The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(84)

Michael’s jaw tensed. “I told you before. I am not my brother.”

She stared. “I think...I’m beginning to understand that.”

It was the only thing she was beginning to understand about him. The rest of it—his motives, his thoughts, his inconceivable actions—she was at a loss to explain.

“Why?” she asked. “Why did you do all this? Why did you save me? Save Arthur? Bring us the staff? We should be beneath your notice.”

“No. You’re not. From the first time I saw you, in that house by the moor—” His mouth closed abruptly.

“House by the moor?” She narrowed her eyes. “You were at T?’r Cythraul?”

He avoided her gaze. “Briefly.”

“Briefly,” she repeated. “What the hell does that mean? Why were you there at all?”

“I was keeping an eye on him.” He jerked his chin at Arthur.

“But why?”

“Raphael thought it prudent.” He grimaced. “Turns out he was right. As my brother annoyingly tends to be.”

“Raphael sent you to spy on us?” Cybele’s mind raced. Her voice took on a dangerous tone. “Tell me. What, exactly, did you see?”

He blinked once. A flush appeared high on his cheeks. His lips pressed firmly together.

Cybele gasped as the truth hit her. “Holy shit! Those were your wings I saw through the window. You creeper! You watched Arthur and me doing it.”

He didn’t deny it. What’s more, the accuracy of her accusation was written all over his face. His cheeks went from pink to crimson, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

The image of what he must’ve seen through the window—she and Arthur, tangled together on the bed, fucking each other’s brains out—sprang into her mind. Her cheeks began to burn as hot as his.

She crossed her arms. “I have to say, that’s pretty low. Even for a human. For an angel—”

“I know,” he broke in. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re a miserable liar,” she said, eyeing him. “I don’t think you’re sorry at all.”

He brought his gaze to hers. “I am sorry—” He held up his hand when she opened her mouth to retort. “You’re right. I’m not sorry I watched. I’m sorry I’ve upset you.”

Was she upset? Suddenly she wasn’t sure. It was all too absurd. Who ever heard of an angel Peeping Tom? She swallowed a bubble of laughter. “So tell me, what did you like best? Was it when I went d—”

“By all that’s holy!” His entire face flushed so hotly, she thought it might combust. “What I saw or didn’t see is irrelevant.”

“Like hell it is. Holy crap! Don’t angels understand the concept of privacy?” She huffed out a breath. “Oh, why am I even asking? Of course they don’t. Heaven’s always watching.”

“And you’re lucky I was watching. Otherwise, you and this half-insane, over-powered idiot—” He waved the top half of Merlin’s staff at Arthur. “—would be dead right now.”

“Oh, sure. Take all the credit. Seems to me you could’ve saved us all some trouble and stopped us from coming to Merlin’s Hill in the first place.”

“I had nothing to do with that. I wasn’t even there when you left. Gabriel was supposed to be watching Arthur. Raphael sent me to look for Fortunato.”

At the sound of his name, Fortunato looked up.

“Crap job Gabriel did, then,” Cybele muttered.

“We’re in complete agreement there,” Michael replied.

The cherub buzzed into the air. “Now can you listen to me, Michael? Please? Please?”

“In a minute, Fortunato.” Michael held out the two pieces of Merlin’s staff to Cybele. “Here. Take these.”

She did. The wood was cold. Lifeless. “Thank you,” she said. “Though...I’m not sure it matters. I’m not an adept, of course, but to me, this feels...dead.”

“Maybe Arthur can make it whole again.”

Cybele’s brows rose. “What would Raphael say about that?”

Michael grimaced. “I don’t want to know. Which is why I’m not going to tell him.”

“Then...why give Merlin’s staff to me at all?”

“Because,” he said seriously, “it occurs to me that if Merlin was once able to hold back a demon horde with this staff, his heir may be able to use it to banish the current invasion.”

“That’s a pretty big stretch, if you ask me.” She tipped back her head and looked at the black sky. “How many of those things do you think there are?”

“Hundreds of thousands? Millions? Who knows?”

Her fingers tightened on the twisted wood. “When Arthur wakes up—” She had to believe that would happen. “I’ll give him the staff and tell him what you’ve said. And what you’ve done. He’ll be grateful.”

Michael snorted. “You think? I guarantee you, he won’t be.”

“Why not?”

“If you have to ask,” he said, “it’s not worth me trying to explain it.”

“That,” Cybele replied, “makes absolutely no sense.”