The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(79)

Maybe Arthur’s already gone. Her heart pounded furiously. No. Don’t even think it. She tried again to free her arms from Dusek’s hellfire. Finally, giving up, she scrambled to her feet and threw herself down the tunnel.

With all the dust and billowing brimstone, she might as well have been blind. She slammed into an obstacle she hadn’t even seen coming. She would have fallen, if a firm grip, just above her right elbow, hadn’t kept her on her feet.

“Cybele.”

Her head jerked up. He was tall, she thought inanely. Even taller than Arthur. His wing feathers were like glowing bronze velvet. His expression was hard, but somehow his grimness did nothing to detract from his beauty. Slashing cheekbones, angular jaw, aristocratic nose. His hair was dark and soaked with sweat, plastered across his forehead. And his eyes? Even through the murk, she could tell they were the softest brown she’d ever seen. Or had ever even imagined.

He was the dark archangel. Michael. A chill raced down her spin. Had he come to kill her?

“No.” She tried to break his grip. He only held her tighter. “No.” She struck out. She couldn’t reach him. She kicked. Hit his knee. He didn’t flinch.

“Calm down.” His voice was deep and smooth. “Stop struggling. I’m not here to hurt you.”

With a start, she realized Dusek’s hellfire lashes were gone. They’d dissolved the instant Michael had touched her. Surely, if he’d meant to kill her, she’d be dead by now. The cave shuddered. A large chunk of rock fell, struck his head, and bounced away. His only reaction was a frown, and she was pretty sure the falling rock had nothing to do with that. He was frowning at her.

“I’m taking you out of here,” he said.

“No. No way.” Her chest heaved with the effort of breathing. “I’m going back to the big cave. I’ve got to get to Arthur.”

“Arthur’s going to have to take care of himself, I’m afraid.” Michael turned her around and hustled her in the opposite direction. His wings came up to shelter her from the falling rock as easily as an umbrella dispelled a drizzle.

“Or not,” he added under his breath as another violent tremor struck. “As the case may be.”

“What do you mean by that? Is he d—” Cybele couldn’t bring herself to say the word.

Michael supplied it. “Dead? No, he’s not. At least, he wasn’t the last time I saw him. Can’t say how long that’ll last, though.”

“No! I’ve got to—”

“Get yourself killed?” He slipped an arm around her waist and hauled her along the passage. “Forget it. Arthur’s a big boy. Let him sink or swim on his own. This is all his fault.”

“It is not!”

“No? Who pulled that staff from the stone? Who opened a portal to Hell and released a horde of hellfiends from the deep?”

“He didn’t know—”

“Not an excuse.” Michael’s tone was grim. “There’s no telling what will happen now that those things are free.”

“Merlin’s staff—it was keeping those things underground?”

“The staff, yes, and Raphael’s seal. Arthur’s unleashed what’s been contained for over a millennium.”

“Not Arthur. Dusek. He’s the one who broke that seal. I saw him.”

Michael stopped and peered at her with an arrested expression. “You did? How did he do it?”

“He used this little golden ball. It had wings made from two glowing feathers. Angel feathers, I think they were. The ball slammed into the ceiling and the light just...shattered.”

Michael uttered a word Cybele was pretty sure angels weren’t in the habit of saying. She tried to tug free of his grasp. “Listen. Just let me go. I have to get back to Ar—”

“Maaaaaawethhhhhhh! Are you in there? Are you all right? Answer meeeee.”

Michael swung around. He’d stopped before a bend in the tunnel. The voice high and melodious, like a bell, and came from just ahead.

“Blessed Heaven,” he muttered. “That sounds like—”

A golden blur of light wobbled around the corner, caught sight of Michael and Cybele, and drew up short. The little angel who’d attacked Dusek earlier hovered in the air, wings whirring. In his chubby hands was the Alchemist’s mirror. Its broken chain dangled in the air.

The angel blinked, the sparkling blue of his eyes looking terribly out of place in the yellow murk. “Michael?”

The archangel appeared stunned. “Fortunato?”

“You know him?” Cybele asked.

Michael blinked down at her. “Know him? Of course I know him. He’s a cherub, isn’t he? I’ve been looking everywhere for him.” He looked back to the angel. “Fortunato, what in Heaven’s holy name are you doing here?”

The angel sniffled. “Michael! It’s really you.” He threw himself at the archangel, wrapping one pudgy arm around his neck. “Michael. Michael. Michael.” He thrust the mirror under the larger angel’s nose. “Help.”

“Help with wh—” Michael cut off as the rock under their feet disintegrated.

Cybele scrambled for footing. There wasn’t any. A chasm had opened up beneath her. She shrieked. Michael’s grip tightened. She found herself suspended, her legs dangling in thin air. Michael held her easily, with one arm, her back pressed against his chest, much as Dusek had done.