The Grigori Legacy: Sins Of The Lost Part 4

She bit the inside of her cheek, creating a physical pain to distract herself from the one in her heart. It didn't help. "I know. I'll keep working on him."

In between dealing with her own issues.

Henderson cleared his throat, but his voice remained gruff. "It's late there. Get some sleep, and I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Murmuring a good night, Alex replaced the receiver in its cradle. The headache had spread, filling her skull, throbbing in time to her heartbeat. She closed her eyes against the pain. Against the fine thread of constant tension that caused it.

Her brain replayed Henderson's words. "He does know the Nephilim could wipe us out, right?"

Yes, he knew. She just didn't know how to make him care. Especially when she couldn't- Warm hands settled onto her shoulders, ma.s.saging at the knots that never went away anymore. She sat quietly, letting Seth's strength seep into her and chase away the shadows that wanted to gather at her core.

Long minutes later, when his hands left her shoulders to link with her own, she opened her eyes, let him draw her up out of the chair, and followed him to their bedroom. There would be no pressure tonight, no demand for anything she wasn't ready to give. She knew that, because she knew he cared for her.

And if he cared for her, he could learn to care for others.

He just needed time.

Chapter 9.

Lucifer looked up at the sound of a tap on his office door. His aide, Samael, stood in the opening, an aura of apology surrounding him. Lucifer scowled.

"Still nothing?" He tossed down his pen. "b.l.o.o.d.y Heaven, how hard can it be to trace them?"

Samael leaned a shoulder against the door frame, his reluctance to venture inside clearly written across his expression, right beside the scars that served as Lucifer's permanent reminder about who truly ruled h.e.l.l.

"I warned you this could take a while," he said. "They're Nephilim. Without Guardians we can eavesdrop on, we have no way to trace them other than through the woman."

Lucifer's nostrils flared, and the hand he rested on the desk curled into a fist. Across the room, Sam shifted. Lucifer didn't bother telling him it was the thought of the woman that irritated him and not Sam's news. He liked the former Archangel this way: a little nervous, a little cautious, a lot respectful.

No, Sam wasn't the issue. The woman, on the other hand . . . now, she infuriated him. The defiance, the sheer insolence . . . His fingers curled tighter. Killing his child, maiming herself so she could not bear another . . .

He glowered at his aide. "Have we made any progress?"

"We've located where the woman works, and we're watching her around the clock. It's just a matter of time until she reaches out to her sister."

"Watching her? Why in b.l.o.o.d.y Heaven would we sit back and watch? Take her, d.a.m.n it. Make her tell you where to find the sister."

"That might not be wise. The Archangels have been watching her, too. At first it was only Aramael, and I thought it was personal, but now Mika'el is hovering over her. We don't know what his interest is, but if we take her and he wants her . . ."

His aide's voice trailed off.

"b.l.o.o.d.y Heaven!" Lucifer thrust back his chair and rose, stalking to the window. Weariness wound through him. What was the Archangel up to now? The warrior had been such a thorn in his side. The only being in all of Heaven, other than the One, powerful enough to take him on and not be decimated in the process. First rallying the Archangels to force him across that d.a.m.nable h.e.l.lfire barrier, then derailing his attempt to mold his son, and now returning to interfere yet again.

Bracing a hand on either side of the window, he stared out at the gray, brittle landscape. The gardens that defied his efforts to recreate Heaven had declined yet further. Nothing remained but the withered corpses of what he'd intended. Bitterness filled him, settling like dry dust on his tongue.

For the first time in his existence, disquiet slithered down his spine. A possibility he'd denied for more than six thousand years took form low in his belly, gelled into certainty.

I'm going to lose it, he thought. I'm going to lose it all.

Maybe not now, maybe not even soon, but eventually.

It was inevitable.

For an instant, the realization paralyzed him. Held him as a fly might be held by a spider, pa.s.sive and unmoving, tangled beyond hope in strands of unbreakable silk. He shook off the suffocating cling of the metaphor. Loss might be inevitable, but it wouldn't happen yet. Not if he could help it.

Not until he had ensured humanity's absolute, total destruction. He spun back to face Samael.

"What about the Nephilim? Are we at least ready for them?"

"We're working on it. The city we chose has been abandoned for a long time. It's not an easy task readying it without drawing attention to ourselves."

"You've had human interference?"

"Not in Pripyat itself, no. We caused the radiation levels to spike, so they've shut the area down tight. The only way in is through checkpoints, and we control those. Making arrangements for supplies without alerting the Guardians has been interesting, but so far we've managed. The pregnant humans, however, are another matter. We've had to a.s.sign a watcher to each of them to prevent them from ridding themselves of the babies."

"Can we not just move them to the site right now?"

"And end up fighting the war with Heaven in the midst of your unborn army? That might not be the wisest course of action. We're better off waiting until after the births. We'll only need a few Fallen to tend the children then, and the rest of us can draw the host away from them. Keep them occupied. Besides, we're not sure what the radiation levels in the city might do to the mothers. If they became ill, they might not be able to carry the babies to term."

"But the infants themselves won't be harmed." A statement, not a question, and one that dared contradiction.

Samael shook his head. "Not as far as we can tell. We've harvested a few over the last week as test subjects. So far they seem to be thriving."

