Chapter 7
Honor was in love. Glorious, wondrous, amazing love. A few nights ago, she woke from the most vivid dream. She was in Michael’s modest home, watching the striking male sleep as usual. Only in the dream, Michael woke and despite being against the rules Watchers abided by, Honor revealed herself to him, unwilling to go any longer without Michael seeing her true form.
Once she exposed her existence, Honor found herself impossibly drawn to Michael, an inexplicable, overwhelming need to be close. So close, in fact, in her dream she reached out and touched the huge, powerful Archangel. With only a thin quilt drawn across his lap, Honor was able to see Michael’s impressive body and blushed at the sight of his arousal, visible beneath the covers. Muscular and tan, Michael’s chest was a work of art second only to his face. A face so handsome it could make females weep.
In truth, Honor couldn’t imagine being so bold as to touch Michael like this especially knowing he was unclothed. But in her dreams, Honor had no such inhibitions. She found no reason to hide her desperate need to be with Michael. And by be with him, she meant be with him, sexually. As a human, Honor was timid and shy. The Honor from her dreams was brave and forthcoming, unabashedly taking what she wanted.
Mercy, Honor wished she were even a fraction as daring whilst awake.
Honor closed her eyes and recalled how real Michael’s skin felt as she touched him in her dream. She remembered how her fingers tingled as she traced every dip, how hard Michael’s muscles were as she dragged her fingertips over his broad chest. The male was pure perfection, and she loved every minute of her bold exploration.
Honor couldn’t explain the way her life force reacted to Michael’s in the dream, but that was fine. It wasn’t real and besides, it felt amazing, and that was all that mattered to Honor. As her lilac and Michael’s royal blue sparked and pulsed, every inch of Honor’s body lit ablaze. Desire zipped through her bloodstream in a way she hadn’t believed possible. In fact, the dream was so vivid, so real, Honor woke in her bed to find herself physically aroused. The discovery was both humiliating and wickedly rousing.
Sadly, it was but a dream. The love she developed for Michael would never be reciprocated. Dispiriting as it was, Honor was bound to Watching Michael from afar, keeping her existence a secret until she completed her task. Then Honor would receive a new assignment and likely never see the Archangel again. The very thought made her heart shatter to pieces.
“Hello.”
“Oh!” Honor cried out at the unexpected greeting. She spun to find Bastien, the Watcher, chuckling at her expense. “I don’t find you amusing in the least,” she huffed. “You startled me.” Bastien’s response was to sit next to Honor, his shoulder brushing against hers, and give her a saucy wink. Honor rolled her eyes at Bastien’s antics. “You are very irritating.”
“I try,” Bastien responded cheerfully, the male still grinning as if he were simply delighted to be there.
“Donovan isn’t here,” Honor pointed out rather rudely. She leveled a glare at the Watcher to emphasize her point. “So you can leave.”
Pleased with herself for putting the nosy Bastien in his place, Honor closed her eyes and tilted her head back. She was determined to enjoy her small break, having found a fallen log to perch upon as the bright sun warmed her skin. The Guard once more gathered in their dark, damp chamber. Since Honor could hear everything discussed within its walls from her seat outside, she decided to take full advantage of such a glorious day. Honor listened to the proceedings from her log, situated mere yards from the stone edifice.
“I know he isn’t,” Bastien said. “Donovan is off with the Psi Mage, searching for Pestilence.”
Annoyed at having her peace disrupted, Honor sat straight and glared at Bastien. “Then why are you here?”
Bastien shrugged. “I’m bored?” Honor frowned and shook her head. “Lonely?” Bastien asked as he dramatically batted his eyelashes.
“You’ve gone mad.” Smothering a giggle, Honor found the young Watcher humorous, though she would never admit it. Bastien would certainly use the knowledge against her, of that Honor was positive.
“Okay, fine. You got me. Perchance I missed you.” Bastien teased, that impish smirk of his curling his lips.
