Everyone lived.

I think we’re all more surprised by that fact than we should be.

Grace’s house seems to have become the de facto home base for our motley group of celestial outcasts, and while we’re all wrecked in one way or another right now, I feel lighter than I have in centuries.

Once freed from the chains and the toxic magic that bound them, Caila and Phenex’s injuries heal swiftly. The superficial wounds and burns that covered both of them have already faded into unmarred skin, but Phenex’s crushed wing is another story entirely. He’ll be in agony as the fragile flight bones knit back together slowly, and the healing will take days at least, though his blank face doesn’t appear to even register the pain.

I try not to think of Lucifer wandering through Hell in those first days, dragging his shattered wings behind him.

The adrenaline hasn’t yet given way to exhaustion for any of us. Grace and Caila hover over Phenex, trying in vain to draw him back into some semblance of himself. I watch, feeling useless as Grace draws the curtains in the smaller bedroom, blocking out the glow from the streetlights and turning the room into a cave. Phenex wraps his undamaged wing around his body like a blanket before wedging himself between the bed and the wall as though he’s trying to shrink his presence down to nothing.

Lucifer waits just outside the doorway, barely able to look at the state Phenex is in. It’s not disgust at his weakness or even the expected rage at what the witch did that holds him back.

It’s regret. I’ve seen that look often enough on my own face.

It’s the look of a man seeing his own responsibility for the ruin of someone he cares for.

“This isn’t your fault,” I offer, though I don’t expect Lucifer to be any more accepting of absolution than I ever was.

“No,” Lucifer replies, dully. “I didn’t force him to fall. I didn’t force him to follow me out of Hell. I didn’t force him to stay on Earth and end up in that bitch’s crosshairs.”

Caila’s voice filters out of the room as she sings softly, Phenex relaxing visibly at the sweet sound. “He was a singer, some say a sinner. Rolling the dice, not always a winner. You said he was lucky but Hell he made his own. Not part of the crowd, not feeling alone. . .”

“Sinatra,” Lucifer murmurs. “He did always like Sinatra.”

We’ve all been stripped raw over the last day, injuries and soul bonds and dredged up memories peeling away our defenses, and it’s easy to forget old grudges and betrayals. In daylight, we’ll slip back into that familiar armor, but something between all of us has changed permanently.

The word forgiveness lingers in the back of my brain, but I don’t dare to believe it just yet.

Grace creeps out of the bedroom, quietly pulling the door shut behind her. At Lucifer’s questioning look she shakes her head. “Give him time. I think he’s in there somewhere. He just needs time to realize that it’s safe to come out.” She takes Lucifer’s hand, pulling him closer to her as the weight of the day seems to drain from both of them.

I wait for that familiar stab of envy, but it doesn’t come.

Grace turns to me, a tired smile on her lips. “Elissa’s outside. We’ve got this covered. Take her home, Michael. We’ll figure things out tomorrow.”

Elissa sits on the front porch, staring out at the streetlights. The ginger cat is perched on the porch railing, its tail twitching lazily as it stares down at her.

She doesn’t look over her shoulder at the creak of the door opening. She’s been expecting this, expecting me.

“What’s next?” I ask, sitting down next to her on the stoop. She leans into me, letting the weight of her body rest against my shoulder.

I feel her shrug more than I see it. The yellowed glow of the streetlight casts her face half in shadow, and it would be easy to blame the dark smudges under her eyes on the lightning. She looks resigned, the bone-deep exhaustion that covered her in the mansion fading into quiet acceptance.

“We prepare,” she says. “Brielle ripped open a door to Hell, Michael. Maybe more than one.” Elissa falls silent as two inebriated young women stumble along the sidewalk, the shorter of the two giggling at something her companion just whispered into her ear. Their laughter echoes in the street long after they’ve passed, a jarring reminder that the world continues on oblivious.

“Things are going to start bleeding through,” Elissa continues. “Souls, demons, who knows what else.” She twists on the step, turning to face me fully for the first time. “I don’t even entirely believe she’s dead. She’s a necromancer. You know she had some kind of contingency plan. None of this is over.”

I let her words hang in the air. She’s right. Everything we went through wasn’t an end. It was just a beginning.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Elissa tenses, holding her own silence for far too long before she speaks. “I won’t hold you to promises you made when you thought one of us was going to end up dead.”

“What if I want you to?”

One year out of two thousand. Even for her lifespan, the time we spent together was barely a sliver and for me it was far less, but I still remember every day, every minute as the only time I’ve been truly happy since the first days of creation.

Heaven’s meddling and my own fear stole it from us once. I won’t allow it to happen again.

