damn thing. He slumped against the council table and sighed in relief.
The fresh illusion hadn’t yet seated itself and felt like it wanted to peel off and turn to dust at Severn’s feet. Had that happened, he was sure Mikhail would have taken up the blade he wore and plunged it through Severn’s heart. Mikhail had certainly looked like he’d been looking for a fight. Clearly, there were no good feelings between him and Remiel.
Severn couldn’t blame him. Every piece of human and demon intel on Remiel had revealed the angel was a dick, and not the good kind. He made Mikhail’s leadership—before his meltdown—look tame. Ruthless, brutal, and as cold as ice. At least Severn only had to play him for a few days while he got his wings back.
“Your Grace.” Solo entered the church, adorned in armor but missing his helmet.
Severn straightened. His demon heart skittered some to see an old friend, but he kept the urge to grin from his lips and nodded instead, like the cold slab of ice he was supposed to be. He’d screwed up earlier by smiling at Mikhail. But it could have been a whole lot worse. He’d wanted to do a lot more than smile when Mikhail had greeted him, looking rigid and ragged all at once. He’d aged in the weeks since Tower Bridge and wore the strain around his tired eyes and tight mouth. It had hurt deeply to see Mikhail hurting too.
“I’m to escort you to your lodgings,” Solo said, professionally distant.
Severn followed the warrior from the church and kept his eyes forward, even as angels and nephilim—who had all thoroughly taken over this part of London it seemed—watched them pass by. Another guardian was sure to have the nephilim gossiping. Severn’s skin itched. He’d forgotten how uncomfortable new illusions were, and crafting a guardian had been exhausting. He’d sacrificed a few memories, none of which he recalled—of course. But only small ones. The illusion this time was weak and would last mere days.
He still didn’t know what had transpired on the day Samiel had left him on the battlefield. Lux had been intense, barely letting Severn out of his sights for three entire days and nights. There had been no time to see Samiel, which was probably for the best. They did not have the greatest history when it came to goodbyes.
At least Lux’s unexpected attention had lavished Severn in ether. He was beginning to think angel ass really was addictive. Lux had certainly and thoroughly enjoyed his.
“Here you are.” Solo opened the door of a handsome Georgian period, terraced house. Impressive railings framed the front steps, and large sash windows looked out over the street of similarly designed houses. Inside, the human who had decorated and furnished the dwelling had done a grand job of echoing the house’s exterior with the use of period chandeliers, wooden floors, and fireplaces. He or she must have been pissed when the angels descended from Aerie and stole it.
After receiving a brief tour, which ended back in the hallway, Severn considered how Remiel would react and scowled at all the mundane humanity.
“Is it not to your liking?” Solo asked.
“It’s adequate. I don’t intend to stay long.”
Solo grimaced and straightened, standing rigid, as though expecting to have to defend himself. “Sire… If I may be so bold?”
Severn regarded his old friend behind the calculating eyes of an asshole angel. “Yes?”
“Mikhail is… He’s had his challenges of late. But…” Solo wet his lips. “He is the light who guides us. We’d be at a loss without him.”
Severn’s frown turned real. “Is he going somewhere?”
“Aren’t you… I mean, your forces… We assumed you were going to…” Solo gulped, “replace him?”
“What?” Shit, the angels were ousting Mikhail? “No. I mean, yes. Right. Yes, well, his behavior is unacceptable.” The real Remiel wasn’t bringing reinforcements to help fight the demons, he was kicking Mikhail out of London. Angels were fucking epic bastards to themselves as well as demons.
The corners of Solo’s mouth tipped downward. “He had his heart broken, Your Grace.”
Severn swallowed, trying to clear the painful knot in his throat and failing. “As I said, unacceptable. Guardians do not possess hearts to break.” That sounded suitably dickish.
“I can see that.” Solo’s green eyes darkened in a wholly disgusted way.
A guardian would not appreciate that look from a lowly angel such as Solo. “You seem very concerned for Mikhail’s wellbeing. Almost like you care?”
“What?” Solo blinked quickly, regaining his lofty composure. “No.” He laughed, but