Honor huffed and twisted her mouth into a scowl so she wouldn’t laugh. “I don’t believe you for a single second.”
“Hmmm.” Bastien glanced up at the cloudless blue sky. After a moment, he tapped the side of his mouth as if thinking before giving Honor a wicked grin. “Mayhap I know you treasure my impeccable conversational skills and didn’t want to leave you wanting?”
“Ha. Try again.”
“Hmph. You’re no fun.” Honor glared again, this time truly struggling to hide her amusement. The male sighed loudly before his expression turned serious. “As you will. In truth, I am here because I must needs be sure you have no questions.”
“Questions? For what reason have I to ask questions?”
Honor had Watched Michael for a good part of a month and became quite adept at her task. She didn’t require assistance and had no questions. In truth, she did not dare interfere with fate again. Mayhap Honor neglected to tell Gabriel that Michael possibly saw her at the infirmary and held her wrist, but to what end would such a confession bring? No one need know of the incident. Moreover, it was nothing. Michael believed the event a dream, so no it did no harm, save the damage it did to her own soul as Honor could not help but replay in her head over and over the electricity of Michael’s touch.
Bastien scrutinized Honor carefully. She held no notion as to what Bastien wanted from her, and remained silent. Eventually, Bastien’s playful smile returned and thank the Fates, he broke eye contact. “All right. I accept you at your word, Honor Ward. You are well and good.” Bastien stood and dusted off the seat of his trousers.
“Pardon? That’s it? You materialize here, frighten me out of my wits, examine my face as if I’m a mystery you must needs solve, and now you take your leave? Did I leave anything out?” Bastien either didn’t catch Honor’s heavy sarcasm or chose to ignore it.
He nodded. “Unless… you have questions?” Bastien faced Honor, his serious visage back. It was as if Bastien expected Honor to query him, only she had no idea as to what she was supposed to ask. Honor brushed it off and attributed his behavior as yet another of the strange Watcher’s eccentricities and gave him her agenda for the day.
“I’m waiting for Michael to move on the next Horseman. They have yet to locate one since the incident with Death…” Honor shuddered at the memory of Michael lying broken on the ground. “Though Michael has consulted with the Master of Practitioners several more times. As you know, Donovan is accompanying the Psi Mage to the region whence the Master foresaw the opening of the next seal by Pestilence. At the moment, I fear there isn’t much to be done.” A thought occurred to Honor and she narrowed her eyes at Bastien, who looked calm as could be. She didn’t know him well, but was positive Bastien was merely putting up an innocent front. It must be a front, because Honor had no doubt the clever Watcher was anything but innocent. “But then, you should know this already. You are tasked with Watching the Angel of Protection, Donovan Byrne, are you not?” Honor noted the slight twitch of Bastien’s eyes, and flare of his nostrils. Subtle reactions that confirmed at least part of Bastien’s story a falsity. “Pray thee,” Honor said slowly, dragging out the two words. “Why is it you are here with me rather than Watching over Donovan and his travels with the Psi Mage?”
Whatever flashes of deceit Honor perceived in Bastien’s eyes were gone, his honesty and sincerity returned.
Oh, he’s good. Very good.
“Actually, I was on my way to join Donovan, but decided to inquire as to how you were doing before I left. I can see you have no difficulties with your task, so I’ll take my leave. Until next time.” Bastien gave Honor a little bow and the evasive Watcher dematerialized before she could get in another word.
Honor didn’t know what to make of Bastien. She knew not whether the Watcher was sincere in his offer of help, or if he had ulterior motives. Motives Honor had no way of deciphering. Either way, abandoning his own assignment to pop in and out of her life was, if nothing else, bizarre.
“Good. Everyone knows what to do.” Michael’s voice brought Honor out of her musings. To her horror, she realized the meeting was over and she heard none of it.
Curse that Bastien!