We return to that shotgun house on the wrong side of town, to the living room littered with Caila’s broken treasures and Elissa’s bare, Spartan bedroom. She unlocks the door, and it takes every ounce of control I bear to keep from pinning her against the wall and taking her breathless on the front porch before the door even closes.

She’s here and real. Streaks of ash and dust give her skin the faintest grey pallor, and in the jaundiced light of the street lamps, I can almost believe she’s some glorious idol carved from stone, a forbidden wonder meant to seduce me from my duties.

But I’ve already tossed aside duties and orders.

God’s Sword.

God’s Fists.

God’s Obedient Weapon.

No more.

For the first time since I opened my eyes millennia upon millennia ago when creation was new and I knew no better, my hands are my own. My choices are my own.

Free will. Lucifer was right after all. It just took me quite a bit longer to see it.

Elissa hooks her fingers through my belt loops, tugging me closer to her. The front door gapes open, but she’s in no hurry to cross the threshold. Instead she stops in the doorway, releasing her grip on my jeans to wrap her hands around my neck. Her slender fingers stroke the short hair at base of my skull, and she pulls me down to meet her lips. For the first time in too long a kiss between us doesn’t feel like a goodbye. It’s not an ending. Not this time.

Her lips open under mine, our tongues tasting and exploring under the glow of the porch light. We take a few stumbling steps to the entrance and miss the doorway entirely, but I can’t find myself feeling particularly apologetic. Elissa pulls back just enough to utter a hitching breath as I press her against the wall beside the front door.

She curves her leg around my hip, and I catch her knee, hiking it up as the kiss turns harder. This is the Elissa from last night, the wild, wanton creature taking her pleasure without apologies, but somewhere underneath is still the girl from Sidon who believed in forever.

I won’t give her reason to doubt again.

We pull apart, our breath harsh already as the slow burn shifts into an inferno. I come to my senses enough to usher us both through the doorway into the darkened house, kicking the door shut as an afterthought. Only a single light glows over the kitchen sink, and it does little more than deepen the shadows, but neither of us make a move to turn on another lamp.

She stops just inside the door, and I step behind her, sweeping the thick mane of her dark hair over her shoulder. I brush my lips against the back of her neck and feel the full-bodied shiver that goes through her.

“Michael,” she sighs. Her voice sounds wrecked, as though the armor she shrouds herself in has been torn off piece by piece in the last day until only her bare skin remains.

I know how she feels. It’s almost too much already and we’ve barely touched.

Last night was a fever dream, but tonight is real.

And I want to savor this.

I trail my lips toward her shoulder, tasting the bitter remnants of ash on her skin, a reminder of how close I came to losing her for good.

A little of my control slips as I nip at the juncture where her neck meets her shoulder, and I bite down harder than I intended. Elissa breathes in sharply as the sliver of pain cuts through the haze of pleasure, and she reaches one hand back between us, pulling me closer to press the growing evidence of my desire against her lower back. I bite back a groan, my hands skating up her arms before sliding forward to cup her breasts, and Elissa grinds herself back against me in response.

She never was one to simply lay back and be taken.

My nimble fingers find her peaked nipples through the thin fabric of her tank top, rolling them between my thumb and forefinger as I rock against her squirming hips. Elissa’s the one moaning now, and suddenly she’s twisting in my embrace, turning so that we’re face to face, and my back hits the closed door as her hand fists in the front of my shirt, keeping me close.

As though there was anywhere else I’d want to go.

The scent of pomegranates somehow still clings to her hair, the lush, ripe scent flitting like a ghost through the ash and smoke around her. Her skin’s so warm, every part of her running at a fever pitch. Those long fingers graze the seam of my shirt, her nail catching on each button as she drags her fingertips up my body. Elissa tugs at one button a bit too hard and the threads snap, sending the small black disc flying into the depths of the hallway.

I shrug. “It’s Lucifer’s. No matter.”

She laughs at that, tossing her head back and letting her shoulders quake as the stress of the day bubbles over into hysterical giggles that almost twist themselves into sobs.

She trembles against me, and in a small, cracked voice whispers, “It could have been me.”

“No,” I state, my flat tone offering no space for denial.

Elissa takes a step back, standing just out of my reach, and when she meets my gaze those pale blue eyes are dry. “I’ve done things, Michael,” she confesses, though there’s no trace of the penitent in her voice. “Things I should regret, but I don’t.” She doesn’t elaborate, but she doesn’t need to.

I never sought her out, never dogged her steps and gave the cities she visited a wide berth after Paris, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t keep tabs on her. I could have followed the trail of corpses and grateful women across the country and right to her doorstep.

Sometimes man’s justice fails and God’s justice is far too slow, and the witch from the cliffs is still there handing out punishment to those that truly deserve it.

Don’t hate me for what I can’t force myself to regret, her eyes plead.

