Only One I'll Have (UnHallowed Series Book 4) Page 2

  “I am a warrior class angel.”

  Doubt laced every word. “How long have you been a warrior?” No angel who had achieved the rank of Warrior ever included class in the title.

  “As you know, time passes differently in Heaven. Suffice to say, not long.”

  He knew a deflection when he heard one. “Were you allowed to leave, or did you escape the Celestial Order?”

  Her lips thinned, and light danced along the edge of her white and evergreen wings. He’d struck a nerve.

  “What were you before, Axelle?” he continued when she didn’t answer. “My guess is a watcher. An angel on the lowest rung. Damn, they are truly scraping the barrel if they hauled you up the ranks.”

  “I was a guardian angel to the human female you desire.” She bristled.

  Slowly, he removed his blade from her throat. She put some distance between them, though not as much as she’d probably wanted.

  Her sword lowered, but she was smart enough to keep it in her hand. The way she held the weapon, he could tell she wasn’t comfortable with it, hadn’t bonded to the empyreal steel. It wielded her rather than the other way around. “Why are you here?”

  Her gaze cut to Sophie’s dwindling form. Chay blocked her line of sight. “Do you know who I am?” he asked.

  She paused, then said, “Chayyliél. Once an archangel named The Powerful One. Now, an UnHallowed.”

  He hid his surprise. “Is it common knowledge or do me and my kind remain a secret?”

  “Guardian, comfort, and watcher angels always had knowledge of your existence. Especially when you and the other UnHallowed bonded with the Halfling. Warrior class angels were ignorant until very recently.”

  That he wasn’t surprised. “What do you want with Sophie?”

  “I felt her pain.”

  Fury surged through him for everything Sophie had been through, everything she’d survived. The ground rumbled beneath his feet, an occurrence that hadn’t happened since the Fall. Exactly how much of his power had returned?

  “Now you feel her pain? After all her suffering, you chose now to show your presence?” His sword edged up. “You were charged with her care and failed her.” He would gut this angel and Michael if necessary.

  Again, light danced along the edges of her outstretched wings. “I was called away from her side to begin my training when she was eight. No one else was assigned, so I returned when I could, helped her when I could.” Her chin hiked up in the air and though he towered over her, she managed to look down on him. “You will not judge me when I was there when you took it upon yourself to erase her memory. What happened that her memories have come back to cause her enough torment to draw my attention again?”

  He noticed the angel didn’t condemn his actions. Wise decision because he wouldn’t tolerate a reprimand from anyone, least of all from her.

  “I didn’t erase her memories. I blocked them. A temporary fix.” Once, he could’ve erased her memory with a single thought and enough precision to leave the rest of her mind intact. To do so after he lost his grace would’ve left her a vegetable.

  Chay studied Axelle, reading her true intentions through the subtle aura surrounding her, another one of his abilities returning. For whatever reason, she cared. It was the only reason she left her new station to see to the needs of a human. His respect for her grew from nonexistent to a thimble full. “Can you be her guardian again, temporarily?” he pleaded.

  She shook her head. “Not possible. I must return to the Celestial Order to complete my training.”

  Her answer frustrated him, but he understood. The training had to come first. “Will another take your place? A comfort angel perhaps?” He’d take any help he could get.

  She paused, gave him hope, and then said, “Unlikely. Many have joined the military ranks since, well, since the Celestial Army’s defeat on the plains of Kilimanjaro. Additionally, you can sense us when previously you couldn’t. It is…unnerving. A comfort angel won’t come near you.”

  Comfort angels were a timid bunch, usually unsuitable for anything other than taking care of distressed humans. He couldn’t help their reaction to him. “Any Comfort that aids Sophie will find the UnHallowed grateful, myself especially. I will be in their eternal debt.” He pressed the issue. Having an UnHallowed indebted to you could not be lightly ignored.

  Axelle tipped her head to him; however, he caught the gleam in her gold-rimmed eyes. She wasn’t opposed to the idea. “I will pass your request along.” She paused, her gaze darting to the blade in his hand. “How is it an UnHallowed wields empyreal steel?”

  He glanced at his weapon. Somehow, he managed to squash his gasp. In his hand wasn’t the ordinary steel he’d used since he’d fallen from grace. No, that weapon was gone, replaced with the sword he’d taken the time to fashion with his own hands. Power thrummed through the blade, up his arm, and into his chest. The grace beneath his skin sizzled.

