“Well,” he shrugged, “We can’t really proceed until Lucifer manifests the other pieces of the Armor.”
She made a noise like a cat that had just been stepped on and stabbed him in the bicep. Rag yelped, then pulled out the knife and tossed it in the sink.
“You’re gonna get blood on the food, and then I can’t use it,” he chastised, carefully angling his injured arm away from the counter as he waited for the cut to seal itself.
“Sorry,” she said, not sounding the slightest bit apologetic. “I just can’t believe you would say something so incredibly stupid.”
“How do you mean?”
“He’s being useless!” Remi stomped her boot-clad foot on the tile hard enough to crack it. “That’s exactly the point! He should be doing more rituals, but instead he’s being a baby!”
Rag hummed thoughtfully for a moment and then shrugged. “That’s Luce, isn’t it? We both know he comes through when he has to.”
Remi scoffed. “He’s sulking like a fucking teenager right now. His sonrightfullyrejects him, so he just gives up?! This is the man we’re meant to follow into battle?!”
“Yes,” Rag said simply.
For all his faults, Lucifer had never steered them wrong in battle, and Rag was confident every time he followed him into a fight. When the time came, he would strap on his armor, lay aside his grievances, and put all his strength and magic onto the field at Luce’s disposal. He would fight hard and true, and he would either claim victory, or go down fighting.
It was the way of the warrior; the way of the angels. It was the only way Rag truly knew in his soul how to be. He could spend hours in this kitchen, or in the mortal realm, or curled up with his wife. He could be kind and soft and jovial, but he had the heart and soul of a man born for war.
Remi went very quiet and very still, watching Rag’s eyes mist over, and knew he was in his faraway place again, reliving some long-forgotten battle. She had married a savage man who let her run rampant. He had become relaxed in these times of peace, but he was still her perfect match. A fond smile touched her lips, and she laid a hand on his sturdy jaw.
“Hey,” she brought him back gently, fingers tracing his cheekbone and sliding down to his chin. “Let’s go do something fun, blow off some steam.”
Rag grinned back, sharp with the promise of violence. “Wanna go torment the Pit demons?”
“Raguel, you know exactly the way to my heart.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Come on, old man. Keep up!”
Michael grumbled, pacing in a steady circle with his eyes fixed on Uriel’s fist, the line of his shoulders, the slight shift of his feet that hinted at his movements.
“I know you can do better than this,” the other man taunted, attempting a punch that Michael deflected easily. “I need to break in these new muscles, you gonna help me or just keep dancing around?”
Michaelgrunted anddodged, ducking a blow aimed at his shoulder, but staggeredas a second heavy blow landed on his exposed left side. He grumbled as a dull ache shot through his ribs.
“I’m surprised I even landed a hit.” Uriel panted lightly, lifting the hem of his loose tank top to wipe the sweat from his face. “Something is weighing on you.”
Michael cast his eyes aside, adjusting his wrist wraps to avoid having to respond.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
The taller angel sank down on a bench, wiping at his sweating brow with a hand towel.“You wouldn’t have been hurt if we weren’t caught up in this mess.”
“I’m sure I would’ve found a way to get hurt without help,” Uriel snorted, dropping down beside him on the mat and rubbing at the back of his neck. “But I know you, after all these centuries. Something else is wearing you down.”
Michael shook his head, and Uriel frowned.“Don’t insult me with a lie, Michael.”
He avoided answering right away by sweeping the gym for potential threats. Their glamours were refreshed, but a soldier was a soldier, and Michael was never really able to let his guard down. Uriel waited patiently, sipping from a bottle of water and laying back on the mat to stretch his muscles.
Finally, unable to avoid the topic further, the warrior raked a broad hand through sweat-dampened curls, then dragged it over his weary face.“All these years…and he still hates me. I can’t say I blame him.”
“Don’t take this thewrong way, but…have you ever, youknow, apologized?”
“And when would that have been?”
