Of Alliance and Rebellion (26 page)

“Go, man,” Max said quickly. “Get it done.”

Jayden turned toward the door, but paused and looked at Max over his shoulder. “This was a good idea, Max. Grace may actually talk to you some day.” Jayden strode to the place where Anahita stood guard. “Balance, Anahita,” he said to her. “It is the essence of life. There is no reason you cannot live with both parts of yourself.”

Max swallowed around the lump in his throat. This had to work. He’d broken Anahita—broken her heart. He owed it to her to give her her dream.

He was so focused on Jayden’s departure and his own thoughts that he missed it when Anahita blinked and looked at the door after Jayden closed it behind him.

She had been underwater once—she thought, at least. It was hard to remember the past in specific detail. The world around her passed by in the muffled tones she sometimes had a vague recollection of experiencing with her ears submerged in water. The world was blurry as well. All except for her Ward, who was in vivid, golden focus, as was anything that became a threat to him.

It was, oddly, a fulfilling existence, this life lived in the protection of another. And, yet, she felt as though something were missing. Something she had very much enjoyed. Over the passing days, that enjoyment had morphed—the missing of it accentuating and augmenting it—until she was sure that she loved something. Maybe someone.

But she couldn’t remember who, no matter how hard she tried to focus.

She knew most Guardians were invisible to their Wards, but for some reason, she did not feel the need to be invisible around hers or those he interacted with on a daily basis. Sometimes, when she watched over him as he slept, she wondered at this comfortability she felt around him. Around them all. As though she had once belonged with them—or to them. Or to
him
. It was an unsettling thought in that it made her think of something outside of her duties with fondness. It was dangerous, and therefore, something to be avoided. Yet it kept creeping in.

In the recent handful of days, her Ward’s activities had suddenly increased. He went from wandering the halls aimlessly, lying in his bed, and taking long showers, to rushing to and fro and meeting with the same winged man over and over, another being she felt a connection to.

And something changed. She began to hear every word of their conversations when before she had just heard noise. But she was only able to pluck a few words from them, such as
meeting soon
and
Anahita must be there
. Though she heard these words and suspected she knew what they meant, she was unable to glean any understanding from them. She watched the winged man closely, however, remembering the time she had thought him a threat to her Ward. He consistently behaved, but she refused to let her guard down.

Her Ward was hurrying along now, and she was a foot or so behind him. Urgency poured from him, and he kept looking over his shoulder at her. Those looks became so frequent that for the first time, she seriously pondered rendering herself invisible. He was liable to run into a wall or hurt himself in some other way if he did not focus on where he was going.

Just as she was about to disappear, however, he walked them both into a room outfitted with a long mahogany table and several leather chairs, all of which were vacant, though the room was filled.

Four angels and the winged man she watched constantly lined the walls, their arms crossed over their considerable chests, and when she and her Ward entered, they all straightened their already impeccable postures. The winged man stepped forward. Had he once been an angel? It was the first complex thought she’d had since ... well, since she could remember. The four angels stepped forward as well.

She put herself in front of her Ward, her sword in her hand so fast they would never have been able to see her reach for it.

The perhaps-former-angel spoke to her in calming tones, but she couldn’t place any of the words, only that he and the rest meant her Ward no harm.

She relaxed her battle stance, sheathed her sword. The four angels behind their spokesperson were staring intently at her. Taking her measure. Anahita tucked her chin and returned them each stare for stare.
They should not be challenging me this way
, she thought. They were her subordinates, and they should show her respect.

Anahita felt her eyes widen and immediately schooled the reaction. Subordinates? Respect? Where were these thoughts coming from?

The not-angel was speaking again, and Anahita’s throat went dry as she understood each and every word he said. “—your Warriors, Anahita. They are ready for you to take your place as leader. There is much to be done.”

Some dim, closeted part of her came bursting forth, shoving the golden glimmer of her vision aside and casting the world in a different type of clarity. She blinked several times—the lights too bright—as thoughts bombarded her one after the other.

