Death's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels (33 page)

Michael’s eyes glowed a bright, fierce blue. And so did his attacker’s.

Well, there’s the supernatural vividness they’d been missing before
, Sophie thought. She wondered what the hell the man was.

And then he gained the upper hand, slamming Michael’s body back against one of the marble walls. He smiled, exposing two rows of nothing but sharp teeth and a tongue that whisked out like a snake’s sniffing at the air.

Sophie felt her eyes widen.
What the hell?

She turned back to the blurring bodies that were Azrael and his own opponents. Both the leather-jacket-clad man and Abraxos were struggling with him. She still couldn’t make heads or tails of what they were doing; Az simply moved too fast for her to follow. But the figures in black slammed into one wall after another, and at one point, they struck the same already weakened support column, sending more shards of marble and sand to the floor.

Across the room, John Smith stood as still and calm as ever, his blue gaze resting steadily on Sophie. It gave her pause. She straightened, folding her wings in behind her.

Can you hear me?
She sent the call out through her mind.

Across the room, Smith nodded coolly.

Sophie took a shaky breath.
Why are you still here? What do you want?
Why hadn’t Smith left with his employer?

Someone has to remain behind to make certain that the job is done,
he told her easily.

A hard chill raced up Sophie’s spine and down her arms. She had a very distinct feeling that John Smith himself never took part in any of the killing that went on under his employer’s rule. So, he had stayed behind as no more than an informant. He would observe, see that either Azrael or Sophie was killed—or both—and then return to report to his employer.

It was a cold and creepy thing to realize. It was apathy at its finest.

Sophie jumped back and gave a short cry of surprise when a heavy body hit the ground in front of her. Her wings ruffled behind her, her hand over her mouth as she looked closely enough to see that it was the man with the emerald-encrusted leather jacket. His throat was torn open.

Up above, two black-clad bodies still whirled in restless motion: Abraxos and Azrael. Sophie’s stomach did a flip-flop of both worry and hope. She looked over at where Michael struggled with his own attacker to find that the Warrior Archangel had, against all odds, gained the upper hand. She watched as he delivered a series of incredibly hard punches to his opponent, and then a kick to the chest that sent the man flying across the room to land half in and half out of one of the eight windows.

As his upper body breached the barrier, the window’s magic sizzled and flashed, and then went out. The man lay still, obviously either unconscious or dead. At once, a hard chill began to seep into the room, let in by the destruction of the magical shield that had been keeping it at bay.

Beyond the white horizon, the sun’s first rays finally crept over the mountains, setting the land awash in a diamond shimmer of light. Sophie was struck with the beauty—and a nagging sense that she was forgetting something important—but was torn from the image by the roar of pain that suddenly sounded above her.

She looked up as Abraxos shoved himself off one end of the dome ceiling above. A beam of sunlight lit up that side of the room, causing the embedded minerals in the marble to glitter like pixie dust. Sophie blinked as she watched him move, now slower than before. He left a trail of smoke as he once more lunged for Azrael, who was still hovering at the darker end of the room as if held there by invisible wires.

Azrael was ready for him. The two strong bodies slammed into each other, spun, and Az once more had him on the defensive. For a moment, their movements again became impossible to track, but she heard the hard thud of flesh on flesh, and then a growl of anger.

It wasn’t Azrael’s anger; his voice was so distinctive, she would recognize it in any form, at any time. A few more seconds passed, and the two separated, this time as Abraxos went falling toward the ground.

Sophie watched him hit the marble floor, bounce and roll, and land with the left side of his body in another beam of light. At once, he was hissing and pulling away from the damaging ray of sun.

He came to his feet with fluid grace, like a moving body of water—and then turned and pinned Sophie with glowing blue eyes that flickered like fire in their centers. A hard beat passed between them. The room seemed to have frozen.

And then Sophie was thinking fast and stepping into the beam of light that lit up the space beside her. The sun washed over her, drenching her in its protective warmth.

It was hard to see through that light, but she retained enough of her vision to watch as Azrael gracefully lowered himself to the floor several feet from Abraxos, his gaze steadily on his enemy. Abraxos looked from Sophie to Az to the rising sun beyond the windows.

The silence stretched.

And then finally, Abraxos turned to look at John Smith. Another telling beat passed between them—and Smith nodded.