  Holy fuck!

  His insides blazed from an internal roasting he’d forgotten.

  The angel waited, her inquisitive eyes full of speculation. She wouldn’t get her answers from him. “Who is your chancellor now?”

  She frowned, not hiding her dislike. “Aron.”

  A kiss-ass sycophant. Finally, his patience had been rewarded with the power he craved. Only took twenty thousand millennia. “Ask Aron your questions. Not I.”

  Her lips tightened and with one great sweep of her wings, she vanished into the night sky.

  Alone on the street, with the night closing in around him, Chay gave his attention back to Sophie.

  Leave me alone, she’d ordered.

  No, was his silent reply, then amended to, Not yet. After he was certain she was safe, then yes, he would obey her wishes. Only then, not a second before, because Daeden’s words were on autoplay in his brain. Your friend doesn’t have much time. When a Reaper says you don’t have much time, it meant one thing.

  Whether she liked it or not, he would save her from herself, regardless of her feelings. He glanced at his empty hand where his empyreal sword had been seconds ago. Could he fix her, return her to the way she was before—happy, whole, with no memory of her brother’s death and Chay’s betrayal of her trust? Erase enough of her memory so that she trusted him again?

  He had to discover the truth, before they did something they’d both regret.

  Chapter Two

  Chay pulled a beer out of the cooler behind the bar at Lusted and cracked it open. He drained it in three long pulls, tossed it, and retrieved another. Conversations swirled around the room, none of which he cared to join, yet here he was. Someone had called this meeting, who, he didn’t care to know. If it wasn’t for the Cruor…

  Where would I be? Sophie didn’t want him within one thousand miles of her. Not that her wishes would keep him away. He’d give her a bit more time to cool down, then force her to forgive him. A bitter chuckle scraped the back of his throat. He had a chance of that tactic working as much as the proverbial snowball surviving Hell.

  He remembered every angry word she had flung at him, every accusation, and every glare from those soft blue eyes he loved. He couldn’t ignore that those eyes were red and swollen, or the dark rings beneath them. The general weary aura emanating from her, which hadn’t existed after he blocked her memory. And the trembling. Did she even realize she trembled like a tree caught in a gale? Probably not. She tended to ignore what she needed while caring for everyone else. Sophie wasn’t physically strong; however, she was the strongest person he’d ever known.

  And she’d never forgiven him. He had to live with that. How the fuck am I supposed to live with that shit? Regardless, he would keep her alive. The Reaper Daeden’s warning looped in Chay’s brain. Sophie was soon to die. Fuck. That.

  “Chay! You listening?” Bane shouted from his seat on the crescent leather lounge, ankle crossed on knee, posture relaxed.

  Chay waited until he killed his second beer, lobbed it into the trash can, then he cranked his head a
round. “Say something useful and I will.” He snagged an eight-ounce glass and grabbed a bottle of Jack. The room quieted as the glug-glug of the liquor splashing into the glass filled the silence.

  “Malphas is missing,” Ioath said from his position on the back wall.

  Chay poured just short of the rim. “Not surprising. Whose watch did he escape on?” His gaze cut to Riél.

  The former Archangel of Purity pointed to the bold black letters on his white tee.

  IDK

  IDC

  IDGAF

  “I was on watch. I got distracted,” Daghony said, perched on a barstool behind Bane.

  Across the room, Zedekiél leapt to his feet, took the blunt out of his mouth, and stalked over to Daghony. “By what?” Gadreel and Kushiél came from opposite sides of the room and blocked his path, that didn’t stop Zed. “He was still a fucking burnt piece of jerky when you took over yesterday.”

  Zed shoved against Gadreel and Kush, not letting go of his blunt, which proved it was only a half-hearted attempt. It took more than two UnHallowed to hold back the former Archangel of Mercy.

  Zed used his blunt to point at Daghony. “Something’s fishy. I don’t buy that ‘I got distracted’ bullshit. I think you let him go, you soft-hearted pussy.”

  The barstool hit the ground as Daghony vaulted to his feet. His gray wings appeared, fully extended, ready to mow down Zed and everyone who stood in his way. No one else moved. Shiiit. This was a fight everyone wanted to place a bet on. To the left, Daghony, formerly the Archangel of Souls. To the right, Zedekiél, formerly the Archangel of Mercy. Equals in height, width, strength, and on the asshole meter. On second thought, Zed had a lock on the asshole meter by five to one.

