Warrior Angel, Heart's Desire

Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Note from the Publisher Dedication Trademarks Acknowledgement Warrior Angel, Heart's Desire About the Author Also by Ryssa Edwards

Warrior Angel, Heart's Desire Immortal Pleasures I

Ryssa Edwards

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Warrior Angel, Heart's Desire By Ryssa Edwards

Dark clouds hung low in the winter sky. From his perch on the stone shoulders of a figure bent in prayer, the cemetery was a twisting labyrinth of tombstones. Michael spread his wings and leapt to the ground. The cold unyielding earth was a reminder, a cruel jab at his immortality. "He's all I want," Michael said. His brother landed beside him. Raphael, Archangel of Healing, avoided his brother's eyes. "He's mortal, Michael." "And I'm Banished." "We are of the Spirit World," Raphael said. "Invisible, untouchable to mortals. When you return to us, you'll be as He created you." Michael stroked a black marble tombstone, running his fingers over the raised letters. In a few

decades, that was all that would be left of Laine in the mortal world. The thought ignited Michael's fury. He kicked it over, leaving it flat and cracked. "I'll be alone." "Why bring this sorrow upon yourself?" Raphael's voice was what every suffering mortal hoped to hear when they prayed to his statues. "Your exile is nearly over. Until then, his mortal body is yours to enjoy." "I don't want just his body," Michael said, "I—" Overhead a raven cawed and fluttered to the ground. His black wings curving up from his shoulders, Lucifer came to stand between his brothers. He drew a heart over Michael's armor. "I'm touched. In love with a mortal who spreads his legs for you, does things for you even I can't talk about, worships you to the soles of your feet." He rapped his knuckles against his brother's gold breastplate. "Get this Banishment thing done. War isn't the same without you." Michael tossed his head back, flung his arms out. "You know how the flesh is. What's happening to me?" "You're turning into a man too in love for his own good."

"Why didn't you mark Aeryn?" Michael said, and regretted it the moment he saw the pain that came into his brother's eyes, but he went on. He had to know. "Laine keeps asking me, but I don't think he knows what forever means to us." "They don't, Michael. They can't." Lucifer rubbed his hands over his face. "I would have marked him that night. I waited that long because I wanted to be sure. And you see how that turned out." "He'll be back," Raphael said quietly. Lucifer rounded on his brother. "Don't shine any of your white light on me, not about Aery." "It wasn't his fault," Michael said. "Yeah, he can save every mortal on Earth except the one I loved." Lucifer's voice was low, bitter. He closed his eyes and took a moment to gather himself. "If you mark Laine, you're the only immortal he can be with, ever, in any lifetime. And you won't be in this realm much longer."

Something tugged at Michael, a feeling, a sense that Laine might be in danger. His dark green eyes on his brothers, he said, "I need your help. I can't go before the Council. But you can." "Go to Laine," Raphael said. "We'll do our best." The flaming sword across Michael's back felt useless, almost wrong. He spread his white wings. A whirlwind of grave dirt, dead leaves, and forgotten flowers swirled at his feet. His thick black hair blew around his strong face as his body faded into the whirling mini storm of his wings. **** Laine kicked rocks along the sidewalk, stirring city dirt into the air as he thought over the last few months. The first time he'd seen Michael, Laine had been downtown, on his way home from his waiter job at Crystal Café. At nearly two a.m. on the night after a Pearl Jam concert, a tight group of men had been on the platform,

acting as if they were waiting for the train. A city boy all his life, Laine knew they were the kind who made their living off tourists with too much money and not enough brains to stay out of back alleys. A shudder coursed through Laine at the memory of the narrow escape. He had kept his distance, hoping like hell the train would come early. If they pegged him as a mark, he had only a fifty-fifty shot of making it to the stairs that led street-side. The biggest guy in the group had given a nod in Laine's direction and the men had gathered around him in a wide circle. They'd closed in. The noose around him had tightened. Laine had been ready to scream for help, and damn it all if he sounded like a girl. It was better than sounding dead. The first man had reached for Laine just as a shadow fell across them. Another man had come from nowhere in a black leather jacket, biker boots, and dark sunglasses. Very quietly he'd said, You boys should pick a fight with someone your own size, don't you think?

It didn't take a genius to see Laine's rescuer could handle them and more. The men in the circle melted away into the darkness of the subway station. Some muttered under their breath but none dared approach the newcomer. Laine cringed at the memory of his first words to Michael. Instead of 'thanks', he'd said, How come you're wearing sunglasses? Michael had beckoned to Laine and led him up to the street above. They'd settled on Starbucks when a nearby diner was closed. They hadn't talked much as they sipped coffee but Laine had been okay with that. They'd learned each other's names, and that had been enough. He'd sat on the hard-as-brick chair and stared at the chiseled perfection of Michael's face. They'd spent the next couple of hours walking around the city, hand in hand. By the time the sun peeked over the horizon, Laine had found that not even the company of the gorgeous man at his side could keep him from yawning. He'd been

up too long already and needed sleep. Michael had noticed, of course, and offered to take him somewhere special. They'd ended up in a penthouse suite so fancy even the bathroom taps were inlaid with gold. And after a hot bath, which Michael insisted on, they laid on the king-size bed, talking until Laine had drifted off. The next two days had been the best time of his life, up until then. They had talked more, watched television, and played every video game on the hotel roster. Laine marveled how everything seemed brand new to Michael. At the time, he'd thought Michael was around thirty years old. It hadn't made sense that Michael didn't know about video games and such. But Laine was so drawn to Michael's soft voice, the way his green eyes lit up when their fingers brushed, that he couldn't have been more smitten if an angel had fallen from the skies.

After that night, only sleep and Laine's job came between them. Michael waited for him after work, took him out to dinner most nights, then they rode to Laine's apartment on Michael's motorcycle. When Laine decided he wanted more than his friendship, Michael had swept him off his feet. Laine shivered at the memory of climbing Michael like a tree. He could still feel the molten heat of that first kiss, the branding imprint of Michael's hands on his ass, holding him close. But Michael's cooler head had prevailed and Laine had found himself gently peeled away from his would-be lover. With no preamble, Michael had sat Laine down and told him the truth of who he was and how the end of his Banishment would mean the end of them. And then he'd given Laine the chance to walk away. But Laine had seen in Michael's honest green eyes

that neither one of them could turn their back on whatever moments they had left together. Sometimes, like tonight, the thought that he'd lose Michael, and there was nothing he could do about it, drove Laine out of his mind. When that happened, he sought out the quiet parts of the city and paced the pavements restlessly. He wandered between streetlights, caught in his thoughts. He'd tried for months, but he couldn't escape the feeling that with a little more than twenty years under his belt he was only a heartbeat between breaths in Michael's eternity. In bed, he always murmured into Laine's ear, mine. Laine always said the same thing, yours for as long as you want me. The deep sound of a motorcycle rumbled through the night. Before Laine could more than turn, Michael was there, straddling his Fat Boy, black chrome and silver gleaming. "Shouldn't be out here alone at night," he said in his soft voice. "You don't know what could happen." "There's this angel I know," Laine said. "He keeps

me safe." Michael kicked his bike to a stop. "Want a ride, angel boy?" In jeans, his sculpted chest bare under his leather jacket, his black hair brushing past his wide shoulders, Michael had the hard look of a warrior, and Laine would have ridden down any dark road with him. He pushed Michael's jacket open, nipped at his neck, licked across his nipples. "We've never done it on your bike." "You never asked." Michael slid his hands up under Laine's shirt, over his soft skin. "I'll take you right now if that's what you want." There was never any doubt; with Michael, it was always a taking. That drove Laine crazy with desire. But he needed to know why Michael was so late. "The Summoning was long this time." Laine pressed close, whispered, "Or did I hide really good?" Getting off his bike, Michael drew Laine even closer, nuzzled the side of his neck. "I mean it. Don't be

out alone in the dark. I'm immortal, not perfect." The way Michael avoided his question made Laine feel seconds ticking by, pulling them farther and farther apart. "Is your time almost up?" "No," Michael said. "I've got all night." He kissed Laine's throat. "You want it slow," he slid his hands over Laine's ass, "or deep?" Laine gave in, parted his lips to Michael's kiss. "Both," he said. "All night." Michael drew back, mounted his bike. "Come on," he said. "Time for me get you home and take what's mine." Laine loved it when he said that. It sent shivers down his spine. On the bike, his arms around Michael, Laine held on tight. Speeding through the dark, he could almost believe it would go right for them. Almost. After turns and twists through winding streets that only seemed to exist when he rode with Michael, they pulled up at the far end of a dark street, and climbed

steps to a narrow door. The building where Michael lived was from the 1920s, restored by the city as part of a 'Save Our History' project. Vintage Circle Apartments was round, as if it used to be a brick water tower. Walking down the quiet hall, thinking about being in bed squirming, or bent over the couch with his legs spread, or being pinned against the wall, Laine bumped into Michael's broad back. Michael spun around, his face drawn in tight lines of fear. "What?" Laine said. "We have company." Laine only knew of two creatures who would even try to get inside Michael's apartment when he wasn't there. But he could only focus on one. "You mean Lucifer?" "And Raphael," Michael said. "Wait for me?" "No." Laine grabbed Michael in a desperate embrace. "What if I never see you again?" "It wouldn't happen like that." Michael soothed

