Magic and alphas a roman.., p.16
Magic and Alphas: A Paranormal Romance Collection, page 16
With a heavy heart, Honor dematerialized to the Hereafter to beg until Gabriel freed her of this task. Honor loved Michael. Enough that she would give him up. Blinking back tears, Honor understood she could no longer Watch over her heart and soul. It was time to let him go.
Chapter 11
The Hereafter was as white as ever. No surprise.
“Honor Ward.”
“Mercy!” Honor startled and spun around. “Aaron.” Honor scowled as she gathered her scattered wits. “You frightened me.”
Aaron grinned, his perfect teeth matching the brilliant white backdrop. “Apologies, Honor. Are you here for rest?”
She shook her head and swallowed, dismayed when she couldn’t feel the lump that stuck in her throat. “No.” To her shame, her voice wobbled and her numb eyes welled with tears. Honor swiped at the corners with her fingertips to keep them from spilling over.
“Oh my. What is it, young one?” Aaron shushed her and gently led Honor by the elbow. She found herself in his office, lowered into the same white chair she used every time she’d visited.
“I-I...” Honor flicked her gaze to Aaron then dropped it back to her useless hands. “Mayhap it is possible I made a mistake. A grave one.” Honor’s lower lip trembled, and she pulled the numb flesh between her teeth to hide her weakness from Aaron. Undeterred by the lack of release, her body found another way to shed the overwhelming grief and with no way to stop them, the tears overflowed, trickling down her unfeeling cheeks.
“Now there, I highly doubt you have done anything so terrible it necessitates tears.” Aaron’s voice was soothing as was his kind demeanor. “Here.” Honor accepted the proffered handkerchief—white—and dabbed at her nose and cheeks, or somewhere about the proper area. She couldn’t be sure.
“S-sorry.”
“As I said, I require no apologies and I’m certain there is no need for concern. Tell me, what is it you believe to have done?”
Honor sniffed and gathered her courage. Inhaling deep, she started at the very beginning. At the appropriate times, Aaron nodded, such as when Honor spoke of intervening with Death—though Aaron already knew of that humiliating incident as it had been reported to Gabriel. Aaron gasped and clutched at his robes when Honor described the time at the infirmary, when Michael grabbed her wrist and confronted her. She continued on, leaving out nothing—how she Watched Michael each night, gathered the nerve to touch the male whilst he slept, the erratic flickering of her life force and its bizarre reactions to Michael, all the way up to this morning and the blinding pleasure that morphed into excruciating pain.
Aaron, bless the Fates, listened intently, not once interrupting. When Honor finished, she sagged, exhausted but renewed, relieved of the burden of holding everything inside. Sharing her troubles with Aaron lightened her heavy load, and she appreciated having an ally to help sort them out.
Eventually, Aaron responded to her confessions. “Well, that’s… quite an interesting set of circumstances.” Honor held her breath whilst Aaron peaked his fingers and tapped them together in front of his mouth. What felt like an eternity later, he finally spoke. “What worries me most is that the subject, the Protector, somehow knew you were present. This is the first time that I know of that it has happened. Angels cannot see or detect Watchers. Not unless the Watcher allows it.” Aaron studied Honor and she frowned, a bit ruffled that Aaron would think she would deceive him after spilling her guts so thoroughly.
“Not once did I permit Michael see me if that is what you’re insinuating. Besides, it wasn’t like that, exactly. He didn’t see me. It was almost as if…” Honor skimmed through every interaction with Michael in which she swore he sensed her presence. “It was as if he felt me. As if…” Honor crushed her lips together and shook her head. “It will sound as if I’m going mad.”
Aaron’s gaze softened. “You are not going mad, dearest Watcher. Prithee, divulge your thoughts. I give my oath not to think less of you.”
Honor scrutinized Aaron and found only sincerity reflected in his eyes. She lowered her gaze and took a deep breath for courage, then blurted out what she had yet to admit to another. “It was… somehow… as if Michael’s soul called unto mine, and mine unto his.”
