Another quake rocked the forest, and the image appeared to waver and flicker. Instead of pushing off the angel’s hands, Luce wound an arm firmly around his waist. Michael started to pull away, and that bracing arm became an iron band holding him tight against the other man.
“You won’t want to do that, angel. This has only happened to me once before, and I’d hate to leave you stranded in theaether.”
Michael grumbled but stopped fighting the unexpected embrace as the very air flexed and warped around them, whipping their hair and clothes. Amid all of this, he was surprised and strangely pleased to note that in this close proximity, Luce still smelled of burning cedar and cinnamon. A traitorous flush kissed Michael’s cheeks as the scent wound its way through his blood and sent his heart hammering.
Lucifer chuckled. “No need to be afraid.”
“I’m not,” Michael protested with a glower.
“Ah, yes, of course. Simply overwhelmed by my sensuality and good looks, right?”
The sarcasm hit uncomfortably close to the truth, and Michael made an affronted sound to Luce’s increased amusement.
The lighthearted moment was broken by a rumbling that started in the distance and swelled around them, growing louder as it swept inward, accompanied by the most violent shaking yet experienced. The image went pale and shivered like television static, then drew itself taut and literallyshatteredaround them. Luce tightened his grip on Michael’s waist.
“Brace yourself, Michael. We’re going back home.”
All sound died out, and the world erupted into an expanse of white so blinding, they were forced to close their eyes against it. A violent rush of wind slammed into the pair, tugging at hair and wings and clothing as if searching for anything to catch on and yank them apart. Luce’s fingers were a hot brand on his hip, and Michael was sure he was leaving bruises on those broad shoulders. And then, as suddenly as it began, everything stopped.
The shaking, the windstorm, the light—everything fell away, replaced by the familiar scent of dust and a brush of cool air. They opened their eyes, both tensing as they found themselves mere inches apart. Lucifer’s sharp inhalation sent a rush of cool air over Michael’s chin.
If he bent down justslightly, he could brush his lips across those princely cheekbones as he had so many times before. The swell of desire was overwhelming, and he found himself shocked by how badly he wanted to kiss him.
“Don’t.” Luce’s plea was a whisper, a strained shadow of his normally confident declarations, though his eyes burned with a powerful, unreadable emotion. “Please.”
Michael recoiled.“No, I—sorry, I, I wasn’t?—”
“Right.” Luce released him first, drawing back his arm and pulling it to his chest. “We need to figure out what pulled us back here.”
As if in answer, a violent wave of energy rocked the room, sending items toppling from shelves or the tops of piles or the backs of chairs. A painting of a farmhouse fell from the far wall, followed by a rack of renaissance doublets. Michael lost his balance and wavered, but Luce reached for him and steadied him at the last moment. Then another wave of energy swept through, and Luce lost his own footing.
They fell in opposite directions, Michael landing in an oversized laundry basket stuffed with scarves and silks and discarded fabric scraps. Lucifer went pinwheeling into a steamer trunk packed to overflowing with Victorian dresses and hats. Atea seton a nearby bookcase landed with a clatter in his lap.
Michael huffed a breath and gave Luce alook.
“Okay, okay! I’ll have a damn yard sale! Can it wait untilafterthis calamity?”
“There you fucking are!” a new voice burst into the room, and they both looked to the doorway to see Remiel backlit against the semi-trashed office. “Cwall and I have been looking everywhere for you, you asshole, and you’re in here playing dress up?”
“No!” Luce protested.
“Looks like it!”
“Well, we’re not!”
Michael tried to push himself to his feet and found the laundry basket firmly wedged to his hips like some children’s cartoon.“Oh,for fuck’s sake.”
Remi blinked slowly, then closed her eyes and placed her hands over them. “I’m not seeing this right now. I didnotspend the better part of an hour running around the fucking estate looking for you, bothering the Eyes andZajand even fuckingBal,only to find you wearing a dress and Michael with a fuckingbucketon hisass.”
Another wave of raw power swept the room and interrupted whatever snappy retort Luce was working up. He heaved a sigh and settled for civility. “We were in the damn portal, Remi, and then we got yanked out. Would you care to clue us in, since you obviously know what’s going on and we don’t?”
Michael gave a good shove and the laundry fell to the floor. He extended a hand to Luce, who waved him off and stood.
“I’m not sure what Cwall needs, but something is wrong with Mags.”
“Way to bury the lead, Rem!” Luce gave her a nasty glare and shoved past her to run out the door.
Michael frowned at the smirking woman. “Why do you torment him?”