Laine's hair back from his face and pulled him near. "They're here to help." Laine took the hand Michael offered and followed him in when he opened the door. Swinging the door shut, Michael said, "Lucifer, stay away from him." Michael's brother was tall and heavily built. His black sweater and faded jeans barely hid the ridges of sculpted muscle on him. His hands, hanging at his sides, looked big enough to pound rocks into dust. "Why?" he said. "Afraid he'll like me better?" "No," Michael said. "I'm afraid you'll take him to the top of the Eiffel Tower and forget he doesn't have wings." "He can borrow mine," Lucifer said. That idea tickled Laine. "I can use your wings?" "See?" Michael said. "Stay away. Don't make me go after your horns." "Without them, how could mortals tell who's the

bad angel?" Lucifer smoothed his black hair over two small red horns. "You're scaring me." "I'm having this conversation with you because you have good news for me, right?" Michael said. "Only if I get to keep my horns." "Start talking and I'll think about it," Michael said. Lucifer glanced at Laine. "Now you know why we call him Mad Mike." Michael winced. "Don't tell him that." "I could tell him other things." "And I could ask you not to, but it won't work, will it?" "After you kicked me out of Heaven without so much as a fly well in deep darkness, brother? I'm generous and forgiving, but we all have our limits," Lucifer smiled into his brother's eyes, "Mikey." Michael sprang across the room at Lucifer. A man with eyes the color of sunny skies in happy places stepped out of the shadows of the kitchen and straight into Michael's path. His royal blue sweater and white

trousers almost glowed in the dim apartment. "Don't the two of you tire of these children's games?" Laine knew who the blond man had to be. Where Lucifer was built like a wrecking ball, Raphael had a tough, wiry look, as if he was strong enough to swing from a trapeze without a net. He was tall, his face narrow and lined, as if he worried the way prisoners planned escape—every minute of every day, even on Christmas. "Don't you get tired of all that white light you go around in?" Lucifer said. "Nice to meet you at last, Trelaine," Raphael said. "Michael's told us so much about you." His liquid Valium voice poured through Laine. He couldn't even remember why he'd been scared. "I owe you, Rafe." Michael took Laine into his arms, cupped his chin. "Feeling better?" Through the soft haze over his thoughts, Laine said, "I don't want them to take you."

"Wait in my bedroom," Michael said. "I need to talk to them." Even through the daydream feel of Raphael's influence, Laine said. "I'm not one of your warriors. Don't order me around." Lucifer moved in front of the bedroom door, did his best imitation of a grizzly bear looking casual. "Score one for the mortal," he said. "And anyway, he stays. What we have to say is for both of you." He pointed up. "Orders. You know how that is." Laine made a low choking sound. "God gave orders about me? The God?" "Micromanagement isn't quite His style." Raphael sauntered over to Lucifer, as if they'd both happened to decide the bedroom needed guarding. "The White Council has given our brother a choice," he said. "It's a real good dilemma," Lucifer said. "I could have done it better, but," he shrugged, "it's not my show up there." "There's a mission." Raphael slid his slender hands

deep into the pockets of his trousers. "And you're quite suited to it." "Less talk, Rafe," Michael said. "Tell me something I need to know." Lucifer nudged Raphael. "Is he all impatient? Or is it just me?" Laine didn't see any sign of that in Michael. In fact, there was a strange kind of patience in Michael's eyes, as if he could wait an eternity for Lucifer's quips to be over. But Laine was only mortal and time was running out. "Is he going back?" he said. "Our brother won't be leaving you," Raphael said. "Unless he makes a poor decision." "What's the mission?" Michael asked. Raphael drew his lips into a thin line. "It's rather delicate." "Rafe, for you, the whole world's delicate." Michael turned to Lucifer. "Pretend if you tell it to me right, you get my soul."

"You don't have one." Lucifer's dark eyes fell on Laine. "But the boy, even inside a possessed mortal," his voice became slow, thoughtful. "I could have fun with that. For a long time." His heart beating hard, his vision pulsing with black dots, Laine said, "Can he do that?" "You're scaring Laine." Michael took a step toward his brother. "And you don't want me getting mad, do you?" "All right." Lucifer's hands flew up in surrender. "Don't get that way. There's a scientist. You have to find him and take him out." "Why me?" Michael said. "Thanatos does pickups." "Well," Raphael said, ignoring the way Michael glared at him. "It's complicated." "Rafe, come on." "He's working on a virus. It's almost done," Lucifer said. "And even worse than what's in your vials

for the Last Days." "What's worse than Armageddon?" Laine said. Slowly looking Laine up and down, Lucifer said, "For you, nothing has to be. Hell's got some sweet back corners. I'd hide you. Deep as you want, for as long as you want." In his mind, Laine saw himself chained to the walls of a dungeon, naked, Lucifer's hulking form behind him, pumping into his ass, whispering in his ear, deep as you want, for as long as you want. Laine bit back his fear, tried not to tip the scales he could dimly sense. "Lucifer?" Michael's voice was low, reasonable. "One more time." "It was just an offer." Lucifer shrugged, his shoulders bunching with muscle. "If he wants." Michael looked from one angel to the other. "Where's Thanatos?" he said. "Why can't he stop this scientist's heart? Give him an embolism?" Raphael raised his blue eyes to Michael. "That would be where the delicate part comes in."

"You remember Vassago?" Lucifer said. "Nephilim? Bad attitude?" "What's a Nephilim?" Laine asked. "This one's half fallen angel, half mortal. He can control demons," Michael answered. "Why doesn't God just smash his face in?" Lucifer laughed quietly. "You and me, we think alike," he said. "But things aren't the way they got written. He can't just swoop into the world and make everything right." "Why not?" "Think of a glass of water," Raphael said. "You tilt it too far one way, some of it spills out, the bottom is left dry, and the other side is left uncovered." "That's how it is with the mortal world," Michael said. "He can touch the glass, maybe even blow on it, but He can't slosh it around." After almost a year with Michael, Laine realized he had no idea what Michael actually did. "What do you

do?" he said. "Run strategic interference." Michael turned to Raphael. "I'm not doing this if Laine has to be with me. That's what's next, isn't it?" Raphael pulled his hands from his pockets, pleading with his brother. "It would mean the end of your Banishment. Trelaine would be given to you, a dispensation." Michael looked ready to spit. "Mine, if he survives the Sacrifice." Uncertainty shadowed Raphael's face. "There is that small complication." "I'm not a virgin," Laine said. "I wouldn't be a good sacrifice." The torment on Michael's face didn't shift. All three angels had fallen silent. "No one's talking." Laine took Michael's hand. "This can't be good." "Where I go to…" Michael glanced at Raphael. "How do I tell him about the Cathedral?"

"You can think of it as a business trip," Raphael said. "Part of Michael's work." "Yeah," Lucifer said. "Either he punches the clock, or it punches him." "I'm an angel, not fallen," Michael said. "If you're with me in the Cathedral, mortality trumps immortality." For the first time, Laine saw a chance to fight the forces that pulled Michael farther from him every passing day. "You mean something I do could stop you fading away after your Banishment ends?" he said. Michael got between his brothers and Laine. "Leave him out of it." Raphael materialized inches away from Michael, who jumped back as if he'd stepped on a live wire. The blond angel met Laine's eyes. "The Sacrifice is your willing participation in the mission, at the risk of your life. Your choice, freely made." He turned to Michael. "Only he has the right to choose." Lucifer said to Laine, "You'll be Michael's willing mortal, but he won't be able to use his powers to protect

you." He shifted his eyes to Michael. "Only his mortal strength." Only? Laine thought that made him damn near invincible. "Yes." Michael grabbed Laine's shirt. "What are you doing? You ever hear about Lucifer making a straight deal? Do the words Adam and Eve mean anything to you?" "Ancient history," Lucifer said. "How come everyone's still mad about that?" Laine tried to concentrate, think past the anguish on Michael's face. "If I do this Sacrifice thing, then we'll be together, even when your Banishment's over, right?" "That's not the point, Laine," Michael said. "We'll be in the Cathedral. I have to hunt down a Nephilim and send him to Hell. You think he'll just go? Not fight?" "But you're invincible, right?" Michael was holding Laine so hard, he'd lifted him off the floor. He set him down, let go. "I told you. I'm immortal, not perfect. If I make a mistake, you're dead."

"But if you don't, then after—" "There might not be an after for you." Michael unclenched his fists. "I'm a warrior, Laine. I don't know how to fight with the one I love right next to me." "The one you love?" A silly kind of smile spread across Laine's face. "You never called me that before." "Don't go and I'll say it to you every day forever." Michael took Laine into his arms, kissed the top of his head. "If Laine doesn't go," Raphael said, "forever will last only until the end of your Banishment." "Kind for kind, brother." Lucifer was as earnest as a demon talking a condemned murderer into selling his soul. "The scientist is half mortal, half angel. The hunter must walk in both worlds, as the prey does. The mortal is willing. Agree to the hunt, or I'll do the mission. And if he survives, Trelaine is mine." Laine wiped a trembling hand across his mouth. Lucifer's? "I'd send Laine into battle with a dull sword

before I'd let him go with you." "One of us has to go." Lucifer jerked his head at Raphael. "Better me to protect Laine than the White Light Brigade." Raphael stood between his brothers, serene, hands spread. "We bargained for you, Michael," he said. "Lucifer made an appearance to appeal on your behalf." Michael cast a suspicious eye on his brother. "Why? What do you get?" "A brother who keeps his mortal lover," Lucifer said. "And I can go back to driving a cab in Manhattan. War's hell." "Yes." No one answered Laine. "Michael, I'll go with you." "An eternity of unhappiness is too much to bear, brother, even for an Archangel warrior," Raphael said. "Take this chance that's been offered to you." "I'll seal the bargain, brothers." Michael slipped his fingers through Laine's. "On one condition."

