Sins of the Warrior (32 page)

Humanity was toast.

Unless—

Jezebel cleared her throat. “There’s a pharmacy about twenty minutes back. I’m sending—”

“No. We need to stay together so I—” Emmanuelle clamped her lips together.
So I can protect you
.

“We need to stay together,” she repeated, looking over Jez’s head to where the others stood, half in shadow, helmets in hand, looking as lost and unnerved as Emmanuelle felt. Except they were unnerved by Emmanuelle herself, their collective fear pushing against her. Despite their earlier acceptance of events, the beach had taken its toll.

She tightened her lips and then raised her voice. “No one leaves.”

Jez crossed her arms. “She’s hungry.”

Emmanuelle’s gaze went back to the rag bundle. A thin arm poked out, fist clenched, and the child wailed a demand. Her stomach rolling, she turned her gaze from it.

“No one leaves,” she repeated, shooting a hard look at Jezebel.

“You can’t be serious.” Jez stared at her. “Emmanuelle, she’ll die if we don’t feed her.”

Emmanuelle’s lips compressed.
I wish
.

“Unfortunately not,” she responded. Jez’s eyes widened and Emmanuelle sighed. “It’s not what you think it is, Jez. It’s not a baby.”

“What the hell—of course she’s a baby! A hungry one at that, and I’m damned if I’ll stand here doing nothing while the poor thing wastes away.”

In a huff, Jez pushed past, heading for Bethiel and the child, but Emmanuelle caught her arm and swung her around to face her.

“It’s not a baby,” she repeated, unleashing the finest hint of her otherness. Her command. Jez paled. She swallowed hard. Emmanuelle reined herself in, guilt twisting inside her. Jez was a friend. She deserved better than to have the living daylights scared out of her by someone she trusted. All these people deserved better.

But she didn’t have the patience to coddle them. Didn’t have the energy.

She released her hold on Jez and stalked toward the house. Bethiel’s wings opened to block her path. She stopped in her tracks and paused before turning her gaze to meet his. She let another moment tick by.

“You would do well to remember who I am, Principality,” she said finally, her voice soft but edged with warning.

He met her stare for stare. “So would you.”

Her hands formed fists at her sides. Another pause. Then she reached up, seized the offending wing, and applied just enough pressure to fold it against Bethiel’s back. A film of sweat broke out on the angel’s forehead as he resisted. The infant in his arms squawked a protest when his hold became too tight.

Emmanuelle stepped past him, headed for the door. She halted with one hand on the knob. “They stay here,” she told Bethiel, jerking her head toward her friends. “No one leaves this house, and no one goes near
that
. And, Principality…”

Bethiel’s chin lifted a fraction.

“Just so we understand one another,” she said heavily. “I may not like who I am, but I’ve never forgotten.”

SETH STARED DOWN AT
the bodies on the floor. Elizabeth Riley lay on her back, sightless eyes turned toward the leather sofa, her body shattered in more places than Seth had thought she would survive, her features grotesquely twisted by the pain she had endured before her heart had given up. Beside her, Hugh Henderson curled into a fetal position, breath rattling in his throat. One hand clutched Riley’s lifeless fingers, the other was pressed against his own gaping belly wound that seeped blood into the already saturated carpet.

The wound that had finally given Seth the information he needed.

He scowled at the memory of his own incompetence. As the son of Lucifer and the One, he’d expected more of himself. Expected to be able to crack open their minds and take what he wanted from them. He sure as Hell hadn’t anticipated a level of resistance that had required a…messier approach.

He grimaced at the gore covering his hand and shirtfront. Not that it much mattered how he’d achieved his end. It mattered only that he knew where to find Alex. That he would have what belonged to him—as soon as he’d dealt with those who would keep her from him.

Hugh Henderson gurgled at his feet, and Seth looked down again. For a brief moment, he considered putting the mortal out of his misery. Then he dismissed the notion. After the way Henderson and Riley had defied him, they’d deserved every bit of pain he’d meted out—and more. In retrospect, he was rather glad his mind-breaking idea hadn’t worked, because this approach had been infinitely more satisfying. He squatted beside Henderson and tilted his head to one side, regarding him thoughtfully.

