The Fallen 03 - Warrior (32 page)

The Wraith’s long hair flowed around him as he shook his head. “You are not. You were simply looking for a reason to say the things you were afraid to say. I have been watching you, Michael. You are as besotted as all your brothers, each and every one who fell so long ago for love of a woman.”

He wouldn’t waste time denying it. “Then it’s a good thing I have already fallen. What do you want from me?”

The Wraith hovered, and Michael could feel the malice emanating in waves toward him alone. This was his ancient nemesis, facing him again, all this time after he’d cast him into eternal emptiness. “I plan to show you the way to the cliffs where the veil is thin.”

If it was possible to still be shocked after the appearance of the last being he’d expected, this would have done it. “Why?”

There was cool disdain on the ghostly face. “Because we want the same things. Because Victoria Bellona must participate in the battle in order for you to win, and time is running out. You’ve been here too long—each day is like ten in the world of Sheol.
If you don’t return in time and win, Uriel’s darkness will cover everything and the Fallen will perish. After that, it is only a matter of time before mankind is wiped off the face of the earth.”

“She will die.”

“We all die, sooner or later,” the Wraith said callously. “At least she will find a better afterlife than the Dark City or this eternal hell. Furl your wings, Michael. I won’t tell her your miserable secrets.”

“You may tell her anything you want,” he snarled back, fury vibrating through him. “You still haven’t answered my question. Where are you? How can the Fallen release you?”

Lucifer, the first of the Fallen, the most beloved, the Bringer of Light, his implacable enemy, looked at him. “First they must release my spirit from the Darkness.”

“And how do we do that?”

Lucifer’s smile was as infuriating as the last day Michael had seen him, when they’d battled sword to sword and Michael himself had flung him from heaven. “God knows.” He made a dismissive gesture. “First things first. Release the goddess. We have to get you out of here.”

W
HEN
I
WOKE
I was still pressed against Michael’s back, my arms around his narrow waist. I felt as if I’d taken the most comfortable nap in my entire life; I felt renewed and alive. He was no longer holding me, keeping me trapped, and I knew I had to let go,
but I wasn’t in any hurry. It felt too good. And then I remembered what had happened just before the night had closed in.

I shoved him away from me. “What the hell?”

I’d forgotten about the Wraiths. Only one remained, insubstantial, beautiful, without the leaching sorrow the others had held. “Who the fuck are you?” I demanded, not in the mood to be polite.

The landscape behind him was winter-dead, drained of all color, the trees black skeletons against the gray sky. The euphoria was gone, vanished, as we stood in a no-man’s-land between death and candy.

The Wraith smiled, and I gasped. It was a warm, slow, seductive smile on a ghost, and the effect was . . . enchanting . . . disturbing. “Don’t worry, goddess. I mean you and your mate no harm.”

I glanced at Michael’s stony face. “This is—” he started to say.

“The leader of the rebel Wraiths,” the apparition broke in smoothly, and despite the wind whistling through his voice it was curiously warming. “Take your noble lover’s hand and I will lead you to freedom.”

I glanced up at my “noble lover.” Had there been mockery in the Wraith’s voice? I held Michael’s hand tightly. He didn’t look at me.

“How do I know we can trust you?” he demanded of the Wraith.

I wouldn’t have trusted his smile farther than Michael could have thrown him, which, given the
Wraith’s insubstantial form, wouldn’t have been far, but I knew instinctively that he was no threat to me. He might not care much for Michael, but he was on my side.

“Ask the goddess,” the Wraith said.

Michael had no choice but to look at me. The magic of illusion had died away, and there was no love, no openness. The cold, hard bastard was back. “We can trust him,” I said, giving nothing away. Not the bereavement that tore at my heart, not the anger at being given a gift and then having it stolen away.

“Then come,” said the Wraith, reaching out a transparent hand. There was nothing to hold on to, and yet I reached out, one hand still clinging to Michael’s.

We followed him, into the wind.

W
E WERE STANDING ON A WIND
-swept plain, a high plateau where no trees grew. There was color, muddy and undefined, and I was still clinging to something that felt like clouds. It was the hand of the Wraith, fully as beautiful as any of the Fallen.

Michael pulled me away from the Wraith abruptly, then dropped my hand, leaving me standing there. “You can go,” he told the creature in a rough voice.

That taunting smile, meant for Michael alone, lingered on the ghost’s face. “Are you going to tell them about me?”

“Of course,” he snapped.

“Are you going to tell
her
?”

Silence.

“Tell me what?” I demanded. There was something going on between the two of them that had
nothing to do with me, and I was being used as a pawn. I hated being used as a pawn.

“Tell her what?” Michael echoed, and there was a dangerous edge to his voice. I couldn’t imagine what harm he could do to such an ethereal being, but the creature blinked anyway.

“I wish her no harm or pain, Michael,” he said softly. “Tell her about you, of course.”

“And you think that won’t cause her pain?”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here!” I snapped.

“I wouldn’t—” The mocking expression vanished from the Wraith’s vivid face, replaced by alarm. “You must get out of here. He’s coming.”

“Who?” I demanded, but Michael was already hauling me toward the promontory overlooking a vast wasteland, and his grip was painful.

“Going so soon?” A young man stood in front of us, blocking the way, and Michael yanked me to a stop, frozen. The man looked past us to the Wraith, and he should have been no threat, not against Michael’s powerful sword, not against the lightning bolts I could feel beginning to form deep within me, but Michael didn’t move. “Don’t leave us, Bringer of Light,” the man continued in a soft voice. “Since you’ve decided to involve yourself, I’m certain you wish to be here for the grand finale.”

I stared at the man, uncomprehending. He sounded like Beloch. If I unfocused my eyes and looked just past him, he even looked like Beloch,
instead of the very ordinary young man who blocked our way.