With that, the enigmatic assistant raised his right hand, revealing on its palm a black dandelion-like star exactly like the one Sophie had possessed on her own hand only hours before. The darkness spread, warped, and before Sophie’s eyes, a cord of black magic passed between Smith and Abraxos, growing to envelop them both. Within seconds, they had disappeared into the wrapping cocoons of darkness. Then the darkness itself shrank until its final tendrils of black writhed like the tails of a whip and went out altogether.

Abraxos and Smith were gone.

Chapter Thirty-six

T
he octagonal marble room was filled with an odd silence. The only sounds were the hard breathing of both Michael and Azrael and the morning wind that whistled through the broken magical window.

Azrael stood frozen to the spot, his wide-eyed gaze glued to Sophie where she stood in the ray of sunshine coming through the window.

She was the most astonishingly beautiful thing he had ever beheld. No painting could have done her justice. Her golden hair shimmered beneath the touch of the morning star, her wings glowed with a soft light, fittingly angelic. Her tall, lithe form stood poised and perfect, and her eyes . . . they settled upon him, open and honest and innocent, and they took his breath away.

The windows all around the oddly shaped room were letting light in now. Dangerous beams began to slide in from all directions, lighting up the dust motes in the air. On the windowpane, the sapphires of the blue dragon’s jacket reflected the light a million different ways, refracting blue-tinted rainbows like prisms. On the floor, the emeralds of the green dragon’s jacket did the same. Little by little, the room was filling with different forms of brightness.

There were no shadows here. There was no escape outside the windows; day had broken. There were no doors through which to call up a portal.

Azrael stood at the center of it all, his tall form monopolizing all that was left of the darkness. He knew it wouldn’t last. And if he had to die, there was something he wanted to be doing when it happened.

“Sophie,” he breathed.

Against one wall, Michael straightened. Azrael could feel his brother watching him, but would not meet his gaze. Nothing could make him take his eyes off of his archess in that moment.

Across the brightening expanse between them, Sophie came toward him. She glanced at the windows and the small circle of darkness within which he stood, and full comprehension darkened her lovely features.

She passed from sunbeam to sunbeam, and as she did, he caught the shimmer of the single tear on her right cheek.

And then she was in his arms, and Azrael was closing his eyes. She was warm—
so warm
. The sun had heated her body, infused her skin with life. He felt its glow beneath his touch, basked in the waves of sunshine her closeness transferred to him. His hand brushed tenderly, slowly, along her hair to the tops of her glorious wings.

“So soft,” he murmured, his heart aching uncontrollably. “So warm.”

“Az,” came a male voice from far away. Azrael ignored it. He barely heard it. Sophie was his dream come true; he could feel the sun in her hair, on the down of her satiny feathers. For thousands of years, he had yearned for this. He’d longed for it with every fiber of his being. It was a madness of a dream, so clear and pure, so unattainable—until now. It was a dream worth dying for.

“Az.” The voice again. His subconscious vaguely recognized it as Michael. Again, he ignored it.

Sophie shuddered in his arms, a sob wracking her entire body. Azrael leaned over, his eyes still closed, and placed a kiss upon her head.
Sunshine
, he thought, concentrating hard to make certain she heard it.
My sunshine
.

She was so warm. It was as if she were wrapped in the sun. It was radiating off her now, enveloping him in its heat. In fact, it felt nearly
too
warm, almost hot.

A thrum of terrible warning rushed through him. It hurt. Deep down inside, it hurt almost as much as he knew dying would.

No
, he thought desperately. It was happening already. The sun must have found him. It would kill him now. He would burn beneath its deadly rays, and if he didn’t let Sophie go, he would wind up hurting her in the process.

His hands automatically clutched at her tighter. He would have given anything in that moment to be able to hold her while he lost his life. But it wasn’t meant to be. And he loved her too much.

With the first tears he had ever shed leaving his eyes and streaming down his cheeks, Azrael, the Angel of Death, slowly pulled away from his archess and let her go.

“Az!” Sophie cried. Tears strained her voice, but her breathless tone was one of stark shock.

Azrael’s eyes flew open at the sound. He looked down at her, the sun glinting off her wet cheeks and the honey in her eyes, the edges of her wings glowing as if they were lit from within, and once again he lost his breath.

