Rebel (25 page)

“Azazel can go fuck himself,” Cain growled, his attention on a sparring pair. “Keep your arm up, Gadrael,” he called out, then glanced back at Metatron. “Are you his message boy now?”

It was all too easy. “He said you were afraid of him. That you were looking for a way that you didn’t have to fight him.”

Cain had grown very still, all his attention on Metatron now. “He told you that?”

“No. I heard him talking to Raziel. The message he sent to you was ‘Get over it.’ ” He stepped back, waiting for the explosion.

At first he was disappointed in the result. Cain said nothing, slowly rolling up his sleeves to reveal surprisingly powerful arms. And then he caught sight of Cain’s face, and was satisfied.

“Did he really?” Cain inquired in a silken voice. “And do you have any idea where I might find him?”

“Haven’t seen him. He usually ends up on that ledge he likes, where he can watch over everyone.”

“You mean spy on everyone,” Cain said. “I have to leave,” he called out to the sparring partners he was supposed to be observing.

“What the hell?” Michael demanded. “This isn’t optional, Cain. We’re fighting a war.”

“It’s not my war,” he said shortly, and headed for the door. Metatron followed him, needing to be certain Cain had taken his elaborate and not-too-subtle bait.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

Cain turned and gave him a dulcet smile. “I’m going to find Azazel,” he murmured. “And I’m going to cut out his heart and eat it.”

I
ATE BREAKFAST
in my room, giving in to cowardice for the moment, and looked over my lists, trying to make sense of them. The more I stared at them, the more incomprehensible they seemed, and I closed my eyes, only for a moment.

I had trouble napping in the middle of the day—sleepless nights were bad enough. If I lay down to rest, it would make the insomnia even worse. But I could no more stop this than I could fly.

I dreamed—not of sensual lassitude, but of walls of flame and blood and death, until, at the end, I saw Azazel. Dead. I could hear Rachel’s wail, so strong that all the women in the universe wept, and I felt
the bleak impossibility of it, too real. Azazel was dead, murdered by a raging madman.

Cain, holding a knife, covered with the spray of Azazel’s lifeblood, a savage grin on his face.

I tore myself out of sleep with a hoarse gasp, sweating, shaking, sick to my stomach. This was no bad dream fed by the minutiae of my own life. It was a vision, and it was going to happen if I didn’t stop it.

I scrambled out of bed. I had no idea what time it was or how long I’d slept. I only knew I couldn’t be late for what looked like an execution. I grabbed the nearest thing I could find, one of Tory’s discarded dresses, and ran from my room.

I didn’t bother to stop at Cain’s. He wasn’t there. The likelihood of me being able to stop him was slim at best, and if he was truly a determined assassin, then I’d just be collateral damage. Which still didn’t explain why we’d had sex. Why he’d want to have anything to do with me.

Unless he thought he could manipulate my visions? Good luck with that. My visions defied control, predictability, even reality. They were neither one thing nor another, the gift of a satyr, cruel and useless most of the time.

But not this time. This time I had seen clearly, and I would stop it from happening—or die trying.

The ground floor was empty, and I headed straight out toward the beach. I hadn’t seen much
in the background of the vision, but in retrospect the misty blueness of the sky had arched above everything, and the blood had splattered over shrubs as Azazel’s body lay among the flowers. And Rachel kept screaming, the sound piercing, agonizing, ripping at me.

No.
It hadn’t happened yet, and I would stop it. If I had to kill Cain myself, it wasn’t going to happen.

The beach was deserted as well, and I looked at the soft swells longingly. The water healed the Fallen. If I could, I’d drag Cain into it and hold his head under; maybe whatever sick rage had prompted such a horrific act would be cured.

I started to run toward the cove, fool that I was, and as I moved I felt a shadow over my head. I looked up, squinting against the brightness of the sky, but I could see only a silhouette, one of the Fallen, wings spread wide.

I sped up, the sense of disaster rushing through me in sickening waves, searching the deserted landscape with desperation clawing at me. There was no sign of them, yet I couldn’t shake the terror that washed over me.

And then I saw them.

C
AIN LANDED ON
the ledge beside Azazel, touching down lightly and folding his wings into
nothingness. Azazel was perched on the edge in his favorite spot, watching the endless ocean, but Cain had no illusions that he’d taken him off guard.

