“Terrified.” Rag nodded. “It’s understandable.”
“I’m the King of Hell, Rag, not some lowly demon, I am—” he broke off his insulted tirade when he glanced up and saw Rag’s knowing smile. “I am absolutely terrified, yeah.”
“About them asking for Mags, or the fact that it’s Michael?” Sachiel asked, ignoring the warning look Rag shot him.
Luce went pale and looked like he was torn between vomiting and shouting. “How dare you?—”
The sound of rapid footfalls from the corridor startled Luce to a halt and the other Fallen to their feet. They all turned to the doorway as Remi burst back through it, looking as if she’d seen a ghost.
“What is it?” Luce demanded, the frantic nature of her movements sending a spike of adrenaline through him. “Oh, Damned Souls, Remi! Whathappened?”
“Judas is back,” she stammered. “And Zaj is... he’s back too, and he’s with?—”
Luce crossed the room and gripped her shoulders firmly, leaning so close they were sharing the same breath. “Tell me!”
“Michael,” she finally croaked, eyes wide.
Luce froze, hands falling away from Remi and settling at his side like dead weights. He blinked slowly, once, twice, and tried to calm his breathing. His heart thumped frantic rebellion against his ribcage.
Here, now.
It was so much worse when it was a certainty and not a possibility. He swallowed hard, tongue darting out to wet his suddenly dry lips, and his fingers came back to life to curl and uncurl in fists.
“I can’t,” he moaned, closing his eyes tightly. “I can’t be near him, I can’t.”
“You have to,” Remi said, stepping back into his space and taking his hands in hers. “Uriel is with them, and he’s got a bad break.”
“Oh no…Oh please…” Luce shuddered. “Can’t someone else?”
She hesitated, and Luce groaned.
“Cami is there trying to help,” she started, then paused, chewing her lip. “It’s splintered badly. I think it’s beyond our skill level.”
“Fine,” Luce said, straightening his spine. He took a steadying breath, then another. “Someone has to set it before it heals all wrong.”
“You’ll have to re-break it,” Remi said softly. “It’s already starting to fuse.”
“Fantastic,” Luce deadpanned. “This day gets better and better.”
He took one last moment to collect himself before drawing himself to full height. A snap of his fingers and his favorite cloak appeared on his broad shoulders; rich black velvet lined with crimson satin draping and falling around him like a shield. The ghost of a black iron crown appeared around his temples like a circlet of mist. Squaring his shoulders, the King of Hell swept from the room.
Chapter Fourteen
“This is the fanciest infirmary I have ever been in.” Michael wandered around the room in fascination.
He inspected the state-of-the-art equipment, took note of the crisp white curtains and bed linens, and gazed into a tile floor polished to a sheen so fine he could almost see his reflection. Fully stocked glass-front cabinets lined all the walls, bursting with tinctures and salves and countless bottles of potions alongside modern medicines.
“We need to get on this level,” Uriel agreed, shifting on his assigned cot to better gaze up at the skylight that cast the room in a gentle afternoon glow. “Just being in this room already makes me feel better.”
“I think Camiel’s healing had something to do with that.”
“Maybe so,” Uriel admitted cheerfully, already feeling the sedative effects of the tincture the brunette angel had practically poured down his throat. “She looks good, right?”
“Don’t let her husband hear you pining,” Michael said diplomatically. He had never had much interest in the appearances of women, but he had to admit Camiel had always been a beauty, even among Seraphim.
“Please, Rebecca would kill me first,” Uriel chuckled. “But really, I think Cami was utterly shocked to see us.”
“It has been quite a few centuries.”