The air grew thicker, as if invisible lightning crackled around Michael. Laine remembered to breathe. "What do you ask?" Raphael said. "If I fail," Michael said, "my Banishment is over, and Laine gets safe passage back to this world." "I knew you'd bet it all," Lucifer said. "No!" Laine tried to pull away, but Michael's fingers through his were almost painfully tight. "I'll never see you again." "And you won't be dead," Michael said. "Failure of the mission will end in separation, as the Council decreed," Raphael said. "Granted." "Sand's running," Lucifer said. Raphael held up an hour glass in the shape of a crystal ball that had been stretched apart, leaving just a thread of glass between the two halves. It was held inside a metal cage. The sand in the top was white. As it poured down, it turned red, ran together, and dripped, coating the bottom with blood. "This is the time you

have." His voice took on the still, quiet tones of a preacher over a casket. "When the globe beneath fills with blood, events will have gone too far. Armageddon will come before its time." He shifted his blue eyes to Laine. "For all living mortals." "It's always something." Michael reached for Laine. "My turn to save the world. Doing anything tonight?" Even though he was trembling, and even though he knew he might never see Earth again, Laine took Michael's hand. "Nothing. Just a date with an angel." They turned to the doorway. Rays of light shot out all around it. Where a door should have been, there was a black rectangle. Where the hallway should have been, there was living coal blackness. "Hold on to me," Michael said, and stepped through. **** Streaming, slipping through probabilities, was part

of Michael's work. When he planned wars, framed battles, or calculated statistics, streaming came as naturally as fighting. But he felt Laine's heart wildly thudding. Then light became probable, and gray slid out of the dark under them, twisted, became flat and solid, shaped itself into pavement. Michael covered Laine's eyes, shielding him from the glare of afternoon sun. The whispered rush of cars spilled into the air, leaves rustled on trees. Laine pulled away, looked around. "Where are we?" "Seed Cathedral." Michael had never been there with a mortal. A thought occurred to him. "How do I look to you?" he said. Laine took a step back, his head to one side, an eye squinted against the sun. "Like a biker. Ready to brawl and smack heads. This is a church?" Michael had fought across the known world, chased mayhem and slaughter to the darkest corners of

the Earth. But he never grew tired of watching Laine— the way his brown eyes sparkled at something new; the way he bit his soft lips just before he came; the way he pulled close when he thought there was danger. "Why do mortals go to church?" he said. "To pray mostly," Laine said, following him across the busy street. "And to hear the pastor talk about how bad things could happen if they don't act right." "This place is the things that could happen," Michael said. "We call it Seed Cathedral because here, probabilities are seeds. Mortals pray. Seeds get planted. They grow into your world exactly the way they are." Michael knew he was doing a bad job, but immortality made probability a way of being. He couldn't explain it clearly anymore than a mortal could explain why he didn't choke every time he took a breath through an airway the size of a straw. "Pressures in the mortal world twist the Seeds." "But it's perfect," Laine said. "Spotless. Where's

the round the clock cleaning crew? Even the air smells scrubbed clean. The cars don't have any fumes. There's nowhere on Earth like this." Michael spun around slowly, arms out, a tour guide in leather. "This is Los Angeles." "No way." Laine laughed. "I'm mortal, not dumb." "See that up there?" Michael pointed to the clouds, where a city drifted across the sky, a ship on a calm sea. Skyscrapers glittered in sunlight. "That's the Seed for New York." "Our world starts out perfect?" Laine said. "If enough mortals pray and dream about something, the Cathedral twines the prayers and dreams together, makes a Seed, lets it grow." Laine was quiet for a while before he said, "A kind of DNA?" "You're smart and pretty," Michael said. "That's why I like doing the things I do to you." "You're strong and dangerous," Laine said. "That's why I let you." His voice was low, distracted. "What if

people pray for something bad? Or have bad dreams?" The earnest look that came over Laine's face, the way a light line of worry creased his smooth forehead, charmed Michael, made him afraid. He tasted iron at the back of his throat, smelled battlefields spread thick with dying mortals and made up his mind to leave Laine behind. He forced a smile and told Laine how the Cathedral worked. The city had no name. Territories were marked out with prayers, deeds, dreams. This was Seed 101080; it grew into the mortal world on ten percent prayers, ten percent deeds, eighty percent dreams. Michael explained this to Laine, leading him down the wide streets. "How come it's empty?" Laine scanned the sidewalks ahead, the store windows, the cars. "Who's driving?" "Possibilities drive the cars. The Seed changes every second." That wasn't exactly accurate. Time, in the

mortal way of thinking, didn't exist in the Cathedral. "No one in any world but this one can see what could be, only what exists." "Michael? How come I'm sinking?" Laine's feet had sunk into the pavement, as if he was standing on quicksand. Michael grabbed him around his waist. He spread his wings and lifted them off the ground. "Hold on to me, okay?" His arms around Michael, Laine said, "That's freaky." The skyscrapers were bending, oozing in and out of probability with the ease of warm taffy. Michael flew them over the city, staying away from solid objects— cars, walls, trees. The Cathedral was in probability flux. If they flew through a wall that suddenly became solid, it would crush Laine. Bringing Laine into the Cathedral had had the same effect as a stone thrown into a pond. The ripples could last hours. "Why don't I show you where an angel lives?"

Michael said. Laine looked up. "I'm guessing you don't live in a cloud playing a harp." "No." **** "It's more stable inside." Michael's voice had taken on the desperate edge of a warrior with his back to a wall. "We're almost there." The Seed made Laine's mind ache. As they flew, he saw flickering shadows out the corners of his eyes. But he never caught them in time. "Underdone reality is…" Laine gripped Michael a little tighter. "You know. It's different." "I have to open the door," Michael said. "When I put you down, don't move. We're kind of in a hurricane. One step could be a hundred miles when it gets this unstable." Michael pushed through a heavy glass door, and ushered Laine into what looked like a hotel lobby. The

floor was covered with Persian carpeting the color of a starless midnight sky. Black marble steps, wide enough for four people to climb side by side, led up to shadowy darkness. A wrought iron chandelier hung over them. Its tear-shaped bulbs dripped dim yellow light from spider thin branches. A solid red marble rectangle stretched along one wall. Looking at the gold letters across the front of what had to be the Check-In counter, Laine said, "Is this the Seed for Hotel California?" The gold letters, about three feet high, spelled out "You just left hope behind. Enjoy your stay." "It's a Guard Outpost," Michael said. Out of the corner of his eye, Laine saw something flicker through the shadows behind the counter. This time, when he looked head on, a man was leaning over the marble block the way a prisoner would look out between iron bars. His sleeveless leather vest, his wide shoulders, the way his thick biceps curved into mounds of muscle all made him look the part of an outlaw, as in

he didn't believe in laws of any kind, anywhere. "Been a while, Michael." He looked Laine in the eye, made a low noise that could have been a thousand flies buzzing. "I can see what kept you." "Mephistopheles. You're running the Hell Gate?" Michael said. "I didn't post you here." "I traded posts." The angel straightened up, tugged at his vest. "I'm kind of meeting someone." "Track down Oz," Michael said. "Tell him I need him." Mephistopheles gave a mock bow. "I live to hear every command that falls from your lips." He dropped Laine a slow wink. "Makes my horns curl when he gets all bossy like that." Michael rolled his eyes. A creaking, rattling sound made Laine spin around. The top and bottom halves of the staircase were opening, making the shape of a dragon's mouth. A sinuous red carpet rolled out. Laine fell back a step.

"Come on," Michael said and took Laine's hand, "come see my version of a cloud." The deserted hotel lobby was all smooth marble walls. There might have been hidden doors. But there were definitely no windows. "If I go to Hell, can I get out?" "If you can't," Michael said with a crooked smile, "we'll be there forever." Laine felt for every step. There was something too slick, springy, and red about the carpet that led into the gaping mouth of the stairs. The air became thick, took on the feel of syrupy water. An invisible membrane of utter airlessness wrapped around them. Michael strained against it and pulled Laine through. They came out in a place with no walls, no ceiling. At least there was air, and a floor. A fireplace big enough to walk into was on Laine's left, the flames jumping and spitting. In the flickering glow cast by the fire stood a four poster bed,

draped in black velvet. Each black marble post was the size of a small column. The canopy was a slab of black marble, streaked with red and a glittering purple. Michael sank down on the edge of the bed, stripping out of his jacket. His knife lay along his right forearm, gleaming in the shifting shadows. "You live in Hell?" Laine said. "You're an angel." "So's Lucifer," Michael said. "It's quiet." He glanced up. "No one bothers me. Can't call on me here." He made little "come here" motions with his fingers. Laine covered the space between them in a moment, slid his hands over Michael's bare chest, kissed his nipples. Running his hands down over Laine's ass and up to the back of his neck, Michael kissed Laine, spoke against his lips, "Want to get on your knees for me?" Laine couldn't resist. He slid to his knees, kissed between Michael's spread legs. "Tell me again," Laine said.

