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  She moved even closer, and Azagoth took an involuntary step back, his palms sweating, his pulse pounding.

  How could this be happening? Lilliana was supposed to give birth here in Sheoul-gra, surrounded by friends and family, with Azagoth at her side. Instead, she’d been forced to deliver their daughter in Hell, most likely in a dungeon under brutal circumstances.

  And that was the best of the realistic scenarios. The others were too gruesome to think about. And yet, they kept running through his mind.

  “What…what about Lilliana?” he croaked, his gaze glued to the infant. She had her mother’s pure amber eyes. Azagoth’s black hair.

  “Flail indicated that she’s alive. Moloch sent you the baby as some sort of goodwill gesture. A down payment of sorts. Do what he wants, and you’ll get Lilliana back next.” She held out the bundle. “Do you want to hold her?”

  He wanted to hold her tight and never let her go. His hands trembled as he took her, but the moment she was secure in his arms, his body relaxed, and his mind calmed. His entire life, his entire being had been for this moment. This child.

  He had feelings for all of his children, some negative, some positive, some neutral. He’d never even met most of them. He’d formed bonds with several, and he loved them deeply. Idess. Suzanne. Hawkyn. Maddox. Journey. There were more, some of them, like Emerico and Jasmine, standing nearby even now, trying to pretend they weren’t curious about what was going on.

  But this child was the first to be born out of love, not duty. And as tiny and innocent as she was, she was surrounded by a strong aura of power so pure that it was clear, visible only because of the slight flicker.

  “This is the first time I’ve seen a neutral aura,” he said, his voice choked. “I know they’re common to children born of one fallen angel and one Heavenly angel, but by the time I see them, their auras are dark with evil.”

  “Since I lost my Memitim status, I rarely see auras at all.” Idess ran her finger over a curly lock of hair with a wistful smile. “Heaven is sending milk for her.”

  His head snapped up. “What?”

  “Only until Lilliana comes back.” Idess gestured to a diaper bag on the bench. “There’s formula in there until the milk arrives.”

  “No,” he growled. “I don’t want anything from Heaven.”

  “Father, it’s vital that she ingest angel milk right away, especially if she’s here in Sheoul-gra. She needs the protection from evil.”

  “I said no!” The baby stirred, and he lowered his voice. “I don’t trust them.”

  Those bastards wouldn’t send anything to Azagoth unless there was a price attached or it served their agenda. And they always had an agenda. He wouldn’t put it past them to poison the milk or infuse it with some sort of spell.

  “You’d rather see her aura go dark by the time she’s two weeks old?” Idess had raised her voice, but as more people gathered, she lowered it and pivoted closer. “Father, I get it. I do. Angels have screwed with a lot of lives. But so has the evil that comes out of Sheoul. Look what it did to you, and you were hundreds of years old, battle-hardened, and with a mission when you came down here. What kind of chance does a complete innocent who hasn’t been inoculated against the ravages of malevolence stand?”

  Azagoth looked down at the fragile life in his arms, and he pretty much just tumbled into the pools of purity that were her eyes. His heart swelled as she blinked up at him, so trusting, so unaware of the turmoil going on all around them.

  Dipping his head, he pressed his cheek to hers. His world narrowed and focused, becoming entirely about her. Her tiny fingers brushed against his lips and chin before wrapping around his thumb. She clung to him, and he to her.

  He needed her so badly, but she needed him more.

  For months, Lilliana had protected this little miracle, and now it was his turn. And for the first time, he realized that protecting her meant more than keeping her out of physical danger.

  It meant keeping her out of spiritual danger, as well.

  Idess was right. He hated it, but what she said made sense. As the product of a union between good and evil, it wouldn’t take much to tilt the baby’s alignment one way or the other. Given her proximity to evil so early in her development, and without the divine influence of her mother or the natural protection offered by an angel’s milk, his infant daughter didn’t stand a chance.

  “Fine,” he said. “But I want Cipher to inspect everything Heaven sends.” Actually, he would have Cipher check out everything and everyone from now on.

  Nothing was going to get close to his family ever again.

  Chapter 29

  Reaver hated meetings. Any kind of meeting. Especially those in Heaven.