“If it hadn’t been Lucifer, I could have ended up like Brielle.” And there it is.

I cut her off before she can continue another step down this path. “That Nephilim’s death? I ordered it.”

“I know.”

“Then you know he hadn’t harmed anyone.” I sigh, slipping back easily into the memory of the one moment I saw her in our long years apart. I’d let myself be distracted though I hadn’t even known the three of them were traveling together. I’d remained in Paris, skulking in alleys like a beggar in the hopes of seeing Elissa once more and sent Raziel and Sariel onward to the countryside.

“I remember them both.” The words are true enough. Roux and Brielle were just another assignment. Another set of orders to blindly follow as God’s artillery fire, only this shot rippled through the centuries.

“Grifters and thieves with magic and bit of nobility backing them, nothing more. I thought about letting them go, but I had orders,” I spit, the word tasting bitter in my mouth. “I was still in Paris while Raziel and Sariel searched the countryside, and they were the ones that found him. Raziel held the sword, but the responsibility was mine.”

So many years. So much guilt and regret between both of us.

Enough.

Elissa’s hand comes to rest over my heart, and I cover it with my own before letting myself meet her gaze.

“You’re not the only one with regrets, Elissa. You’re not the only one who’s made mistakes,” I say, as much for my own benefit as hers. “We can’t undo the past. We can only look to the future. Our future.”

She and I fit together. We always have, and no witch or angel or even Father himself is going to tear us apart again.

Elissa leans up to kiss me again, but stops just before we touch, her breath ghosting over my lips. “This is real,” she says.

It’s not a question, but I answer, “Yes” before pressing my lips against hers.

My body buzzes everywhere we touch like electricity sparking across my skin. There is no point in being coy now, no need to dissemble or hide our desires from each other.

I told myself that I was baffled by Grace’s decision to choose my brother over Heaven, trying desperately to convince myself of the folly of choosing Hell and the messy human world over the cold clarity of Heaven. Admitting otherwise would have meant owning up to my mistake.

Metatron forced my hand, but as with Roux’s death and all that followed I couldn’t lay the responsibly at his feet. It was a far cry from free will, but it was still my decision.

Somehow I know Lucifer will never let me hear the end of this.

Elissa drags me out of my head as she tries to unbutton my shirt, but now that she’s within reach again I can’t resist peppering kisses across her collarbone, distracting her from her task. Impatience quickly wins out as she pops open my shirt, ripping off even more buttons, the plastic discs pinging on the floor like small pebbles.

Her nails rake across my ribs, and I still can’t hide the ticklish twitches of my muscles, but before she can do much more than graze my skin I’m crushing my mouth to hers hard enough that I nearly knock us both off balance.

The bed seems much too far away right now, and I reverse our positions without thinking, pressing Elissa against the smooth surface of the front door. She leans back against the wood, watching me through half-closed eyes. I lift one long leg up, my fingers finding the zipper on the side of her boots by touch. The heavy boot thuds on the floor beside us, and I run my hand up her calf, caressing and kneading the muscle before repeating the process with the other leg.

My hand pauses at the button of her jeans, drawing out the moment, before undoing the metal fastener and easing her zipper down. Her jeans cling to her slim hips as I drag them lower, taking whatever bit of black cotton she wears underneath with them. I slide to my knees on the hardwood floor, lifting one foot and then the other so she can kick the tangle of fabric away.

“Beautiful,” I whisper, my voice barely more than a breath, and Elissa’s lips curl into that catlike grin I remember from so long ago. I lift one foot up again, tracing my finger along the instep and cursing her just a little for not being the tiniest bit ticklish before drawing her long leg over my shoulder. My lips follow the path upwards, tasting the skin of her calf and knee before stopping at the crease of her thigh, so close to where she wants me.

One of her hands scrabbles for purchase in my hair, threading through the strands, and I smile against her skin.

“Patience,” I murmur.

“Tease,” she replies, her words melting into a low moan as I dip my tongue into her folds, and it’s only the grip of my hand on her waist that holds her upright as her thighs tremble.

She tastes like honey, like the ripe figs we fed each other, the sticky juices dripping over our fingers in the summer heat. She gasps, her hips already rocking against the pressure of my hand.

The smallest gasps and moans escape her under my onslaught, her stomach muscles quivering beneath my hand. Her fingers tighten almost painfully in my hair and she tilts her head back, growling “Oh Hell!” to the ceiling.

I almost have to chuckle. It’s too fitting.

My tongue flicks against her slick, warm skin, and the noises torn from her throat are the only chorus of praise I need. Her fingers dig into my scalp, her back arching away from the door as she rises closer to climax, and I lose myself in the taste of her, in the trembling of her legs and her loud, unrestrained cries.

