The Demon and the Succubus (17 page)

“That’s exactly what I thought at first, but there are certain words and phrases they continually mistranslate.” Uriel opened the journal and pointed to a line that was written in perfect ancient Hebrew, unlike the surrounding text which was a mixture of Latin and old English.

Michael read it out loud, translating into English. “Beware the second of four, the destroyer of worlds, who carries both the blood of temptation and the blood of the angels . . .” His words trailed off and he picked up the journal to study the text.
“Ha-olinim?”

Uriel nodded, glad to see the concern on Michael’s dark features, which meant he understood the implications.

The term, which was used in certain ancient texts literally translated to “the upper ones,” or “the Ultimate ones,” and always referred to the Archangels. “For as much as you’ve said the Archangels won’t be involved in the final battles, there certainly is some evidence lately pointing to the contrary.”

Michael’s expression hardened, but other than that, he showed no further reaction. “This could just be a reference to Lucifer, who technically has Archangel blood.”

Uriel shook his head, impatience simmering at Michael’s direct deception. “You know as well as I do that the term ‘
Ha-olinim
’ wasn’t in use until well after the fall and has only ever referred to those of us who remained true to our Father’s purpose.”

Michael met Uriel’s gaze, but said nothing.

“Don’t tell me. This is another one of those things you can’t share with us.” It wasn’t a question.

Michael sighed but still managed to retain an air of unaffected calm. “Even I am surprised by certain events, but you know there are things which I can’t share and for good reason. Sometimes I would dearly love to share everything with you, my most trusted brothers and sisters, but He has decreed I cannot.”

“Decreed? As in actually forbade it?”

Michael’s calm gaze continued without a flicker, but he didn’t answer the question.

“Fine.” Uriel pushed to his feet and began to pace, unable to contain his frustration by sitting still. “You’ve made it clear where you stand on this, Michael. We’ll make due on our own without you.”

Michael stood and faced him. “I regret that I can’t be more forthcoming, but we have all given our word in certain areas, and I cannot go back on mine without endangering us all.”

Uriel stopped and stared at the odd wording of Michael’s comment. “In this matter? About Armageddon, you’ve given your word?”

Michael’s lips slowly curved into a slow smile. “It’s been good to see you again, my brother. We should not wait so long in between visits next time.”

Amalya woke to
soft whispered chanting.

She wanted to be irritated with whoever it was for waking her, but then she realized as the words trailed off that it had been her. Her throat was sore and dry, her lips chapped from what felt like hours of murmuring in her sleep.

She swallowed hard and then yawned and stretched as if she hadn’t moved in too long and she needed to work out her stiff muscles.

“Amalya?”

Relief and urgency was evident in Jethro’s voice and she turned her head to find him standing next to the bed watching her carefully as if she might break apart at any moment. He looked rumpled and tired with dark circles under his eyes and a weariness in the way he held himself. His beard had grown several days of stubble and his sandy blond hair stuck up in all directions as if he’d continually run his hands through it.

She smiled. “You look like hell.”

He gave a shaky laugh. “You’re looking a little rough around the edges yourself, but I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you open your eyes and look at me again.” He cocked his head to the side and studied her for a long moment. “Do you remember what you were whispering over and over?”

She shook her head, wincing when she found her neck stiff. “No. What was I saying?”

He smiled and waved her question away, his expression too guarded to reflect his true feelings. “There’s plenty of time for all of that. I’m just glad you’re back.”

She frowned up at him and rolled her shoulders tipping her head from side to side on the pillow to work out the kinks. Amalya had known Jethro for a long enough time to understand when he was deliberately avoiding a subject. She also knew from long experience that the best way to get him to discuss it was anything but attacking it head-on. “What did I miss?” Vague memories of swirling nightmares teased at the edges of her memory, but she couldn’t bring them into focus.

“How are you feeling?”

She frowned at his blatantly ignoring a question from her a second time but quickly took stock of herself in case there was something she hadn’t previously noticed.

All her fingers and toes moved when she flexed them and she wasn’t in any pain. Her muscles were a bit stiff, most likely from being in bed too long, but she was well rested, and other than the tendril of dread that still clung to her from the nightmares and her dry throat, she seemed well.

She pushed up in bed so she leaned against the headboard, only realizing when the cool air inside the room hit her bare breasts that she was naked.

Jethro glanced away giving her privacy as she pulled the comforter up under her arms to cover her breasts but not before the familiar scent of his arousal filled the room. He’d seen her naked before, but just as in the past, an awkward awareness blossomed between them that they both pretended didn’t exist.

“Would you like a robe?” He held up a pink terry-cloth robe that looked much too big for her and she shook her head.

“I’d like you to sit down, stop avoiding my gaze, and answer my questions.” When he didn’t move, she reached out and grabbed his hand, careful not to let the comforter fall and reveal her bare cleavage again.

He finally allowed himself to be pulled down to sit next to her on the bed. He sat stiffly and met her gaze, but his expression remained shielded.

“Jethro.” She forced a smile and traced her fingers gently over his thick stubble before she dropped her hand to the comforter and twined her fingers with his. “Tell me what happened.”

Jethro swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort before he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I thought I’d . . . we’d,” he corrected quickly, “lost you.”

Fuzzy images of pain floated just outside her consciousness and as she tried to bring them into focus, they scattered, leaving her with a slight throb behind her temples.