Honor leapt to her feet and quickly masked her presence. The Guard filed out of the chamber hall, large, intimidating males pouring from the exit along with the petite St. Joan of Arc. Honor fumed. Because of that scamp Bastien, she missed Michael’s parting orders and therefore, had no knowledge of his next course of action in the mission to take down the four Horsemen.
Next time, she saw that little busybody Honor was going to tell Bastien to go on and take that leap off the tip-top cliff of Eastlake Falls.
* * *
Dante rubbed the thumb and forefinger of his left hand together, a nervous gesture he couldn’t shake. He paced back and forth until the fine leather of his boots were caked with mud and covered in pine needles.
“Fuck,” he muttered and checked wondered where Tony was for the tenth time since materializing in the small, circular clearing in the northernmost forest of Eastlake Falls at the base of the mountains.
Dante still wasn’t decided on how to word his request to his friend. When Dante was a youth, St. Anthony stumbled upon him hiding in the old mill after Dante suffered a horrific gang rape by several males followed by a severe beating at his father’s hands. Since then, Dante had difficulty looking the saint in the eye. Even over a century later, the shame felt as fresh as the day it happened. Tony witnessed Dante at his very worst, his lowest moment. Aye, Dante was a mere twenty years of age at the time and not the tough, capable male he was today. Still, it humiliated Dante to know an immortal as strong and fearless as Tony witnessed Dante curled up on the ground, bawling like a babe.
If he were truly honest with himself, not much since that day had changed. The King of Lust continued to hurt Dante, continued to use his body for both his own pleasure and that of the miscreants that lingered around his father like flies on Hellhound shit. In truth, the only thing that differed was that Dante no longer cried.
He wasn’t even sure he could cry anymore.
Dante snorted. The Son of Lust was an emotional void. Not exactly practical for an immortal that fed upon lust. Good thing Dante was adept at choosing easy prey. It meant he didn’t have to seduce them into his bed. Dante was certain he lacked the drive and desire to do so.
“Dante. Good morrow.”
Tony crossed the clearing and approached Dante. The handsome, roguish-looking saint hadn’t changed since they last met, mayhap fifty years ago. He had the same short, dark, tousled hair, stubbled cheeks and chin, and intelligent blue eyes.
“Tony. Many thanks for agreeing to my request.” Dante extended a hand.
Tony scoffed at the outstretched hand and pulled Dante into a tight embrace. Dante’s first reaction was to shove Tony away and fight. Dante was unused to any touch that wasn’t cruel and painful. The moment Dante let go and relaxed into the hug, Tony released him.
“You look well, amicus,” Tony said. His sharp gaze took Dante in from head to toe and Tony nodded in approval. “It’s been a long time.”
“It has.”
Tony said nothing, mayhap waiting on Dante to divulge the purpose of this meeting. Dante gave no reason beforehand, only stating he wanted to talk. Dante’s single demand was that the meeting take place where it was impossible for others to eavesdrop. The awkward silence stretched on as Dante gathered the courage to speak. Eventually, Dante cracked under Tony’s focused stare and blurted it out in a mumbled rush.
“I wish to banish the Daemon Kings and need your help.”
Tony blinked several times and took a step back. His dark brows knitted and he stared at Dante as if he thought him mad.
“Are you…?” Tony cocked his head and met Dante’s steady gaze. “You’re serious.” Tony gaped.
Dante gave a sharp nod. “I am.”
“But… you can’t… I mean…” Tony paced back and forth whilst he rubbed his forehead. The saint looked dead on his feet, but then, Tony always did work too hard. It was something about the saint Dante actually admired. When Tony stilled his movements and dropped his hand, he exhaled loudly and asked, “How do you propose to go about this?”
“Well,” Dante said. “That’s where you come in.”
* * *
Five long nights.