Honor peeked at Aaron through her lashes to see if the immortal believed her insane. His face remained unchanged, as if Aaron were carefully holding his features in place to keep her from knowing what he thought, which was concerning, but Honor must continue else she’d never find the mettle to speak of this again. “My life force,” she placed her hand over her breast under which her lilac light shone bright. “It wanted him. To… to join with his.” Her cheeks burned and Honor lowered her gaze to her lap once more. Nervous, she smoothed her hands over the silky robes where they draped across her thighs, annoyed that she couldn’t feel the soft material. “In truth, you can tell me. I am descending into madness.”
“Not madness,” Aaron said. The awe in his voice made Honor lift her head to stare at Aaron. Aaron sat at his desk, palms flat on its surface, his mouth hanging open. “Not madness,” he repeated. Aaron suddenly shot to his feet, nearly tipping over his chair, and scurried around his desk toward Honor. Excitedly, he grabbed both of her hands in his. “We must go to Gabriel, posthaste.” Aaron kept hold of one of Honor’s hands and all but dragged her out of his office chambers.
“Why?” All sorts of horrific repercussions Gabriel could impose upon her for her failure, for her disregard for the rules, assaulted Honor’s overtaxed mind. “What is it? Am I to be… punished?”
Aaron abruptly stopped and his brows flew so high they disappeared under his hair. “Punished? There are no punishments in the Hereafter.”
Oops. Aye, in truth, Gabriel did mention that.
Honor pushed her concerns out of her mind and stood straight. If she were going to meet with Gabriel to ask he recuse her as Michael’s Watcher, Honor would do so with her head held high. “All right, then. Let’s go.”
A few minutes, and a winding trip through endless, identical white corridors later, they stood outside the Archangel’s chambers. As Aaron lifted his hand to knock, Honor gasped and stumbled back as intense power penetrated her core.
“What? What is wrong?” Aaron asked, abandoning the door to grip Honor’s shoulders. “Are you injured?”
Aaron’s gaze traveled up and down Honor’s body to seek out any injury.
“N-no. It’s… it’s my life force.” Indeed, the brilliant sphere nestled deep within her chest surged into a frenzy of activity. It grew and flared, lilac sparks shooting off the swirling core. Tendrils of light zapped and broke free to snake down her arms to her fingertips. Their sizzling energy pushed Honor forward, insisting she burst through the door to Gabriel’s chamber as whatever it—they—wanted lie on the other side. She flexed her fingers and shook out her hands, but the threads of crackling light remained. Honor met Aaron’s worried stare. “It’s happening again.”
Aaron squeaked and hurried to rap on Gabriel’s door. When the Archangel said, “Enter,” Aaron wasted no time grabbing Honor by the hand and yanking her over the threshold. Unlike the previous times Honor visited this room Aaron remained at her side.
“Gabriel,” Aaron began. “We have a prob—”
Honor cried out as her insides pulsed with an enormous surge of power from her malfunctioning life force. The impulse to reach out and touch, to run forward and collapse into a pair of strong, capable arms, was impossible to ignore. Honor stared across the room, and as if reading her mind, those very arms spread apart, wide and inviting, exposing the broad chest on which she longed to rest her cheek. At that moment, Honor realized there was no other choice to make. There never was. This was her Fate.
Honor released Aaron’s hand and bolted across the room to land directly in the comforting embrace of Michael Caelum, Archangel, Protector, warrior, immortal, and… the love of her life.
* * *
“Jack, I beg of you, help me get out from under my father’s tyranny. You are the only one I allowed to have knowledge of the full extent of my shame. You are the one who stood bravely by my side as I sank lower and lower into despair. Great Infernum, Jack, I’m so damn desperate here, I’m willing to accept banishment for myself if it is left as my only choice to be free!” Dante faced his best friend, his amicus, an immortal he’d known for most of his existence, and waited with bated breath for Jack’s response.
Without Jack’s pledge of support, Michael would refuse to join Dante and his cousins in the battle to banish the Daemon Kings. Fates, the wraith was the key to everything. Jack held Dante’s very existence in the palm of his hand, and though he was reluctant to admit it, Dante wasn’t wholly confident Jack cared enough about him to enter a war in which the wraith had no vested interest.