  Riél pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and whipped out a twenty. “I got Zed for TKO in two minutes. Any takers?”

  Rimmon pulled a money clip from an inner breast pocket of his suit. “I only have Franklins.”

  “Enough!” Bane shouted. “This isn’t kindergarten and we are not going to—”

  “Stow it, Bane. We’re blowing off steam.” Riél stuffed his wallet back in his pocket.

  “You have a woman to take the edge off. The rest of us have our hands,” Ioath grumbled.

  “Speak for yourself.” Riél snickered and pounded a fist with Rimmon, who murmured an amen.

  Chay perched his rear on a barstool—he had the perfect view—and sipped his Jack. Usually, he was the one to step in between, break things up before acid spilled from open wounds and ruined the floors and furniture. Not today. Mr. Fix It had retired.

  Ioath walked between the two factions: Daghony and Bane, and Gadreel, Kush, and Zed to pick up the bottle of Ciroc. “We kept Malphas for a week. That’s a week longer than I expected we’d be able to hold a Demoni Lord,” said the former Archangel of Demons.

  “Wherever he is, his first priority is to heal.” Rimmon leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. He adjusted his diamond cuff links as Zed yanked away from his babysitters, adjusted his tattered coat, and resumed his seat.

  “And his second priority?” Gadreel took position behind Zed.

  “Revenge.” As always, Kush had tuned into pain and punishment. The former Archangel of Atonement had room for nothing else.

  “But not against us. The Demoni is broke and broken. He’s going after his money first.” Rimmon and his love of money would know.

  “And the Spaun third,” Chay added. “The UnHallowed are not on his radar.” Which meant he could leave and not worry about the lot of them, including Scarla.

  “For how long?” Kush just had to blow Chay’s peace of mind, the sliver that it was. “Do not tell me we’re trusting a Demoni Lord now. You idiots may. I never will.” Kush continued his dog and bone routine.

  “We’re trusting his nature. Trusting him to kill his own first and come after us later,” Gideon said.

  “We did have a quasi-partnership with him.” Rimmon glanced at his Breitling.

  “Which he honored,” Gadreel tacked on.

  A growl rumbled from Zed and crimson swallowed his eyes. “Never use honor and Demoni Lord in the same sentence. Not in front of me.”

  “Well, I don’t trust him.” Kush poked his chest. “He knows where we live. He can come back to the farm with an army to steal the Cruor.”

  “Only if Bane and Amaya are killed, reverting the ownership of the property,” Gadreel said. “But I agree with Kush. We find him and kill him.”

  Murmured agreements circled the room until Ioath said, “What about the Demon Army?”

  “They’re leaderless without Taige,” Bane said, his voice neutral even though crimson stained his blue eyes. Amaya’s close call with death was still fresh, despite her killing Taige on the front lawn.

  “One of their kind will fill the gap,” Daghony said.

  “What about that one who fought with Taige?” Riél asked.

  Kush leaned forward. “Killed. Taige called him Aiden.”

  “Are you certain?” Ioath questioned Kush.

  “Head separated from his shoulders, unless that body part can grow back,” Kush summed up.

  Bane raised his beer. “The priority is finding Malphas. If he’s out to destroy his enemies, we’ll help him…otherwise, we kill him.”

  Zed immediately agreed, along with Kush, Gadreel, and Rimmon. The rest straddled the fence, although, by the currents swirling in the room, most agreed.

  And Chay couldn’t give a rat’s ass.

  “Anyone seen Sammiél?” Bane asked.

  “Not since he left with that Reaper, Daeden,” Riél said.

  Chay’s chest tightened. That fucking Reaper and his news of Sophie’s death. Was he the one who’d collect her soul?

  Kush turned to Chay. “How is Sophie?”

  Chay did not want to have this conversation here, but damn it, now with all eyes on him, he couldn’t avoid it. “The same since I told her the truth,” Chay said.

  “See, that’s your problem. Never tell a woman the truth. They expect you to lie, so it’s a free pass to do exactly that. Lie and deny.” Typical Riél, unapologetic and unrepentant.

  Chay’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “That’s how you get women to fuck you?”

