Days of New: The Complete Collection (Serials 1-5) (47 page)

“We had to fix Camille.”

“It sounded like you were killing her!”

“It probably felt like that to her,” Zarachiel said. And likely to Clark, he thought, but he didn’t say it out loud. He felt tarnished and horrible. He sank onto the bed next to Grace, the mattress sagging beneath his weary weight. Grace shifted so she could look up at him, but he didn’t meet her gaze. Instead, he stared at his hands and wondered what he’d just helped Clark do. Never once had he doubted his best friend’s decisions until tonight.

“So she’s isn’t going to die?” Grace asked. She took his hands in hers, her fingers rubbing across his palms. Zarachiel didn’t fight her touch.

“Not tonight.”

“What happened with the Loyalists?”

In all the commotion with Camille, Zarachiel hadn’t even thought to update Grace. It was callous and unthinking, and he hated himself for it. He turned his attention on her and said, “They were gone. You remember the compound we talked about taking you to? The Loyalists attacked it. And we missed them. But it looked like they would be returning to the bar, so hopefully we can get them before they leave again.”

“How many people died?”

“I don’t know. Michaela is over there now, but she’s going to come back soon and let us know. Clark’s mother was there.”

“Oh, no. That’s awful.”

“Did they ever talk about attacking a compound?” Zarachiel asked. He still didn’t know how they’d missed that until it was too late. Another thing he couldn’t save. He shook his head in frustration. “Or the Descendants of Enoch?”

“Not that I heard. I mean, they were always spewing bad things about the angels, but I never heard anything about a compound in particular. But Z…” She trailed off, her eyes searching his. “I was out of it then. I was just doing whatever I had to so that I could survive. I was numb all the time. I might have missed something.”

Zarachiel wrapped his arm around her and pulled her against his side. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

“I could have done more.”

“No,” he whispered. “You did enough. You survived. That is what’s important.”

“Thank you for being so kind to me.” Her hand swept across his chest and hooked around his neck. He felt every inch of her pressed against him, and he wanted to push her away. She only acted this way because she thought she had to in order to survive in this world. His conversation earlier with Clark had confirmed that. But he was too weak to stop her tonight. He’d already done so much wrong that this didn’t feel so bad anymore. If she really wanted him and he wanted her, was it so wrong? Couldn’t he allow himself a small moment were he let someone love him?

“I’m sorry I didn’t kill them all. I promise you that I’ll make them pay for what they put you through.”

Grace climbed into his lap, her legs straddling him. She nuzzled her face against his neck and the scruff along his jaw, trailing her lips up to the spot behind his ear. His blood began to thrum, his body practically vibrating. “I know you will,” she whispered, bringing her lips back to his.

He put his hands on her hips and rocked them so that she rubbed against his growing erection. He groaned as she picked up the speed on her own, her breasts skimming across his chest. “I’ll kill them all for you,” he vowed against her lips, their breaths filling each other’s mouths.

He repeated the words as she kissed his neck, thinking that if he kept saying them, he would eventually justify being with Grace. If he could save her, could fix all her problems, then it didn’t make this so bad, right? Maybe this was just another way of saving her, like he was proving to her that she didn’t need to provide sex for protection. Because hadn’t he already proved he would keep her safe without it? His thoughts muddled as she licked the skin behind his ear.

He told himself to stop, but he couldn’t; he’d already justified it. She moaned and moved her nibbling kisses back to his jaw.

He swept his hands up her ribcage, fingering the bottom swell of her breasts. She liked his forwardness tonight, urging him on with little sounds of pleasure. Telling himself it was okay, he cupped her breasts, feeling their slight weight in his hands and fingering her nipples until she bucked against his crotch. He wasn’t going to be able to stop. They’d gone too far, and he’d been too bad tonight. He was going to taint his soul and hers because he was weak. Even the pain flashing along his spine as he lowered himself onto the bed, pulling Grace down on top of him, didn’t remind him of his purpose.

For the night, he was going to forget the angel he’d been.