  Fortunately, he didn’t get invited to many, thanks to the fact that pretty much everyone resented that he’d once been disgraced. An Unfallen angel screwup. And now, he was the most powerful Heavenly angel in existence, save Metatron, although much of Uncle Met’s power and authority came from his status as The Mouth of God.

  But this meeting was different, and for once, he was glad that he hadn’t been left out. The higher level the meeting was, the higher the stakes and the more Reaver wanted to be in the know.

  There was no higher level than the Council of Orders. Consisting of three representatives from each of the twelve Orders, the Council began the new session with Metatron at one end of the table, attending not as part of the archangel delegation, but as God’s witness.

  As the lone Radiant in an angelic Order of his own, Reaver sat at the opposite end of the table.

  This was a room slathered in opulence and full of the most powerful beings in the universe. It was a showcase of wings, in which everyone coveted everyone else’s because they were bigger or shinier or prettier. And it was a display of the who’s who in the world of angels.

  If ever Reaver or Revenant needed to be destroyed, the Council of Orders, with their combined powers, could do it.

  The CoO meetings made Reaver nervous.

  He glanced around the table, trying to get a read on everyone as they sat there in their formal, white robes, the colors of the trim signifying their Orders. Red for the cherubim, blue for the hosts, yellow for the aeons. Metatron’s robe was striped with all the colors of all the Orders, including Reaver’s gold.

  Stern faces looked back at him, and he wondered who would speak first.

  Finally, Jophiel, a senior throne and Metatron’s best friend spoke, his sterling eyes grave. “As many of you might have heard in your Order meetings or in the urgent Angelic Council gathering, it seems that the Grim Reaper has been engaged in forbidden activities.”

  Damn. Reaver had hoped the news hadn’t gotten out yet. The less Heaven knew about the situation in Sheoul-gra, the better.

  Muriel, Second of the Order of Dominions, tapped her jeweled nails on the table. “One of our reliable sources claims his mate, Lilliana, was abducted and is being held for ransom.”

  A murmur rose up, quieting when Camael, First of the Order of Powers, spoke. “Our sources say the same thing.”

  A virtue Reaver didn’t know well, Barbiel, closed the book he’d been pawing through. “Who would be so stupid?”

  “The fallen angel, Moloch,” Muriel said as she reached for one of the fruit bowls and pierced an apple with her fingernail.

  “He’s taking revenge for Bael’s death?” Barbiel asked, which told Reaver that the idiot knew nothing about Bael and Moloc’s shared soul. Or the fact that it was Cipher who’d killed Bael, not Azagoth.

  Although it wasn’t for lack of trying on Azagoth’s part.

  “No.” Camael shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his glossy cream wings ruffling against his orange-trimmed robe. “Moloch is threatening to kill Lilliana and her unborn child if Azagoth doesn’t release Satan.”

  The room fell silent. Camael averted his gaze, the eternal shame of his Order weighing heavily on not only his shoulders but also on that of his companions seated to either side of him.r />
  Satan had belonged to the Order of Powers, and nearly half of the angels who defected with him had also belonged to the Order.

  Abruptly, the room exploded with curses and questions until people were on their feet, yelling at each other. Reaver was pretty sure the seraphim and principalities were about to start a brawl.

  “Quiet!” Jophiel slammed his fist down on the table. Fruit bounced out of the bowls and rolled down the table in a display of brilliant colors visible only in Heaven. “We’re here to decide on a course of action, not to tear each other apart.”

  Reaver shot Jo a grateful look. Like Metatron, Jophiel had a good head on his shoulders, and a rare ability to put aside personal bias when looking at an issue.

  Unlike pretty much everyone else in the room. Including Reaver.

  Jophiel cleared his throat in the thick silence. “What we know so far is that Lilliana is in Moloch’s custody, and Azagoth has violated his contract by releasing demon souls directly from the Inner Sanctum. And this wasn’t the first time.”

  Now, all the shocked eyes turned to him. Camael looked relieved to have the pressure off his back.

  “When was the first?” Phaleg, a super-douche from the Order of Angels, gripped the table so hard, his knuckles turned white. “I demand to know!”

