Page 42 of Alastair

“This is a bungalow, not a hut.” Michael lifted a mug to his lips that had an illustration of the vast blue sea. He cringed and peered into the cup. “Andthisis quite repulsive. I don’t believe I brewed it correctly. Gluttony will need to show me the correct balance of coffee beans and water.”

“Have him show you some manners while you’re at it.” I stood from the bed, thankful I hadn’t fully undressed before falling asleep. Though, I very rarely slept in the nude, probably because of Michael’s countless unannounced visits. “Envy is the one who specializes in coffee. However, he would sooner claw out your eyes than wake this early to teach you.”

“You must still be tired,” Michael said, walking beside me as I left the bedroom. “You are normally more respectful toward me. You know, since I’m your superior and all.” A wink accompanied his words. He never held his rank over my head.

He was right though. I rarely spoke to him so rudely.

“I apologize.” I rubbed the back of my neck. The tight muscles felt like a large boulder sitting between my shoulders, not giving an inch as my fingertips dug into the hard tissue. “I’m not myself this morning.”

Michael’s smile slipped. “Did you dream of it again?”

I didn’t answer… which was an answer in and of itself. That night often haunted my dreams, and the memory always left me feeling hollow. The council of archangels knew of my fated mate bond with Alastair. And all, apart from Michael and Raphael, were opposed to me acting on said bond. Which was why I’d been forced to seal it.

“Can I be frank?” he asked.

“Aren’t you always?”

“Yes, well…” Michael dropped his gaze to the mug. He brought it back to his lips and sniffed, then, as if deciding against taking another sip, lowered it again. “I don’t believe you’re the only one who feels the fated bond.”

My spine stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“Alastair does not like me,” he said with an amused snort. “And it’s not just because I’ve stepped in and taken over the military operations. That snarling look he tosses at me comes from something much greater than that. As if he’s jealous of my relationship with you.”

“Impossible.” I dismissed the idea before it could take root in my mind. “The seal prevents him from—”

“Out of all the cursed sons, most of whom seem to either fear you or dislike you, Alastair has often defended you. He’s done so for years. Have you ever asked yourself why?”

“Because he views me as his commander.”

“I don’t think so.” Michael shook his head. “His sin gives him a superiority complex. As such, he sees himself as the commander. As the leader. Yet he’s often bowed his head toyou.”

“Any loyalty he shows comes from a place of protection for his brothers,” I said. “He believes I only keep them alive because of the power in their blood.”

“Let me ask you this… if the council reversed the decision about your connection with Alastair, would you tell him the truth? Act on your bond?”

I only looked at him. Mainly because I couldn’t find my voice.

“It’s been over two thousand years,” Michael added. “You obeyed the order and upheld it splendidly for all this time. I believe it’s worth requesting an audience with us to reassess. You know I will vouch for you. That’s already one vote in your favor.”

“Enough of this silly talk.” My heart had quickened in its beating. Almost painfully. Hope was such a dangerous thing.

Michael nodded. “I’ll let the matter rest for now.”

“Much appreciated.” If I gritted my teeth any harder, one might snap. “Why are you here so early?”

“I want to meet with the allied commanders and better introduce myself. But first, I’d like to see the full power of the cursed sons firsthand, especially now that Kallias has returned. To better formulate a plan of attack, I need to see what they’re truly capable of.”

“I’ll gather the boys,” I told him.

“Good. Here.” He handed me the mug of coffee. “Drink that sludge and meet me on the field in thirty minutes sharp.”

He left before I could utter a response. I scrutinized the contents of the mug before curiosity got the better of me, and I took a small sip. A sip I promptly spat back out.

It truly was awful coffee. Daman would call it a crime against humanity and have Michael strung up by the ankles. I poured the rest down the sink and rinsed out the mug.

Michael’s visit had momentarily distracted me, but in that stretch of silence as I stood at the sink, my thoughts wandered again. The dream—the bittersweet memory—refused to let me go. It clung to me even now.

Alastair’s warmth as I crushed him to my chest. And how when I buried my face in his soft hair, I’d caught traces of sweet cedar and the earthiness from the ink-covered pages of an old book. That scent was singed into my memory.