Elissa’s hands slip from my head to clench my shoulders as I push her over the edge, her legs buckling as I never pause in my relentless quest to devour her, the space between her thighs becoming my own Eden.

When the tremors wracking her begin to slow, I kiss my way back up her body, easing her leg back down until she’s somewhat standing on her own two feet. When I reach her lips again I feel her smile against me.

“I missed you,” she whispers, her voice cracking on the words, and I feel like a sailor on one of the ships she watched from the cliffs. I’ve been lost at sea for so long that even dry land seems to pitch and rock beneath my feet. She’s the shore I searched for, and I’ll never stop being starved for her.

“I can’t feel my legs,” she says breathlessly, and this time it’s my turn to wear that self-satisfied grin.

And suddenly we’re taking stumbling, half-blind steps down the darkened hallway toward her beckoning bed. I barely notice where we are until the edge of the mattress hits the back of my knees and I end up sprawled on my back with a lapful of Elissa.

This all feels so new.

Elissa shucks her shirt and bra, tossing them over her shoulder into the black void of the room. The curtains gape open from where I left them and the faint glow of the moon filters through the glass. Was it really just this this morning when we were last here?

“You’re still wearing entirely too much,” she purrs, shoving my unbuttoned shirt off my shoulders as I sit up. She grinds against my hardness, her bare sex pressed against the rough fabric of my jeans, and it’s almost too much. I flip her onto her back, reveling in her sharp intake of breath. I toe off my shoes without care, and Elissa’s hands are already unbuckling my belt, running steady fingers over the bulge she finds there.

“Tease,” I murmur, and she laughs.

“Patience,” her lips answer, though there’s nothing patient about her actions. She makes quick work of the zipper and then her hands are around my length. My head drops to her shoulder, my groan lost in her hair as she touches me with long, slow strokes, relearning what makes me shudder against her.

She whimpers when I draw away from her long enough to rid myself of my pants, but I’m back in the bed an instant later, all teasing forgotten.

Elissa clutches at me, those ice blue eyes that never left my thoughts boring into me, seeing through every pretense and clawing into the most hidden parts of my soul. I slide my hand around the small of her back, lifting her up and with a hiss of breath I edge inside her.

“Michael,” she says my name in a long slow exhale as I fill her, and I feel her body pulse around me like at heartbeat. “Michael,” she repeats, the word catching as a gasp in her throat.

There’s no space, no cell, no hidden bit of our bodies or souls that isn’t tangled together, and I don’t need to wonder anymore how Heaven noticed her all those centuries ago.

In this room in the city or another at the edge of the world, she unmakes and rebuilds me with every breath, her nails clawing into my skin as though I’m made from clay, marking me in a way no celestial weapon ever could.

Her hips roll upward, meeting my thrusts in perfect harmony. She’s close already, her muscles clenching around me as the pleasure coils within her like a spring. She spirals higher and higher, and neither of us need wings to capture a taste of Heaven anymore.

Elissa arches upward, her spine curving as rapture steals the air from her lungs, and she is undone. The world could be ending around us, the universe crumbling back into the dust it sprang from, and I’d notice nothing but my arms around her, anchoring me to her as I drive into her deeper and finally let go.

Then we’re both heaving for breath, aftershocks shuddering through boneless bodies, and I brush my thumb over Elissa’s kiss-bitten lips.

I remember every moment with her, every laugh and every sly smile, every touch and even every tear. If I survive until the universe ends, hers will be the last face I see before the stars my brother lit with such care fade to blackness.

We settle into tangled sheets, all too aware that the world still looms outside. Elissa fits herself against my side, tucking her head under my chin as exhaustion finally defeats adrenaline and lust and sleep claims her.

The painting along the back wall is barely more than a square of blackness in the faint moonlight, but I know somewhere in the shadows the storm still rages and the painted waves crash against the rocks. Somehow though, the swirling waters have changed. The sun still hides behind the screen of black clouds but the darkness feels different.

Humans call the might of nature God’s wrath, as though the ocean bears grudges and the winds feel envy.

I have been that wrath. I have watched villages burn and held lives in my hands. I have torn wings and snapped bone. I have been a blunt instrument, raining destruction down with no more free will than a hurricane.

I have been God’s Poison.

Elissa shifts beside me, her eyes opening to stare up at me in the darkened room. “Rest,” she whispers, pulling me down against her.

She molds herself to my side, still smelling of ash and pomegranates, and her fingers slide through mine.

Not His hands. Not anymore.

Before my eyes fall shut, I look up at the darkened square of the painting again. The choppy waves still swirl the sea into a frenzy, threatening to drag the unwary down to the depths, but eventually the sun will tear through those black clouds.

All storms break, and the sky will never seem bluer than in that moment when the clouds part.