She was Warrior. She was Guardian. She was both and neither.

“Yes.” The word left Anahita’s mouth before she knew it was forming. She jolted. Clenched her fists. This was
right
. “Much to be done.”

She saw the almost imperceptible straightening of each of the backs of the four Warrior angels. She also noticed that each of them respectfully lowered their eyes. Not one of them challenged her any longer.

She was their leader.

She stepped forward and quickly took their measure. Four strapping Warriors. They would do well for her. She must call together her men. “Where are the rest of the Warriors?” she asked. They had a rebellion to quash.

“My ... l-liege,” one of them began, stumbling on the form of address.

Some of the tension within her unknotted. “Anahita,” she said gently. Remiel had not stood on ceremony, and she
certainly
was not going to. She expected her words to relax the Warriors. Instead, if possible, they were
tenser
.

“Anahita,” the same angel said. “There are none but us left on the side of good.” The four Warriors looked at each other, eyes shifting uncomfortably, and then back at her. “The rest were on the side of the rebellion and are in revolt.”

It was the greatest effort of Anahita’s existence to keep from outwardly reacting. She felt a sick stirring in her stomach. She may just go down in history as a worse leader than Remiel. Five Warriors against an entire battalion of rebels?

“Six,” Jayden whispered to her. He startled her, until she remembered that her riotous thoughts would be easy for him to glean. “You have my sword as well, Anahita,” he continued. “Well,
our
sword, I suppose.” He smiled. “Though you may not wish a Fallen to fight with you.”

“I wish it,” she said quickly. “We will find another weapon.” She gulped and tried to calm her galloping heart. “Thank you for your help,” she whispered to him. She turned her attention back to her men and gestured to the vacant chairs before them. “We have much to discuss and plan. Won’t you please take a seat?”

Each Warrior—and Jayden—moved to stand behind a chair, but they waited to take their seats until Anahita had placed herself at the head of the table. Amid the cacophonous sounds of chair rollers on the floor, Anahita heard the clearing of a throat. Her head snapped up. Max stood in the doorway, an expression halfway between lost puppy and elated devotee on his face. As she looked upon him, she felt no pull to either protect or kill him. Her two angel sides seemed to be in balance. The pull behind her heart, however, nearly bowled her over.

Max smiled at her, but it did not quite reach his eyes. “I’ll just be going,” he said, placing one of his large hands upon the doorknob.

An awkward silence descended on the room. The heads of her Warriors swung from looking at Max to looking at her in unison. Their eyes were flooded with query, and she felt the back of her neck heat.

Anahita nodded curtly at him, and with a slight hesitation, he turned and left the room. A pang shot through Anahita’s heart as the door
snicked
closed behind him. It was with both relief and sorrow that she realized her Guardian side was not commanding her to follow him and keep him in her sight for always. She swallowed hard. Yes, that pang must be merely Temptation-centered. And she could handle it.

Her four Warriors still watched her with wide eyes, but Jayden leaned toward her and whispered, “He arranged for this.”

Anahita brought her eyes to Jayden’s.

Jayden lowered his voice even more as Anahita felt the attention of her men focus in on their conversation. “He demanded I put you in charge of the Warriors,” he whispered.

She frowned. “You have no authority over the Warriors.”

“That is what I told him.” He smiled. “And yet, here we are. Here
you
are. I did not know if the pull on you to be leader would be strong enough to break the Guardian Compulsion.” He paused and flicked a quick glance at the angels around them. “Is your Warrior Compulsion back? Do I need to move the humans?” he asked quietly.

The question shocked her, but only because she had not thought of it first. It was a grave concern that should have been pressing on her mind already. Anahita quickly took stock. “No,” she breathed. “
Neither
Compulsion is there.”

Jayden relaxed back into his seat. “I was hoping it would work that way. There have not been too many dual angels, but I had heard a rumor that they were the only ones able to defeat Compulsions, and they did it by denying neither part of themselves.”

