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CHAPTER 1

T he cotton shirt was giving Camael holy hell. The shirt was tight across his chest in all the wrong ways. It made him jones for his white toga, like a junkie needing a fix. And wasn't that just perfect? He’d been through multiple millennia of celestial warfare. Here he was, getting punked by some designer label that Rami swore was ‘essential for blending in’.

Truth? The archangel was supposed to be all about that live-and-let-live lifestyle. No judgment, open mind, and welcoming all perspectives. You know, the whole kumbaya package. At least that's what he kept telling himself while staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror like it might offer up some divine wisdom.

His ice-blue eyes stared back at him. The familiar sight of his hard-as-diamonds and twice-as-sharp peepers was reassuring. Not everything was unfamiliar. There was a reason for his current get-up. The new threads might be a pain in his ass, but even he had to admit they worked with his build. All six-feet-four-inches of warrior muscle. Contrary to what many might believe, he’d earned his physique through endless centuries of celestial throwdowns.

His jaw was strong enough to cut glass, and his face... well, humans tended to stare. Apparently, being carved from divine light had that effect on the ladies. True story. This was the second time in his endless existence that he was questioning his own damn sanity.

With a curse that would've made a lesser immortal blush, he yanked at the offending fabric. Like his wardrobe crisis meant jack when Lucifer was strutting topside doing God knew what. That was the only thing that mattered in this clusterfuck of a situation.

The bathroom counter cracked under his grip. With a grimace, he forced himself to ease up. Breaking shit wasn't going to help anyone, especially since their new HQ was already racking up a maintenance tab that would make Jeff Bezos wince. "You break it, you buy it," Rami called from the hallway. His second-in-command had radar for his emotions lately. He was certain the male was worried about Camael’s mental state, but he didn’t need to be. He was right as rain.

"Like we ain't already bought it," Camael fired back as he ran a hand through his short hair. The gesture was human. He'd learned it from centuries of observation. Oddly enough, it helped center him. Somewhat.

"True that. But maybe ease up on the remodeling until we've been here more than forty-eight hours?" Rami countered.

Camael stalked out of the bathroom. Their new digs were a straight-up mansion in the heart of NOLA. It screamed old money and older secrets. Michael and Raphael had thrown down the location. Everyone was hoping Lucifer was tethered to the city thanks to the Rowan sisters and their powerful spell work. The logic was solid. As solid as anything could be when dealing with the Prince of Lies and his poster child for daddy issues.

The witches - all three Rowan sisters plus Amelia and Ceilia - had confirmed the magical chains were still locked down tight. Their theory? That bitch Crocell had pulled some next-level tactics and created interference that let Lucifer slip through a tear in reality before the spell could bitch-slap him back to Hell. It was a smart move. Too smart for an archdemon who used to be an Angel of Salvation upstairs. She and her sister hadn't been built for that kind of deviousness.

Just thinking about Crocell made his wings itch to manifest. Back in the day, she'd been something else. She was all righteous purpose and divine light. Now? She was Hell's favorite problem child. She served up chaos with a side of crazy.

"You got that look again," Rami observed as he fell into step beside him. "The one that says you're thinking about ripping someone's wings off."

"Crocell," Camael confirmed. His voice dropped to a growl that made the air vibrate. "Can't wrap my head around how far she's fallen."

"She chose her path," Rami reminded him. "Just like her sister. Just like Lucifer. Our job isn't to understand it. It's to stop them. You taught me that."

And now Camael was left holding the supernatural bag of flaming shit. He could've bounced this mission to Michael and played backup instead of point. But leaving Amelia's safety to anyone else? Not happening. And that compulsion? That obsession? It rode him hard and put him away wet. From first sight, that sexy-as-sin witch had him locked down tight. He'd even wondered if she'd worked some mojo on him.

"About the witch," Rami ventured. Apparently mind reading was now part of his skill set. "She's due over later to reinforce the wards."

Camael's body tightened at the mere mention of her. She was five-foot-seven, full of curves and attitude. She also had power that made the air around her crackle. And her eyes saw straight through his celestial bullshit. "Good. The place needs it."

"Uh-huh." Rami's knowing look could've stripped paint. "That's why you're already flexing."

"I don't flex," Camael growled as he loosened his fists.

"Right. And Lucifer's just misunderstood," Rami countered.

