Of Alliance and Rebellion (24 page)

He dared to take a step forward, and she flicked her sword up, the point nestling in the vulnerable spot at the base of his throat. She should just finish this now. She tensed.

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he whispered hoarsely, “We think Remiel is leading a rebel army, angel, and you’re his weapon of choice.”

Blood ran cold through her already chilly heart. “More deception,” she spat.

“Truth, angel,” he said. He smiled softly. “Surely you can tell at this moment.”

She narrowed her eyes. He was right. She sensed no untruth in him, and her black and white vision
would
be able to do so. Still. Her mission—

She pressed the sword forward slightly, stabilizing it before thrusting home. He sucked in a breath, and a single crimson droplet gathered in the dip of his throat beneath her sword, and then began to track down his bare chest.

Her lips parted around a whimper. She had hurt him.

She had hurt him
!

“M-Max?”

His eyes grew glassy. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, pretty baby?”

Between one blink and the next, her black and white vision vanished to be replaced by a golden glow. She heard Max mutter, “Thank God,” but she was almost too distracted to notice. That crimson trail down Max’s chest glowed the brightest gold. Her eyes followed it up to the sword, and down the sword’s blade to her double-handed grip. Her hands were glowing the brightest of all.

She was the biggest threat to his safety.

With a cry, she drew back the sword and dropped it. It clanged against the floor.

“Ana,” Max said quickly, stepping forward with his hands outstretched.

“Stop!” she yelled, taking a step backward. “You’re bleeding.”

“I don’t fucking care,” he said, continuing forward.

“Don’t let me touch you!” she pleaded, holding her hands out in front of her and hoping to ward him off. “Oh, holy God. You will
die
from that, Max.”

That finally stopped him. With drawn brows, he raised one hand and dabbed at the almost negligible wound on his neck. He glanced down at his red-smeared fingers and then looked back up at her. “From
this
?” he asked.

“It will never heal,” she said. “You need the Tree.”

“Okay,” he said slowly, drawing out the word. “We
have
the Tree, Ana. It’s okay.” He stepped toward her again but froze when she moaned. “I’m more worried about you at the moment.”

“Oh, go,” she said. “
Please
... just go. Jayden knows how to help you fix the cut.”

He stared at her for several long moments before sighing, and she relaxed, realizing he was finally listening to her. His eyes darted to the door and then back to her. “I’m coming right back, Ana. You stay right here.”

Anahita did not bother to answer; she
could
not answer through the tumultuous rioting of her thoughts. He backed out of the room, keeping his eyes upon her at all times until he was out of sight. Anahita heard the apartment door open then close.

A flood of anger and rage—mostly self-directed—swept over her, and in a snap, she’d snatched up the sword. “Remiel!” she yelled to the ceiling. She waited only a moment before bellowing his name again.

That angel
was
going to show his face, or she was going to
him
, and he would not like it. Were the humans right? Was Remiel ...
using
her? She clenched the hilt of her sword even tighter and charged into the living room area, only to pull up short.

Remiel stood in the center. He crossed his arms and wore the closest thing to a scowl Anahita had ever seen on any angel’s face. “So, you summon
me
now, is that it?”

He was here. He was here? Yes, she had been determined to see him, but she had been sure her attempts to summon him would not work.

Holy God, she could
summon
! She was one of the few angels who had more than one or two gifts. How many centuries had she wasted being at the beck and call of others when she could have been the one doing the calling? Perhaps she should have tried it earlier. Perhaps she should try more things.

She affected a modicum of calmness and shoved aside this startling discovery for consideration at a later time. More pressing matters awaited her. “Remiel, what were the Most High’s orders concerning these humans?” she asked, giving each word its own, heavy weight. The insubordination in her tone shocked her.

Remiel didn’t move or react in anyway. In fact, he seemed unnaturally still. “You know what they were. Those who eat of the Tree of Eternal Life must die, Warrior. Though,” he paused and smiled unkindly, “those are not Warrior eyes I see now, Guardian.”

