The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(81)

She blinked. “I didn’t think angels cursed.”

His expression turned sheepish. “We don’t, normally.”

She glanced toward Merlin’s Hill. The smoke and flame showed no signs of abating. Even this far away, she could feel the ground trembling. “I guess there’s nothing normal about this.” She drew a breath. “Can I ask you a question?”

“I suppose so.”

“Arthur,” she said. “Do you think he’s alive?”

He shrugged. “I haven’t the foggiest.”

How could her chest feel tight and like it was cracking open all at once? “But—I need to know.”

“Well. As I’ve said, he was alive when I saw him last. Raphael was trying his best to remedy that, but your lover is a wily fighter. He was giving almost as good as he got.”

“So he could still be alive.”

“Might be, yes. Though it’s not likely.”

Cybele didn’t give a shit what was likely. She clutched at the shred of hope he’d offered. “You have to go back.”

“What?”

“You heard me. You have to go back.”

He regarded her with patent disbelief. “Into that mess? To rescue the Nephil who caused it? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’m dead serious. Go back and get Arthur. You can do it. I know you can.” She closed the distance between them and grasped his arm.

He flinched. For a long moment he stared down at her hand, as if it were a viper, preparing to strike.

“If Arthur’s alive,” he said slowly, “he’ll find his own way out.”

“Not if he’s unconscious.” Cybele’s grip tightened. “Please. You have to look for him.”

“I have to do no such thing.” Michael shook his head slightly as if trying to dislodge something from his brain. “Honestly, I shouldn’t even have done this much. I stepped way outside my boundaries when I rescued you.”

“Why did you?”

He took a step back. Her hand fell to her side. Their eyes locked. Several long moments spun out.

“I couldn’t let Dusek take you,” he said at last.

“But—why would you care?”

“I—I don’t know, exactly.”

She cocked her head to one side, trying—and failing—to understand. But some unreadable emotion in his brown eyes prompted her to go on. “Please,” she said softly. “Please go look for Arthur. If not for his sake, for mine.”

His lips pressed together, and he looked away. “He’s probably dead by now.”

Her heart clenched. “Then bring me his body. So I can be sure.”

His expression didn’t change, but she sensed a subtle shift in his resolve. She held her breath through a long moment of silence.

“Please,” she said at last when he didn’t speak. “I’m begging you.”

He looked at her. “You love him.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I do.”

“Why?”

The question surprised her. “Because...because he’s Arthur. He’s—oh, it’s hard to describe. I loved him—I knew him—from the very first moment I saw him. He was twelve. I was thirteen. He was...so much more than anyone I’d ever met. His ideals, his beliefs—before I met Arthur, I didn’t know...I didn’t realize...that there could be a life outside Mab’s dirty little world. Arthur made me dream of a different future. Of a life built on free will.”

She paused for breath. Michael remained silent, his expression inscrutable.

She eyed him. “Have you ever been in love?”

“No.” He looked away. “I have not.”

“I suppose love isn’t...isn’t something angels need. You can’t really understand. But it’s true. I love Arthur and he loves me. He...if it were me in that mess, he wouldn’t even think about whether or not to look for me. He’d just do it. He went rogue and faced his Ordeal alone for me. He was in that cave, looking for Merlin’s staff for me.”

Her vision blurred. Tears? Damn. She never cried. “Please. Just find him. Bring him back to me. Alive or dead.”

Michael touched her cheek. When he drew his hand back, she saw his fingertip was wet. He stared at the drop of moisture—her tears—for what seemed like a very long time. Finally, his hand formed a fist. He lifted his head.

“All right. I’ll look for him. Wait here.”

His lofty wings, velvet bronze, unfurled. His dark gaze touched on her. He’s so beautiful, she thought dazedly.

Too beautiful. She looked away.

When she looked back, he was gone.





TWENTY


The wait was interminable. Cybele paced in the rut between the ruined barn and a muddy field where some wheat-looking kind of plant was just beginning to sprout. Every couple of passes, she paused to stare across the valley toward Merlin’s Hill. The hellfiend invasion showed no signs of letting up. A seemingly endless horde poured into the sky, spreading out in every direction. The air was thick with ash and sulfur. A deep breath burned. It looked like night for all that she’d caught a brief glimmer of dawn before the unholy murk took over completely. She felt sick, ready to throw up. Would the sun ever shine again?