But then he noticed that she was looking at him in the same way.

“Az, the
sun . . .
” Sophie breathed, her gaze skirting from his neck to his shoulders and to what he could only imagine were the massive black and gold wings at his back. He looked down at the places her eyes had touched him.

The sun was touching him as well.

Azrael blinked. His chest froze in mid-breath, his eyes widened. The sun had completely taken over the white marble room; not a space of the chamber remained in darkness, including the very spot in which he stood.

Bright yellow-white light wrapped around him, showing him the black of his clothing in a way he’d nearly forgotten it could appear. He turned his hands over and watched in mute fascination as sunbeams illuminated the tiny, thin hairs on the backs of his hands and the undersides of his short fingernails. He watched as it radiated off the multiple jackets he wore and touched lovingly upon the exposed skin of his throat.

And face.

“It isn’t hurting you,” Sophie said, her entire body radiating the awe that she expressed with her words. She reached out and took his hands in hers, turning them over herself in fascination. She then dropped his hands and ran her fingers over his chest, then cupped his neck. She leaned into him, running her fingertips through the raven locks of his hair. He could feel the sun’s warmth there as well, and he imagined that she did too. The size of her eyes said it all.

“Az . . . How?” she asked.

It took a moment for Azrael to find his breath. And then another for him to find the voice that went with it. He couldn’t believe what he was feeling . . . what he was seeing. A part of him wondered if he’d actually died there in that room and this was some sort of reward left for him by the Old Man. The sun, the warmth, Sophie’s fingers running through his hair . . .

But the rest of him knew it was real. And that he was very much alive.

“
You
, Sophie,” he whispered, shaking his head in wonder. At the moment, it was all he could manage. “It’s because of
you
.”

He was moving then, cupping her face with his hands and pulling her in for a kiss. Her lips were as soft as the rest of her, warm and yielding and sweet with the taste of promise. Azrael parted them and she melted beneath him, curling into him with abandon. All around him, the sun’s heat caressed and welcomed. His heart hammered as if it would break free of his chest and fly with wings of its own.

He was happy.

For the first time in his life, he was happy.

Slowly, Sophie broke their kiss and pulled away. Her smile beamed up at him as brightly as the rays of the sun touching it, and as Azrael gazed down at her, he realized that he was smiling just as brightly.

Movement to his right drew his attention to his brother, who stood several feet away. Michael’s cheeks were wet, and when Az tried to meet his gaze, the Warrior Archangel smiled an embarrassed, lopsided smile and briefly looked away to dry his tears on his sleeve.

“Welcome back, man,” he said softly.

And then Michael laughed, and Azrael couldn’t help but join him.

* * *

They took the dragons’ jackets with them when they left the strange marble chamber in the glaciers of the Arctic. It wasn’t as if the archangels needed the gems; it was that the jackets were the dragons’ hoards, and they were irreplaceable in that respect.

They returned to the mansion, much to the vast relief of everyone inside. When Max, Gabriel, and Uriel saw Azrael step through the bright, sunlit foyer rather than returning to his chamber belowground, they were understandably stunned into silence.

The celebratory tears and hugs soon followed.

Juliette made a big deal about Sophie’s wings, and Sophie could only grin with glee. Eleanore laughed good-naturedly when Sophie accidentally knocked one of the side tables over with them. Both archesses assured her that they took some getting used to and that they’d be happy to help her learn to control them.

That Sophie had turned out to be an archess was mind-blowing enough for her. That she would be able to remain with her best friend and join what she was fast beginning to think of as her family was more good fortune than she felt she deserved.

You deserve it, Sunshine
. Az’s voice caressed her mind. She looked up at him, as always caught in the pull of his beauty.
You earned it.

There were important things to discuss and the threat of danger was by no means eliminated, but at Gabriel’s brogue-thickened insistence, drinks were passed around and welcome toasts were made. No one minded. The “archangel family,” as Sophie had secretly named them, was worn out, both emotionally and physically. They’d come up against so much in the last few months. So much had happened—so very much had changed. Everyone welcomed the brief respite that their togetherness and a few good beers could bring.

