Eternal Sin (Primal Sin #2) - Ariana Nash Page 0,42

that Mikhail would stop the flame. But he’d been wrong. There was no love left in the angel, just hate. But even now, after witnessing Mikhail destroy all that was left of Konstantin, Severn couldn’t return that hate. He wanted to. He wanted to rage and scream at the bars fencing him in, to damn all the angels, but where there should be rage, there was nothing.

He’d let everyone down.

Demons were going to die.

Angels would reign supreme.

And there was nothing Severn could do to stop it.

Chapter 18

Mikhail

Fanfare and cheers from the London crowds met the real Remiel’s grand arrival, as was befitting a guardian. He shone at the head of a formation hundreds of angels strong.

Mikhail could only watch from Whitechapel’s main street, flanked by his own sizable force. Enough to warn Remiel that he wasn’t about to roll over and let the guardian take his home.

Remiel descended, white wings tipped with gold. He looked just as Severn had made him out to look, although Severn hadn’t crafted wings. It all seemed so obvious now.

Severn was nothing if not a master of lies.

Remiel landed in a walk and tucked his wings in, making that simple gesture so lethally graceful it made Mikhail want to brandish his blade and toss the guardian out of Whitechapel.

“Mikhail,” Remiel said. His voice was deeper than Severn’s had made it out to be and carried a foreign accent. The guardian stopped before Mikhail and bowed his head. “It is an honor.”

“Likewise.”

They shook, just as Severn had, but this guardian did not wince, likely because he wasn’t wearing a wretched illusion that could have been shattered by touch.

The guardian’s rank of angels flew over Whitechapel. Some alighted on the surrounding rooftops like a large flock of doves coming home to roost. Severn’s words about an invading force haunted Mikhail. For all his lies, Severn had always seen the things Mikhail missed.

Remiel’s hand fell, and the angel lifted his chin. “You know why I’m here?”

“To relieve me of my duties as Aerie’s guardian.”

Remiel’s gaze remained, unblinking. “If only it were that simple.” Before Mikhail could ask him to elaborate, he added, “At least you captured the demon responsible for your downfall. Take me to him.”

Mikhail’s wings bristled at the scolding tone. He didn’t appreciate being spoken to like a fledgling, but there were bigger battles to win against Remiel. He took to the skies, and the guardian followed close behind. Mikhail fought not to glance back. Remiel hadn’t come to kill him, had he? If he had, it wouldn’t be with a blade in the back. Subterfuge was not the angel way.

He’d ordered a pause on Aerie’s reconstruction so Remiel’s visit wasn’t met with the sounds of chaos. A few angels and nephilim bustled about, but the towering spaces were quiet, getting darker and quieter as Mikhail led Remiel down into the hidden heart of the city.

He hadn’t seen Severn since burning his wings two weeks ago. Solo checked in on him on a daily basis but only reported that he was still alive. Mikhail hadn’t cared to ask any more.

The angel charged with the unfortunate task of guarding the way into the cells nodded at their approach and unlocked the door.

All the other cells were empty. They’d been built to hold demons but were rarely used as demons preferred to end their own lives than be captured. Severn occupied the cell at the end, in the darkest, coldest depths, with just a single, flickering torch chasing off the gloom.

Mikhail instinctively hid his wings to keep them from touching the chilling walls, and Remiel did the same.

Severn was seated on a bench, leaning forward, with his arms resting on his thighs. With his head down, his long, tangled hair screened his face.

A sharp, stabbing jolt of guilt struck at Mikhail’s chest. He rubbed over his heart and cleared his throat. “Konstantin, Lost Lord of the Red Manor.”

“No longer lost,” Remiel’s voice rumbled with amusement.

Severn slowly lifted his head. Shadows made his eyes hollow. That damned stab of guilt twisted harder in Mikhail’s chest, like a blade in a wound. He shouldn’t feel guilt. Severn deserved this.

“He persists in wearing that illusion?” Remiel clasped his hands behind his back and appraised Severn.

Mikhail was considering all the replies when Severn shoved to his feet and approached the bars. He wrapped his fingers around them and eyed Remiel. “Your bone structure is so fucking pretty. All that beauty in a dickless, emotionless drone. Such a shame.”

“Hm,” Remiel mused, unfazed. “And