Michael dreamt of the same stunning female every one of those five nights. Though she only touched him that first time, as each dream unfolded, Michael would swear to the Fates what happened was as real as the clothes on his back. His unconscious mind created visions that were erotic beyond anything he’d ever even thought to indulge in, and to his shame, Michael woke each morning to find himself aroused. Painfully aroused.
More worrying than the humiliating and uncontrollable reactions of his almost human body, was the hair-raising sensation upon awakening. That of a constant presence in the vicinity, a strange awareness that Michael was never alone and damn that strange awareness, it had the gall not be thoughtful and stick to early mornings. No, at random times throughout his day, as mad as it made him seem, Michael knew he felt someone or something hovering over his shoulder. The bigger distraction that came along with the awareness was a surge of blood to his groin. The arousal grew until it got to where it unnerved him every time it happened. Michael reached the point he had no choice but admit the entire thing set him on edge, which to his great annoyance forced Michael to swallow his pride and seek answers.
That was how Michael found himself rapping on the thick wood and iron door of Raphael’s chambers at the only infirmary in Eastlake Falls. He had no doubt the Healer would identify whatever it was that ailed him and what the unusual sensations meant. After practicing his craft for many millennia, and being an Archangel himself, Raphael was plenty versed in both the health and inner workings of immortals as well as the humans of the township.
“Enter.”
At Raphael’s command, Michael pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold of the Healer’s cramped chambers. The space was small and fairly dark, lit by only a single flickering sconce. The two large immortals dwarfed the tiny space and their bodies blocked a majority of the light, making it appear even smaller. The furnishings were minimal, but the clutter more than made up for it. Raphael’s chair and chaotic desk were shoved in one corner with two smaller chairs placed facing the desk. Behind the desk to span the entire back wall were shelves and shelves of books, bound in leather or fiber, some very old, some newer. The effect of the multitude of tomes and records haphazardly shoved into any available space gave Michael anxiety. He was a minimalist at heart and Raphael’s clutter set Michael on edge.
Michael ignored his unease and greeted Raphael as Michael dropped into one of the chairs. Raphael was doing him a great favor. He could live with a bit of discomfort from untidy surroundings. “Good morrow, brother. Many thanks for taking the time to speak with me. I am aware your abilities are in high demand by both humans and immortals alike.” As one of only two healers in Eastlake Falls, Raphael was forever busy tending to patients.
“Ah, but let us not forget,” Raphael said with a smirk. “I have Luke.” He gave Michael a smile so wide the skin around Raphael’s eyes crinkled and his dark irises sparkled. “Luke is invaluable to my practice.” With his blond hair swept off his face and tied back with a leather thong, the effect highlighting Raphael’s high cheekbones and full lips, the Healer looked every bit the intellectual, intimidating, aye, but still scholarly in appearance.
“Of course,” Michael agreed. “Luke is an important asset to our kind.” Ever since his death two millennia ago, St. Lukas Christos, the Patron Saint of Physicians, worked tirelessly alongside Raphael to treat the sick and injured, whether human or immortal, angelen or daemon. The Archangel Raphael and the compassionate Luke turned away no one.
“So, brother. To what to I owe the pleasure of a visit from the Protector?” Raphael asked, smiling and his hands spread wide.
Michael squirmed in his seat. To speak aloud of his dreams and… sexual desires, and with his brother at that, was both daunting and awkward. But before Michael arrived, he decided to keep a clear and steady mind and recall his dreams in a clinical fashion. Great in theory, except now that Michael was face to face with Raphael, his courage fled and Michael dropped his eyes to his lap.
Blessed virgins, this is humiliating.
Raphael sensed Michael’s discomfort, and reached across the desk to lay a hand upon Michael’s. Michael glanced up and met with the kind eyes of his brother, and just like that, his body unraveled, releasing weeks of pent up tension.
Calming others’ worries. Another of Raphael’s gifts, though Uriel was more skilled at the subtle manipulation of emotions than the Healer. On a normal day, Michael would be upset Raphael used his influence on him. This morrow, however, Michael was grateful for Raphael’s ability. Though he would never admit to it, without Raphael’s calming influence, Michael might not have had the strength to continue.