Their steps echoed through the mansion's entryway, where a chandelier that probably cost more than most humans made in a decade threw light across marble floors. Fresh flowers perfumed the air from a massive vase. It was his favorite touch in the place, not that he'd admit that shit to anyone. Some things a warrior angel had to keep to himself.

The living room looked like Architectural Digest had a baby with Supernatural Weekly. Along with the high ceilings and crown molding, were enough wards to make a demon's eyes bleed. Irritation flowed through him when he hit the space. Malachi was sparring with Zach and acting like teenagers instead of ancient celestial warriors.

"Your left side's wide open," Malachi taunted, dodging Zach's grab with supernatural grace.

"Your mouth's wide open," Zach fired back, feinting right before going low.

"Ladies," Camael drawled, "if you're done with the foreplay, we’ve got actual work to do." Sometimes, leading these angels was like herding cats.

Both warriors straightened immediately. His eyes rolled when he noted how their grins stayed in place. That was the thing about his Angels of Retribution. They might be Heaven's most feared fighting force but they were family first.

"Just keeping our skills sharp, boss," Malachi defended as he straightened his designer shirt. It cost more than some cars.

"Yeah?" Camael raised an eyebrow. "Sharp enough to finish organizing those glasses you abandoned an hour ago?"

Zach had the grace to look sheepish. "We were getting to that."

"Get to it faster." The words came out like a whip crack. Camael's shoulders tensed as he surveyed the chaos of boxes and bubble wrap. Organization wasn't just about aesthetics. It was about control. And right now? His control was hanging by a thread thinner than angel hair. Nothing cranked his anxiety like disorder. It made his battle-honed senses fire on all cylinders and search for threats in the shadows of all that random shit.

The rest of his crew worked their domestic game like pros, thanks to Rami and his mate Kara's ‘Earth For Angels 101’ tutorial. Not that they needed it. Most of Camael's soldiers had done tours down there before. Him? Not so much.

Unlike the others, who'd adapted to human ways faster than demons to sin, Camael was used to the celestial hookup. Up in Heaven, angels manifested everything from Egyptian cotton sheets to California king beds with a thought and a nod. Down here? Shit required actual money. The green kind. With dead presidents on it.

And comfort? Please. Humans clearly hadn't gotten that memo. The rock-hard mattresses and IKEA furniture weren’t much better than the ground. The fact that his warriors had already figured out how to handle it just proved they were better at this Earth gig than their commander.

The kitchen became his domain as he attacked boxes of cookware that had shown up an hour ago. Each angel had their assigned duty. Well, except for the wonder-twins currently playing grab-ass in the living room. Cassiel hoisted the armoire like it weighed less than his ego, which was saying something. His celestial tats - the ones that marked him as Heaven's favorite fortune teller - danced across muscles built from millennia of divine throwdowns.

"Remind me again why we couldn't get this joint pre-furnished?" he grunted, though the weight wasn't giving him shit. "Better yet, I wish we could just manifest stuff like upstairs?"

Camael looked up from where he was wrangling enough cookware to feed the entire heavenly host. "What's wrong, pretty boy? Manual labor cramping your style?"

"Please." Cass waved at the disaster zone of cardboard and bubble wrap like it had personally offended him. "Back home, we think it, we get it. None of this 'assembly required' bullshit. One prayer to the interior design department and boom - instant cribs episode."

Jo's eye roll could've registered in three states. Her golden braid swung like a pendulum as she positioned some fancy-ass vase with military precision. "News flash, Instagram angel. Our celestial platinum card got canceled when we moved Earth-side. You want human digs? You do human work."

"Facts," Rami chimed in from behind a stack of paperwork that promised to give Camael a headache. "Besides, this is grade-A real estate. It beats holing up in some demon-infested dump downtown."

But Camael had to admit Cass had a point. The whole ‘no powers for interior decorating’ rule was some first-class BS. It made him miss the simplicity of Heaven. Instead, they were stuck doing things the mortal way. It sucked harder than a black hole .

Az snorted from where he was arranging weapons behind a false panel. The guy looked like he'd stepped out of a Special Forces recruitment poster. He was all sharp edges and deadly grace. "Hey. Give us some credit for basic survival skills. We'd make any place work."