Unzipping his black jeans, Michael slipped them off and said, "You're the one I love." Kissing Michael's solid belly, Laine said, "Then why won't you mark me?" Michael tilted Laine's head back, caressed his face. "How long's forever?" With a turn of his head, kissing Michael's fingers, Laine said, "I don't know. Till the end of time." His hand on the back of Laine's neck, Michael leaned over and whispered against Laine's lips. "To an immortal there's no time. For us, forever means forever." Laine had heard all this before. He caressed Michael's balls, licked his hard veined cock, sucking his swollen cockhead, licking all around it. "Then I'll be marked forever." Jacking him off slowly, Laine sucked on Michael's heavy balls, tugging gently. Michael groaned, spread his legs wider, leaned back. "You don't know what you're saying, Laine." Rubbing his thumb over Michael's slick cock

head, Laine slid his tongue in slow circles around Michael's navel, felt him shiver. Throwing his head back, Michael pressed his eyes closed, giving himself to Laine's soft lips. Laine ran his tongue over Michael's cockhead again and again, licking, kissing, sucking. "If this is blackmail," Michael said. "I give." He bent forward, his black hair brushing Laine's shoulders. Laine savored the feel of Michael's cockhead, swollen and throbbing, pressed to his lips. He opened his mouth, and pulled him in, reveling in Michael's groan of pleasure. Lifting his hips in a slow rhythm, one hand resting on the back of Laine's neck, Michael said, "Immortals can't die of pleasure." He gritted his teeth, stroking harder, faster. "But fuck, it feels good to try." Michael's hard thrusts made Laine moan. He kneaded Michael's balls, felt them full and heavy. He took deeper strokes, opened his mouth even wider, let

Michael bury his cock to the balls. Michael's hips rocked up and down. He drove deep on every quick, hard thrust. Then he tossed his head back and just before his hips bucked, he groaned gut deep, then let go a warm stream of come down Laine's tight throat. Swallowing, taking down as much he could, Laine reached for his jeans, unzipped. He had his cock out and was stroking in seconds. Michael stayed in his mouth, still half-hard. Laine moaned. His orgasm built with every stroke, until he came, panting. Michael bent over him, wrapped an arm around his waist, and pulled him up easily, laid him back. Kissing Laine's nipples, Michael said quietly, "Angel boy." Laine laid his head on Michael's chest and smiled at the feel of his wings, which now lay curled over his wide shoulders, tickling Laine's face. Michael ran his fingers through Laine's hair, stroked down his back, then up to caress his face.

For a long while, the only sound was the crackling fire. Then Laine, basking in the warmth of Michael's solid body, drifted off into sleep. **** Michael blew gently into Laine's ear. When he stirred, Michael rolled over on top of Laine, pressed along the length of his body and looked down into his eyes. "I love watching you sleep." He kissed Laine's soft lips and felt himself growing hard again. He broke away and rested his head on the bed, his chin on Laine's shoulder. Caressing Michael's back, Laine said, "What is it?" "I'm leaving you here." Laine swallowed, tried to make a joke out of it. "The mark thing," he said. "I was just asking." Pulling in his wings, Michael turned away from the pain on Laine's face, pushed himself up and off the bed. "I can't risk you," he said.

Laine sat up, swung his legs to the floor. "I'll never see you again." Michael focused on the clothes he wore in the mortal world, felt his leather jacket, jeans, and boots wrap themselves around him. His sword rested against his forearm, the double-edged blade warm against his skin. Laine looked as trapped and scared as any enemy Michael had ever gone up against and oh fuck, he didn't want this. Coming out of the shadows he said, "I don't have lungs, Laine. But just thinking about losing you out there, I can't breathe. You're staying. Strategy is what I do. I'll find a way." "Remember what you said? How it would be between us?" Laine said. "Don't do this." Michael had sworn he wouldn't try to command Laine. "It's not an order," he said. "You almost sank into the sidewalk. If I hadn't pulled you out in time, you wouldn't have any feet." "But you did," Laine said in a voice that tried to be steady but didn't make it. "This scientist, where is he?" Changing the subject, waiting until he was calm

enough to be reasonable was a trick Raphael used on Michael. It didn't work. "You're not going." "You're the one I love," Laine said. "Doesn't that count for something?" Michael had lived with the screech of human suffering for centuries of centuries; but seeing it, hearing it, wasn't the same as living it. Laine's torment ripped at a place deep inside Michael, a place he'd never known he had. "I always held back," Laine went on, "never told you how I felt because I didn't have a chance of staying with you. But it's different now." Michael heard something break in the soft voice behind him. "Do you want me to beg? Okay. Fine. I'm begging you. All I want is to be where you go." The anguish in Laine's voice was more than Michael could bear. He was at Laine's side in an instant, pulling him from the bed, drawing him close. "You know what immortality would be without you?" Laine's lashes were wet with tears that didn't fall.

"Uncomplicated?" he said. "It would be nothing." Michael pressed his forehead to Laine's. "Nothing at all." Stepping back, Michael raised his voice. "Come on out, Rafe." Raphael came out of the dark, a small smile on his face. "Yes, brother?" "Why did you interfere?" "He called on me." Raphael made a little bow, with a flourish. "And there I was." "Wait." Laine shot a quick look at Michael. "I didn't call anyone." Michael pulled Laine backwards, slipped his arms around him, kissed the nape of his neck. "I made you desperate, scared. I shouldn't have." A strange melting happened inside Michael when he felt the tension go out of Laine's body, felt him lean back, as if nowhere could be safer than where he was. "You showing up," Laine said. "Does that mean I'm going on the mission?"

Michael took Laine by his shoulders, turned him around. "You begged me for something," he said. "That makes you a supplicant. I have to do it. But I'm warning you. I can send you back here faster than you can blink." "And of course, that would make him mine," Lucifer's gravelly voice said out of the dark. Not thinking about it, Michael pushed Laine to the side, shielded him. Lucifer moved to the fire, so close the flames should have licked at his skin. "You, me, Laine," he said. "Good times, brother." He cocked his head. "You're not good at emotions, are you? They play on your face like a bad piano. How come you're surprised? Laine's going to belong to one of us. You can't claim a mortal against his will, but I can. You come to kick my ass, he'll be there with you," his eyes swept over Laine, "or with me." Michael felt cloth turning to armor; his sword grew hot, flamed against his skin. "Lucifer, you're going to make me lose my religion."

"I can only hope," Lucifer said with a wide grin. Raphael had moved between his brothers, drifted to a position where they would have to go through him to get at each other. "I'm sure we'll all enjoy a celebration when Michael and Laine return to us safely." He swept his hands together. "I have good news." Under Raphael's quiet, soothing words, the hard outlines of Michael's gold armor faded; his sword cooled. "What? I can finally Banish him from Earth?" "You'd miss me too much," Lucifer said. "How many angels you think keep a spare room so their brother can," he let his eyes drift to Laine, "get something pretty and soft under him?" "The waves of probability," Raphael said, keeping his position between his brothers, "have settled considerably. We have a location for the Nephilim." "Where's the start point?" Michael said. Raphael drew in the dark and a small red "X" hung in the air for moments. "We last saw his trail here.

Sector 009." Michael concentrated on the "X" blazing in the dark, but he felt nothing. "Trail's cold," he said. "It's the best we can do." Raphael glanced at Laine. "We found more uncertainties than usual." "Because of me?" Laine said. "Being mortal lends more flexibility to reality." Raphael took a small step toward his brother. "Don't call on your powers for Laine, Michael. You'll lose him forever if you do." Michael had fought too many battles to count. He'd seen far too many lives cut short. He spoke in the low voice of a general who has one last chance to win a fight. "I can't use my powers. I can't be with the one mortal I ever loved. I'm trapped. I know." "I'd bet on your side any day of eternity, brother." Lucifer's face took on a thoughtful expression. "If I get to call you Mad Mike." A slow grin broke across Michael's face. "I'll

tattoo it on your forehead so I don't forget." He looked into the clock of the eternal flames in the fireplace. "Mission time?" "You're lucky I don't have any feelings to hurt," Lucifer said. "With probability flux factored in, assuming nominal stability, eight hours, forty two minutes." Raphael reached out to Michael. "Our greatest battle is with our darker selves, brother. Remember that." Michael leapt back. "Don't touch me," he said. "All I need is to go around feeling peaceful." "I'd touch you," Lucifer said, "but I think you get the basic thrust of things." He flicked his eyes over Laine. "But you could try going a little deeper into it." Michael smoothed leather gloves over his hands, flexed his fingers. "I should have kicked you out of Heaven harder." From beside the fireplace Raphael said, "It's time you were both on your way."

His eyes on the flames, Laine said, "On our way? Through there?" "It can't burn you," Michael said. "Hell Fire only torments souls." Laine didn't move. "I have a soul." "It's stuck inside you," Michael held out his hand. "Trust me?" Laine reached for him, and they stepped through the fire together. **** There was no sense of falling this time, no sense of moving at all. The air rushing by was like the first winds of a hurricane, a rising storm strong enough to level a city block. The ground rushed up toward them. From the corner of his eyes and behind Michael, Laine saw the roofs of buildings against the sky; windows slid by in a blur of sun-reflecting glass. Then they settled on the ground. Silence rushed in. Nothing moved. "Is anything alive here?" Laine said. Michael pressed a finger to his lips and shook his

head slowly back and forth, his eyes scanning the alley they'd landed in. The asphalt was littered with slimy, moldy bits of trash, layers of broken bottles, candy wrappers. A moist heavy smell of meat rotting hit Laine with the force of a kick to the gut. This had to be wrong; they'd taken a bad turn in the flames. This was a dead place, a graveyard in June with all the coffins open to the summer sun. Although he wanted to scream, Laine whispered as low as he could. "What is this place?" "Seed 009," Michael said, barely moving his lips. "No prayers, no deeds, just unfinished bad dreams." They moved toward the mouth of the alley. The main road was deserted, but not empty. A traffic jam of abandoned cars blocked four lanes, all of them heading the same way. Something blue and swollen was behind the wheel of the car closest to Laine. He backed away when he saw the stringy, straw-like hair that was left on the shrunken head. "What happened to her?" he said.

"Plague. This is the Seed the Nephilim is planting for the mortal world." Laine took in the miles and miles of gridlocked cars that stretched out on either side of them, the empty buildings, and the ripe stomach-churning odor of rotting bodies. "But it gets worse, doesn't it? I mean this is just a shadow of what would really happen, right?" "You're too exposed out here," Michael said, "and it's too quiet." Whatever this was, Laine thought, it would hit in the middle of summer, probably on a coast. The humidity gave the hot air a weight that pressed him into the garbage-strewn pavement. Michael walked slightly ahead in his heavy leather jacket. He didn't even seem to notice the heat. "Sooner I find this Neph," he said. "Sooner I can get you out of danger." Laine heard the strain in Michael's voice. "I'll do what you tell me," he said.

