Eternal Sin (Primal Sin #2) - Ariana Nash Page 0,31
the demons below. Those demons didn’t pursue. They hovered as one blanket, protecting their home.
The demon lord fixed his glare on Mikhail, lifted his chin, and bared his teeth in warning.
Mikhail pulled back, drawing his force with him, until clouds swallowed them all.
Uncertainty, guilt, shame—these things wracked his body and soul. He hadn’t known the warehouses were a healing center. But he should have. He should have checked. His angels had killed indiscriminately, like he had killed indiscriminately. It was wrong.
All of it.
Everything.
He no longer knew what was right.
The ranks of angels returned to the barracks in Aerie, but Mikhail descended to Whitechapel’s wide main street. His armor faded and his wings sagged. He didn’t care that he was seen. He wasn’t even entirely sure where he was going, but the hospital was nearby, and Saphia would hear him. She’d listen. He needed someone to listen, to tell him he wasn’t out of his mind.
A red-winged angel flapped to a hasty landing in front of Mikhail. “Your Grace…” Solo pulled his helmet off. “Remiel,” he said breathlessly, face flushed. “He’s here.”
Mikhail pulled up short and instinctively retracted his wings. “What?”
“I’ve just received word. He’s here. Arrived early. He’s waiting for you at the church.”
Remiel was here now? And Mikhail had failed to capture Konstantin. He’d just attacked a demon hospital, and Remiel was here… now?! He couldn’t do this now. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t have control of anything, let alone himself.
“Shall I tell him you’re waylaid?”
What good would that do? Nothing was going to change in a few hours. “No. It’s fine. Is he alone, or did he bring forces?”
“He appears to be alone.”
Perhaps that was a good sign. Remiel would have brought guards if he intended to detain Mikhail.
“Thank you. I’ll see him now.” He passed by Solo, aware of the male’s steady, penetrating gaze and the weight of things unspoken between them. None of it would matter soon. Remiel was only here for one thing, to relieve Mikhail of his guardianship.
But he would not be surrendering London lightly.
He pushed open the door to the church and found the guardian standing beside the council table, arms crossed, face stern. Mikhail had only seen him from afar and thought him impressive then. He was no less formidable up close. Square jaw, hard eyes. In bone mass, they were similar, but Remiel carried a harsher presence that made lesser angels kneel without him speaking so much as a word. White-gold hair fell like silk to his shoulders. An angelblade hung at his waist, hitched to his belt.
Perhaps he didn’t think he needed a force to bring Mikhail down? Perhaps he intended to take Mikhail alone?
Mikhail strained to keep his wings closed and not flare them wide in warning. He approached the guardian and offered his hand. “Welcome to Whitechapel.”
Remiel peered down his nose at the hand as though considering not shaking. Was he so offended by Mikhail? But then the guardian gripped Mikhail’s wrist in a familiar greeting between two warriors. Mikhail did the same, feeling a slight tingling in his fingers.
“I’m honored,” the guardian said, wincing as he withdrew his hand. His voice was deep, the kind of voice most everyone would immediately obey.
“Are you wounded?”
Remiel cocked his head in question. “What?”
“You winced. We have excellent healers here. Saphia is especially attentive.”
The guardian blinked. “I was recently wounded in battle. I’m somewhat sore, and between you and me, I’m grounded for a few days, but it’s certainly nothing to be concerned over.”
Grounded. That explained why he’d currently illusioned his wings out of sight. No angel liked to display bruised or battered wings.
“Do you have lodgings?” Mikhail asked stiffly. What he really wanted to do was shove the guardian off his territory, but such things were not done.
“No, I’ve just arrived.”
“You’re early. And without your ranks?”
“Well, nothing says invading forces like a rank of angels landing on your doorstep.” He smiled, and there was a softness in that smile that Mikhail hadn’t expected. Remiel blinked, and the smile vanished like it had never been there.
“Indeed. I’ll have Solo see to it your house is in suitable accommodation. Until then, I must debrief my ranks from battle.” He turned away, keeping his wings clamped as tightly as his emotions.
“A battle?” Remiel asked, his tone oddly flat. “Who won?”
Mikhail answered before he could choke on the words. “They did.”
Chapter 11
Severn
His arm still tingled from where Mikhail had grabbed his wrist and threatened to unravel the illusion so soon after he’d built the