“To be honest,” he said, “I’ve half a mind to heal you so you can watch me take Alex and then live out the rest of your days knowing how you failed her.”

Brown eyes, glazed with pain, didn’t react. Seth sighed.

“On the other hand, why bother? Those days would be so limited. Between me bringing the war here to Earth and turning the Nephilim loose, you’d have a few months at most. It hardly seems worth the effort, does it? So there you have it. You get to die in peace.” He patted Henderson’s pale, stubbled cheek, and rose to his feet.

With a lingering smile, he stepped across the dying man and strolled toward the bank of windows overlooking the city.

“I’ll tell Alex you said hello,” he added over his shoulder, and then he stepped out of the human realm and into Hell.

“You!” he snarled at a passing Virtue. “Bring me Samael’s second-in-command. We take the war to Earth!”

Verchiel dropped into the chair behind her desk with an audible thump. She stared at the red-haired Archangel across from her.

“All of them?” she whispered. “They’ve
all
gone to Earth?”

Gabriel rubbed the back of one hand over an oozing gash on her cheek and then wiped the blood off on her black-armored thigh. “All of them,” she agreed grimly. “I’ve sent the host after them, but the damage—”

Her voice cracked. She swallowed, set her jaw, and continued, “Even though we outnumber them almost three to one, it will take time. There will be collateral damage, Verchiel. A great deal of collateral damage.”

A tidy way of saying that all of humanity would likely be destroyed. Or at least enough of it that the Nephilim who followed would have no difficulty wiping out the remainder. Verchiel rested an elbow on the arm of the chair and put a trembling hand to her temple. Heaven’s worst nightmare had come to pass: They had failed the One. Failed her mortal children.

The war had gone to Earth.

“We need to tell Mika’el.”

Gabriel’s voice penetrated Verchiel’s fog. She nodded.

“Of course. Yes. We must.”

“You know where he is?”

Now her head shook. “No. Raphael caught an image of where Emmanuelle was taking the humans, but Mika’el’s thoughts stayed hidden from him.”

“Then I’ll go to Emmanuelle. She’ll know where to find him.”

“We don’t know that she—”

“We have to take the chance.”

“Of course.” Verchiel described the house Raphael had seen in the minds of the humans who had left the beach with Emmanuelle, finishing with, “One of them thought of the city of Victoria, another of a town known as Colwood. Raphael didn’t have time to delve for details, but I looked into both places. Colwood is less populated and more remote.”

“Fewer Guardians. Easier to hide.” Gabriel nodded agreement. “Good. I’ll start there.”

“How is he, by the way? Raphael.”

“Battered, but still able to fight. I put him in charge of the angels defending the Earth’s United Kingdom.” Gabriel reached for the doorknob, adding over her shoulder, “Pull in the Guardians and make sure they’re armed. As soon as I’ve spoken to Mika’el, I’ll be back to deploy them.”

“And me.”

Halfway out the door, Gabriel stopped. She turned and swept her gaze over Verchiel. “You’re certain? You’re the executive administrator. Heaven needs—”

“Heaven won’t exist if we don’t win this, Gabriel.”

The Archangel inclined her head. “Very well. Be ready to go when I return.”

EMMANUELLE TOOK REFUGE ON
the deck that stretched the length of one side of Scorpion’s safe house. She stared out over treetops that dropped away down the hillside on the forest’s way to the ocean, a shimmer of light below in the slow approach of dawn. Her breath fogged the air in long puffs. The chill of reality seeped into her core, and the harshness of loss into her heart.

Spider, Scissors, Wizard, Hog, Tiny, Queenie…gone.

Her independence and anonymity…gone.

And the One…gone.

That loss was the one that surprised her most. Not because it had happened—though she had to admit that a part of her couldn’t quite fathom the death of the Creator herself—but because of how keenly she felt it. Like a razor had been drawn over her heart again and again, its blade so fine, she hadn’t felt its presence until it was too late. Until her heart was laid open in a thousand quivering slivers, bleeding into her soul.

They had never talked again after Emmanuelle had left Heaven. Never reconciled. Never forgiven one another. They’d had neither chance nor reason. Emmanuelle had never intended to return to Heaven, and her mother was supposed to go on forever there, to prove Emmanuelle wrong, to finally come into her own and wrest control of the universe back from Lucifer.