Wraiths are odd creatures, and very, very rare. In truth, Jack believed himself to be the only one remaining on the Earthly plane, though Dante thought it nonsense. There must be more even if their numbers are so few they thus far encountered no others. Michael and his Guard banished the rest of the wraiths centuries ago, and not without reason. To put it bluntly, wraiths are parasites. Having no solid Earthly form of their own, themselves being nothing more than thick, black smoke, wraiths must needs possess the body of a human to survive, and when they did, the human’s soul died. That was the angelen’s main point of contention with Jack’s kind, plus the fact that angels and saints feared wraiths, as they should. Wraiths are one of—if not the—the strongest, most powerful immortals in existence. Incidents of wraiths possessing immortals have been reported, but as there were never any witnesses to such events, immortals weren’t entirely certain what was truth and what was mere fable.
The angelen and sancten’s opinion—as well as most immortals from the Hereafter, the Earthly plane, and the Underworld—was to err on the side of caution. They agreed, the fewer wraiths on the Earthly plane, the better. No immortal wanted to take a chance should any of the frightening lore turn out to be true, lest they end up possessed. The resulting fear of the unknown meant wraiths were pretty much an island unto their own. Bigotry and hatred came at Jack from both sides of the immortal world. None of the three factions—immortals from the Hereafter, Underworld, and Practitioners of the Earthly Plane—trusted his kind. Dante befriending a wraith was an anomaly in itself, one none of his friends and cousins understood.
Jack popped the last bite of a biscuit dripping with honey into his mouth and Dante gave Jack an irritated glare. “Can you not go five bloody seconds without eating? My entire existence hangs in the balance here, Jack. I’d appreciate you take me seriously, if only this one time.”
Jack chewed and swallowed his biscuit, then brushed his hands together to rid himself of the sticky crumbs. “I take everything seriously, Dante.” The wicked grin that followed made Dante roll his eyes.
“You think life to be nothing but a game, Jack. Don’t attempt to manipulate me, it won’t work.”
“Hmph. In truth, you must needs relax. I remember a time when you were actually fun.” Jack placed his folded hands behind him to rest at the base of his spine. He began to pace, long-legged strides that devoured the length of the room quickly. Dante held his tongue. He knew whenever Jack paced the wraith was deep in thought.
As with the Archangels, Dante and his half-daemon cousins, stood at great heights, towering over most humans. Dante himself was somewhere around six and a half feet tall. Jack, who required taking a human host, complained endlessly of his woes in finding quality males to possess. Arrogant and proud—and in Dante’s opinion, not wanting to appear less powerful than either Dante and his tall and outrageously handsome cousins, or the enormous and equally beautiful Archangels—the wraith insisted upon possessing a human with not only an attractive exterior but an excess of height. Each human body Jack claimed, however, continued to age despite Jack’s occupation of the host. The aging process, combined with Jack’s outrageous narcissism, required the wraith to hunt down a new human once every decade or so to retain his youthful appearance. Dante had already witnessed Jack go through roughly nine humans since they met. In truth, he had no idea how old Jack was.
“Relax?” Dante muttered, annoyed by the unsolicited advice and impatient for Jack’s answer. His irritation grew and Dante spun on Jack to get up in the wraith’s face. “You try to relax when your choices are either banishment or an eternity of humiliation and pain!”
Jack’s lips curled back, exposing gleaming white teeth, teeth that could at any moment turn into razor sharp fangs. Well, Dante had fangs and claws as well, and considering how on edge he’d been of late, Dante would welcome the fight, if only as an outlet for his frustration and anger.
“You spend too much time with Pride if you think I don’t worry every. Single. Fucking. Day,” Jack snarled. The wraith moved closer, until their noses almost touched. “Don’t forget, amicus, the angelen and sancten would gladly see every last one of my kind banished. In truth, they have already banished more of my kind than any other on this forsaken plane!” Jack’s voice rose to a shout and Dante took a step back.
Deus, I should be bloody ashamed of myself. How could I forgot about the prejudice Jack faces every day?
