Chapter 15
The scuff of boot against rock snagged Aramael’s attention. He looked down the mountainside to see Raphael emerge from a crevice. The Archangel’s dark skin was almost indistinguishable from the black armor he wore, making him little more than a massive shadow amid the many other shadows.
Albeit one with a sizable grudge.
Raphael paused and stared up. Aramael couldn’t see his eyes, but he felt his gaze—and the animosity behind it. He returned to his vigil, resting his right hand on the hilt of his sword. Raphael’s glowering looks over the last few days had made it clear their previous encounter hadn’t been forgotten. Frankly, Aramael was surprised it had taken him this long to get around to a confrontation.
The other Archangel crested the hill, the reflection of the distant flames of Hellfire dancing across his burnished face.
“News?” Aramael asked, careful to keep his voice even. Mika’el would be pissed in the extreme if two of Heaven’s protectors went at each other; Aramael had created quite enough conflict in the world without starting something else here now.
“You know that’s not why I’m here.” Raphael stopped a half dozen feet away.
Aramael’s fingers contracted on his sword’s pommel. He stared out across the barren wastelands and the band of Hellfire beyond, the last, thinning barrier between two armies sworn to fight to the death. If Lucifer ever got around to taking the first swing.
“I don’t suppose an apology will do any good, but in the interests of maintaining peace, I’m sorry I called you a bastard. As I remember, the circumstances were somewhat extenuating.”
If that’s what one wanted to call being ripped out of the human realm by force and handed over to the Seraph responsible for engineering his downfall.
Raphael shifted his stance, settling his feet more firmly into the sparse, arid soil. “I’ve been called worse, Power. That’s not why I’m here, either.”
Aramael raised a brow at the other Archangel’s use of his former designation. So that’s what this was about. “Issues with my promotion?” he inquired.
“Issues with your track record.”
“You think Mika’el made a mistake.”
“I think he has a lot on his mind and might not have thought this through as well as he should have. I think you’re more liability than asset.”
A flare along the fiery border drew their attention. Aramael stared in its direction, waiting. Brilliant yellow turned red, and the ripple of tension across his shoulders faded. If the flare had turned blue, it would have meant an attempted breach. But red was good.
He looked back at the other Archangel, who still stared across the wasteland. “Was there something else, or was that the only insult you wanted to deliver?”
“It wasn’t an insult. It was a statement of fact. You’re a liability, and I’ll be watching you. We have enough to worry about in this bloody war without having one of our own screw things up for us. One misstep, one hint that you’ve lost control . . .” Raphael made a snick sound as he drew a finger across his throat. “Am I clear?”
Seeming satisfied his message had been delivered, he started down the hill. Aramael held back a fuck you and waited until the other had taken several steps. Then he cleared his throat. Raphael slowed, stopped, and looked over his shoulder.
“The decision was Mika’el’s,” Aramael reminded him. He was all for keeping the peace, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t respond to whatever Raphael wanted to start. “The One sanctioned it. Like it or not, I’m one of you now, and—”
The other Archangel’s blade pressed against his throat before he could finish. Aramael froze, staring into the vicious golden eyes inches from his own.
“You are not one of us,” Raphael hissed. “We have passed through Hellfire itself, and we bear the scars on our souls to prove it. You might wear the armor and carry the sword of our kind, but you will never be one of us. Ever. Do you understand?”
Even if he’d wanted to nod assent, the finely honed metal nestled below Aramael’s jaw discouraged him from doing so. Wordlessly, he held Raphael’s glare until the Archangel sheathed his sword. Stalking down the hillside once more, Raphael flicked a last glower over his shoulder.
“Remember what I said, Power. I’m watching.”
Chapter 16
“All quiet?” Mika’el asked as he topped the rubble knoll where Aramael stood.
Aramael shrugged. He adjusted the armor chafing under his arms. “One flare-up that settled down,” he said. “And one visit from Raphael. The latter was by far more exciting.”
Mika’el settled a foot on a boulder and leaned forward, bracing his forearms across his armor-clad thigh. His lips quirked. “He’s a little gruff, but to coin a human phrase, his bark is worse than his bite.”
Aramael shot the Archangel a sidelong look, remembering the edge of steel against his throat. “I somehow doubt that.” He returned his attention to the distant strip of Hellfire. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“When you chose me to take Samael’s place among you, did you consult the others?”
“The decision was mine to make.” Mika’el’s words held no arrogance, only a statement of fact. “There was no need for consultation.”
“Did you know they would”—Aramael sought the right word—“object quite so strongly?”
“I figured you were a big enough boy to handle it. You aren’t the only one in Heaven to lose a brother to Lucifer’s allure, Aramael. Raphael would have had a difficult time with anyone replacing Samael. You just raised more issues for him than another might have. As for the others, they’re understandably protective of one of their own. Give them time. They’ll come around.”
Raphael—and Samael? Aramael turned his attention back to the band of Hellfire. He hadn’t expected that. A grudging sympathy edged out the memory of Raphael’s sword. His presence would have hauled a lot of unwanted memories back to the surface for the other Archangel—along with an accompanying sense of betrayal with which he himself was all too familiar.
“I don’t suppose you could have thought to mention this to me at the time,” he said.
“My job is to protect Heaven and the One, not your feelings.”
“Seems to me you’d do a better job of it if you weren’t pitting your own warriors against one another.”
Mika’el went silent for a moment. “No Archangel would turn against another,” he said finally, “but your point is taken. I’ll speak to Raphael.”
More silence. Aramael’s gaze narrowed on the other Archangel, who still stared into the distance. “You didn’t come here just to check up on me.”
“No.” With a heavy sigh, Mika’el straightened up. “No, I’m not here to check up on you. We’ve run into a complication. Samael is watching the woman.”
“The—” Aramael’s heart jolted. “You mean Alex?”
A scowl crossed the other’s features. “The Naphil, yes. We’ve no idea why he’s interested in her, but I think we can safely assume it’s not a good thing. We need someone to watch her.”
It took several seconds for Mika’el’s intent to sink in. Several more to force a swallow in a throat that had gone as dry as their surroundings. Of all the Archangel might have divulged, this would have been what Aramael least expected. Watching Alex on his own, in secret, had been one thing. He’d been careful not to let himself get too close. But what Mika’el suggested—watching her with Heaven’s permission? Its blessing? That was something entirely different.