  “I give them what they need and nothing more,” Riél said coldly.

  That was Chay’s cue to leave. He drained his glass and lurched to his feet, not even buzzed. Unless consumed quickly and in large quantities, liquor equaled Kool-Aid to their system. Time to choose a bottle for the road. His hand closed around a bottle of Bacardi as a door in the rear of the bar opened and three distinct voices—Dina, Amaya, and Scarla—echoed in the short hallway.

  Ah hell! I almost got away clean. He didn’t move as stilettoes clicked his way. The Bacardi was removed from his hand and returned to the shelf as she slid behind the bar. Hands braced on the polished wood, Scarla eyed him. They hadn’t seen each other in five days. In that time, she’d gotten rid of the black dye on the lower half of her hair, returning it to its natural blond, and added pink streaks. Chay hated it. “Looks good on you.” He pointed in the general direction of her head.

  Her eyes narrowed, but her lips remained shut long enough for her to inhale a lung full O2, and bark, “Where’s Sophie?”

  No use denying he hadn’t followed her. “Still in Detroit, though that may change. Found her at her brother’s grave.” He didn’t add the vomit and crying.

  Scarla chewed on her lip. A boatload of questions swam in her eyes. She nodded once and reached for a bottle of The Botanist on the top shelf. The premium gin still wouldn’t give him a buzz, though it would go down smooth.

  “Maybe,” she sighed, her face drawn. “Maybe we should give her some space. In time she’ll see we meant well, forgive us.” She opened The Botanist and filled two tumblers. “Maybe her being away from us is the best thing for her.” She rationalized for her benefit alone.

  Chay took the tumbler. This wasn’t something he could sugarcoat to protect her. Though
he hated to admit it, she wasn’t a child anymore. “They saw her face, Scarla. I don’t care how much she hates us, I won’t leave her unprotected. I’ve imprinted her so I won’t have to completely invade her privacy. I’ll know if she’s in danger.” Physical and emotional danger. He’d had a ringside seat to her every nightmare, though she didn’t know it.

  Scarla glared at him over the rim of her glass. “If that’s the case, why are you stalking her?”

  Scarla wasn’t stupid. She knew why. They stared each other down. One quick gulp and the liquor lubricated his throat. He slammed the glass upside down on the bar as Scarla did the same, a ritual of theirs. Expecting a grin, he got tears blurring her champagne eyes. Though not the hint of red circling the irises.

  His chest tightened. Ah, fuck! Tears killed him every time.

  “Hey.” He took her hand. “She’ll forgive us.”

  Scarla shook her head and dabbed her eyes with a napkin. “She won’t answer her phone. It’s not our first argument, but we’ve never not made up. This feels permanent. I’ve lost my bestie!” she choked out.

  Fear leeched into him, choking him. “You haven’t, and it’s not permanent,” he said between gritted teeth.

  “What if it is?” She sulked.

  “I won’t allow it to be.”

  Scarla wiped her eyes, smudging her black eyeliner. She reversed the grip and grabbed his hand. “Swear you will never scrub her mind again.” A faint crimson ring always appeared around her irises when she was upset. Not this time. Anguish, not anger, fueled her demand. “Promise me, Chay.”

  There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for Scarla. In every way, she was his daughter. Petty, spoiled, petulant, needy, he took full responsibility for all her flaws.

  Shadows unfurled from the underside of the bar and crawled over his body, swallowing him slowly. Faced with her determination, he could only say one thing before he allowed them to take him.

  “No.”

  Chapter Three

  Precise steps brought Aiden, former Spaun to Malphas, from his recovery room in the master suite to the boardroom located on the second floor of the thirty thousand square foot hideout secretly embedded in a mountain in the Himalayas. Seven long days and the pain hadn’t abated. He couldn’t lay all the blame on Taige nearly decapitating him. Regeneration from a single tendon keeping his head attached hadn’t been easy. The lingering malaise was the result of being exposed to the light pouring out of the angel named Amaya. He’d healed enough to witness the stunning sight. White, a fellow Spaun originally from his own caste, created a dimensional portal. Light landed on White as he tossed Aiden to safety, though not completely. The light pierced White’s body. He disintegrated reaching for Aiden. With the last of his power, White closed the dimensional portal and sent it away. Through his pain and his patchworked memory, that was all Aiden remembered. How much of it was accurate, he had no clue.