Anahita clenched her teeth. “Beside the point, and you will not distract me from this. What were the Most High’s orders concerning
these
humans?”

She saw the slightest flicker along Remiel’s brow. “I do not understand, angel. Do you suggest that the Most High should repeat himself on a trial-by-trial basis? His orders were clear.”

“Millennia ago, yes,” Anahita said. “They were very clear. But then His anger cooled. He has changed many of His edicts since then. It would not be remiss to verify His orders every five thousand years or so.” She was employing sarcasm now? Apparently, yes. She took a step toward him, the fire from the sword burning her hand with its overbearing heat. “So, I repeat: what is His will in this particular situation?”

The tips of Remiel’s wings shifted. “The Most High has not expressly addressed the Tree of Eternal Life since delivering those orders. The Warriors have not been told directly that the orders have changed.”

“That is enough,” Anahita said. “How very political of you, Remiel.” His word choices—
expressly, directly
—allowed him to skirt the edge of honesty. While no angel could lie, Remiel seemed to find a way to play with this line and blur it for his purposes. Her gut sank. If he were innocent of this grievous error, he would simply say so, as would any angel. The humans
were
right. Just how blind had she been? Had they
all
been?

Her Warrior side was protesting in broken mewls from the corner of her mind as her Guardian side grew stronger and stronger. She could allow her Warrior Compulsion to feed off her energy. To become stronger. And perhaps it could have the slightest chance of beating back her Guardian side. But to what effect? The death of humans that the Most High may very much want to live?

Anahita exhaled a shuddering breath and allowed herself a moment’s sorrow as she prepared to forever strike her chances of becoming Warrior from her realm of possibilities. She closed her eyes and her Guardian Compulsion swept all remnants of her Warrior side away in a violence that made Anahita sway on her feet.

But in the aftermath of that violence, the push and pull she’d been feeling within her since her dueling Compulsions had set vanished. Utter peace lay in its wake.

She drew in the first easy breath she’d ever taken. What in God’s name had she been fighting?

“So, you have chosen to forsake your calling?” Remiel asked, his tone of voice shifting.

Her eyes darted open to find him observing her with distaste. The change in her must be apparent to others. Oddly enough, that did not bother her. “Perhaps I’ve chosen to embrace something else,” Anahita said, lifting her chin.

“I told you once, failing in this mission would mean your death.”

Anahita narrowed her eyes. “You wish to take my life? Come and claim it.”

For some reason, Remiel seemed disconcerted by this. He shifted his weight back and forth before straightening and staring at her with an odd gleam in his eye. “I tire of so many failures in this simple task. Give me the sword.
I
will finish what should have been done years ago.”

Not while she was still breathing. She gripped the sword with both hands and brought it up in front of her, quickly assessing the location of all Remiel’s physical vulnerabilities. No one would ever harm her Ward.
No one
. “I repeat: come and claim it.”

Remiel’s eyes flicked to a point over Anahita’s shoulder, then back to her face, and then back over her shoulder. She knew he was not looking at anything; there was nothing behind her. Something was happening here that Anahita could not quite place her finger on. Remiel seemed ...
hesitant
to engage her in battle. It made no sense. He was the fiercest of all Warriors. Surely, a simple Guardian posed no real threat to him.

And, yet, Anahita had never felt more powerful than she did now, wielding her sword in the protection of her Ward. Maybe Remiel was
right
to be hesitant. Perhaps he would not fight her at all.

The attack came so quickly, she was caught off guard. With only the snap of his wings as a warning, Remiel was upon her, arm banded across her chest as he launched them both across the room.

Her wings crunched against the wall with the mass and power of two hurtling bodies, and Anahita cried out as she felt bones snap. Her grip upon the sword loosened slightly, and she gritted her teeth as she begged her hands to tighten and not lose their hold.

Remiel pulled back his fist and drove it into her stomach. Anahita gagged as all of the air in her lungs tried to leave her body at once. And then her lungs froze; for several panicked heartbeats, she could not draw another breath. It was a long enough paralysis to keep her from defending herself, and Remiel was able to lay another of his powerful punches into her.