“Apologies, amicus,” Dante said sincerely. “I am selfish to allow my own troubles to overshadow those of yours. You speak the truth. The wraith population has fallen to precarious numbers. I shall not make the same mistake again.” Dante waited until Jack met his gaze to continue. “Why don’t you allow me to reveal the details of my truce with Michael the Protector, before you decide whether to join us.” Dante smiled like the cat that got the cream. “I believe you, in particular, shall be most pleased with the arrangement.”
Jack squinted, eyes piercing, obviously deciding whether or not to listen to Dante’s deal with the enemy. But Dante knew Jack well. The wraith reveled in gossip and secrets. Jack knew just about everything about everyone—and fucked quite a large number of them as well—both human and immortal, in Eastlake Falls, save the Archangels who always seemed to know when a wraith was nearby and fled the area. In truth, Dante found Jack’s obsession with gossip a bit creepy, but there were times Jack’s snooping proved useful. A single tidbit of knowledge could sway someone in your favor when wielded properly. Mayhap Dante did not kill humans, but he was a daemon after all, and not above resorting to blackmail.
Eventually, Jack succumbed to his curiosity and nodded. “Tell me everything. Only then shall I determine if I am to be involved in this…” Jack scrunched his nose in distaste. “This quarrel of yours.”
Dante grinned. He had no doubt Jack would not only join, but do so eagerly and without hesitation when he heard what Michael was offering.
Fates, they were going to go against the Daemon Kings and win. For the first time in a very long time, Dante could see a future. One with something other than torment and humiliation.
* * *
Michael skipped exchanging the usual pleasantries with Gabriel’s assistant and manifested directly into his brother’s chambers. If Gabriel was so underhanded as to have Michael Watched without his knowledge, then the sneaky bastard could deal with Michael barging into his office unannounced. The very second Michael took form, his gaze zeroed in on his target and a furious Michael used his most intimidating, booming voice to address his brother.
“Gabriel!”
Seated behind an immense desk, Gabriel barely spared a glance for Michael before returning to his work, his expression almost… bored?
What the—?
Without lifting his head, Gabriel spoke. “How might I help you, brother?”
Gabriel’s uninterested tone combined with the immortal continuing to read over a stack of papers, not even gracing Michael with his full attention, was Gabriel’s second mistake—his first deceiving Michael by having him Watched. Already fuming, fingers itching for a fight, Michael ground his molars in an effort to control the impulse to strangle Gabriel. Michael was much broader of width and bulging with muscle and was cursed with a very quick temper, yet he knew Gabriel never feared for his safety in Michael’s presence. Most likely because the little shit knew full well that for as much as Michael postured and threatened, he would never actually lay a hand on Gabriel, at least not with intent to do true harm. A little pushing and shoving… well, as angry as he was, Michael wouldn’t rule that out.
Gabriel’s indifference in the face of Michael’s fury only served to agitate Michael further. Head throbbing, Michael took a deep breath before speaking.
“Care to explain your actions, brother?” Michael growled, barely able to contain his rage. He clenched his hands at his sides—resentment increasing at the bloody lack of feeling in his flexing limbs—and strove to think of a reason as to why leaping over the desk to throttle Gabriel would be unwise.
At Michael’s question, Gabriel finally lifted his head and deigned to give Michael his attention. When the corner of Gabriel’s mouth twitched in amusement, Michael stifled a growl.
“I’m quite certain you, of all immortals, understand that it is not I who decides who is to be Watched,” Gabriel replied, calm as could be.
It was that utter calmness which caused Michael to snap.
In two long strides, Michael’s thighs pressed against the front of Gabriel’s desk—not that he felt anything on this blasted immortal plane—and bent his entire torso across the top to tower over his brother.
“And I’m quite certain that you, of all immortals, understand that I am no commoner,” Michael threw back in Gabriel’s face. “How dare you Watch me? The entire concept is beyond ludicrous.” Michael put his palms flat on the desk to hover closer. “Watching an Archangel? Unheard of and insulting to mine own. For what purpose does it even serve?” Michael’s fury rose and he felt his temper reach a boiling point. Michael couldn’t feel his heart as it slammed against his ribs, but he did take note when his vision tinged red. Michael had never been this angry in all of his existence.