  Jophiel smiled at Reaver and made a dramatic ask-him gesture.

  “Thanks, Jo,” Reaver muttered before addressing the accusatory faces staring at him. All but Metatron, who already knew the whole story. “It was a few weeks ago. He did it because Bael murdered several of Azagoth’s children.”

  “How many souls did Azagoth release?” Phaleg demanded.

  Reaver gave a casual shrug in an attempt to minimize the impact. “A handful.”

  “A handful on that occasion,” Jophiel flared his cinnamon wings in irritation. “But this most recent transgression went beyond what could be considered a reasonable, if still illegal, response.” He caught an azure maidenfruit before it rolled off the table and tossed it back into the bowl. “He released a hundred thousand souls this time, and he gave them the power to kill or possess bodies and eject the host soul.”

  There were a few gasps. Phaleg shoved to his feet and leaned across the table at Reaver. “And you. You obviously knew about the first instance long ago. What did you do to punish him?”

  Reaver gave him a level look, daring him to lean in closer. “I handled it.”

  “Handled? How?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Gabriel, the archangel who had made Azagoth and Sheoul-gra his personal project from the beginning, stood. “Our concern now is how to fix this.”

  “This isn’t recoverable,” Muriel said. “Azagoth must be destroyed. Now that he’s not breeding Memitim, we don’t need him. Hades can take over Sheoul-gra.”

  “Disagree.” Metatron shoved to his feet in a rare display of temper. “There has to be another way.”

  Camael arched an eyebrow at Metatron. “Do you have any ideas? Or any divine guidance?”

  “Of course, I don’t.”

  “Then I say we put him down like a diseased troll.” Camael turned back to the table. “And take out any Memitim who side with Azagoth. We don’t need anyone getting any ideas about revenge.”

  “What about Lilliana?” Gabriel asked, his resonant voice stilling conversation. “Do we kill her, too? The baby?” His multicolored locks of hair brushed his shoulders as he shook his head. “And you forget that he’s put safeguards in place to prevent us from killing him. If we do that, all souls in Sheoul-gra will automatically be released.”

  That seemed to give everyone pause. Finally, Michael, seated next to Gabriel, spoke up.

  “Only if he’s executed inside the realm.” Michael braced his forearms on the table and focused his gaze on the digital map of Sheoul-gra that suddenly appeared in the air. “All we have to do is get him out. And if Lilliana and the child are still alive, we’ll bring them here. With her knowledge, Lilliana is invaluable to us. The child may be, as well.”

  “The child is a product of Sheoul-gra,” Phaleg said. “Evil. We can’t allow it in Heaven. If it’s still alive, we must kill it.”

  “It’s still alive.” Royelle, a cherubim who was a mother to at least four Memitim, poured a glass of silver glacier wine from the crystal pitcher in front of her. “The newborn girl is, in fact, in Sheoul-gra with Azagoth,” she said, and Reaver struggled to hide his shock. “Idess put in a formal request for mother’s milk for the child not two hours ago.” She smirked. “She went through the Memitim Council, hoping to keep the news contained. Idess has always been naive.”

  The baby had been born? How had it gotten to Azagoth? And where was Lilliana?

  “We can’t do this,” Reaver growled, drawing on his power, ready to take on all these assholes at once if he had to.

  “And we can’t let Azagoth use demon souls for his own purposes,” Phaleg snapped back. “His powers are meant to be limited to his realm. He signed a contract. Whatever happens to his kid is a direct result of his choices. He’s forcing our hand.”

  At the murmured agreement rising up around the table from several councilmembers, Reaver surged to his feet, his wings flaring. “I won’t let you do this!”

  “Just because you’re the Radiant, it doesn’t mean you’re in charge.” Muriel studied her half-eaten apple, still impaled on her nail. “There are rules, and there is a hierarchy, just as there has always been, Yenrieth.”

  Uriel, the newest member of the Archangel Council, shot Reaver a glare. “He ignored all of that as Yenrieth. Do you think Reaver suddenly cares about rules now that he’s the Radiant?”