"And how long before the rest are born?"

"Only a week."

Lucifer gritted his teeth at the placating tone of his aide's voice and resisted the urge to throw something at him. Such as his desk. "Fine. Then that's how long you have to find the Naphil's sister."

Fleeting exasperation crossed Samael's face, and then he nodded. "I'll see that the trackers step up their effort."

"No. Not the trackers. You."

"Me? But I-"

"The others don't know how important this is. You do. The Nephilim need a leader. They need this child I will father. If their place is as ready as you claim, then you're free to pursue this for me. Find the Naphil's sister, Samael. And don't come back until you do."

Chapter 10.

Verchiel found the One seated beneath an arbor in the rose garden, eyes closed, so still that she might have been one with the wood. Loath to disturb her, Verchiel paused, studying the lines in the beloved face. Lines she was certain hadn't been there before. Her heart squeezed in on itself. She looks so . . . fragile.

Her hesitation deepened. Perhaps she should leave, come back later.

"Come," her Creator said. "Sit with me."

"If I'm disturbing you . . ."

A moment's silence, then the One's eyes opened, and some of the lines smoothed away from her forehead. She patted the bench beside her. "Not at all. I was just containing my son's folly. Again."

Verchiel crossed the sweep of lawn and settled on the seat. "How is that coming?"

"It isn't. Every time I think I have it under control, it finds another escape. I'm not sure how much more the planet can take without self-destructing."

"And you? How much more can you take?"

"A good question." The One pulled a spray of roses toward her, inhaling deeply. "I suppose as much as I must. But we're not here to talk about me."

Guilt ensnared Verchiel's voice and held it captive. It was true. She had come in search of the Creator for other reasons. More selfish ones.

The Creator's hand covered her own in her lap and squeezed. "Tell me."

"It's just-" She blinked away the sheen of moisture blurring the garden. "You have always . . . been. The very idea you can cease to do so terrifies me."

The One's hand pressed hers. "Not cease, Verchiel. Alter. I'll still be here, just not like this."

"But this-this is how we know you, One, and I don't know how to go on without that." Verchiel turned her hand over in the One's until their fingers linked. "Your counsel, your guidance, your very presence . . ."

"All of that will still be yours. You'll just have to pay closer attention. I'll still be a part of you, as all mothers remain a part of their children. My voice will be in yours if you choose to hear it. My counsel and guidance in your heart if you choose to heed them."

A tear spilled over onto Verchiel's cheek. With a rueful sigh, the One reached out her free hand to wipe it away.

"Close your eyes," she commanded.

Verchiel did.

"Now breathe."

She inhaled.

"Do you smell the roses? The gra.s.s and trees and a thousand other scents that mingle with them?"

A nod.

"Those are my scents, Verchiel. The scents of my skin, my breath, my very essence. Every breath you take, every inhale, every exhale-that is me. The sun warming your skin and the breeze playing with your hair-those are me, too. Holding you, loving you, cradling you close. And the beat of your heart inside your chest? My very life force, made manifest in you."

The One lifted her hand, pressing it against a soft, lined cheek. "This, the physical part of me to which you cling, this is but a tiny fraction of what I am, my angel. I am so, so much more than what you can touch or see or feel. I am everything. All you have to do is want to understand that."

Verchiel sat. Listened. Strained to feel what the One described to her. She shook her head.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, "for not being strong enough."

"Hush, child. After all you have been, all you have done, you have nothing for which to apologize. You are as strong as you need to be. The rest will come in time."

Verchiel pressed a hand against the ache in her chest. This struggle was her own. The One did not need the extra burden of her doubt; she needed her help. Even if helping meant losing her.

"Tell me what you need me to do."

"Watch over the Archangel Mika'el for me. He takes on too much-more than he needs to-and he's terrible at asking for help."

"He doubts Seth."

The Creator of All looked out over the garden. Her gaze became distant again, her face shadowed with a sorrow that made Verchiel's own pale in comparison.

"As do I, Verchiel," she murmured. "As do I."

Chapter 11.

Alex steered down the ramps and around the pillars of the underground parking complex. Fatigue sat heavy behind her eyes, the result of another mostly sleepless night spent staring at the ceiling. Returning to work had seemed like a good idea, but now she wondered how long she could keep it up. Playing at being a cop, pretending everything was normal and not teetering on the edge of total destruction.

Just another day at the office.

Yawning, she rounded the final corner to her parking level. The sedan straightened out again . . .

And bore down on a man directly in its path.

Adrenaline shot through her and she jammed her foot onto the brake, but it was too late. She had no room to get around him, nowhere to go, no time. She braced for the impact. The car jerked to a halt, and she stared in horror out the windshield at- Nothing.

No one slumped across the hood. No one hurled to the pavement by the collision of steel against flesh. No one at- A tap sounded at the window beside her.

"Christ!" She whipped around in her seat, then froze. An emerald gaze met hers, holding it with a familiar, shoulder-knotting intensity. She stared at the arrogant features, the watchful stance, the broad expanse of black wings.

Michael.

A hundred possible reasons for his presence flitted through her mind, none of them good. For a second, she considered putting the vehicle back into gear and driving away. She might have done so if she thought she could get away with it.