“You’ve been a hard man to find,” he said lightly, dropping down beside the man he was going to kill. “Where have you been?”

Azazel kept his gaze fixed on the horizon. “I had things to do. Are you here to kill me?”

“Of course.”

Azazel nodded. “I always knew you’d be coming for me eventually. I wondered what took you so long.”

“Maybe I wanted you to sweat it.”

Azazel turned to look at him. “Do I look like I’m sweating?”

Cain felt the familiar murderous rage build inside him, and he pushed it down. He needed to be calm, rational. Uriel was coming, and he could put off his revenge no longer.

He gave Azazel a sour smile. “You don’t feel anything at all, do you? You stood by and watched as Tamarr was ripped to pieces, and not only did you do nothing to stop it, you didn’t even blink as she died in screaming agony. You felt nothing. You’re a cold, dead bastard, and my killing you won’t change a thing.”

“Then why do it?”

Cain’s left hand tightened around the knife. “Because you’re here.”

He brought the knife out, and it glittered in the sunlight as he surveyed it. Yes, it was a good choice. He’d always been talented with a knife, and he liked the intimacy of it. He wanted to feel each blow and think of Tamarr.

Tamarr, whom he couldn’t picture anymore. He’d lost her face first, more than a millennium ago. Then her voice. Then everything about her but the memory of his love. Love that he would never feel again.

Azazel was watching him, perfectly relaxed. “Will killing me make you feel better, Cain? Will it fill that black hole inside you? Because I don’t think so. I think you’re angry and confused and lost, and you’ve been thinking about revenge for so long it’s become automatic. And you’re wrong. I felt something when Uriel killed your wife, even if I didn’t show it. I was sick, and furious, and broken.”

“Then why didn’t you do anything to stop it?” he spat. “Why didn’t you say something, for God’s sake?”

“You idiot,” Azazel said in an almost genial voice. “We couldn’t. Uriel lined us up and then made it impossible for us to move, speak, or even react. We were silent sentinels to what he was doing, and it was meant to scare the shit out of us, keep us from ever making the same mistake. And if you doubt me, remember the bonds that held
you
. They weren’t physical, but they held you back, so you could only
watch and scream. We weren’t given the option of screaming.”

“I don’t believe you.” He gripped the knife more tightly. He’d cut Azazel’s throat first, then cut out his tongue—anything to stop his lies.

“You know it’s the truth,” Azazel said flatly. “You just don’t want to believe it. I know you’ve been planning something—you want to destroy all of us, the ones you blame for letting Tamarr die. But deep down you know it’s your own guilt you’re trying to assuage.”

“Thanks for the amateur psychology,” Cain snarled.

Azazel’s smile was cool and disdainful. “So, are you working with Uriel to bring us all down? If you’re going to kill me, there’s no harm in telling me.”

“Working with Uriel? What kind of idiot are you? You think I would go to all this trouble to cut your heart out when the man who actually murdered my wife gets away with it? No, Azazel. I’m going to teach the Fallen how to win against Uriel. Once you’re dead, I’m going to show them that their rules and their lives are based on nothing but lies, and when they accept that, they’ll have nothing left to lose. And that’s the only way to beat Uriel at his own game.”

Azazel looked at him. “Clearly you’ve been planning this for a long time.”

“I’ve had millennia.”

“And you don’t think the Fallen might mind if you butcher me?” Azazel seemed no more than vaguely curious.

“I’ll tell them you knew the truth about Sheol, and deliberately misled everyone.”

“And what exactly is the truth?”

“That there is no such thing as the blood bond. You kept that quiet so you could control things through the so-called Source, whoever had the misfortune to be your wife at the time. You knew we were invulnerable to fire, but you convinced everyone it was a deadly poison, one more thing to keep them under your thumb.”

Disbelief was clear on Azazel’s face. “And you’re telling me it’s not? I’ve watched members of the Fallen sicken and die from the mere touch of a flame. You’re crazy. Next you’ll be telling me the sea doesn’t heal us.”

“It does. The only reason fire kills the Fallen is because they believe it will. The same with blood. It’s a way to keep the Fallen faithful, keeping your tight little society under your control.”

“Interesting,” Azazel murmured. “You’re forgetting one salient point, however.”

