Renegade Angel. Kendra Leigh Castle
Raum hunched his shoulders defensively in reaction. He wasn’t at all in the frame of mind he liked to be in when confronting the almost always unhelpful Reapers. And this one, Jarrod by name, had thwarted him before. Raum made sure his hands were well-hidden beneath his wings along with most of Ember, determined not to let the Reaper see the damage he’d inflicted on himself. Then he might ask questions, and Raum was in no mood to answer them.
“What are you doing here, Jarrod?” Raum grumbled. “Your services aren’t needed.”
“Apparently not,” Jarrod replied, quirking a brow. The Reaper was clad as the rest of his kind always were, all in black, and with a long coat that had been known, on occasion, to hold wonders. Not that they shared, Raum thought, glowering.
The Reaper stretched his neck, trying to get a better look at what Raum was holding on to. “What have you got there?”
“None of your business,” Raum snapped, wrapping his wings more tightly around himself. Why, after millennia of Reapers avoiding him like the plague, did this one have to show up now?
“Well, I was minding my business, now that you mention it,” Jarrod said. His fair skin shimmered faintly in the darkness, a marked contrast to his severe clothes. “But see, then I was called by a woman’s departing soul, so here I am, ready to guide her into the beyond, and instead, I find a Fallen angel who thinks I don’t realize he’s hiding her under his wings. Right. There. In front of me.” He cocked his head, amusement and curiosity glittering in his dark eyes.
“You’re not needed here, Jarrod. Go away.” Raum pulled an arm free and waved him off with an irritated jerk, then remembered his hands.
Shit.
“You’re burned,” Jarrod said softly, his surprise evident. “Did you … ?”
The question, only half-finished, hung in the air between them. Raum considered denying it, but though he was adept at lying, anything he said was going to sound ridiculous. All he could hope for was that the truth got rid of the Reaper faster. He fixed Jarrod with a steely glare that greater beings had withered beneath.
“What if I did? It’s no business of yours.”
Jarrod looked nothing short of stunned, an expression Raum didn’t think he’d ever seen on a Reaper’s face before. The other man was silent a long moment, though he made no move to leave. Then he said, “I’d heard you were one of the defectors, you know. But I didn’t actually believe it was true.” His dark eyes narrowed slightly, considering him with unnerving intensity when Raum said nothing, which he knew the Reaper would take as confirmation enough.
Then, Jarrod said softly, “This is not the place for you right now, Raum of the Fallen.”
Raum stared. It was the first time he had ever received any information that might be remotely construed as helpful from a Reaper, who were stubbornly neutral. Jarrod’s face betrayed no emotion, though he continued to watch Raum with that look of frank assessment.
Finally, Raum said, “I know about the Nexus. We’re not going to let it happen.”
Jarrod’s smile was thin. “That’s a switch. But you’re up against more than you know.” Then he walked toward him, his stride purposeful. Raum took a step back, glaring.
“Don’t be greedy, Raum. Let me see the woman.”
“Piss off.”
Jarrod stopped and folded his arms across his chest. “She’s not so far from the borders of death yet, Raum. I want to see if you’ve done your job right.” He shook his head. “At least, I’m assuming that saving innocent humans is part of your job now?”
“Not really,” Raum grumbled, unable to let it go. He had no interest in word getting around that he was trying to get back into the white-winged contingent when it was so entirely untrue.
Jarrod stepped forward again. “Then all the more reason for me to have a look. You probably screwed it up and I’ll have to take her anyway.”
Raum bared his teeth. “Try it and lose an arm.” But he relented at last, parting his wings to reveal Ember’s unconscious form. He remembered that she was naked from the waist up, and turned her into him so that Jarrod couldn’t get a good look, gripped by another wave of unreasonable possessiveness. He could tell from the odd look the Reaper gave him that he’d noticed, but for once, Jarrod kept his opinion to himself.
Instead, he leaned over her, eyes intense. He reached out one long-fingered hand and brushed a lock of gleaming hair away from the side of Ember’s face, and Raum felt his fists clench. That was followed by a wave of nauseating pain, payment for moving his abused hands without thinking.
“Well?” he gritted out when the Reaper continued to examine her silently. Jarrod raised his gaze to him, and it was as black as a starless night.
“Why did you save her?”
Raum blinked. “What?”
“Why did you save this woman?” Jarrod repeated. “Be cause that’s what you’ve done. And considering what, and who, she is, I’m a little confused. I don’t know what it cost you, exactly,” he continued, his voice dropping, and Raum saw his eyes go to his smoking hands. “But I’m going to guess it was quite a bit.”
Raum paused, torn between the truth and keeping up appearances, though the latter would mean the end of this bizarre conversation with the Reaper. He’d never looked at the agents of Death as much more than a necessary nuisance, sometimes entertaining to bother, completely useless when it came to information. But Jarrod, with whom he’d engaged in the occasional war of words with over this soul or that, seemed to want to tell him something. And the days when he could afford to blow such an impression off were gone.
“It … she was guarded. Stupid nefari was meant to protect her and turned on her as soon as it got excited.” He shrugged. “I should have been more careful. She’s important to this Nexus business, and … Uriel doesn’t want her hurt.” It was as close as he would come to the truth, to his own interest in protecting her.
“But why you?” Jarrod asked, and he seemed genuinely perplexed.
“Because I said I would. Because this is the sorry state my existence has been reduced to.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Because it’s my fault she got hurt. Why does it matter to you anyway, Jarrod?” The words sounded foreign to his own ears, rolling strangely off his tongue. When was the last time he had admitted to anything resembling guilt? And yet it was true, all true.
He suddenly felt ill.
Jarrod seemed to sense this, and his gaze softened, though Raum didn’t appreciate it. He had no use for pity, and wanted none. Still, the truth got him what he’d wanted.
Or thought he wanted.
“You really don’t know, do you?” Jarrod asked, still looking puzzled. Then he shook his head, seeming to accept the situation. “It’s ironic, that you’ve unwittingly given a part of yourself to the daughter of your enemy. A noble gift I wouldn’t have expected you to give in a million years, don’t get me wrong. But this is going to infuriate him. You may want to get out of here until you can muster some backup. Otherwise … “ he trailed off for a moment, his gaze dropping to Ember’s face with a look of sympathy, “there’s no way you’ll stand between him and what he wants. Not alone.”
Raum’s eyes narrowed as he grappled with Jarrod’s words, trying to discern any meaning but the one he feared. But his longstanding feud was well known even to midworlders like the Reapers, and he knew, in his gut, exactly what Jarrod had meant.
“Mammon?”
Jarrod gave a single nod. “He watches his daughter, and waits for the right time to unleash her power. The darkness is growing thicker here. Don’t you sense it? The Nexus is ripe for breaking.” He lifted his head to scan the sky, breathing in deeply, as though he could scent the gathering evil in this place.