Because despite what Mika’el and the One had thought, the Light-bearer had been very much in control. From the moment the Creator had sought—and failed—to distract him from his jealousies over her mortal children by giving him a child of his own, she had been lost. The One hadn’t been able to see that, and Mika’el had refused to, but a tiny part of Emmanuelle had never given up hope that they might.

And now they had come to this, with Heaven on the brink of destruction, dependent on the choice of the one being who wanted no part of it. Who had long ago severed her connection to it and had no reason to care whether it—or its inhabitants—survived.

Emmanuelle rested her elbows on the railing. No reason except knowing humanity’s own survival hinged on the outcome—and she
did
care about them.

One of the French doors behind her swung open on hinges that needed oiling. Booted footsteps approached, vibrating through the deck. A mug appeared under her nose.

“Coffee,” Scorpion said. “Jez made a pot.”

She took it from him, raising an eyebrow as she caught a whiff of alcohol. “A little early for that, don’t you think?”

“It was a rough night.” Scorpion shrugged. “You looked like you could use it.”

She didn’t have the heart to tell him it would have no effect on her. That it never had and never would, because she wasn’t—

“Thank you,” she said. She sipped at the whiskey-laced coffee. She thought about asking how the others fared, but she didn’t need to. Now that she had opened herself to her power again, she could feel them in the house behind her. Their presence. Their shock. Their fear. Some had taken refuge in sleep. Others hunkered around the kitchen table, talking in low murmurs that Emmanuelle chose not to listen in on. It had only been a couple of hours since they’d left the beach for the dark, winding ride up to Scorpion’s mountain house, a handful of hours since their friends had died at the bar, and already it seemed an eternity. So many changes had been wrought.

“So.” Scorpion cleared his throat. “You want to talk?”

The invitation was calm and non-accusatory, reminding her of Jezebel’s earlier, easy acceptance of blue sparkles and fireballs, and Wookie’s casual observation about understanding why she never felt the cold. Did they still feel the same way about her now, after the beach and Mika’el, after her own high-handed behavior?

Jaw flexing, Emmanuelle blinked back a prickle of tears and tightened her grip on the mug. If by some miracle they did, talking to Scorpion would end that. Expectations would change. The friendships she treasured would come to an end. The family she’d built would be no more.

Beefy fingers plucked the mug from her hands and set it on the rail, then settled on her shoulder. Scorpion turned her to face him, his expression earnest. Determined.

“What Jez told you yesterday was right, you know. We’ve always known you were special. Tonight didn’t change anything, and neither will anything you tell me now.”

Oh, how she wished that could be true. She shook her head. “People died today, Scorpion. Your friends died. Because of me.”

“
Our
friends died, Manny. And they would do it again. Willingly. As would any of the rest of us.”

“Don’t.” She tried to pull away, but his grip held firm. She stared at the hollow at the base of his throat. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s the truth. Some things are worth dying for. Like it or not, we consider you one of them.”

She shuddered at the words, thinking of the millions in Earth’s history who had died in the name of her mother.

One more reason she didn’t want what Mika’el asked her to take. Couldn’t step into her mother’s shoes.

She shook her head. “That’s easy for you to say, but you don’t know—”

“Then don’t tell me.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I mean it. If it’s that hard for you, don’t say anything. We forget the whole thing. Put it behind us. We rest up here today, get on the bikes tomorrow, and hit the road. Simple as that. It wouldn’t be the first time any of us have pulled up roots and started over.”

“You would do that for me?” She stared up at the wall of a man towering over her. “Even after the way I behaved—after what I said about the baby?”

“You’re the only thing that matters to any of us, Manny.” Massive tattooed shoulders shrugged beneath the tank top Scorpion wore. He reached out to cradle her cheek with a gentleness that belied his sheer brute strength. “You’re family. We trust you. If you say we don’t feed that squalling little scrap, we don’t feed it. And if you want to leave, we leave.”

For a moment, she considered the idea.

No, she embraced it. Heart, mind, and soul, she wrapped herself around the possibility, imagined the feel of the bike beneath her and the wind in her hair, and made it her choice. With ever fiber of her—