"He can call demons," Michael said. "What am I saying? The sidewalk could melt and swallow you. I should have made you stay." "You don't make me do anything," Laine said. Michael glanced at him, gave that crooked grin Laine loved. "Think I could make you say please?" Hot desire rushed through Laine. He blushed and cleared his throat because he knew Michael could. "This place doesn't seem to bother you." Not taking his eyes off the open ground ahead of them, Michael said, "War, dead things, they're part of what I do. It's keeping the water in the glass, Laine. If I didn't believe that, I couldn't protect the mortal world. Sooner or later, I'd turn Renegade." "An outlaw angel?" "Not for long. Hunters like Oz would track me down, rip off my wings and consign me to the Shadow Realm." "Where's that?"

"It's like solitary confinement for an immortal." The Seed pressed at Laine's mind, a thick cloud of despair. Desperate to hide his fear from Michael, Laine pictured a sunny park, dogs chasing Frisbees, kids chasing the dogs… He still felt like he was walking through Central Park at midnight on Halloween. "You do pretty good dates. What are we doing for dinner?" They were in midtown of the dead city. Michael scanned the skyscrapers stretching up to the gray skies. "Eating under a bulletproof table." "Sounds good to—" Michael pressed a finger to Laine's lips. They were coming up on a narrow space between buildings, barely wide enough to be called an alley, when Michael made them stop. A mountain of a man, so black he could have been a shadow, slid out of the alley. "Long time no play, Michael," he said. His eyes went to Laine. "Or maybe not so long for you." Michael smiled, a thin stretching of his lips. "Been

getting your ass kicked again, Azriel?" Laine had thought Lucifer was big, but Azriel was shirtless, and he was triple-ripped, a muscle god on steroids. His body was all hard lines, as though chiseled out of black marble. Sweat dripped down the sides of his thick neck, to his boulder-shaped shoulders and trickled down the cleft in his inhumanly-wide chest. "Better watch your mouth, angel." Azriel's eyes fell on Laine and he realized they were all black, no pupils. "Or somebody could get their hands on your boy." Michael's face didn't change an inch. "You won't be in on the party," he said, "not after I cut off your balls." Azriel laughed. It started deep in his chest and rumbled through the thick air like faraway thunder. "Hell's fires, Michael. Missed you," he said. "Been nobody around to talk to me like that in a long time." Michael and Azriel met in the middle of the narrow alley. Laine didn't move. He couldn't. He

watched in disbelief as they grasped forearms. Michael slapped Azriel on the back, the sound loud in the strange quiet of the city. "You two know each other?" Laine said. "We go back since before all this was here." Azriel spread his massive arms to include the whole Cathedral. "Azriel changed sides at the last second," Michael said. "Helped me kick out Lucifer." Laine looked at the midnight black mountain of a man. "You're an angel?" "He fell with Lucifer," Michael said. "But he's in the light now." If Azriel was a fallen angel in the light, Laine hoped he never saw one in the dark. The black angel looked up at the sky, his ebony eyes emotionless, his face stamped with worry. "Best to get him off the street." Michael waved Laine over. Laine hesitated. Azriel

looked as if he could smash a human into the pavement like a steamroller having a bad day. "I mean it, Laine." Michael glanced up. "Now. Let's go." Something smashed into the pavement at Laine's feet. The sidewalk erupted. Laine jumped back, crossed his arms in front of his face, squinted his eyes against a fountain of concrete shards. Michael sprinted to Laine's side, pulled him down to the slimy pavement, and rolled on top of him. A dark shape streaked past them. The wall of the building beside them blasted open. Pulverized brick sprayed into the air. "Get your ass up," Azriel said. "They're coming down the walls." Michael moved with the deadly speed of an assassin. He rolled to his feet and dragged Laine up. "Go with Azriel. I'll find you." Laine heard running steps behind them, but the

trash on the pavement made the sounds indistinct thuds. He couldn't tell if three men were coming or ten—or if they were men at all. "What do you mean you'll find me?" he said. Michael grabbed the back of Laine's shirt and threw him toward the opening in the wall of the building. "Take him," he said. Azriel grabbed Laine as he bounced off the jagged bricks, lifted him off his feet, and took giant steps backward. As they took cover in the jagged doorway, Michael's back was to them. He was facing three creatures. They had short black wings and black horns that curled around their ears. They circled him, bent low, shoulders hunched, their black-on-black eyes on Michael. "Come on," he said. "Who wants to go to Hell first?" He flicked his wrist and his knife shot out into his hand, the hilt smooth and black. His sword, Laine thought.

The demon in front of Michael said, "We'll have the whole mortal race." His voice was a coarse whisper. One of them pointed to Laine and said, "But we'll taste his sweet flesh first." "We haven't had anything fresh and warm in ages," the other one said. All Laine saw was a lightning-quick leap, then Michael's knife was buried in a demon's throat. The other two closed in. Michael kicked out, knocked one off his feet, brought his knife up and carved a wide grin across the other demon's neck. The two demons who'd been stabbed turned to black smoke. The one who'd been knocked to the ground backed away, his eyes on Michael, who raised his knife in a slow arc. The demon turned and ran. It had taken Michael seconds to kill two demons and send a third tearing off like his horns were on fire and his hair was catching. Azriel let go. Laine wanted to run to Michael, see if he was hurt. But something was

wrong. Michael's broad back was stiff, unmoving. "Are you all right?" Laine said. Michael turned around, leaned in the crooked doorway, the heel of one boot on a brick. He ran his fingers over his knife under his sleeve. "How hard did I bounce you off that wall?" He looked up and for an instant his eyes were as black as Azriel's. "I can't stand this." Laine crossed the rubble between them, eased into Michael's arms. "Don't. I'm fine. Got a little dust in my hair. I'll bill you for the shampoo." His arms around Laine, Michael said "I've seen mortals put up palaces for love, but nothing I've seen comes close to what I'd build for you." Pressed against Michael's warmth, Laine knew the biggest palace couldn't feel as good as the circle of Michael's arms. To Azriel, Michael said, "Waves?" "Whipping up like a sea in a hurricane," Azriel

said. "Why?" Laine asked. "Raphael said it was stable." Michael let go of Laine, took his hand. "With you this close, I'm not battle-steady." "He's swimming against the reality-current instead of going with it," Azriel said. "It's making backwash. Throwing off probability." He shot Michael a puzzled look. "Not my business, but he's fresh meat in famine. How'd you come here with him, and he's not marked?" "My fault," Michael said. Laine felt his face turn so red, he could've been on fire. How much did angels know about each other? "You can try to protect him with just your sword," Azriel said, "but you know it'll only take one of them to get past you. He's sending out scouts. Playing with you. It's like you're dangling raw meat over a pack of starving jackals." He glanced at Laine. "No offense. Just telling my commander what he needs to hear." "And after I mark him? We're in the Cathedral.

He'll still be vulnerable." "If they get him, he goes to the Dark Sea," Azriel said. "You'll find him when he's reborn. If they get him now, without your mark, he could be reborn in any world." "I'm not putting him through death. Then what? Wait two, maybe three centuries for him to come back?" Michael said. "He could be reborn the next day," Azriel pointed out. "If you were thinking straight, you'd see that." Michael took the criticism with studied calm. "Oz, if I could have only one angel at my side in battle for the rest of eternity, it would be you," he said. "I know you're right. Short-term planning's bad strategy. But the longer I'm here with Laine, the more risk to him. How long?" Azriel drew an "X" with a circle of tiny dots around it, all of them black, except two. A clock, Laine realized. "Enough time for you to do what you need to,

unless you want him dead and gone," Azriel said. "I still have my place on the Edge." He went to the hole he'd blasted through the wall, put his foot on a pile of bricks, leaned over his leg. "Go on. I'll be here." Michael pulled Laine into him. His kiss ignited a deeper, hotter need than Laine had ever felt. He slid his hands under Michael's jacket, up his back. Laine wanted Michael inside him, wanted to feel his ass stretching to take him, opening to take his cock deep and hard. A soft moan escaped him. When Michael let him go, Laine pulled back, breathing hard, almost panting. "What was that?" "Angel kiss." Michael tightened his arms around Laine. "We're going up. Don't move." **** Michael used his wings to fly them past the invisible walls of the Seed, toward the Edge, outside of time and space. The higher they went, the cleaner the air felt. The subtle sense of death walking that permeated

the air of Seed 009 was gone. "I'm slipping." Laine sounded terrified. "You think I'd let you fall?" Michael held him tighter, careful not to hurt him. "I think you'd give up your wings first," Laine said. "Do you kill mortals in battle?" The question surprised Michael, even though he knew it shouldn't have. "All this time, and you didn't ask me that?" "First fight I've seen you in. Most incredible thing I ever saw. Do you do that with mortals, too?" "Never. I influence. I suggest. Strategic interference." The wind of their flight blew Laine's silky hair across Michael's face. Cradled in the hollow of his neck, Laine said, "What are your legions for? Who do they fight?" "Demons," Michael said. "They have their own legions. Sometimes my battles bleed through to the

mortal world. Hurricanes. Earthquakes. Tsunamis. I don't always win, Laine." A rushing current of air caught Michael's wings and drove them up even faster. Laine tried to hide his fear, but it radiated off him in warm red waves. Not wanting him to be afraid, Michael said, "I have to ask you something, seriously." "What? Angel sex on the fly? As Michael had known he would, Laine relaxed a tiny bit. "How do you want your landing? Wheels up or down?" "Scaring the mortal?" Laine trailed the tip of his tongue around the edges of Michael's mouth, kissed him deeply. "We have our ways of fighting back." If Michael had a pulse, it would have skyrocketed. As it was, he landed them easily on the Edge, wings out. They were on top of a mountain. Snow topped peaks soared up to a starry blue sky. Behind

Laine was a bed, its mattress inside a rough wooden frame, a pillow inside an oak box. The wood was on a black platform that lay flat to the grey flagstones. A fire crackled at the foot of the bed. A full moon hung among the stars. "My dad built this," Laine said. "It's my room in his cabin, from when I was a kid." He turned in a slow circle. "Without the walls." "I didn't want you to be scared up here," Michael said. "You shouldn't be afraid when I mark you." Passing seconds tortured Michael with a fear he was powerless against. Now he knew why mortals sold their souls. He would have given anything to know what Laine was thinking. Laine stood very still, his eyes on the bed. He could still change his mind. "He built my bed like that so no monsters could hide under it and get into my dreams at night." Laine's voice was so low, anyone but an angel would have missed it.