“My thanks for that, brother.” Michael inhaled a shaky breath and Raphael subtly removed his hand, but the Healer’s eyes never strayed and he held Michael’s gaze. “So, as to my… problem.” Michael cleared his throat and felt his face heat, but took the plunge. He told Raphael everything, from the strange sensations of being watched, to his erotic dreams, to the irregular flare and spark effecting his life force. Michael even described the humiliating, below the belt, physical reactions he experienced quite often as of late. Once he finished spilling his secrets, Michael waited and gave Raphael time to digest the intricacies of this unusual situation.
After much too long in Michael’s opinion, Raphael sat back in his chair and rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he spoke. “What know you of the anima alterum?”
Michael’s entire body jerked. “Soulmates?” The subject was so far-removed from anything Michael believed his brother would say he was stunned. After gathering his scattered wits, choosing his words carefully, Michael responded. “I assume I know the same as most sancten and angelen. Mayhap I have heard the tales, lore passed along those from the Hereafter.” Michael meant to forgo voicing the bit where he believed it all to be just that… fables and anecdotes, then decided he had nothing to lose. “To what ends does this matter? Soulmates do not exist. They are mere stories to entertain bored immortals.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Raphael hummed
“Really?” Michael barked out a sarcastic chuckle. “You believe soulmates in faith? You realize it is madness? I mean, the exchanging of souls? Energies combining?” He scoffed and waved a dismissive hand at Raphael. “Ridiculous.”
Without acknowledging Michael’s condescension, Raphael stood and faced the cluttered shelves of books. He skimmed his right index finger along a row of thick texts until he stopped at one particularly large book. Raphael plucked the thick volume from its resting place. The leather cover was battered and worn, the book clearly ancient, and lay it upon his desk.
Remaining silent, Raphael sat and deftly flipped sheet after sheet of delicate parchment. Several minutes later Raphael paused to scan a heavily marked page. His eyes shone and Raphael spun the book toward Michael and gestured to the left-hand side. “There.” Raphael stabbed his finger on a section halfway down the yellowed parchment. “The symptoms you describe fit.”
Michael followed Raphael’s finger and recited the passage aloud.
“Unde immortalis sit sanctum angelen suum invenit media corporis veritatem negare. Colores commutationis animam pro anima, corpus corpore unum fieri. Mortalem et animarum fit quisque accipiat alteram partem sibi exinde fatis hoc anima ad sui operationem. Aeternum enim omnes simul habentur. Altaren usque in finem.”
Like all immortals, Michael knew Latin and was proficient at both reading and writing the ancient language he learned back when it was still in widespread use on the Earthly plane. His comprehension of the text was flawless, yet when Michael finished and Raphael took the book and translated the text in the common Earthly tongue, Michael sat stunned.
“Whence an immortal, be it sancten or angelen, finds their other half, the body is unable to deny the truth. Bright colors exchange, soul for soul, body for body, as one they become. A merging of souls occurs, each accepting part of the other unto themselves, fated from that moment henceforth, to join their own life giving energy. For all eternity bound together. Soulmates till the end.”
Michael snorted derisively. “Soulmates. They don’t exist. Besides, none of this explains my unusual dreams or the sensation I’m being followed everywhere.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Raphael admitted and drummed his fingers on the page. “What you’ve told me fits no single explanation of which I’m aware. There are too many variables and I don’t believe you have all the information as of yet.”
A sudden chill pricked at Michael’s skin and he shivered. Bloody Fates! That damned awareness was back. Michael wasn’t going mad. In truth, he knew without a doubt there was another close by. Slowly, Michael turned to glance behind him. He stared at the corner from whence the tingling sensation originated. Michael held no expectations of seeing anything or anyone, and true to form, the chamber was empty save Michael and Raphael.
