Page 129 of Alastair

“Yeah. One of the zombies killed a human on a hiking trail. Holden went to reap her soul and ran into the angel who was disposing of the zombie. Lust at first head chop, I guess.” Taeden grabbed a drink off a tray carried by a female cat shifter. She winked at him and swooshed him with her tail. He couldn’t have seemed less interested in her if he’d tried. “Anyway. That’s how they met. When they fucked the other day, the angel told Holden about a black sword. Belongs to Asa Morningstar, right?”

Electricity tingled in the air as Michael came closer, his lethal gaze burning so intensely that his normally brown eyes sparked with gold. “Do you know the angel’s name?”

“Evan something?” Taeden shook his head. “Can’t remember.”

“Evangelos?” Lazarus asked.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

I turned to my mate. “A spy for Lucifer or just a fool who can’t keep his mouth shut during pillow talk?”

“I’m not sure,” Lazarus answered, looking just as lethal as Michael had. “But I’ll find out.”

Chapter Twenty

Lazarus

Uriel stood on the palace balcony, the wind tousling the longer strands of his brown hair as he stared out across the colorful kingdom. Grassy fields bursting with patches of vibrant flowers rested beneath a pink-and-gold sky as the sun prepared to rise on our realm.

“Is it true?” he asked, and his green eyes shifted to me. “Alastair and the others will need to sacrifice themselves in order to kill the Morningstar?”

“Yes.” An iron maiden encased my heart and snapped shut, piercing and heavy all at once. “If you intend to gloat, I have no desire to hear it.”

“It’s no secret that I have little love for those abominations. Their very existence is a stain upon the earth. They are constant reminders of the betrayal we suffered at the hands of Lucifer and his most loyal subjects.” Uriel turned from the railing and rested his back against it. “Yet, I had every intention of welcoming their souls into Paradise upon their deaths should they do as I requested.”

“Did you really?”

“You doubt me.” A tic started in his jaw. “When I make a promise, I honor it. I was willing to forgive their trespasses.”

“Which trespasses might that be?” I asked, my irritation building. “They’ve done nothing wrong. Their only crime was being born the sons of fallen angels. They didn’t choose their fate any more than you or I did.”

“They have the blood of traitors running through their veins.”

“They aren’t their fathers,” I said, watching a purple cloud slowly drift above us. It clashed with a puffy white one. Purple and white—a certain Nephilim and myself. Even the sky conveyed that we belonged together. “As such, you should have never held that betrayal against them. Your anger blinded you, as did your fear.”

“Careful, Lazarus. You forget your place.” Uriel’s eyes narrowed. “I only allowed you to join us today because you are directly involved with the angel in question, but I can toss you out just as easily.”

He could do much worse than simply toss me out. The scars on my back stung from the reminder.

The doors to the council chambers swung open as Raphael, Selaphiel, and three other archangels arrived. There was no door leading to the balcony; it was accessible after taking three steps up and walking between two large stone pillars. The weather around the palace was always perfect, so there was no need to block out rain, snow, or excessive heat.

Uriel walked back into the room, and I followed him.

“Where’s Michael?” Gabriel asked, taking a seat at the round table.

“Collecting the suspect so that we may question him.” Uriel sat as well.

“Question him?” Zadkiel said before pulling out the chair across from Uriel. “If the information proves true, we’ll do much more than that. The only suitable punishment for a traitor is death.”

“Where are the treats?” Raphael pouted at the table. “No macarons or cakes? Not even tea? How will I ever endure this meeting without them?”

“There was no time to prepare refreshments,” Uriel told him. “We’re here to interrogate a possible spy of Lucifer’s. Desserts are trivial.”

“I findyoutrivial.” Raphael toyed with the glittery blue hair clip pinning a section of his strawberry blond bangs to the side. “And boorish. You’re also—”

“Cease your incessant rambling,” Uriel interjected, his hands curling into fists on top of the table. “You grate on my nerves with your gluttonous impulses.”

“Delicious treats are good for the soul,” Raphael answered. “Not like you’d know. You deny yourself all pleasures in an attempt to make yourself seem more important and mightier than the rest of us.”