Page 7 of Alastair

I balked at his statement. And then I became angry. “You expect us to kill our king? Are you mad? I’d rather slit my own throat than raise a hand to him.”

“Perhaps in time, you’ll see things differently.”

That day didn’t come for nearly two years. Not until I realized that everything I had believed about Lucifer, everything I had believed about myself, was a lie.

Lucifer wasn’t trying to save the world, as he had often told me. He wanted to destroy it. Wanted to see it burn. And if not for Lazarus interfering, I would’ve grown up to be a warrior who helped him do it. All eight of us would have—the boys who’d become my brothers. My family.

Until the day I drew my final breath, I would do everything in my power to keep them safe.

It was the one vow I’d never break.

Chapter One

Alastair

Present Day

A steaming cup of tea made for an excellent start to any morning.

As the first sign of sunlight bled through the indigo sky, I sat on the veranda and breathed in the fresh morning air. Winters in the Mediterranean sometimes brought a chill, but the days on the island were mostly warm, hardly ever plummeting to the frigid temperatures I’d become accustomed to in Echo Bay.

I thought of our mansion then and all the mornings I’d spent in my study sipping tea by firelight, lost in a book, as my brothers slept soundly in their beds. A mansion we’d lost. Just one of the casualties of war. The loss had hit me hard.

Much harder than I let on.

At least they’re safe, I reminded myself. Our home might’ve been gone, but we had each other. That’s what mattered most. We also had Kallias. Our lost brother had come back to us. That, in and of itself, was a thing to celebrate. A victory amongst all the loss.

The patio door behind me slid open.

“Good morning.” Penemuel’s medium-length brown hair fell across his brow, the end of a few strands curving up where it brushed against his black-framed glasses. Tucked under one arm was a thin white laptop. He held a large mug of coffee in one hand, and a plate rested in the other. The fallen angel had a blueberry bagel with cream cheese addiction. He ate it for breakfast every morning, like clockwork.

“Morning,” I returned his greeting.

He and Clara had come with us to Greece when we’d decided weeks ago that, for the time being, the island would be our home base. Better to be with our allies now that Lucifer’s power was on the rise.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

“Be my guest.” I motioned to the chair beside me.

Penemuel took a seat at the table and placed his laptop in front of him, leaving it closed. He sipped his coffee before biting off a chunk of the cream-cheese-slathered bagel.

“I read your latest novel,” I said.

“Oh?” He wiped at his mouth and shifted forward in his chair. Both anticipation and nerves rolled off him, the feelings I assumed every writer experienced every time someone mentioned reading their work. He’d published his book nearly two weeks ago, the story he’d been pouring his heart into for the past several months. “And? What did you think?”

“Good prose. Solid plot. The main character intrigued me.” I drank more tea as I mulled over the book. “Isaac had an air of self-righteousness, and when his world shattered around him, his internal struggle held such realism. I wondered if he’d persevere after such a devastating blow. There was very little in terms of external conflict, but I find character-driven narratives to be the most thought-provoking. The demons he faced were those of his own making. I identified with him.”

A small smile upturned the fallen angel’s lips. “Isaac, in many ways, was a reflection of myself. Writing him, writing through his struggles, was a way for me to work through my own.”

“Because of your rebellion?”

Penemuel nodded and took another sip of coffee. “When I defected from the celestial realm and joined Lucifer, never did I consider the repercussions of my actions. I was angry and didn’t see my own faults. When that realization finally came, the damage had already been done. You can mend a broken vase once it’s been shattered, but you’ll still see the cracks. It will never be as it once was. Same goes for relationships. I can never rejoin my brothers and sisters in the heavens or bring back those that were lost in the war, but I can do everything in my power not to repeat those mistakes. I can choose to do better. Tobebetter.”

“You and I are more alike than I once believed.”

“I suppose we are.” Penemuel dropped his gaze to his mug, thumb gliding along the rim. “Lucifer has always had a way with words. He builds you up, makes you feel invincible, and feeds off every selfish desire in your heart. Before you know it, you’ve become something you don’t even recognize.”

Cherished, Lucifer had once told me. A word that had filled me with an indescribable joy and sense of purpose. It had propelled me to do anything to please him—to make him proud.