"Did it work?" Michael said. Laine's silence tormented Michael to the tips of his wings. "Not as good as you do." Laine stripped off his shirt, undid his jeans, slid them down his narrow hips. He got on his knees, naked, rubbing his face between Michael's spread legs. "Not even close." Michael picked him up, let Laine wrap his legs around him. They kissed, their tongues tangled, Michael's hands under Laine's ass. Michael kissed Laine's throat, licked his nipples, before he let him slip to the edge of the bed. "I want you, Laine McKowan," Michael said. Laine knelt so he could push Michael's jacket open, slide it down his arms, and kiss his naked shoulders. "What do you want? Tell me." Laine slid his hands over Michael's crotch, fumbled with his zipper. Letting go of his jeans, Michael pushed Laine back, bent over and kissed him, holding his hands down

on the bed, over his head. "Tell you what?" Michael tongued Laine's nipples, slid his mouth over them again and again. "You're distracting me." Laine squirmed under Michael's touch. "That's not fair." "No?" Michael slid his warm mouth to Laine's neck. "Want me to stop?" "God." Laine tossed his head back. "Don't." "Don't what?" Michael kissed Laine's throat. Laine wrapped his arms around Michael's neck, looked up into his eyes. "Before I let you mark me," he whispered, "let me hear you say it." In all his eternities, Michael had never wanted anything more than to make Laine his, to protect him for all time, worlds without end. He said the three words he'd never been able to say on Earth. "You're mine forever." Laine rubbed his hard cock against Michael, kissed the side of his neck, whispered, "Take me."

Pulling free of Laine, Michael turned him over on his belly. He ran his hands down Laine's back in tender strokes, an artist learning his canvas for the first time. "After I take you, my mark will be part of you." He kissed his way up Laine's spine. "And I'll be part of you." By the time Michael got to the nape of his neck, Laine was spreading his legs wider, lifting his ass. Clawing at the white sheets, Laine dropped his head and said, "Please. Michael. Do it." Michael rolled Laine over, so he was on his back, took his legs up on his shoulders, kissed all the way up to his thighs. Then, his arms on either side of Laine's head, holding most of his weight off him, he let himself sink down until his body covered Laine like a living blanket. Michael guided his thick cock to press against Laine's hot tightness. And felt him panic. "The mark," Laine said. "Does it hurt?" "I won't let it," Michael said. "Relax." He rubbed his cock over the tight opening between Laine's legs.

A shiver went through Laine. He pressed his quivering lips to Michael's mouth. They kissed as if they had all eternity. Michael broke away gently, kissed Laine's shoulders, inched in until he felt Laine's heat yield to him. "Nothing will part us." Michael let a little more of his weight press down on Laine. "Ever." Laine moaned, his moist lips parted, his eyes on Michael's. "I want this more than I ever wanted anything." Michael sank all the way into him, one deep stroke, feeling Laine's quivering ass suck him in. Laine threw his head back in ecstasy. Michael kissed his neck, his throat, covered his mouth with a deep kiss. He held himself still inside Laine, his hands pinning him to the bed. "You'll bear my mark till the end of time," he whispered. "I'll protect you, never hurt you, always love you." Laine's cock was hard against Michael's belly, swollen and throbbing.

Michael took Laine's cock in his hand, ran his thumb back and forth over his slick head. Laine moaned. His hips shot up, taking Michael deep into him. The feel of Laine's need for him made Michael swell inside Laine. He ran his tongue over Laine's nipples. Michael felt the mark building in him. A low sound escaped him, between a groan and a growl. Taking his weight on his arms, he thrust into Laine, teeth bared, over and over. Laine bucked under Michael, gave himself up to the rapture of the marking. Michael saw his mark burning through Laine, felt him bucking and moaning under him, felt the slick feel of his come between them. The feel of Laine's fevered body under him, moving against him, drove Michael over the edge. He grabbed Laine's hips, felt the searing power of the mark flowing out of him as he came hard, deep inside Laine. Michael's wings sprang out, arching high over his head. He leaned down, still inside Laine, and kissed him,

tenderly, slowly. The way Laine caressed his face melted a place in Michael and in that moment, he knew that, if it were possible, he would die for Laine. Michael stood up to his full height, pulled out of Laine and lifted him easily, laid him full length on the bed, then lay behind him. He kissed from one shoulder to the other, his arm flung over Laine, his wings over both of them. "I never saw your wings get that big," Laine said. Michael laughed, soft and low. "You never made me come that hard." Laine pushed back against him, and Michael felt the warmth of his ass, the heat of his mark. "Can mortals see the mark?" "Only immortals. They'll see it even with your clothes on, and they'll know you're mine." Michael's voice was still soft and low, but he knew it was nowhere near tender. He tried to keep the sharp edge of steel hidden. He didn't want to scare Laine. "And that if they

harm you, they'll answer to me." "Can you show me?" Laine said. Michael pulled Laine onto his back, drew a Revelation Rune. The air over them shimmered, became a mirror that showed Laine's back. The mark spilled down from both shoulders, a black tattoo of angel wings that met in the hollow of his back, just above his tailbone. It looked exactly the way it would have looked if he were in Michael's arms, and he wrapped his wings around him. Laine lay his head on Michael's chest. "Forever," he whispered. "Till the end of time," Michael said in his ear, and waited, patient for what would come. "But I won't live forever," Laine said. "Not even close." Michael rolled on his side, his head resting on his hand. "As long as you're with me, you won't age." "What if I change my mind?" A shiver went

through Laine. "I mean, not that I would. But what if I did?" "You can't, Laine." Michael kept his voice even. "A marking can't be undone." In one smooth move, Michael rolled Laine onto his back, and lay over him, their eyes inches apart. "I love you," he said. "Nothing can change that. But you have my mark now. If you ever try to leave, you'll have to fight your way past me." He tried to soften his words with a kiss, but Laine's lips were trembling. "You mean combat?" Laine's eyes went wide. "With you?" "I tried to tell you," Michael said. "Forever means forever to an immortal." **** The sound of one man clapping, or in this case one fallen angel clapping, made the hairs on the back of Laine's neck stand up. "Touching." Lucifer was standing in the smoldering

ashes that were left from the fire. "I could start crying if you two don't stop." In a second, Michael, in his leather jacket and black jeans, was standing between Lucifer and Laine. "Put some clothes on," Michael said over his shoulder. He glared at his brother. "Don't you know how to knock?" Laine dressed, slid off the bed, and went to stand beside Michael. He blushed under Lucifer's gaze. "His mark is nice," the dark angel said. "You do detailed work. Must be all the blood and guts you're used to." "Who do I have to pay to make you mortal so I can spend a whole day killing you?" "That's not right," Lucifer said. "Centuries ago, before you marked Laine, you had whole decades to kill me." He wiped at his eyes. "Now it's only a day." "I let you get away with a lot." Michael got closer to his brother with every word. "I know you can't help

yourself. But it's been billions of grains of sand, and you're fucking reaching my limit." Lucifer smiled into Michael's dark green eyes. "What? Getting a little quick ass didn't improve your temper any?" Laine heard the low snick of Michael's knife sliding into his hand. Michael lunged at Lucifer. Laine jumped between them. "Stop," he said. "Or I'll be the one calling you Mad Mike." Sliding his arm around Laine's waist, pulling him near, Michael looked down at him with such desire in his eyes, Laine wanted to melt into him. "If you and my brother gang up on me, Rafe could send me to bad angel reform school." "They have that?" Laine said. Raphael materialized beside Michael. "Not reform school," he said. "But I can certainly request that he and Lucifer go on a mission together." He ran his eyes over

Laine. "You look well," he said. "And your mark is very becoming." "You know I hate that." Michael let go of Laine, crept back. "I'm on a mission. What if you'd touched me?" "Lucifer hasn't had a chance to give you the news yet, has he?" Raphael said. Laine watched both Lucifer and Michael back away from Raphael. He couldn't make sense of why they acted as if they were so afraid of an angel whose job was making peace. Turning to Lucifer, Raphael said, "I'm sure he's anxious to hear your news." "It got stable in the Seed." Lucifer was all business, a soldier reporting to a general. "There's a pinpoint for the Nephilim." "Anything else?" "Just one thing." The dark angel's eyes glinted with amusement. His horns grew until they were longer than

Laine's arms, and came to tiny sharp points. His shirt disappeared, leaving his muscle hulked chest and arms bare. "In case my brother doesn't win," he said, "I need to know what you like, Laine." He smiled, showing a double row of needle sharp fangs. "So I can make Hell comfortable for you. Is this your style?" He hunched over, clenched his fists, made the classic muscle man pose. "Brother," Raphael said in a reproachful voice, "if you give Michael reason, you know I won't stop him." "He got lucky when I let him kick me out of our Father's house." Lucifer morphed back to his dark sweater and faded jeans. He took a step toward Michael. "Don't let Vassago make you lose your head, Mike. There's a lot riding on this." A look of worry crossed Raphael's face. "If you're willing to be brave," he said to Laine, "the prize of my brother's love forever will be yours." Raphael and Lucifer both faded without another

word. Michael took Laine's hand, kissed his palm. "From here on out, every move counts." "No mistakes," Laine said. But his words echoed hollow in his mind. He was only mortal, and Michael was immortal, not perfect. Michael headed for a door that wasn't there. When he reached out, a door shimmered into being and he pulled it open. Laine felt the heat and stench of the Seed they'd left behind surround them. Instead of the hallway, there was an alley so narrow one step would've taken him into the wall across from them. Azriel was at the head of the alley. A strangely pale moon hung in a smooth sky whose darkness was undisturbed by stars. "You ready?" Michael asked. "Full dark's coming," Azriel said. "Laine?" He was wondering where the stars were, but he knew this wasn't a good time to ask. "Yeah?"

