Her toes scraped the long table, and she soared up to perch on the top of two wooden beams, their cross-wise pattern reminding her of Sariel’s necklace. A human figure hung from their center, gazing sadly down at the corpses arrayed across the tiles. Naamah was streaking for both the statue and Troy, her sword held out sideways, ready to chop off Troy’s head, the statue’s hands. Everything. Anything.
Troy grabbed a cloth hanging to the right of the cross and pitched the heavy fabric at Naamah.
“Time to learn a little respect.”
“. . . because you’re nothing more . . . than a thing.”
Kim pressed the knife to Israfel’s throat.
The blade cut the angel’s ivory skin slightly, staining his long neck with a tendril of crimson. His enchanting voice had died to gentle breaths that spoke of many future events—events Kim couldn’t handle thinking about—because they had Angela in mind. He didn’t want to blame her for the infatuation she’d fallen into—but it was hard. Angela had been the only woman he’d felt any kind of real connection to besides Stephanie, and the feelings between them had to be based on more than chance, even if they’d blossomed under so much danger. They were just starting to learn about each other, to enjoy the process, and he’d be damned if some angel who danced in her dreams was about to change that.
“You’re a human priest,” Israfel said.
“Good guess, but you’re only half correct.”
Angela gasped from inside the circle of Israfel’s wings.
They’d been so occupied with each other, Israfel’s senses hadn’t been enough to warn him of the worst. Sophia had been the only person to see Kim encroaching on them, and from the torment burning behind her eyes and all over her face, it had been clear she wasn’t going to ruin the surprise. If someone was needed to step on Israfel’s toes, better a half-Jinn than no one at all. And, oh, how that half of Kim burned him inside. Right now, he fully understood what it felt like to be Troy, to become so angry and overbearingly upset that you were blind to what you did and why you did it.
Israfel was still, and Kim was still, his hand trembling slightly, the steel of his knife tickling the angel’s throat. God, how he wanted to slice open his neck.
But Angela wouldn’t ever forgive him.
She burst out of the angel’s arms and rounded on Kim, her face haunted, her expression regretful. Well, it seemed he still had a chance. She wouldn’t look at him with that kind of emotion if they weren’t a possibility. Every time they locked eyes, electricity seemed to snap between them.
“Well, what now, Angela?” Kim said, more softly than he wanted.
The delicate wings along Israfel’s ears flapped, expressing his impatience.
He glanced at Troy, deep in the middle of her latest skirmish with Naamah.
They had trashed what was left of the church, avoiding the interior of the altar more because of Troy’s fear than out of respect. Jinn had no dread of holy objects or symbols, but they steered clear of them whenever they could, unwilling to bring down what they considered to be the wrath of the Highest. How ironic that Troy was the professional murderer, yet out of the two of them, Kim was the one who feared absolutely nothing, God included.
Only Troy. Only death.
“Are you happy,” he said with a smirk, glancing now at Brendan Mathers, dead and messy near the altar, “with how things have turned out?”
Though he was certain the answer eluded her at the moment, Angela must not have liked his tone of voice. She blushed, and then the anger began to show itself in the set of her mouth, the firm stance of her tights-covered legs. Should she be mad at Kim for putting a blade to Israfel’s neck? But like he’d promised Troy, it would have haunted him forever if the Supernal escaped without a flesh wound.
Lucifel, he was sure, would never stand for it.
“Even if you aren’t the Archon, I don’t like sharing, Angela.” Whether he should have said so or not didn’t matter anymore. He at least deserved her honesty in return, and he’d make sure to have it. “I hate it when I think I’ve found a partner and that person turns out to be—faithless. Stephanie did that to me, not to mention waste a lot of my time. Whether she’s the Archon or isn’t, the day I see her on the Throne of Hell is the day it freezes over.”
“What do you mean?” Angela said, whispering. “You’re not saying that—”
“I’m working for Lucifel?” Kim sighed, tipping his head and shifting his bangs aside. “I’m sure your new friend would tell you so. But can you really believe anything an angel says? In my experience, the word angel denotes place over personality. And angels and demons tend to think alike.”