The Watcher

“You’re getting some movement back,” he said darkly, like he might just immobilize me again.

One of the black-ski

Dead. What if it was Michael and he’d been killed again? A new wave of terror ran through me. I couldn’t deal with that.

Damiel jumped off the bed. “Bring him to me!”

It couldn’t be Michael. Please, not him. Anyone but him.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The body the two cloaked creatures dragged in lay slumped on the wood floor like a statue of defeat. His broken, immobile wings furled crookedly behind him, and his head lolled to the side. His dark, wavy hair was damp and matted with blood—a head wound. Though I’d tried to stop him from having to face Damiel, deep down I should have known Michael would come. It was his nature, and he was dead because of it.

Nothing mattered now. There was nothing Damiel could do to me that was worse than this. Not his gleeful laughter nor his gloating. Bile burned in my throat at the sight of Michael’s limp, lifeless body, a body that I had been so close to only a few hours earlier. Now his once-white singlet was tattered, covered in grime, his muscular form covered in claw marks, bloody scratches, and bites. It wasn’t a clean death. He’d been hurt first. A lot.

Tears stained my vision, blurring the room, so I didn’t see Damiel walk toward Michael’s body, but I could hear his footsteps and the dreadful thudding sound of flesh being hit.

“That’s for not letting me kill you again myself,” Damiel growled.

In that moment, the last vestige of hope locked itself away as the reality of my situation seeped in. No one else would come for me. Nobody knew I was here, which left me as good as dead. I didn’t have a plan for surviving this. My plans ended at trying to leave town. Now Michael was gone too, and all I had left were memories. I hadn’t deserved his love, but he gave it to me selflessly, despite the trouble it caused him, to the point of fighting to the death to try to save me.

It was up to me to get myself out of this alive and preferably not pregnant. All I had to do was outsmart Damiel and get past his minions. But how? There had to be a way.

Damiel turned back to me, a gleeful expression on his face, as though seeing Michael dead had excited him even more. I turned my face away to hide my tears. The heat and demand of his attention pressed upon me. I tried to think fast. Since I couldn’t move, all I had left to trick him with was my mind. But a fog returned to my thoughts.

“Look at me.”

“No!”

Roughly, he grabbed my face and turned it. Seeing my tears, he said mockingly, “Aw, you’re grieving him.”

This time, his kiss was hungry and repulsive. His hands grabbed me like I was meat, making my flesh crawl. It made me sick. How could I have gotten myself into this? Turning my face away, I gazed idly in Michael’s direction, grasping for any memory of him I could to comfort me.

With all his attention on me, Damiel was no longer paying attention to Michael’s body. Nobody had noticed that his wounds were healing or that there was a golden glow coming off his skin. I did. I held my breath, hoping against hope that Michael was still alive.

When his body first moved, I hardly believed it. But then he moved again. In one swift and precise motion, he was standing, with his sword out. Then he crossed the room with incredible speed, grabbed Damiel, and pulled him off me. He’d feigned his death. It was only a bluff. Relief coursed through me as Michael took up the battle with Damiel, slashing at him with his sword.

From the other room, I heard the door burst open and a woman, or rather a female chorus, said, “Hello, boys.”

I recognized Arielle’s voice and heard her attack the two henchmen, making quick work of them. But she kept her distance from Damiel and Michael. It was their fight.

They moved so quickly I could hardly see them. Yet Michael and Damiel were desperately well matched in strength and skill. Because Michael was strong and graceful, Damiel had to be cu

“That sweet little girl of yours sure looks good. I’m surprised you can resist her,” Damiel said.

“That’s because you’re you,” Michael replied, lunging at Damiel with his sword and missing by an inch. Damiel used a different weapon; his hands were heated. Red flames licked off of them. He threw the blaze at Michael, searing his flesh.

“I’m going to enjoy her,” Damiel persisted, “and she’ll enjoy it, too.”

“You’ve incapacitated her. She can’t even move,” Michael said through clenched teeth. His sword landed on Damiel’s right shoulder, disabling the demon’s next blow. Hellfire sputtered to the floor and fizzled, leaving no mark. “You’re pathetic.”

“Your memory’s selective, old friend,” he sneered, hurling flames from his left hand. Michael dodged, and the flames missed but Damiel’s words didn’t. “Have you forgotten where you’ve been?”

Michael paled and his concentration faltered. Lunging, Damiel grasped the handle of Michael’s fiery blue sword and threw it to the ground.

“There was this one girl. It was twelfth-century Portofino, I believe. She looked just like you, Mia—well, how you used to look,” Damiel said, positioning himself between Michael and the now-extinguished sword. “Her father wouldn’t let him near her, but Michael was determined. He killed him.”

I wished I could cover my ears. As much as I wanted to know more about Michael and what he’d done, I didn’t want to hear about it from Damiel. Not like this. He would only twist things.

Michael didn’t even try to deny what was said, as though Damiel’s words had a narcotic effect. Damiel quickly gained the upper hand, lunging and thrusting at Michael with fiery fists, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. All I could do was watch as Damiel hurt him all over again.

“If you could only see the things he used to do…” Damiel said.

Michael had been hurt. What he had done in Hell was probably worse than I could imagine, but it was as though I was hearing about someone else. It didn’t fit with the guy I knew. Michael wasn’t like that anymore. Right? Holding him to blame for something that happened after he was tortured was as unfair as blaming a prisoner of war for doing what he had to do to survive.

“It’s for the best that you left him, Mia,” Damiel sneered and swung at Michael, his left fist co

Someone like you, you mean. Damiel was trying to stop me from loving Michael, but I couldn’t let anything change the way I felt. Michael had been disarmed. Knowing he could feel everything I did, even doubt, I had to trust him more now than ever. Or Damiel would kill both of us.

I focused on my feelings of love, the way Michael had told me to do around Azazel. This time, I refused to fail.

Staggering from one of Damiel’s blows, Michael glanced at me, and to my relief something changed. A white rage came over him and, seeming to regain his senses, he caught Damiel’s next punch and threw one of his own.

Seeing the change in Michael, Damiel hissed. “Do you think I’m back just for her?”

Without a word, Michael lunged for his sword. The blade shot out immediately in a flash of blue light, slicing Damiel’s waist. It left no mark. “I think you came back for me.”

“You flatter yourself.” Visibly weakened, Damiel spat on the floor. But when Michael kept his attention on the fight and didn’t respond, he continued, “I’m back for another chance at having my offspring. You killed him last time.”

Michael stopped fighting as a look of recognition and horror crossed his face. Every candle in the room flickered as though they’d been hit by a gust of wind. Seizing the moment, Damiel persisted. “That’s right. Your precious Sajani was unfaithful to you.” Hearing him use my ancient name felt obscene.