"Debatable," Camael drawled as he scanned the fancy-ass floors and rugs that probably cost more than some countries' GDPs. But he couldn't deny the earthly luxury had its perks. The place was a straight-up sanctuary. "Just remember we need this house fortress-ready. Amelia's dropping by to lay down more wards."

The air seemed to thicken with her name. Did everyone recognize its significance? Or maybe that was just him getting worked up over a witch like some rookie angel on his first Earth rotation.

"Speaking of wards," Jo piped up. Her hands moved in precise gestures as she layered protection spells into the walls. "We should talk about the power grid in this place. The magical kind, not the human version."

Remi descended from his mirror-hanging gig like some divine handyman. His massive wings were tucked away with a whisper. "Just keep the property damage to a minimum. We don't need contractors all up in our business. Humans tend to ask questions when they see scorch marks from celestial weapons."

"Or demon blood on the hardwood," Zach added helpfully as he finally got around to those glasses.

"That too." Remi's wings twitched. It was a tell that meant he was picking up something. "Boss, you feel that?"

Camael did. The air had shifted. It carried whispers of danger on currents only angels could detect. Working his way through the kitchen setup, he hit Rami with a strategic play. "What if you and Zakara went up to her NYC pad? Give us eyes on another front line. "

Rami gave a sharp nod, that tactical genius of his already spinning scenarios. The kid might be the newest addition to the AORs, but he'd earned his wings faster than anyone in celestial history. He was a natural-born strategist with street smarts to match his book smarts.

"Sounds good," he agreed as his shoulders straightened like the soldier he'd become. "Z's been jonesing for her NYC fix anyway. I know you like keeping the squad tight, boss, but extra eyes never hurt. Especially eyes that know the concrete jungle like she does." Rami had come a long way from the fresh-faced recruit who'd shown up at Heaven's door after being killed by a skirm. Now? The male was Camael's right hand for a reason.

"You could get some solid intel," Az added as he closed the weapons panel with a satisfying click. "The Big Apple's got more supernatural traffic than Grand Central. You might catch whispers we'd miss in the Big Easy."

But Camael barely registered the strategy session. Something just bitch-slapped his internal warning system harder than that time Michael caught him sleeping during combat training. Every battle-honed instinct screamed danger with a capital ‘OH SHIT’. The cookware hit the counter as he moved. He was pulled to the fireplace like Heaven's most paranoid moth. His palm found the fancy-ass mantle. It’s cool surface was the only thing keeping him grounded while his gut did backflips. Something wicked this way comes. And it wasn't stopping to ask directions.

Jo materialized at his six. She moved as silent as death despite her five-inch heels. The girl had style, even in combat. "What's got your wings in a twist?"

The entire crew went still. Centuries of fighting together were evident in how they responded to his tension. Flaming weapons appeared in hands, wings rustled beneath the veil of reality, and eyes locked onto potential entry points .

"I’m not really sure. I’ve got a bad feeling," Camael admitted. His voice dropped to a place that made lesser beings tremble. "Could be Earth-side adjustment."

"Or it could be your archangel Spidey sense picking up trouble," Malachi suggested. All traces of his earlier playfulness were gone.

Rami's brow furrowed as he materialized his favorite weapon. A seven-foot blade of pure celestial steel that burned with blue flames hot enough to make Hell itself sweat. The thing was beautiful as sin and twice as deadly.

"Those instincts of yours?" He spun the flaming sword like it was a cheerleader's baton. "They're the reason you got promoted to archangel while the rest of these guys were still learning to fly. You feeling something hinky might be the difference between putting Lucifer back in his box or watching that sonofabitch ghost on us again." The flames from his blade cast dancing shadows across his face. It made him look every inch the divine warrior he was.

The phone in Camael's pocket went off like a bomb. It made Rami jump like a rookie. Tech was still foreign territory for Camael. Heaven didn't exactly have 5G coverage. The hotline number flashing on the screen had his heart double-timing. Zander had set it up for dealing with this situation.

His squad crowded in as he answered. All pretense of domestic bliss was long forgotten. They were warriors ready for war. "You got eyes on Lucifer?"

"Negative," Izzy's voice crackled through the speaker. "But Crocell's cooking up something major. Our intel suggests they're planning a convergence. We intercepted demon chatter that indicates they're targeting a witch in the French Quarter."

The temperature in the joint took a nosedive faster than a demon's morals as Camael's power leaked out like a broken dam. And wasn't that just perfect? Nothing said 'archangel losing his shit' like frost forming on the windows in the middle of a New Orleans summer.

