“One.” Michael glanced up at a micro-fissure in the gold-flecked ceiling. “Nine hundred years ago. His birth collapsed an entire Heavenly mountain range, and he wasn’t a quarter as powerful as Lucifer.”
“The mother,” Harvester said, excitement building as the thought she’d been chasing started to solidify. “Who was she?”
“A nun,” he barked. “Why?”
Her breath caught and held. That was it! She knew how to stop the destruction and stop the war.
“Michael, you have to cut off Gethel’s wings.”
He frowned. “Her wings? Why—” His eyes shot wide, and then a broad grin spread across his face. “Of course!” And then Michael, who was known for his aloof nature, hugged her. “If I didn’t have a mate, I’d take you right now.”
And that was the problem with archangels. They took what they wanted, even if what they wanted didn’t want them back.
Michael flashed away, leaving her to answer the new buzz in her head.
Raphael’s summons. It was time.
Tel Megiddo had seen more angelic history happen on its earthen mound than any other place on Earth, but Reaver would bet the tension on its hilltop had never been greater than it was at this very moment.
Long, strained minutes passed as the two sides engaged in an epic stare-off. Even the clouds overhead had frozen in place. The only noises were Gethel’s agonized bleats and the werewolf cub’s whimpers.
Finally, Caim inclined his head in the shallowest of nods as if taking orders from some invisible supervisor. “The demons have retreated. Give us Gethel, and the Dark Lord will let Harvester’s rescue slide.” He flapped his leathery wings. “But this isn’t over. The slightest interference with Sheoul will shatter this fragile truce, and you will know Satan’s wrath.”
“Blah, blah.” Reaver rolled his eyes.
Revenant popped Reaver on the back of the head with a flare of power. “Asshole.”
“I can feel the brotherly love radiating from you.” Reaver returned the not-so-gentle gesture, except from the front, and Revenant’s head snapped back as if he’d been punched.
“Stop it!” Metatron barked. “Reaver, release the traitorous whore.”
“No!” Gabriel flashed from the sidelines to the center of the circle. “If we let her go now, we’ll never have a shot at her again.”
Gabby was right. Satan would ensconce her in his realm where she’d be safe from anyone, including Reaver.
But Reaver was siding with Metatron on this. The fallout, and the damage to Heaven, would rest on his shoulders.
And he was okay with that. If he’d learned anything at all in his long and weird life, it was that if you made a decision, you owned it. Even if it was the wrong decision.
“Wait!” Michael materialized next to Reaver, a set of golden scythes in his hands. Instinctively, Reaver growled. He’d been on the sharp edge of those things twice, and they were a little too close for comfort, even if they wouldn’t work on him. He’d turn Michael into sausage if he tried.
Gabriel spun to Michael and gestured to the scythes. “What are you doing with those?”
“Something we should have done a long time ago.” Michael turned to Reaver. “It was Harvester’s idea.”
That was all Michael needed to say. Reaver stepped back from Gethel, and when the fallen angels tried to rush to her, he knocked them back with an invisible barrier formed by his thoughts.
Revenant tackled him like a linebacker, slamming them both into the ground. Pain streaked through Reaver’s shoulder, but he healed in a heartbeat and used his freshly healed arm to punch his brother in the face.
Blood spurted from Rev’s nose, but as with Reaver, the injury healed instantaneously, disappearing even the blood.
They rolled around on the packed earth, trading punches in a fight that was far more personal than using special powers would have allowed. For all the amazing upgrades they’d been given, there was nothing more satisfying than a good old-fashioned brawl between brothers.
Through the sound of flesh striking flesh, growls, and curses, Reaver heard Gethel scream. Heard the sickening crunch of wings being separated from her body.
And then, as if a veil had been lifted. Revenant was gone. All the fallen angels were gone. Team Evil had collected its prize and left, leaving Reaver with Metatron and his colleagues.
Shaking his head, Reaver cleaned himself of the blood, dirt, and injuries, and came to his feet.
“I’ll be damned,” Metatron murmured, his gaze fixed on the set of bloody wings lying on the ground, the dull, frayed feathers ruffling in the hot breeze.