“What’s that?”

“That they are no longer under my control. I gave them up, disappeared. Raziel now governs the Fallen.”

“He’s your stooge.”

Azazel laughed. “Don’t let him hear you say that. He’s easily annoyed, and he’s on edge, with the baby coming.”

“One more piece of proof that the rules are an illusion. All it took was a little of your wife’s brainwashing, and we suddenly have a miracle pregnancy.”

“ ‘We’?” Azazel echoed. “I didn’t think you still considered yourself part of the Fallen. I thought you wanted us all dead.”

“Only you, Azazel. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t trying to save them.”

Azazel nodded. He glanced down at the knife, shining in the sunshine. “I’m afraid I’m going to fight back. If you’d come for me before I found Rachel, I would have been an easy target.”

“Exactly,” Cain said, his voice cold and terrible. “You need to feel the loss the way I did.”

“Trust me, I have,” Azazel murmured. “Losing Sarah almost killed me.”

“Of course it did,” Cain scoffed. “And yet you managed to fall in love again, have your happy life once more.”

“You could as well, you know.” Azazel’s eyes showed no fear, none of the usual distance. There was something infuriatingly close to compassion in them. “You’ve spent millennia on a cold, empty quest for revenge, and trust me, you won’t feel any
better once you finish with me. No matter how many Nephilim I killed, I couldn’t bring Sarah back, and I couldn’t dull the ache within me.”

“More lessons, Azazel? Keep them. The blood bond doesn’t exist. Women are interchangeable.”

“Our Martha is a faceless fuck? Yes, I know you finally bedded her. I just don’t understand what took you so long.”

“Shut up.”

“She’s a weak point in all this, isn’t she? If what you say is true, if the mating bond doesn’t exist, if women are interchangeable, then it won’t matter that she’s down there on the beach, watching us.”

Cain jerked his head downward, and he could see her, a small, solitary figure, staring up at them. It was too far for a human to see clearly, but she would know anyway, and he could feel her panic, feel her inward scream at him, to stop what he was doing.

He ruthlessly shut off that voice, turning back to Azazel. “Do you really think a temporary fuck would make any difference to something I’ve planned for thousands of years?”

“No. But I think Martha would.”

“Wrong. Are we ready to do this, old man?”

“You’re older than I am.”

“Only in years. You were born a coldhearted ancient.”

“Perhaps.” He nodded. “You know I’m going to fight you.”

“I would expect no less. I even know you carry a knife, so you’re not unarmed. There’s nothing to stop us. If I die, so be it. But I won’t. You will.”

Azazel glanced down at the beach again, but Cain kept his gaze averted. He couldn’t allow a momentary weakness to distract him from justice.

“It’s possible,” Azazel said in a measured voice. “But I’m afraid you’re going to have to choose.”

Something was clawing at Cain, trying to break through the silence he’d imposed. A rough fear. He couldn’t afford to pay any attention, and he narrowed his eyes as he took in Azazel’s deceptively relaxed gaze, the knife tight in his hand. “Choose?”

“Between Martha and your revenge.”

“I told you, I don’t give a fuck what Martha thinks—”

“Martha won’t be thinking. Martha will be dead, unless you go after her.”

Unwillingly he turned his face back to the narrow stretch of beach, and everything inside him froze.

I
HADN’T EVEN FELT HIS APPROACH.
H
IS
feet were silent on the shifting sands, and I was so intent on the drama being played out on the ledge high above me that I didn’t notice the shift in wind, the scent of sweat, the malevolence on the air, until his heavy arms caught me from behind in a deathly embrace, one huge forearm across my throat, blocking off the air, the other around my waist, squeezing me.

I couldn’t cry out—my throat was being crushed, slowly but inexorably, as I was lifted off my feet, and I kicked backward in rage and desperation. My struggles meant nothing to the vicious giant behind me, the same man who had tried to smash my head against the rocks, the same powerful angel who felt nothing. Metatron.

I could feel consciousness fading, and with it, my
life. I tried to turn my head, some stupid, sentimental remnant of me wanting to look at Cain when I died, but the heavy arm around my throat kept my head motionless. Thick, cottony darkness was closing in around me, and my struggles were weakening even as I clawed at his arm in desperation.