"It's endgame. All I've got to protect you is my reflexes and your brains," Michael said. "I'm counting on both. All right?" Laine's heart kicked up to double time. "Brain online," he said. "Check." Azriel's black-on-black eyes ran up and down Laine. "Nice mark." The three of them walked out of the alley. Their footsteps were loud in the dark, silent city. The silence set Laine's nerves on edge, like he had shards of glass rushing through his veins. "Two blocks down," Azriel said. His low voice made Laine's jangling nerves jitter, made the shadows feel deeper. "Easy," Michael said. "Nothing's getting past me and Azriel." They eased down the street, their shadows long and sleek in moonlight. Behind them, nothing moved; in front of them, the night was a silent grave waiting to

happen. But at the sides, out of the corners of Laine's eyes, the shadows were alive with writhing, squirming things. He tried not to look, but even when he did, there was nothing. Neither Michael nor Azriel seemed to notice that, just beyond what they could see, dark things were coming to life. "What?" Michael said. "What's wrong?" Laine tore his eyes from a shop window where he was sure he'd seen a naked, skinless body hanging from a rotted rope. "You don't see anything?" he said. "The tremors?" Michael waved his hands toward the dark buildings. "They're ghosts. Not real." "Echoes from the future," Azriel said. Michael stopped in front of a building whose windows had the soft glow of firelight. But it seemed wrong somehow, a view into a haunted house showing the glow of a fire that had burned a family in their beds. "Where are they?" Michael turned slowly, stopping with his back to the street. "Shit," he said and

pulled Laine down to the ground. Michael was on his feet in seconds, knife out. Two demons were behind him, two in front. But they were just the first drops in a rainstorm. Two lines of demons were coming down the street from either end. More were crawling, face first, down the walls of the buildings across the street. Michael and Azriel were facing an army. Laine stayed on the ground, huddled against a brick wall, his eyes on the warrior angels. Azriel and Michael fought back to back. Azriel was unarmed, but he brought his fists down in bruising, fast arcs, pummeling the demons, knocking them off their feet. But they rushed back, swiped at him with their claws, nimbly avoided his killing blows. A demon raked long steel-sharp claws across Azriel's throat while another one went for his eyes. The black angel grabbed their throats, shook them, roared in rage. He swept them off their feet, whipped around and

smashed them into the wall over Laine's head. He ducked, heard a low crunching sound, then he was surrounded by smoke that smelled of rotten meat. The air thickened and turned into a soupy mist as the demons fell to the angels. Azriel went to help Michael, who was fighting four demons. "No," Michael said, slashing at a demon's throat, ducking low to avoid the claws of another. "Take Laine," he said. "Go." Laine knew it was stupid, knew he couldn't do anything to help, but he wanted to stay, watch over Michael. But before he could open his mouth, Azriel bent over, grabbed him and tossed him over his shoulder, barely stopping in his charge toward the door to the building. It was like being carried by a man made of jointed concrete. Inside, he set Laine down, his black eyes scanning the narrow hall. "Stay there," he said in his strange whispery voice. His back was to Laine, and he couldn't see over

Azriel's shoulders. "Who's in here?" The muscles in Azriel's back rippled as he swung his arms slowly, legs spread, ready for an attack. "Why? You want me to introduce you?" Michael stepped through the door, wiping something off his jacket. "Azriel, guard the stairs," he said. "Laine, with me." He started up the steps. Laine shot to his feet, and went after him before Azriel could help him up. There was something threatening about his touch, a feeling that if he wasn't thinking about it every second, he'd crush bones. They went up four flights of winding stairs. The way grew darker, more narrow. The walls started curving out, becoming rounded. The twisting steps led in tight circles. Moonlight shone through high narrow slits in the walls. "Is this a castle?" Laine asked. No answer, so he concentrated on climbing.

Laine had had a recurring nightmare since his childhood. In the dream, he was in a dungeon-like corridor, with stone walls and a low ceiling. Just ahead of him, he knew there were thousands and thousands of snakes. He always heard them slithering over each other. When he turned to run, he slid on their slippery bodies. Up ahead, he heard that same low, slithering sound and stopped, caught in unquestioning horror, as surely as a fish on a hook. The stairs ended inside a room whose round walls were rough white stone. "So good of you to come, Michael," a low rough voice said. "All these centuries, and we keep missing each other." Michael sprang up to the last step, his knife out. "Remind me again why I didn't kill you back in Greece." An olive-skinned man—not a horned demon— walked out of the dark, barefoot, wearing loose black silky trousers. His chest and arms rippled with muscle.

He had an almost square face, black on black eyes, and small sharp looking teeth. The hissing was driving Laine from his senses. He inched along the wall, moving closer to Michael. Screams, flesh thudding into brick, and other sounds of fighting drifted up from below them. Azriel was busy. "You couldn't catch me then," Vassago said. "And you won't catch me this time." He sniffed the air, and rolled his eyes toward Laine. "He must be delicious when you take his fragile mortal ass. Have you made him scream yet, or is it still honeymoon fucking?" Michael rolled his shoulders, a fighter getting ready to kick ass. "I have to give you one chance to repent." He cleared his throat, spoke slowly. "Vassago, will you surrender and go willingly to Hell for your punishment?" The half-angel tilted his head back, closed his eyes and seemed to think it over before he said, "I don't think so. No."

"Why?" Michael said. "Why won't I go to Hell and roll a boulder uphill for a thousand years?" "No," Michael said. "The plague, what did you think? I wouldn't come after you?" Vassago looked at Laine over Michael's shoulder. "Such a sweet, tight treat he must be." He let his eyes drift back to Michael's hard face. "With you in Banishment and only Lucifer to look after the store…" He shrugged. "Well, there's the whole temptation thing." "Stay behind me, Laine." Michael was moving his hands through the air in a complex pattern. "I have to draw him down." "Was it good when you marked him?" Vassago said. "Because it's the last you'll have of him." Laine shrank against the wall behind him, but the walls shimmered, turned into a mass of tangled snake bodies. He leapt away, directly in front of Michael's slowly waving hands.

"What is it?" Michael said. The snakes were behind Michael. Laine could hear them. Not thousands, hundreds of thousands. He could hear them hissing, sliding over each other. He whipped around, desperate to escape that awful slithering sound that filled his head, drove daggers of fear through his brain. Ahead of him there was a meadow, low green grass. No hissing; no slithering. He stumbled toward it, heard a roaring from behind him, a beast coming for him. He struggled to push through the suddenly thick air, felt the cool freshness of the meadow against his face. Then it popped like a bubble, and he was looking into the red rimmed black eyes of Vassago. The Nephilim grabbed Laine, spun him in one quick motion, pulling him close as a shield. "I know you don't want anything happening to him, Michael. But it's such a dangerous world they live in." He ran his long fingers over Laine's soft lips. "Make it safer for him. Stand aside. Give me passage." Laine let out a small scream. He was standing on

the edge of a yawning pit that let out no light. Beams of moonlight shot through the windows in opposite walls overhead, and reflected off the glistening bodies of thousands of snakes writhing over each other. Over the chasm, between him and Michael, stretched a thread of a bridge so narrow, a man would have to shuffle across to keep both feet on the stones. Laine's mind went numb with terror. **** "Let him go," Michael said. The Nephilim released Laine, stepped back. "As you command." Michael fought desperately to keep his armor from surfacing. He tried to force his mind into battle-calm, a state where he could strategize, think his way out. But that was Laine inches away from Vassago. "Azriel," he said. "Come if you can." The angel materialized beside Michael, and understood the situation at a glance. "Hell's fires," Azriel said.

"Laine," Michael said. "Come to me." "No." Azriel grabbed Michael's arm, half turned him around. "He went out of fear. You try to use fear to get him back, and he's dead. Neutralize it, don't feed it." Laine stood unmoving, his eyes riveted to the floor, a look of horror on his face. What Azriel said was true. But Michael's thoughts jammed up against each other, bricks in a wall of panic. Every immortal instinct, every urge demanded that Michael spread his wings, fly the few feet separating him from Laine, pull him into his arms. But if he did that, Vassago won. "Tell me what he's making you see," Michael said. "I'm not as good as Lucifer," Vassago said, "but I do have my small talents." "Your armor." Azriel said in a low, urgent whisper. "It's coming out." Straining, Michael melted his armor back into his skin. There was only one way to get at Laine, one way

that wasn't forbidden. Michael clenched his teeth, focused on Laine's back, let the power of the marking flow with his words. "Remember the day in the park, Laine? How I said I'd find a way for us to be together forever?" Laine wind-milled his arms wildly, as if he were on the edge of a miles high cliff. "I did." Michael's voice was low, steady. "I'm right here. All you have to do is come to me." Laine's terrified eyes met Michael's. "Snakes," he said. "They're not real," Michael said. "There has to be a bridge. Look for it." "I see it," Laine said. "But I'll fall. They'll eat me." Michael's talent with illusion was limited, but he summoned the scents of freshly cut grass, the bubbling sound of a running brook, the warmth of a summer sun. "We made a promise to each other that day," he said. "Remember?"