Stars winked behind her vision. She needed air. She needed to
fight
! Centuries of training—of being taught to be subordinate to the angel now attacking her—were as paralyzing as her inability to draw breath.

But then Remiel made a grave error: he laid his hands upon the sword’s hilt and tried to pry it from her loosened grip.

In her golden vision, Remiel’s glow launched to a higher, more florescent degree. His intent was clear: he was going to take the sword from her, and he would not stop until Max was dead. He posed the highest threat possible to him.

Strength filled every vein, every muscle of Anahita’s body.
You will not harm him!
her oxygen-starved brain screamed. With a jerk, she threw her elbow up and caught Remiel in the chin hard enough that the clack of his teeth striking each other echoed through the room. His head flew back, and some of the pressure across her chest eased beneath the bar of his arm. Finally, she was able to suck in life-giving air. The dots behind her eyes cleared. Her strength doubled again.

His body still crowded hers, so she pulled her knee up and plowed it into the place between his legs, shocked, as he bellowed and pulled away, that he had allowed her to get that move in on him. His desperation must have been intense indeed to have his guard down in such a way.

His own training kicked in enough to keep him from doubling over and giving her the opportunity to apply her knee to his nose, so she brought the sword hilt to his face instead, smashing his nose with a crack.

His head snapped back, and he stumbled a few feet away, and when he looked back at her with stinging tears swimming in his eyes and blood trickling down his face, she could swear that another wary expression was fixed upon his face. But as he blinked away the tears and swiped at the blood running along his upper lip, the expression vanished, and she had to wonder if it had ever been there at all.

He bared his teeth at her, and the rage pouring off of him was so strong that she could feel its heat roll over her. The implacable angel was gone; a wrathful creature was in its place. In that moment, still feeling the calm of a Guardian in protection mode, Anahita knew she would win.

Just as she suspected, Remiel grew sloppy. He charged at her with no finesse, a war cry bursting from him, and she easily dodged the attack and brought the hilt of the sword crashing down between his wings, sending him to the floor with a heavy thud.

Shifting the sword to her left hand, Anahita reached down with her right, hauled Remiel up by a fistful of robe, and tossed him toward the wall a few feet away. He landed against it chest first, hands sprawled out on the white paint in a too-late attempt to catch himself. By the time he’d turned around to face her, she was already upon him.

Her hand was a vise around his neck, and she increased the pressure, feeling the blood flow beneath her fingers slow. She raised the sword and placed the tip at his sternum. His eyes glazed, and Anahita loosened the vise only enough for him to retain consciousness for a few more moments. “You will never harm him,” she gritted out from between clenched teeth. She prepared to slide the sword between Remiel’s ribs.

“No,” he gasped. “Anahita, no.”

Something in his tone caused her to pause. His face grew fires-of-hell red with his lack of oxygen, but his eyes—the same blue as hers—had finally grown calm and rational. The angel was back.

She should still kill him.

A large part of her rebelled at the thought. This angel had been a brother and mentor to her for centuries. Had given her a chance when few would have.

“Anahita,” Remiel rasped. His shaking hand rose beside them, and Anahita tensed for another attack, but Remiel simply wrapped his fingers gently around her wrist where she clutched his neck. “Sister. Mercy, please.” Anahita’s resolve wavered further. “I am doing my best,” he continued. “Many gifts; many Temptations.” He closed his eyes. “So hard. I am doing my best,” he repeated, defeat and exhaustion dripping from each syllable.

Understanding dawned, and with it, empathy. Many Temptations? Her one Temptation was bad enough. As repugnant as his actions were, they were incredibly intelligent. Remiel was able to keep his
own
hands clean by having other angels act on his behalf. However, none would do so anymore.

“You will confess your misguided actions to the Warriors,” Anahita said, the grip on his throat already loosening. “Avoid your Fall and eliminate the possibility of further abuse of power at the same time.”

Remiel’s eyes widened, but she saw the moment he realized his ruse was over anyway. Someone was always watching; his actions were no doubt already known. He nodded.