize you.”

One cost of keeping to himself.

Another cost was the complete lack of intimidation he read in her bold gaze. Samael may have had a point about Seth needing to make his presence known and take up the reins.

Seth inclined his head. “And you are?”

“Zuriel.”

He waited.

Zuriel looked away. “Your lordship,” she added in a mutter.

“A pleasure to meet you,” he said, his tone suggesting otherwise. Zuriel shot him another look, wariness entering her expression.

Better.

Seth folded his arms and leaned a shoulder against the stone pillar he’d stepped out from behind. “Tell me, Zuriel, why were you in visiting with Samael? Secret war plans?”

“You’d have to ask Sam—”

Seth’s hand shot out and gripped her chin, just hard enough to cut off her words and make her draw a quick, surprised breath.

“I’m not asking Sam,” he said. “I’m asking you. Because it doesn’t seem right to keep secrets from the ruler of Hell, does it?”

She stared at him, then dropped her gaze. “Of course not. I wasn’t thinking.”

Seth released his grip and patted her cheek. “Why don’t we start again? What were you talking with Samael about?”

The agate eyes flicked toward the massive oak door of the war chamber. “The angel who found the Naphil,” she said. “Bethiel. I’m to track him to the woman and then report back to Samael.”

The blood in Seth’s veins slowed to a trickle. It turned to ice. “Someone found the Naphil?”

Zuriel licked her lips and edged away. “One of those released from Limbo. Bethiel.”

“And why didn’t he bring her to me?”

“I don’t—” Zuriel squeaked as his hand gripped her chin again, not quite so gently this time. Her pupils dilated. “I don’t know! Samael didn’t tell me! I swear. He just said to track Bethiel and report back when I found the Naphil.”

Seth considered the possibility that the situation wasn’t as underhanded as it seemed. That Samael had been going to tell him all this himself. That his so-called aide’s intentions were good.

He wanted to believe that possibility.

But he didn’t.

Not when the Archangel had failed-on multiple occasions-to tell him Alex had been found.

Zuriel’s jawbone gave way beneath his grip. She squawked in pain. Seth closed his eyes for a long minute, then shoved her away. She sagged against the corridor wall, holding her face and glaring at him.

Seth stared back. “You’ll continue,” he said finally. “Do what Samael asks. But after you’ve reported to him, you come to me as well. And you tell me everything. What you found. What Samael does. Immediately. Understand?”

The Cherub hesitated. Seth narrowed his eyes. She nodded vigorously, wincing.

“Good. And Zuriel?”

A blue eyebrow twitched up.

“This secret you keep,” he said.

She nodded again, once, and then scurried down the corridor. When she’d vanished, Seth took a deep breath, mustered his growing willpower, and completed his journey to the war chamber. Samael looked up from the table as he entered, and Seth forced a tight, grim smile.

“So,” he said. “Why don’t you show me where we’re at?”

MIKA’EL WATCHED ALEX STAMP
her feet and tuck her gloved hands under her arms in an effort to warm them. Twice he’d offered to ease the discomfort of the cold for her; twice she’d refused. If he couldn’t help them all, she’d told him, she wasn’t interested. He hadn’t decided yet whether he admired her stubbornness or found it irritating in the extreme.

Her hostile gaze met his, and his jaw flexed.

He was leaning toward irritating.

Even if she did have reason to feel the way she did.

He looked out at the crowd spilling over from the frozen, snow-covered lawn onto the street beyond. Despite the biting wind, a good three thousand had gathered in front of their government buildings to demand answers. Answers to the pregnancy threat they hadn’t yet recognized as over, answers to the winged aliens caught on video, answers to eighty thousand missing babies.

Signs waved and bullhorn-equipped organizers led varying chants, and a line of riot police stood three deep between the crowd and the buildings, faces impassive behind helmets and shields. Alex and several dozen other plainclothes officers stood behind them, each wearing a bulletproof vest and a heavy parka emblazoned with a bright yellow
Police
across the back, each carrying a baton.