CHAPTER
ONE
2,000 years BCE
The archangel Michael gripped the rock in his right
hand so hard that his fingers left imprints in the stone. His jaw
was clenched, his eyes shut fast against the pain coursing through
his veins. The woods were sparse this far north and the ground
beneath him grew colder and harder as the strength was sapped from
his inhuman body.
His brother, the
archangel Azrael, transformed as he was to a predatory creature,
had his fangs embedded deep in the side of his throat, and with
each pull and swallow, Michael experienced a new and deeper
agony.
“Az . . . that’s
enough,” he ground out, hissing the words through gritted
teeth.
I’m sorry, came Azrael’s hesitant reply. He didn’t
speak the words, but Michael could hear the genuine regret skating
through his brother’s mind. Azrael had yet to pull out—to stop
drinking him down.
Not for the first
time, Michael knew he would have to use force. He picked up the
rock that his fingers grasped, and after another grimace and wince
of pain, he slammed the stone into the side of Azrael’s head. His
brother’s teeth were ripped from his neck, tearing long gashes in
his flesh as Azrael toppled to the side, catching himself on strong
but shaking arms.
“Az,” Michael gasped,
dropping the rock to cup his hand to the side of his neck. “Az, I’m
sorry.” He slowly rolled over, propping himself on one elbow as he
attempted to heal the damage. Light and warmth grew beneath his
palm, sending curative energy into his wound. But Azrael’s head was
still down, his long sable hair concealing his features from
Michael’s sight.
“Az?”
“Stop, Michael. I
can’t bear it.”
Michael felt the
healing complete itself, heard his heart beat steady within his
body and closed his eyes. His brother had an incredibly beautiful
voice. And yet now it resonated with despair.
Michael let his hand
drop and sat up the rest of the way. He opened his eyes again and
looked upon his brother’s bent form. “This pain you’re going
through can’t last much longer,” he said softly.
“A single moment
longer is too long,” Azrael whispered. Slowly, and with what
appeared to be great effort, his tall dark figure straightened. He
raised his head to meet his brother’s gaze and Michael found
himself once more staring into eyes of glowing gold, eerie and
mesmerizing, in the handsome frame of Azrael’s face.
“Kill me,” Azrael
said.
Michael steeled
himself and shook his head. “Never.”
If any one of the
four archangel brothers could have summoned the will to kill the
other, it would not have been Michael or even Azrael, but rather
Uriel. He was the Angel of Vengeance. Only Uriel would be capable
of comprehending what it would take to smother empathy and reason
and love long enough to deal the final blow Azrael begged
for.
But Uriel was not
with them. He and their other brother, the archangel Gabriel, had
been lost in their plummet to the Earth two weeks ago. The four
archangels had been separated and scattered, like dried and dead
leaves on a hurricane wind. Michael had no idea where the others
were, much less what they might be going through.
He knew only that he
had gone through a transformation as he’d taken on this human form.
Michael was not as powerful as he’d been before their descent. The
nature of his powers was the same, more or less. But the scope of
those powers had diminished greatly. He was able to affect only
what was immediately around him, and for only a relatively short
period of time. His body grew weary. He knew hunger. He often felt
weak. He had changed drastically.
But not as much as
Azrael.
As the former Angel
of Death, Azrael’s change was different from Michael’s. It was
darker. It was much more painful. It was as if this new form were
steeped in the negative energy he had collected during his
seemingly endless prior existence. As the reaper in the field of
mortal spirits, Azrael had taken so very many lives. There was a
weight to that many souls, and they carried him down with them now.
His altered form bore the fangs of a monster, a sensitivity to
sunlight that forced him to hide in the shadows of night. Worst of
all, it demanded blood.
Always
blood.
“Please, Michael.”
Azrael’s broad shoulders shook slightly as he curled his hands into
fists and the powerful muscles in his upper body drew taut and
pronounced. His skin was pale, his hair the color of night, his
eyes like the sun. He looked like a study in contradiction as he
gritted his teeth, baring his blood-soaked fangs. “Don’t make me
beg.”
Michael got his legs
beneath him and stood. He backed up against one of the few trees in
the area and had opened his mouth to once more refuse his brother’s
request when Azrael was suddenly blurring into motion.
Michael’s body
slammed hard against the tree’s trunk and the living wood
splintered behind him. He was weaker than he’d been several minutes
before; blood loss drained precious momentum from his reflexes.
Though he was able to heal his wound, he was not able to replace
the blood that Azrael took from him.
He’d been here
before. He and Azrael had been here every night for two
weeks.
Michael didn’t know
how long he would be able to engage in this nightly battle with his
brother. Azrael was very strong. Even half-crazed with pain, he was
most likely the strongest of the four of them. The monster that he
had become was eating him up inside. It was devouring the core of
his being, leaving him an empty shell.
Life was different on
Earth. There had been no discomfort before this. No hunger. No
thirst. These sensations were novel to Michael, but whatever
discomfort he was experiencing because of his new, more human form,
Azrael was obviously suffering a thousandfold. His transformation
was brutal and it was killing him.
But Michael wouldn’t
give up on him. Not now—not ever. With great effort, he shoved
Azrael off him and prepared himself for another senseless battle
with his brother and best friend.
Somewhere, Uriel and
Gabriel were most likely struggling as well; either with
themselves, or with each other. Or with both. Michael had to find
them. He had to find them, and bring
the four of them back together. They were on Earth for a reason.
They had come in order to find the women, the soul mates, that the
Old Man had created for them. They’d come to Earth to find their
archesses. And they didn’t stand a chance at finding their
archesses until they found one another.
Worse, Michael knew
that they hadn’t made it to Earth alone. He knew the four of them
had been followed. Samael was the one archangel they had reason to
fear. He had always been stronger than Michael, and at one point,
he had been the Old Man’s favorite. But that was a long time ago
and now, due to his jealousy over the archesses, he had come to
Earth to find the women for himself.
Over the years,
Samael had proven himself to be a charismatic, cold, calculating,
and wholly dangerous rival.
Michael didn’t know
what would happen if Samael got to the archesses first. He had no
idea, in fact, what would happen if he and his brothers found them,
as they were meant to. All he knew for certain was that he wasn’t
willing to leave this to chance. Each archess was too important.
Michael and the others had experienced loneliness for too long.
These women would be the end to that. They meant
everything.
Time meant everything. Michael gritted his teeth,
narrowed his gaze, and rolled up his sleeves. Azrael came at him
like lightning, and like thunder, Michael met him
halfway.