As the hours wore on, the subject of conversation returned to the dangers of what had transpired over the last few days, from the accident on the bridge to the phantoms, dragons, and wraiths to the fact that Az had signed a contract with Samael to the enigmatic Gregori and his dandelion-star eyes.

It was all taken in stride.

Sophie was told by the archangel brothers that they were very lucky neither of the dragons in Gregori’s marble room had changed into their true forms during the fights, or Az and Michael might not have gained the upper hand. When she asked why they hadn’t done so, Az and Michael smiled.

“Not enough room,” Michael told her. Apparently, a dragon’s true size was immense, and the dragons would have been squished inside the marble cage of Gregori’s magical chamber.

This, however, made Sophie wonder why Gregori would post dragons there with him rather than phantoms or wraiths or any of the other supernatural baddies that the archangels had come across. When she mentioned it, Max admitted that he had been wondering the same.

“Perhaps he meant to let you go,” he ventured carefully.

Sophie considered that. “That makes sense, actually,” she said. When Max asked her to explain, she told them about her brief conversation with Gregori, about his lost love, his need for vengeance and, eventually, his willingness to forgive Azrael—but not the Old Man. She told them about what Gregori had called the “Culmination,” and how he was certain the Old Man was no longer in the angel realm. And finally, she told them about the Old Man’s archess.

A long, pregnant silence followed this news. Everyone looked at one another, their eyes wide, their faces somewhat pale.

“The Old Man has an archess of his own?” asked Eleanore softly.

“A
fifth
archess?” echoed Juliette.

Another silence followed until finally Gabriel sighed heavily, blew a bit of a raspberry, and downed half of his beer. “This is bloody confusing.”

Juliette patted him on his well-muscled thigh, and he gave her a wink.

Max seemed to mull over everything quietly.

Michael spoke up. “Sophie’s right about Gregori. I think he wanted us to win. Those dragons were not even close to the toughest they had to offer.”

Sophie’s brow rose.
They weren’t?

There is always another who is stronger
, said Azrael, again speaking in her mind.
But these were strong enough. And Michael is angry with himself for not finishing his opponent faster.

“Even the black dragons were weak compared to most of their kind,” Michael admitted. “It shouldn’t have taken us so long to defeat them.” His words confirmed what Azrael had just told Sophie. He was pissed at himself.

“In the shadows, they surprised us,” said Azrael. There was nothing Michael could have done against an attack of that nature. “And when you faced the green dragon, you were severely injured.”

Sophie looked at him and then at Michael. Two of the most powerful men on Earth had nearly been taken out in that marble chamber. Michael had been beat to shit by the time he’d arrived in the white room: Michael was the W
arrior
Archangel, and yet he’d barely won. These dragons were scary.

“I thought you were near death when you arrived,” she said out loud, talking to Michael now. He turned his sapphire eyes on her and cocked his head slightly to one side, giving her his full attention. “But you defeated the dragon anyway.” She was impressed. There was a strength to Michael that she was pretty sure she normally missed because she was too busy being impressed by Azrael.

There was a soft chuckle in her mind, and a shiver rushed down her spine. She glanced at Az, caught his smile, and then went on before he could deter her further.

“Most of the time, tough guys play
up
their opponents after a fight,” she told Michael. “But not you. You almost get your ass handed to you and then admit that you were fighting a wimp to boot.” She smiled and Michael threw back his head and laughed.

Sophie knew now that Azrael had taken Michael’s blood in order to heal him. Michael had gone into the fight already weakened from all the people he’d had to heal over the last few days and from the poison the blue dragon had injected into him. That he had been able to fight at all was proof that he lived up to his reputation as the warrior among archangels.

She also knew that because Az had signed a contract with Samael, the Fallen One’s magic had something to do with the fact that Michael’s healing powers had yet to return to him.

Sophie looked at Michael now, took in the darkness beneath his blue eyes, and the somewhat tired bent to his tall, strong frame, and she knew in her heart that Michael had mixed feelings about this. The man didn’t trust Samael at all and he was clearly disappointed that Az had made a deal with the Fallen One. But he was trying hard not to judge. After all, he probably would have done the same thing in the same situation. Honor was one thing, but nothing was more important than family, and archesses were family. He also knew that if Az hadn’t taken his blood and healing power, and turned around and used it on him, he would be dead right now. That made it a hell of a lot easier to forgive Az.