  “I care.” Reaver waved the map out of existence. “But Azagoth’s contract is due for an update. He’s handled his duties admirably for thousands of years. Don’t forget that he volunteered for that shitty job. These are unusual circumstances, and he can’t be expected to—”

  “To what?” Phaleg interrupted. “Honor the contract he signed?” He wheeled around and pointed at Gabriel. “You know him, you know the terms of his contract. What is the punishment for releasing a hundred thousand souls?”

  Gabriel folded his hands over his robe’s purple sash, all casual as if the topic bored him. But the shards of ice in his pale blue eyes said the exact opposite.

  “The punishment is to be decided by the Council of Orders,” he said. “But there’s no requirement that he die for it.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Camael said. “We can’t take the risk that he’ll release Satan.”

  “He won’t,” Reaver insisted.

  Jo cast his solemn gaze at Reaver. “Can you guarantee that? Can you ensure that he’s not taking the key down there right now, and that Armageddon isn’t going to start tonight?”

  No, he couldn’t guarantee anything. He didn’t believe Azagoth would do that, but Reaver also knew what insane lengths he’d go to to save Harvester. Hell, he had gone to crazy lengths to save her. He’d broken about a million rules and risked his wings and his life.

  But he hadn’t come close to starting the Apocalypse.

  Azagoth could do that.

  “Even if everyone here agreed that Azagoth has to go, you can’t get to him.” Reaver assessed each member of the Council in turn, trying to gauge who might be convinced that this was a terrible idea, and who was already getting their pen ready to sign Azagoth’s death warrant. “He’s locked down Sheoul-gra. By the time you got inside, he could have barricaded himself inside the Inner Sanctum where angels can’t go.”

  Uriel gestured to Barbiel. “Barb has a team of blights ready to go.”

  Reaver shuddered. Blights. The angelic equivalent of police K-9s…if police dogs were hellhound-shark hybrids with the power of an angel. The creatures could link to any angel—the more powerful the angel, the more powerful the blight. A pack could bring down Azagoth and tear his soul to pieces.

  The risk to the host angels was high, however. They felt every injury, and if their blight died, the shock co
uld render the angel unconscious for months.

  Gabriel shook his head. “We’re not doing this. Let me talk to him.”

  Camael didn’t back down. “You have no say. You’re here because Azagoth and Sheoul-gra were your projects, so your advice and expertise are valuable. But you need to recuse yourself from the vote.”

  “My ass,” Gabriel snapped. “I will not agree to this.”

  “As Camael just noted,” Phaleg said coldly, “you don’t have to.”

  Metatron stood, unfurling to his full height…and maybe a couple of extra inches. “What you are proposing, destroying Azagoth, his family, and everything he has worked for for thousands of years, is not something that should be decided rashly. What Azagoth has done has worked to keep the human realm safe, and Satan’s influence to a minimum. What happens when he’s gone?”

  “Things might be chaotic for a while,” Uriel acknowledged. “But Hades is…competent. He’ll grow into the role. It is, after all, who should have been given the job in the first place.” He said that with a meaningful look at Gabriel.

  Gabriel threw up his arms in exasperation. “Hades wasn’t even born yet. But, hey, don’t let facts get in the way of your narrative.”

  Uriel tugged angrily on his robe, the breast embroidered with his moon and stars crest in purple thread. The narcissist had all of his clothes marked with his insignia. “Raphael told you to suspend your Sheoul-gra project. He saw that it wasn’t time.”

  “Raphael is a traitor,” Jo said, clearly taken aback by the invocation of the archangel’s name. “And you’d best remember that if Azagoth frees Satan, Raphael will be freed, as well. And he’s probably both insane and evil by now.”

  “He wasn’t a traitor back then,” Uriel pointed out, a little petulantly. He’d been friends with Raphael, and of all the archangels, he’d taken the news of Raphael’s betrayal the hardest.

  Camael banged his fist on the table, putting a crack in the thick wood and making the spilled fruit bounce. “What’s done is done. The past matters not. We’re dealing with a crisis now. Stop being fools. It’s clear that what we’re proposing is extreme, but so is the threat to all the realms if Azagoth frees Satan in order to save his mate. This is one risk we cannot take.”