The Fallen 03 - Warrior (33 page)

I was past fighting. He yanked me into his arms, painfully, as he leapt over the precipice, and I closed my eyes, wondering if the net overhead was really thinner at this spot, or if that was another of Uriel’s tricks. I glanced down, but I could only see one figure flailing on the ground as we went higher and higher.

I knew it was very cold, but I didn’t feel it. I felt nothing at all. The silly world of candy and euphoria had been an illusion, and nothing Michael had said was the truth. Higher and higher we went, his warm body against mine as the air grew thin. Into the light, and gone.

M
ICHAEL LANDED LIGHTLY ON
the rocky beach outside the main compound, holding Tory tightly in his arms. It was late afternoon, the light fading, and it took him a moment to remind himself that there were no Wraiths to endanger them in this place. And that the Wraiths had never been any danger to him, except, perhaps, the final one, the one who had saved their lives. He had to let go of her, set her down in the sand, even if he wanted to hold on to her forever.

She fought free of him, pushing him away, and he wondered if she’d throw up. She was pale, sick looking, but she had herself under control, and the look she cast him was filled with such cold contempt that he should have felt relief. Everything between them was gone. She would die hating him. She would have no qualms leaving him or the cruel world he’d brought her to. He would lose nothing.

Someone must have seen them arrive, because the Fallen poured out of the building, running across the lawn to surround them. He saw Tory push past the crowds, ignoring everyone, and he let her go.

There was nothing he could do, not in the twenty-four hours she had left to live. Telling her he loved her would only make it worse. Of course, he already had, when he thought the euphoria would excuse it. But she believed that was a drug-induced lie.

That didn’t mean he was going to give up without a fight. She had powers no one had imagined. And he could watch over her. Find others, trustworthy people like Asbel, who could keep an eye on her in the coming battle. He simply wasn’t going to let her die.

I
STRODE BLINDLY
through the crowd, determined to get away from the questions and the curious eyes. Let the archangel deal with it. I had no idea where I was going, only that I needed to be alone, to think, to prepare.

I was going to die. I think I’d always known it, deep in my heart. Not “someday,” but that my death was imminent, preordained—which explained why I had been so fearless no matter what dangers I faced or how insurmountable the odds. My death was set in stone, and nothing I did could influence that fact. And Michael had always known.

I felt frozen. Weeping wouldn’t help; rage against the cruelty of an indifferent fate was useless. I could
despise Michael’s betrayal, but that would get me nowhere. I simply had to endure.

I passed more people hurrying toward the beach, but I kept my head down and no one stopped me as I made my way through the main building and into the annex that housed the workout room and my bedroom. And Michael’s monastic cell.

For a moment I considered whether there was any revenge I could enact on his room, then dismissed the idea. Chances were he wouldn’t even go to his bed tonight, not with a battle on the horizon. He’d train all night.

Unbidden, the memory rose of watching him pour water over his body, how it had sluiced down the lines of muscle and sinew on his lean skin, and I grew hotter. And angrier.

All this time he
knew
I would die and he hadn’t told me. No wonder he’d agreed to marry me. One month and he’d be free—it was hardly an onerous task. And even with an end date, he still had been reluctant to bed me, the bastard! I could just imagine the weak excuses he’d come up with. None of them were acceptable.

My room was just as I’d left it. I opened the french doors and took a deep breath of the sea air. When we’d first arrived I’d been too upset to notice, but now I could feel the calm benediction break over me as surely as if I were swimming in the icy surf. I knew the sea healed the Fallen, but it wouldn’t heal me. Perhaps I could tell Rachel or even Martha
that I wanted to be buried at sea. There were worse places to spend eternity.

I stepped out onto the beach, kicking off my shoes, my toes digging into the sand. I started up the beach, walking until I could no longer see the house or any of the Fallen clustered around Michael. There was a promontory, up high, and I decided to climb, scrambling up the sheer wall fearlessly. After all, there was no way I could fall to my death—I still had twenty-four hours to live.

It took me close to an hour before I collapsed on the shelf of rock that overlooked the ocean. I could see for miles and miles, without a fallen angel in sight, and I felt a curious sense of peace settle over me.

Back in the direction of the house, the Fallen had cleared the beach, probably training for tomorrow’s battle. I supposed I should be doing the same thing. Even if the outcome was foretold, I could make a difference.

I’d do what I had to do. Kill if I had to, die when I needed to. It was out of my hands.

I heard the sounds of wings on the air, and I felt hope surge in my heart. I was going to blister him, rip into him and tear him to shreds. I was going to push him off this cliff if he dared sit next to me, I was—

Azazel alighted, carrying Rachel as effortlessly as Michael carried me, and I fought to ignore the searing disappointment. Of course Michael hadn’t come after me. I was nothing to him. He’d done what he
had to do: brought me here to die. His work was done.

“May I stay?” Rachel asked, stepping free of Azazel’s hold.

I looked at her, considering. It was clear she had known of my death as well, yet she had said nothing. She was also the closest thing to a friend I had. “All right,” I said grudgingly.

Without a word Azazel soared upward, and I watched, momentarily stunned by the grace and beauty of him. Would any of the Fallen die tomorrow? Oh, God, would Michael die?

I tamped down the fear as I looked at Rachel. Her red hair was tied at the nape of her neck, and she wore the white training clothes that were the default uniform for the army of the Fallen. I, however, was still wearing aqua capris from the ranch house. Absurd.

“I don’t suppose you’re here to tell me there’s a way out of dying,” I said caustically.

Rachel shook her head. “I only wish I could. Martha and Allie and I have looked at it in every way possible, but there seems to be no way to change it.”

“So be it.” I stared out at the sea. “Then why are you here? If you’re going to tell me to forgive Michael, you’re wasting your time.”

