Angel Betrayed (The Fallen #2)(77)

Maybe they changed the f*cking locks.

His teeth snapped together as Tomas’s voice rang through his mind. The Fallen was wrong. He could enter heaven, he could slide into hell, and he could walk the earth. He punished the damned, no matter where they were.

He saw the white columns up ahead. Waiting for him. His home.

Perfect. Peaceful.

Open, as it had always been.

Open . . .

“Not this time, Rogziel.” Delia’s cool voice stopped him.

His feet touched down on the marble floor, and she immediately appeared before him. Her wings stretched up high behind her, the way an angel’s wings always did before an attack.

The way his wings were stretching now.

“This isn’t the place for you,” she said in her flat, slightly cool voice.

He stared at her. “I don’t answer to you, child.” And that’s all she was to him. A child. Barely a few centuries old. He didn’t care what Delia wanted. What she said. He was the one with the power.

As far as he knew, Delia had never even ventured into hell. Like many of the others, perhaps she was afraid of what she’d find waiting for her.

“No, you don’t answer to me.” Doors were behind her. Massive white doors that led to paradise. “Just think of me as the messenger.” No expression crossed her face. “This place isn’t for you,” she told him again.

He wanted to rip her apart. Make her scream. Beg.

Burn.

She took a step back. Ah, so she did feel his power.

But she shook her head. “Good-bye, Rogziel.”

He grabbed her arm. “No.” Because a lick of fear had cut into his heart. “I’m an angel. This is where I belong.”

Delia stared back at him. “You will soon be where you belong.”

Those f*cking Fallen. He hadn’t done his job. Hadn’t punished them. So now he was being punished. “I’ll take them out! I’ll clear the earth of the abominations . . .”

He spun away from her. He knew what to do. He still had his wings. He wasn’t cast out. He was— “Not all abominations are on earth,” Delia said softly.

He stilled as her words sank in. The rage bubbled then and raked beneath his skin like claws. “You dare to judge me?”

“No.” Her voice was still quiet. “That’s not my job.”

Sammael. It was the bastard’s fault. He’d shifted the balance. Brought too much evil to the world.

Punish . . .

“The judgment is at hand,” Delia told him. “Be ready.”

Then her wings rustled, and she flew away from paradise.

The instant she vanished, Rogziel charged those heavy white doors, but they wouldn’t open for him. They wouldn’t open. He clawed. He punched. His hands broke, and he bled.

But the doors wouldn’t budge.

“No!” His scream.

I bet they changed the f*cking locks.

“Let me in!” he yelled.

No one answered his cry.

The doors stayed shut.

He’d served in heaven. Punished in hell and on earth.

Served . . .

“No!”

His blood stained the doors.

But they wouldn’t open.





Sam knew where to find Mateo. He always did. Find the nearest crossroads, light a match, and whisper a quick incantation, then all he had to do was wait for Mateo to appear.

Mateo wasn’t exactly a witch, no matter how hard he might try to claim otherwise. There was more than just witch blood flowing through his veins.

Mateo was a caller, too—one from a very long and dark line. Summon him at the crossroads, and he had to appear. Bind him, and he had to do your bidding.

“Sam?” Seline’s hand was in his. “What are we doing here?”

“Calling a friend,” he told her. “Now stand back.” Things were about to get even uglier than they had been, but he wouldn’t block her out. She’d be there for the end game and the freedom she wanted so badly.

She stepped back. Their fingers slid apart.

Tomas paced nervously near the edge of the road. “No, man, you are not doing a crossroads call. Don’t you know that you can’t trust whatever freak comes when you do this crap? These are monsters! They slipped out of hell, they—”

Sam used a blade to slice over his wrist. Blood dropped right onto the middle of the crossroads. He whispered the summoning chant once more, then, said simply, “Mateo.”

The sky above them darkened. A crack of lightning slammed into the ground, and with a scream, Mateo appeared.

Mateo’s shoulders hunched. His breath wheezed out. Coming to a crossroads was never easy for a caller. A caller had to slip past hell every time the crossroads beckoned. “Fuckin’ * . . .” Mateo muttered, raising his head to glare at Sam.

“No! Not him!” Tomas snarled as he recognized Mateo. “He’s working with Rogziel! I told you—aw, man, now we’re dead!”

Sam didn’t look at Tomas. “Guess Rogziel figured out how to summon you, huh?” His mixed blood was Mateo’s closest secret. His mother, Aviana, had been a crossroads spirit. Summon her and she’d grant your wish. Once she granted your wish, she’d make you wish again—only this time, you’d be wishing for death.