I glanced over at the Wraith, who had frozen as if glued to the spot. Bringer of Light? Why did that sound familiar?

“You’ve been very adventurous, Michael. I should have known you’d be up to the challenge. But you can’t think I’d let you go after all this, can you?” Beloch’s smooth, taunting voice came from his young mouth. “I must say I am surprised you managed to best Theron, but I see that you did. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here, and you wouldn’t have reclaimed your sword.”

“I didn’t kill Theron. Tory did.”

The young man turned to look at me with greater interest. “How extraordinary,” he murmured. “Who would have thought it? You have more powers than a relic of an ancient civilization should have.”

“One could say the same thing about you, Uriel,” Michael said in a voice like ice. “What are you doing here? You never used to bother with the Darkness. You left it up to your enforcers.”

The young man’s smile should have been charming. It sent shivers down my spine. “Oh, a great deal has changed since your day.”

Uriel? The epitome of evil, the monster, the Big Bad? Not this sweet-looking young man!

“You sound like Beloch,” I said abruptly.

He laughed. “Smart child. I am many things and take many forms. That is but one of them.”

I frowned. Beloch was Uriel? I looked up at Michael, expecting shock on his face, but the classic lines were set in stone. He knew. He had always known.

“I think you should let us go,” I said, not in the mood to grovel. “We made it through all your nasty worlds, we found the place where we can fly out. Why don’t you accept defeat gracefully?”

His smile was angelic, and I remembered with shock that he too was an archangel. One who reigned in heaven. A heaven that looked like the Dark City, or someplace else? “No one defeats me, my child. And there are many other worlds here. You’re almost out of time. Without Michael’s talents, you could have wandered for years. After all, this was once his hunting ground.”

I froze. “Hunting ground?”

Uriel smiled. “For millennia the Archangel Michael was my right hand, my enforcer. He made certain my decrees were carried out, that villages were razed, that blasphemers and their families were destroyed, that unbelievers suffered. He brought those who belonged into this place, and hunted them while they ran and hid in the illusions. He was brutal and efficient, the angelic equivalent of a mass murderer. How do you like that? No one else has served me as well, though I had hopes for Theron. And Metatron failed me most grievously. I am most displeased.”

“Hardly failed you,” Michael spoke suddenly. “He delivered Tory to you.”

“‘Tory’?” Uriel echoed with a warm laugh. “How enchanting. Is it possible the Archangel Michael’s stone heart has finally cracked?”

“No.”

“Ah, well, that is perhaps for the best. I would hate to think you had any moments of true happiness before you were wiped out of existence,” he said. “I must confess, Metatron has proven immune to my blandishments. I had to turn elsewhere for assistance.”

Michael had taken my hand again. I tried to yank free, but his grip was unbreakable, and I knew he was the closest thing to an ally I had. If I was to get out of this, it would be with him.

“Who?” Michael demanded, glaring at Uriel.

“Why would I have any desire to assuage your curiosity?” Uriel said softly, then turned to me. “And you, Victoria Bellona, pagan goddess of a degenerate civilization, you look as if you are willing to die with the man you love, despite his past. I think that perhaps you need to know one thing more. The secret he’s been keeping from you.”

“Uriel, no!” For the first time Michael showed emotion, rage—and something else I couldn’t define.

But Uriel had no mercy. “We can’t let her go in ignorance, Michael. You’ve been trapped in my world for almost four weeks, while your followers floundered in their pathetic attempt to prepare for my armies. Tomorrow is her birthday. She needs to know, don’t you think? We’ll only be anticipating
it by one day. She won’t be missing much. It might be easier to die knowing she will only miss one day.”

“Don’t listen to him, Tory,” Michael said, a thread of desperation in his voice. “It’s all lies.”

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain,
I thought dully. But this man was pulling the strings, making the lightning.

“What do you mean?” I managed to keep my voice cool. The heat in my hands and arms had abandoned me. Whatever powers I had must have known they’d be no good against this creature.

“Why, that you are prophesied to die in battle on your twenty-fifth birthday. It was the only way the Fallen could prevail against my armies. Not that it would have been the final battle—just an opening salvo. But if you aren’t there, if you don’t die, the cause of the Fallen is lost. Michael has always known that. That’s why he brought you to Sheol, that is why he consented to mate with you. In the taking of your body and your blood, he did his part to fulfill the prophecy. He only agreed to the marriage because he knew it would be of short duration.”

I was already facing imminent death at the hands of what stood for a benevolent God. I shouldn’t have felt such lacerating pain, such complete betrayal. “No,” I said.

“Tell her, Michael.”

I looked up at him, though I didn’t want to. “Tell me, Michael.”

He was bleak, distant. “You will die on your birthday, on the sands of Sheol. No one can change it.”

“And if I don’t? If I refuse to go back?”

“Then everyone dies.”

“And that,” broke in Uriel, “is exactly what is going to happen. Because you won’t be there. You will die one day early, and Michael will arrive back in Sheol one day too late, and—”

The wind had picked up, whipping across the top of the plateau, and Uriel broke off, frowning. “This shouldn’t happen. You can’t—”

I knew who had done it. The Wraith had broken free of whatever had held him in place, and he was moving, the wind moving with him, whipping his long hair around his beautiful face, whipping his loose clothes against his body.

“Run!” he said, his torn voice echoing to the skies, and he threw himself against Uriel.

Into Uriel, disappearing behind his skin, pushing at his body from the inside. Uriel screamed, turning gray, slapping and tearing at himself, horror in the mild brown eyes, and then I couldn’t see anything, as Michael started running across the plateau, dragging me after him. Dragging me to my certain death.