“Forgive him for what? For not telling you that you’re going to die? That’s hardly a crime. What would you have done had you known? How would that have helped things?”

She was being practical and I wasn’t in the mood for it. “I would have gotten the hell away from here,” I said stonily.

“It wouldn’t do any good. You’re going to die on our beach. You can’t run away from it. If you could, I would help you.”

“I had no intention of running away from it.” I was thoroughly sulky by this time and wallowing in it. “But at least I would have had a chance to experience life. I wanted . . . I wanted everything. I wanted passion and grand adventure. I wanted sex and devotion and love. . . .” My voice had an annoying tendency to crack on that. “And instead I get His Scum-Sucking Holiness, the asshole Archangel Michael.”

“Indeed,” Rachel said. “Your prayers were answered.”

I jerked around to look at her. “You’re kidding.”

She shook her head. “Think about it. Think about Michael. Think about what you know to be true.”

I pushed that knowledge away, still too angry. “He’s been nothing but a pain in the ass.”

“That’s Michael for you. At least he wasn’t trying to kill you, like Azazel was when he came after me. Count your blessings.”

That managed to shock me. “He was trying to kill you?”

“Rather than submit to the prophecy that we were going to be married.”

“Isn’t that a little extreme?” I said sarcastically.

“You’ve seen Azazel. What do you think?”

I pictured the cool, beautiful man who seldom left Rachel’s side. “I assume he changed his mind.”

Her small, secret smile twisted my stomach. I wanted to have that kind of smile when I thought about Michael. “He did,” she said, and for a moment she seemed lost in reverie. Then she looked back at me. “If attempted murder didn’t interfere with our falling in love, then you shouldn’t let this interfere with you and Michael. You’re running out of time to be happy, Tory.”

I glared at her. “Thanks for reminding me. Okay, I forgive him. He was simply being kind. Now go away and leave me alone.” I looked around us for Azazel, but for once he was nowhere to be seen.

“I told him to give us some time,” she said, correctly reading my glance. “I don’t think you want to die filled with rage.”

“You know, it’s supposed to happen in the middle of a pitched battle. I imagine rage is helpful in such situations.”

She laughed. “You’ll feel better if you’re fighting side by side with him.”

“Michael is a man who fights on his own. He may be a genius at military tactics and unstoppable when it comes to hand-to-hand combat, but he doesn’t play well with others.”

“I think he probably plays very well with you.”

I blushed. I could feel my skin heat, and my skin was so fair everything showed on it. “Admittedly, the sex was good,” I allowed.

She raised an eyebrow. “Only good?”

I grew hotter. “All right, great. Amazing. Stupendous. Unearthly. Satisfied?”

“It’s
your
satisfaction we’re talking about, not mine.”

“What is it you want from me?” I let out a growl of frustration.

“I want you to forgive Michael.”

“So he doesn’t have to feel guilty when I bite the bullet?”

“No. I don’t know if anything will help Michael when you die. Losing your mate is a traumatic thing, and Michael isn’t particularly adaptable. I want you to forgive him for your sake.”

“So I can die happy?” I said caustically.

“I can’t change your dying, Tory.” Rachel’s voice was full of pain. “I just don’t want your last hours eaten up with anger at the man you love.”

“Love?” I sputtered. “You think I love that son of a bitch?”

“Do you deny it?” Her eyes were warm and soothing.

“Of course not. I’m not an idiot.”

“Then forgive him.”

As if by magic, Azazel appeared overhead, alighting on the promontory once more. I looked at him, remembering Rachel’s words. He looked fully capable of cold-blooded murder. If Rachel could forgive him, I certainly ought to be able to forgive Michael.

“Don’t worry,” I said airily. “He’s forgiven. You can tell him so.”

“It would be better if you did.”

“There’s a limit to what I’m willing to do.”

Rachel rose and stepped into Azazel’s arms. “Do you want me to send someone to fly you back down? The hill is treacherous—you’re the first person who’s ever managed to climb it.”

I shook my head. “Can’t die till tomorrow, remember? I’ll be fine. I just need some time alone.” No way I was leaving this bluff till I was good and ready.

I watched them soar upward against the sky, incredibly graceful, and fresh pain speared into me. Did Michael and I look like that when he carried me?

The wind was chilly on my bare arms as it blew in across the ocean, and the rock I sat on was growing cold and uncomfortable. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to move until I had made some kind of peace with this.

The sun was sinking toward the horizon, its rays spreading across the rough waters, sending a shaft of orange across the waves. I watched in bemusement as the sun began to set on my last full day, and then everything became crystal clear. I knew what I had to do.

I climbed down the ledge, carefully, despite my assertion that I couldn’t be killed. For all I knew, I could end up a crumpled bloody heap at the base of the cliff and not actually expire from my injuries
until the next day. I slid once, scraping my hands and ripping the knees of the stupid capri pants, but I finally made it back to the beach in one piece, just as darkness closed in.

It was then I realized I was famished. I seemed to have spent most of my life since I left the
castello
expiring of hunger. I mentally composed a menu for my last supper—every single damned thing I wanted, and to hell with the calories. Pasta quattro formaggio with Gorgonzola. It had to have the bite of the Gorgonzola. Broiled trout with lemon sauce. Chocolate torte, the richer the better, and fresh whipped cream. With perhaps some spinach risotto, a nice white wine with some heft to it, and Moët champagne with the dessert. At that point I figured I’d be so full I’d roll into bed and sleep like the dead. Until it was time to die.

When I stepped into my room, I could smell the lovely scent of chocolate on the air, and the covered trays were waiting on the glass coffee table. I did like Sheol. I wasn’t sure just how far the magic extended, but there was no way I was going to eat before I took a shower and changed my clothes.