Grace kept up her rhythm when they were horizontal. His heart only beat when she rocked against him; his blood only moved when her tongue was in his mouth. She leaned back and pulled her shirt over her head, revealing her gorgeous body. He should have felt ashamed, but he reveled in it. He touched every inch of her, claiming her like she was his to take.

Tonight she was. Tonight he would take her any way he could get her.

He twisted their bodies so she tumbled off him, breasts bouncing as she hit the bed. He reared up over her, quickly undoing his pants and kicking them down toward his ankles before he positioned himself inside her legs again. He was ready to take her, everything inside him screamed for him to do it. But he paused and stared down at her face.

She looked up at him with her mouth agape and eyes wide with some frenzied emotion Zarachiel couldn’t place. A pink blush rose high on her cheeks, her breathing coming in shallow gasps. She arched up to him, urging him on with her rocking hips. Her hands skimmed along his back, finding all his flaws and defects and touching him anyway.

But he was hesitating. If he did this, could he ever go back? The thought haunted him. He didn’t know if he even wanted to go back. Go back to what? Heaven wasn’t his home anymore. He was where he was supposed to be. Would he deny himself any pleasure? He wanted Grace. His desire was a sensation that itched along his skin, burned at the edges of his nerves. He felt it like a deep rumble in his body, like he’d been set to a different frequency. Everything fell away, and, in that moment, the only thing in his sparse existence was her.

He’d never had anything just for him before. Even Uriel had left him. Even Heaven. Even all that he thought he ever was.

His
.

That thought alone drove him to the brink, and when they came together, he found peace in the pleasure.

Chapter Five

“T
hey’re gone,” Clark said.

Zarachiel was so focused that he didn’t even bother responding; it was obvious: the Loyalists were long gone. But he was careful, checking for traps or stragglers. He kept his body in front of Clark’s as he moved forward. His footsteps creaked over the old hardwood, the smell of spilled beer and whiskey stinging his nose and eyes. Glass crunched underfoot; the silence was almost another person in the dark wood-paneled room. The morning sun came streaming through the dirtied front windows. Zarachiel stopped in the middle of the bar and turned to look back at Clark.

“No one’s here,” Zarachiel said.

“How did we miss them
again
?” Clark kicked over a barstool. His frustration with the Loyalists, Camille, and everything else was evident on his face. He’d lost weight; he seemed to have no intention of dying his brassy blond hair back to his signature pink. The sky blue of his eyes was overshadowed by the bloodshot redness. He looked exhausted and crushed down to a fine powder beneath the heavy heel of fate.

Zarachiel understood the feeling, which is why he recognized it so easily on Clark. After last night with Grace, the weight of guilt and regret weighed heavily on him. He felt sullied and dirty. He shifted his shoulders almost continuously, grinding the twisted bones until he tasted blood in the back of his mouth. Eventually, the pain would remind him of his duty.

“They’re moving fast,” Zarachiel said.

“We should have been here!” Clark threw an empty bottle against the wall. The shattering glass sounded like a rainstorm on the wooden floor. Zarachiel watched his friend fall apart and felt completely useless to stop it.

“We’re being pulled in too many directions to keep everyone safe,” Zarachiel said quietly.

Clark pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes like he was trying to wake up from a bad dream. “Where the hell is Michaela? We need to know what happened at the compound.”

“I’m sure your mom is okay. She’s smart.”

“I shouldn’t have left her there. I should’ve…maybe if I…”

“This isn’t on you, Clark. You don’t need to carry this one.”

Clark looked up at the ceiling like the answers were written up there. “There’s just too much shit going on, man. Lucifer and Maya. Grace and the Loyalists. The compound and Mom.” Clark took a deep breath and whispered, “
Camille
.”

“Sometimes I think peacetime is worse than the war. At least then we had a clear enemy. A clear goal.”

Clark laughed, the sound not even coming close to his normal humor. It worried Zarachiel. He couldn’t remember the last time his friend had made a joke, had truly laughed, had done anything but frown and worry. “Is it crazy that I actually miss the war? That was easy compared to this.”