“Brother,” Raphael whispered, his tone hushed. Almost reverent.
“What?” Michael snapped. His tolerance for this… this… bizarre inconvenience had stretched to its breaking point. Visions and invisible intruders. Soulmates and eternity. Dreaming of beautiful females and waking aroused. All of it was ludicrous and beyond tiresome. Especially as Michael had no time to waste chasing trite fables because of a constant hard on and a bunch of tingly feelings. He had Horsemen to banish, an Apocalypse to stop, and the Earthly plane to save, not to mention the millions of human lives hanging in the balance based on his success.
Just another day in the life of the Archangel of Protection, he thought wryly.
Michael’s shoulders were burdened enough without stacking more weight upon them.
Raphael leaned over his desk and gestured Michael do the same. Once they were close, Raphael whispered in Michael’s ear. “I fear we are not alone.”
Michael leapt from his seat so fast he stumbled backward, shocked that Raphael could sense the presence that had troubled Michael for weeks. His sudden, uncoordinated movements had Michael tripping over his own feet and his arms pinwheeled as he went down. Michael thanked the Fates he had shoved the chair out of the way when he stood, because his entire six foot six frame crashed to the stone floor in a tangled heap of limbs. Running on adrenaline and his warrior training, Michael quickly gathered his wits and was back on his feet in a flash. In one powerful move, Michael leapt over Raphael’s desk and spun to strike a defensive posture, taking care to maneuver Raphael into a corner with Michael strategically placed between his brother and the unseen threat.
“Show yourself,” Michael demanded. He didn’t bring the Sword of Light, but was unbothered by his lack of a weapon. Unless Michael were facing a Daemon King or one of the Horsemen, or possibly a wraith, he was confident his strength and skills served him well to defeat any other foe.
“Brother,” Raphael said from behind him. “There is no danger.”
“What would you know? I am the warrior, Healer, not you.”
Raphael’s hand gripped Michael’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Let me assure you, we are safe. It is gone.”
Michael reached out with the extra sense the Archangels—and most immortals—were gifted with, one that allowed them to detect the presence of immortals and distinguish between good and evil.
Raphael spoke the truth. The presence was nowhere to be found. Slowly, Michael eased out of his rigid stance, yet his pulse continued to thrum. The warrior that he was, Michael made certain to remain alert.
“Could you identify the type of immortal?” Michael asked. “I was unable to tell, but as you well know, any immortal could have hired a practitioner to bespell them with temporary invisibility and cloak their classification.” Michael glanced at Raphael but the male’s eyes were glazed over.
Raphael blinked and his awareness semi-returned. Michael could still detect a cloudy detachment about the male. “No. Not exactly.”
“I am familiar with that distracted tone of yours, Raphael. Lest you forget, we have been brothers for many millennia. You either know something or have a theory, one you’re currently mulling over but are reluctant to share.”
“Possibly,” the Healer responded cryptically. Raphael blinked again and this time, his eyes cleared and he returned to the present. “I must needs do some research,” Raphael insisted, already showing Michael his backside as he flew through stacks of books, pulling out one after another in seemingly random fashion that Michael knew was anything but.
“Raphael…” Michael warned.
“Fear not, once I am more certain with regards to my theory, I shall find you.”
“You won’t tell me a thing?” Michael exclaimed, not even a bit concerned his irritation bled through his harsh tone.
Raphael was unaffected and shook his head. “Not until I have no doubts.”
Michael knew arguing was a lost cause. The Healer’s mind was already off and running. When Raphael got like this, it was as if he were present in body only. Raphael’s sharp mind was on another plane, one existing entirely in his own head, and there he would remain until he worked out a solution to the puzzle.
It frustrated and angered him, but Michael could do naught but wait and pray Raphael came through. Better sooner than later. Michael could not afford this distraction while in the midst of a quest to track down the powerful Horsemen in a desperate bid to stop the coming of the apocalypse.