Anahita clamped her lips closed, afraid that she would do something foolish and weak, like whimper. Or even cry. All this time, fighting who she truly was had kept her in a direct place of conflict. If she had embraced who she was earlier…

One of the other Warriors cleared his throat, and Anahita snapped to attention, brushing as inconspicuously as possible the skin beneath her eyes and exhaling a slow, relieved breath when her fingertips came away dry. She gave a small shake of her head to focus. She had a job to do. A very
important
job to do. She leaned forward and began to address her small, ineffectual band of Warriors.

She was relieved when the Warriors agreed with the need to accept the immortal humans as part of their forces. They were not as strong as angels, but they were trained soldiers and had much heart. Jayden quickly informed her that Oliver and Luke had left in search of Oliver’s mate. Finding her for him would take little time and was priority number one so that the men could return and focus on the task at hand.

Though she was focused as she made battle plans with her men, her thoughts kept drifting to the man she could sense was waiting right outside the door.

• • •

He would not fucking cry. He would
not
fucking cry.

A traitorous tear cascaded down his cheek anyway, riding over the raised edge of his scar and dripping off his chin to land on his shirt with a splat. “Great,” he muttered, wiping his entire face with one massive sweep of his palm and then looking down the hall to see if anyone had witnessed him crack in two.

She was back. Holy God, she was back, and he could not be happier. The feeling choked him as it made his throat and chest too tight to draw in much air.

And at the same time, the joy was tempered with a fear so intense that he was not sure his legs would hold him upright for much longer. He was leaned precariously against the wall just outside the door of the meeting room, knowing he
definitely
didn’t have the strength to walk away from her.

That curt nod of hers had felt like a dismissal. She was back, and she had dismissed him. Which, he reminded himself, he more than deserved. And yet, this sick fear would not abate. The fear that she was still just as lost to him as she had been under the influence of her Guardian Compulsion.

Another damn tear spilled over and jetted down his cheek. He tipped his head back, pressed the top of it to the wall, and hoped that gravity would keep the other bastards in check.

The door next to him burst open, and Max nearly fell over as he straightened too quickly for his body to support him. He cleared his throat and blinked while Anahita’s four massive angels filed out of the room, glanced his way with open curiosity upon their faces, and walked down the hall and out into the main room.

Jayden was next out of the room. He paused next to Max, looked over his shoulder back into the room, and sighed before meeting Max’s eyes. “She said she will see you,” Jayden said. Then, leaning in with something that looked like a smile, he whispered, “Be sure to lock the door.” He winked—the oddest fucking sight Max had ever seen—and then followed the angels out.

A blast of hope shot through Max, and he stumbled over his feet as every limb of his body fought to get to his angel. He swung into the room, and Anahita, who had been facing the back wall, turned and locked eyes with him.

What he had barely had time to notice before rocked him back on his heels. Her eyes—those blue eyes that he had fallen in love with—were back. He took a step toward her, fingers reaching out and spread with the need to pull her to him.

“Max,” she said, her voice unsure.

He froze. That waver in her voice had nearly slain him. He reminded himself to prepare to be as angel-dumped as he deserved to be. He turned and pulled the door closed behind him, clicking the lock into place. The sound of the lock engaging shot through the room, and when Max faced her once more, Anahita’s brows were drawn together. Before she could say anything, however, Max was walking toward her. He did not stop until they were toe to toe.

Max reached up and cradled her face between his hands. Leaning down and covering her lips with his own was like the first breath of air after being underwater too long—life-giving and healing. He groaned as he tilted his head to the side and locked their mouths together more firmly, schooling himself not to deepen the kiss—not yet.

Every fiber of his being wanted to dive into her, but he forced himself to end the kiss. He pulled back but stayed close enough that he could brush his nose against hers.

Wide, blue eyes stared at his. She looked so adorably shell-shocked that he nearly laughed and ruined the moment. Instead, he set out to do the thing he had been waiting to do for weeks. His fingers flexed on her jaw. “I love you,” he said firmly, trying to beg her with his eyes to believe him. To hear him.