"Amelia." Just saying her name had his heart doing a full cardiac arrest. Because if those hell-spawned bastards were anywhere near his witch? Someone was about to have a really bad day. The kind that ended with celestial steel and eternal darkness.

"I can't confirm it’s her," Izzy continued, "but Aison, Donovan, Micah and I are mobilizing. The Dark Warriors are ready to provide backup if needed."

"What’s the location?" The words came out more growl than speech.

"I’m still triangulating," Izzy replied. “But there's something else. Reports suggest Crocell's working independently now. That she’s split from Lucifer."

"Bullshit," Rami cut in as he leaned closer to the phone. The softness in his expression when he heard his charge’s voice had vanished. "She wouldn't..."

A scream ripped through Camael's mind. It was psychic and raw. Amelia. His power flared and his wings manifested in shadows on the wall behind him. "I’ve gotta go." He ended the call and was already moving. "She's in trouble at her place. Move out."

The next thirty seconds were organized chaos as the Angels of Retribution mobilized. Battle armor materialized out of nowhere, replacing those fancy-ass designer labels faster than a shopaholic's credit card limit. Wings unfurled with lethal grace, filling the space with enough divine power to make a demon spontaneously combust. They went from Ralph Lauren to ready-for-war in less time than it took humans to order their morning coffee. Nothing said 'about to rain celestial vengeance' like black battle armor shot through with threads of divine light and wings that could slice through steel like butter. Shit was about to get real. Real messy.

"Formation Delta," Camael barked. His Sword of Light blazed to life in his grip as he stood on the back patio. "Jo, Az, you’re on the perimeter. Mal and Zach take the high ground. The rest of you are with me. And remember. These demons took one of ours."

The ‘ours’ slipped out before he could catch it. His warriors' faces showed they caught the significance. Amelia wasn't just some witch under their protection anymore. He’d essentially claimed her. She was family.

They materialized in Amelia's front yard like avenging angels out of humanity's darkest nightmares. The door hung open. Her wards were shattered. The stench of demon magic fouled the air.

"I’ve got a trail," Rami announced before Camael had a chance to go nuclear. "They're not even trying to hide it."

"It’s a trap," multiple voices said in unison.

Camael's smile would've sent lesser beings running for cover. "Good. I need to vent."

They followed the demonic energy signature through streets still bearing scars from Katrina. Houses stood empty. Their windows were like dead eyes watching their passage. The vibe screamed demon hideout so loud it might as well have had a neon sign.

"There." Cassiel pointed to a particularly decrepit structure. Shadows writhed unnaturally around it. There were sigils of dark power pulsing on its walls. "I'm getting readings off the charts."

Camael signaled his team into position. "Remember. Amelia's safety is priority number one. After that? No mercy."

The battle that followed would've made Michael himself proud. Demons poured out of the woodwork like roaches when the lights came on. The Angels of Retribution were ready. Jo and Az became whirlwinds of flaming celestial steel. Their synchronized fighting style was beautiful in its brutality. Mal and Zach rained holy fire from above. Rami and Remi moved like death's shadow through the chaos.

Camael carved a path straight to where he sensed Amelia. His Sword of Light left trails of divine radiance in its wake. Every demon that got in his way learned why the archangels were Heaven's most feared warriors. He found her in what had probably once been a living room. It had been transformed into a chamber of dark ritual. Chains of shadow energy held her suspended. She was surrounded by demons chanting in tongues that would've driven mortals mad.

Their eyes met across the space. The relief in her gaze hit him harder than any demon ever had. "I knew you'd come," she managed. Her voice strained but unbroken.

"Always." The word carried more weight than he'd intended. There wasn't time to analyze it, and he had zero desire to take it back. "Let's get you out of these chains."

"Careful," she warned as he approached. "They're trying to corrupt my power. They want to turn it dark."

That explained the ritual. Rage burned cold in his chest as he raised his sword. "Hold still."

The Sword of Light made short work of the shadow chains. And its divine energy canceled out the corruption. Amelia fell forward. Camael moved swiftly and caught her against his chest. He held her like she belonged there.

"We've really got to stop meeting like this," he quipped, trying to lighten the moment.