“It’s not crazy,” Zarachiel said, but Clark looked like he didn’t agree. There didn’t seem to be much else to say, and Z felt Clark slipping further away, so he clapped his hands loudly and said, “Let’s search this place. Maybe these guys left something behind that will help us out.”

“I’m not gonna hold my breath.”

They took their time going through the bar, searching the bathrooms and storerooms. Clark even combed through the bar itself, while Zarachiel looked around upstairs. There wasn’t much besides used condoms and beer cans. If there had been cots and blankets, the Loyalists had packed it all up with them. Zarachiel even checked out the neighboring buildings, but found even less over there. They were outside, pawing through the garbage, when Michaela showed up.

Zarachiel smelled her in the air before she appeared, but he took it as another bad sign that Clark didn’t even jump in surprise when she suddenly poofed into existence right beside them. She crinkled her nose and stepped back from the garbage. “They’ve moved?”

Zarachiel closed the dumpster lid and wiped his hands on his jeans. He smelled horrible. “A few hours before we got here. They cleaned the place out, left nothing behind.”

“What about Mom?” Clark demanded.

“She’s fine,” Michaela said quickly. “The Nephilim and the Descendants were mostly uninjured.”

“Then why did you sense so many deaths?” Clark asked. He rubbed his eyes again.

Michaela paused. “A Loyalist drove a truck full of C4 right into the front lawn. Suicide bombing.”

“But the refugees…”

“Were outside on the front lawn again since the compound was so damaged during Lucifer’s attack.”

“Shit,” Zarachiel whispered. He raked a hand through his short hair, rolling his shoulders as he did.

“How many died?” Clark asked, his voice hushed.

Michaela didn’t answer, but Zarachiel knew from the haunted look in her eyes that it had been a lot, if not all, of them. She looked worn down from ferrying souls; her shoulders were hunched and her wings draped against the ground as if she couldn’t lift them up.

“But they were innocent!” Clark said, voice rising. “If these assholes are all about the human race, why did they murder the remaining survivors? They just killed most of their population!”

“I don’t know.”

Clark cursed and spun away to pace down the street. Zarachiel looked at Michaela and spoke under his breath, “If we don’t understand the Loyalists, we can’t guess their next move.”

“What about Grace?” Her voice contained a careful diplomacy, like she didn’t want to anger him. “Are you sure you trust her?”

“She’s just a victim, Michaela,” Zarachiel said, sighing heavily.

“We talked about the compound in front of her. She’s been left alone with Camille. She might have had time…”

“Might have had time for what?” he growled, turning to face Michaela. “Time to tell her attackers, her
rapists
, our secrets?”

“Yes.”

Zarachiel pivoted away, his attention turning back to Clark. “She wouldn’t do that. We saved her.”

“Did we?”

“Yes!”

Michaela held up her hands. “Okay. But maybe she could tell us more about their motivations. How they operate. Even a tiny detail could help us. We just need something to track them down.”

“What about Gabriel? Could he send some angels out to fly around and try to spot their new camp?”

Michaela shook her head. “When Lucifer revealed himself, the fallen angels got nervous. Gabriel has his hands full just trying to keep them under control. Those who are loyal to him are scared that Lucifer will retaliate against them next. Those who are still loyal to Lucifer are doing everything in their power to break out of Hell. Gabriel has the whole place on lockdown. If he loses control, then Lucifer has his army back, and we’re even worse off.”

“The holy angels?”

Instantly, Z felt the waves of emotion rolling off of Michaela. They were so powerful that they changed the temperature of the air around them until a fine layer of dew coated his skin. “After Lucifer attacked the compound, I went to Raphael and the other choir leaders. I begged them—” Michaela bit off the sentence, grinding her jaw for a moment. She took a deep breath and started again. “I
asked
them to send more angels down here. I
told
them that there wasn’t enough. But they don’t see Lucifer as a big threat without all the fallen behind him. And as for the Loyalists, they didn’t even bat an eye when I told them about the compound. They said that the Descendants are supposed to handle that kind of thing.”