Laine fell back a step, then, like a breaking windup doll, he took half a step forward, and froze. "They're from under my bed." Azriel eased up to Michael, his bulk filling the narrow hall. "Good," he said. "Keep going." Behind Laine, Vassago hissed. A forked tongue flicked from his mouth. "Mortals and their fears," he said. "They are such weak things." Michael ignored the Nephilim. "Try to get on the bridge, Laine. He has to let you." Laine shuffled forward a step, fell to his knees. Michael bore down on his thoughts, forced them to a fine razor-edge of focus. "We promised we'd always believe." Laine's face was red; beads of sweat lined his forehead. "I have to crawl." "It's okay." Michael's voice held no hint of the tortured battle raging inside him. "I'll be right here, waiting."

His thin arms trembling, Laine inched across the floor. "That's it," Michael said. Laine's head hung down. He slid his knees along the stones as if he was crossing something high and narrow. Beyond Laine, the Nephilim was pressing himself to the wall, eyes shut, his face twisted in concentration. This would be the worst part. The farther Laine went, the worse Vassago's head games would get. If a mortal's fear was strong enough, Nephilim illusions could kill. Michael was curling his wings in so hard, his back ached. His sword was burning through his leather sleeve. He let go of his jacket, let it melt away. Laine cried out Michael's name, hunched his body almost double, arms across his middle, as if he'd been punched in the gut. His wings, his armor, his sword—anything— Michael would have given anything to be the one

crawling across the stones. "I told you I'd believe forever," he said. Azriel clutched Michael's shoulder, squeezed. Laine crawled, but even slower. An incredible power welled up inside Michael, overflowed his armor, filled him with light so pure, it was magic. He was feeling Laine's love through the mark. For the first time in all the ages, the Archangel of War realized a heart didn't need to beat to exist. "You're my heart's desire," Michael said. Laine crossed the last few inches, collapsed. The Archangel scooped him off the floor, held him close. In a choked whisper, Laine said, "The snakes didn't get me, so you're crushing me instead?" But Laine's arms, soft and alive, were around Michael, and for a few grains of eternity, nothing else mattered. **** Laine held Michael in a trembling grip, whispered,

"I could hear you, but the snakes were so real." Michael's hands ran up and down and Laine's back, smoothing away the cold slimy feel of the giant snake that had wrapped around him on the bridge. "Go with Azriel," he said. Laine heard the barely controlled fury in Michael's soft words, felt his armor coming between them, hard and unyielding. Azriel reached for Laine. "Come on. He's got work to do." By the time Laine had skittered past Azriel, Michael's transformation was complete. He was armored. His gold breastplate gleamed in moonlight. His chain mail tinkled, metal on metal. His burning sword rose from both hands. And something else. When he'd seen Lucifer goad Michael, Laine had wondered how even an Archangel could have survived eons of doing that. Now he knew. Michael and Lucifer were like wrestling brother wolves. It seemed as if they

were ripping into each other, but it was harmless play. Vassago had been digging through the stone wall. He armed sweat from his face, got up and faced Michael. "Isn't all that gold heavy?" His black eyes glittered, cold hard diamonds that caught the moonlight. He glanced at Laine. "The only difference between your mark and mine, Michael, is mine changes their form." "Your dishonor echoes through the universe." Michael leapt at him, but Vassago flinched, arms out, barely evaded the flaming sword. Vassago smiled, backed away. "Yes. Kill me. Give it all up." He clenched his fists, hurled tennis sized fireballs that Michael batted into the wall. "Your sword, your powers. They'll Banish you another century, take him from you." Laine saw through Vassago's act. He was goading Michael's fear, backing him into his own terrors. "Stop. He's baiting you." But it was no use, Michael went at Vassago,

dodged the fireballs, slashed at the Nephilim again and again. His reflexes, my brain. Well all right then. Azriel was a half second too late when Laine slid around him. That was enough delay for Laine to jump between Michael and Vassago. "He's doing it on purpose," Laine said. "Like Lucifer. Stop." Michael easily drew Laine beside him, out of the way of his sword. "This is battle, Laine. Stay out of it." Well, hell. Strike out. Endgame. Laine focused on the wall and said the only word he could think of. "Raphael." The archangel appeared between Michael and Vassago. "Laine is yours, brother," he said. "Finish it with the Nephilim. Send him to his punishment." The hall was too narrow for Michael to pass without touching Raphael. Michael's sword vanished from his hands and appeared in the crystal sheath across his back. He stood still, arms at his sides. "I can wait."

The air filled with the smell of sulfur. Lucifer walked through the wall behind Vassago. "Don't be stupid. Send him to me." Michael's eyes went black-on-black. "He put his hands on what's mine!" Lucifer pushed Vassago out of his way, moved toward Michael. Raphael stepped aside, pulled Laine close to the wall. "You looking to spend another century Banished?" Lucifer said. "The Council will take all your powers." "Laine's marked." Michael didn't take his eyes off Vassago. "Nothing can change that now." "Hey! Mad Mike." Lucifer snapped his fingers in Michael's face. "Wake up. He'll age. What would you do? How would you stand it? Year after year, watching his mortal body get old, decay? You could hardly stand to watch him crawl a couple feet." Michael felt the weight of his armor and thought of the mortals he'd saved from creatures as evil as Vassago. He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and rose to his full height, steady as a mountain carved by a

long dead ocean, the ultimate warrior. "Ye who would slaughter the innocent, I condemn thee to exile in Hell." Michael swept his shining eyes to Laine. "Raphael. Shield my heart." Raphael snatched Laine's hand, caught him up close. "Stay still," he murmured. Vassago's black eyes glowed red for a moment. "No," he said. He slid right, then left, trapped. "No. Fight me." Michael's sword was in his hands again, flames sliding around the edges. "I Banish thee to Lucifer's domain. I damn thee to Hell." Vassago sank to the floor, clawed at the wall. "On your feet, Nephilim," Michael said. "Or I will send you from this world on your knees." Vassago shot a desperate look over his shoulder, his hands still working, digging stone out of the wall. Michael raised his sword, drew a pattern through the air. A lasso of flame grew from his sword and floated

to Vassago, tightened around his throat. Over his strangled screams, Michael said, "Thou art confined for the thousand years." A red fireball flamed out around Vassago's body. Raphael swung around, covering Laine's body with his. When Laine opened his eyes, daylight was flooding in. The stone walls and cobblestone floor looked brand new, even smelled like they had been built five minutes ago. "What happened?" he said. In his leather jacket and black jeans again, Michael flicked his knife into place. "Mission's complete," he said. "Time's been reset. I bought another couple centuries before Armageddon." From behind him, Laine heard clapping. "Bravo," Lucifer said. "Now all I have to do is get you to share." Michael turned toward his brother, almost smiled. "I owe you another couple hundred years before I spend a day killing you." "Don't worry." Lucifer swung his eyes to Laine.

"I'll be around." He spun in a tight circle and was gone, leaving black feathers behind. Staying well back from Raphael, Azriel said, "Next time there's a good fight, don't forget me." He clasped Michael's knife hand, squeezed his shoulder, and faded. Laine was beside Raphael. "How come you're all the way over there?" Michael said. Even though he wanted nothing more than to be wrapped in Michael's arms, Laine couldn't stand not knowing anymore. "Are you and Lucifer afraid of Raphael?" Michael laughed. The sunlight streaming in caught a sparkle in his green eyes. "Our brother's peaceful," he said. "If he touches us, we get…" He waved his hands helplessly. "Happy. Good. Gives us a hangover for decades." Raphael held up his hour glass. The top was full of white sand. The bottom, where blood had been

collecting, was empty. He said to Laine, "You were brave and true. As our brother would say, 'bravo'." Suddenly embarrassed, Laine said, "Thanks." Michael spread his wings; they were golden and glittering, the color of hope. "It's good to have you among us again," Raphael said to Michael, and walked through the wall. "That's how your wings really look?" Laine said. Michael looked up at his gold feathers shimmering in sunlight. "Banishment's done." He held his hand out to Laine. "You want a ride, angel boy?" Laine took Michael's hand. First they were falling, then they were riding, Michael's Fat Boy rumbling under them, racing through the night. Laine slid his arms around Michael, pulled himself close, whispered, "Forever."

The End

About the Author Ryssa Edwards is a writer with a day job who lives just outside Dallas. She can be found in local malls, camping out at the food court, with notebooks, papers and scribbled notes spread all over one of those nice big round tables. So many children come up to her and ask if she’s teacher, that she now keeps a small, but discreet supply of chocolate handy for encounters of the small kind. Usually kids take the candy and go, and Ryssa happily goes back to her angels, or pirates or vampires. So if you see a lady at the food court in the your local mall scribbling away, wave and smile, and sorry… free chocolate only if you’re three feet tall or under. Facebook: facebook.com/RyssaEdwards Blog: http://ryssaedwards.blogspot.com

Email: [email protected]

Also by Ryssa Edwards: Available from Silver Publishing: IMMORTAL PLEASURES Warrior Angel, Heart's Desire Dark Angel, All the Stars Available from Dreamspinner Press: The Moon House (coming soon) Available from Decadent Publishing WARRIOR'S DESIRE Dreaming of a Kiss (coming soon)