She snorted. The sound was pure attitude, even in their situation. "And miss out on this ambiance?” Her smile struck him dumb for a split second. “I tried to hold them off. There were too many after Crocell shattered my wards."

Her admission hit Camael's bloodstream like liquid nitrogen. Crocell hadn't just sent her B-team for this job. The psychotic ex-angel had shown up to direct this clusterfuck personally. Which meant this wasn't some random grab-and-go. This was end-game level shit.

His first instinct was to shield Amelia from the carnage about to go down. But his witch? She was already channeling power that made the air around her crackle like a live wire. Damn, if that didn't make him hot.

She threw spells at demons trying to reach them while his Angels of Retribution were turning the place into a demon slaughterhouse deluxe. Jo and Az owned the high ground. Their flaming swords left trails of blue fire through the air and demon blood splattered across walls.

Camael's weapon caught a demon right in the throat. Its head went one way, and its body went another. Both dissolved into black ichor that smoked when it hit the ground. Two more rushed him and got split from sternum to skull for their trouble. Their death screams hit notes that'd make a soprano jealous.

Mal and Zach had their own party going by the door. Their tag-team style throwdown had demons literally losing their limbs. Mal's blade took the first one apart at the joints while Zach's follow-through turned another into demon confetti. When a particularly huge bastard tried to rush them, they double-teamed his ass. One went high, one went low. Suddenly there were two smoking halves of demon decorating the floor.

Rami and Remi were working their way through the shadows like death's personal choreographer. Three demons thought they had them cornered. Camael jumped into the fight. It was the last mistake they'd ever make. His blade sang through the air. The first strike took out knee caps. The second opened a throat. And the third? Camael turned it into hell's favorite jigsaw puzzle .

Black blood painted the walls like the world's most satanic Jackson Pollock. The smell of burning demon flesh violated at least six EPA regulations. Camael wanted to shield Amelia from this side of their nature. The raw violence that made the Angels of Retribution Heaven's most feared fighting force.

But his witch was helping and had zero fear. She was one hundred percent ‘bring it on’. Power danced around her fingers like she was eager to continue scorching demon ass. Because that was the thing about Amelia. She wasn't some delicate flower needing shelter from the storm. She was the damn storm.

When she caught him staring, she arched an eyebrow. "Taking notes?"

His laugh probably scared the remaining demons more than the slaughter. Because that right there? That's why she was perfect for him. The female could stare into the abyss and ask it if it wanted coffee.

Cassiel wiped his brow as his seer marks glowed with power. "The metaphysical currents surge with both chaos and potential. Our actions here will ripple through the celestial tapestry, shaping destinies yet untold."

"What the hell nonsense is he spouting now?" Samil demanded as he wiped demon ichor off his blade. "That doesn't even make sense."

"Post-battle prophetic bullshit," Zachariel translated, grinning. "You know how he gets."

Malachi stepped forward. He was all business. "We need to cleanse this place. The dark sigils will keep gathering power for Crocell and Lucifer if we don't."

Ramiel's sharp intake of breath drew everyone's attention. "Holy shit. What if this isn't the only one? Crocell could have these power collection points all over the city."

The implications hit hard. These houses weren't just hideouts - they were batteries. They were storing corrupt energy for whatever endgame Crocell and Lucifer had planned.

Amelia shuddered against Camael's side. "Something in here was trying to twist my power and make it serve them instead of nature."

That was all Camael needed to hear. He pressed his Sword of Light to the nearest wall, letting the divine fire start to spread. Amelia's hand on his arm stopped him. "Let me help." Her Latin incantation wove through his celestial flames. Her enchantment amplified them and directed them to consume not just the structure but the dark magic infesting it.

"The celestial fires cleanse and renew," Malachi observed with satisfaction when they reached the lawn. "Their darkness doesn't stand a chance."

Camael kept Amelia close as they watched the building burn. Her warmth against his side felt more right than anything had in centuries. "We'd better get out of here before the human authorities show up."

His Angels of Retribution vanished first. They were headed back to their new headquarters. Camael looked down at Amelia. His gaze met eyes that held power and secrets. There was also something that made his ancient heart skip beats.

Without a word, he transported them back to the mansion in Marigny. The war was just beginning. Lucifer was still out there. Crocell was playing power games. And the balance between realms hung by a thread. Standing there with Amelia at his side and his warriors at his back, Camael knew one thing for certain. His life would never be the same.