He watched her carefully. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

She concentrated and finally remembered falling asleep on the bottom step of the stairs. The explosive sex and the resulting fight with Levi came back with vivid clarity and her cheeks burned. She bit her lip as fast-moving images wavered in and out of her memory of pain, drowning, screaming, and . . . an office.

The last memory made her frown. How did an office fit into all of this? “Maybe you’d better start from how I made it back upstairs earlier and go from there.”

Jethro squeezed her hand and a sudden stab of ice pierced her stomach making her suddenly not want to hear anything he had to tell her. She placed their joined hands over her stomach, willing the uncomfortable sensation away and nodded for Jethro to continue.

He told her in quick, concise detail about her run-in with the demon, Raphael’s sudden appearance and healing, then ended with his own vigil by her bed for the past two days.

As he spoke, his words filled in gaps in her memory and brought the vague pictures from her nightmares to life, although none of it felt real, even now. Everything Jethro said felt more like something that had happened to someone else or that she’d watched on TV. But with each sentence, the stiffness in Jethro’s shoulders lessened, as if he released a heavy burden through telling her.

He kept his fingers joined with hers and several times throughout his narrative he touched her face or stroked the back of her hand, almost as if it helped prove to him that she was alive and well, and she wouldn’t disappear before his eyes.

When he finally finished he fell silent, and their gazes met as sexual tension sizzled between them like it never had before.

Surprise stole Amalya’s breath and her lips parted as she returned his gaze.

Jethro leaned forward, closing the distance between them, sliding his free hand behind her neck as he gently captured her lips with his. His warmth wrapped around her as he held her firmly against him, his mouth hovering over hers as they looked into each other’s eyes for the longest moment.

When he finally closed the slight distance between them, the kiss was sweet, a soft brush of his lips over hers. And again. Then he dipped his tongue inside her mouth and kissed her with gentle but firm expertise.

Amalya kissed him back, waiting for the first flush of passion that should come with such a joining.

His energy, even weaker than normal, thrummed against her in pleasant waves, slowly melting into her skin as it turned into energy.

As she noted the changes in her body that came with the added energy, Amalya couldn’t help comparing this kiss to the explosive awareness that had ignited her entire body every time Levi had kissed her.

After a long moment, Jethro pulled away and shook his head. “You’re thinking of him.”

It was a quiet accusation, and Amalya didn’t bother denying it or pretending she didn’t know who Jethro meant. Guilt flashed through her, and she wondered why she couldn’t respond to Jethro like she did to Levi. They’d been friends for a long time, and the transition from friend to lover would be comfortable and easy . . .

Her thoughts trailed off as she realized how dull that sounded compared with the alternative.

Jethro’s hands clenched into fists and he slowly stood. “I wonder if I’d done that years ago if it would’ve made any difference.” He looked down at her for a long moment. “I suppose not. You’ve known how I feel about you for a long time, Amalya, and you’ve always taken it for granted.” His words were more stiff and formal than Amalya had ever heard them and her heart ached at the hurt she saw in his blue eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered finally to his retreating form as he slowly left, closing the door behind him.

Gabriel
found Uriel sitting on his back porch, looking out at the waterfall but not really seeing it.

“Michael just left.” His flat words held the definite tension of so much left unsaid between them.

A flash of guilt made Gabriel wince, but she knew if Uriel had wanted to talk about Lilith, he would’ve said so. “Two visits in a week? Maybe the world really is coming to an end.”

Uriel laughed, but it sounded hollow. “I said something similar.” He held out a small journal, and curious, Gabriel stepped forward and took it. Other than the color, it looked just like the last one Uriel had found through a clue Noah the human had led him to.

“What should I be looking at?” She considered herself fairly well informed but dissecting poems, myths, and snippets of supernatural gossip wasn’t something she excelled at, or hoped to practice.

She held out the journal and Uriel opened it to a page near the middle and pointed to a section that was underlined.
“Ha-olinim?”
The words were out before the reaction of shock could hit. “None of us have offspring with a demon. We would’ve known about it as soon as conception occurred.”

“I agree. So why am I convinced that we’re missing something?”

“Have you asked Raphael?”

Uriel shook his head, a curt movement. “He’s shielding his location.”

Gabriel frowned as she reached out with her senses trying to locate Raphael herself. When only a vague buzz, which meant he was still alive, met her senses, she scowled. If he were hurt or in trouble, he wouldn’t mask his location, he would’ve reached out to them immediately. Which meant Uriel was correct, that for some reason, Raphael was shielding his location from them.

But why?

“No luck for you either.” It wasn’t a question, so Gabriel didn’t bother to answer it.

A troubled silence fell between them and Gabriel wondered if she should bring up Lilith. She didn’t like having tension between her and Uriel. The fact that he’d asked her to continue to provide sustenance to Lilith in his stead did little to alleviate her sense of guilt and obligation. “She misses you, you know.”

Uriel’s jaw tightened, but otherwise, he showed no reaction. “She knows where to find me if she needs to speak with me.”

When Gabriel took a breath to try again, Uriel cut her off with a pointed glance. “There are larger things at stake here. Let me know when you hear from Raphael. I’m hoping he has insight into the half demon, half angel mentioned in the prophecy.”

She nodded, staying put when Uriel rose and walked back into the house, closing the door behind him.