out of control?”
Uriel brushed his hair back with a rough swipe of his hand. “No. We seven were created as we are, Cain. You are an aberration. An unknown. Perhaps your once-mortal body is incapable of handling an archangel’s power.”
“I was changed,” he argued. “It felt like I was being ripped apart. The pain was indescribable.”
Uriel’s mouth quirked on one side. “I bet. That doesn’t mean you are now one of us. For Abel to become a mal‘akh, he had to die. For Christ to achieve his aims, he had to die. It is quite possible that your transformation cannot be completed without shedding every vestige of your former self.”
“If I’m an aberration, is it possible that Raguel’s still alive and that’s why my ascension is fucked up?”
The sudden stillness that gripped the archangel didn’t go unnoticed. “I suppose.”
Well, that explained why none of them were actively searching for their brother. They assumed he was dead.
Restless, Alec stood and prowled. If there could be only seven archangels, he was in an untenable position. He would first have to ascertain whether or not Raguel was alive. Then, he would have to decide whether to kill, or be killed.
How badly do I want this?
The darkness in him roiled in protest. Power was like a drug, one not easily relinquished.
He moved toward the window and stood on the threshold, his damp skin chilling in the gentle gusts of wind.
Uriel’s voice came soft and coaxing behind him. “What ails you?”
“There’s something in me. It’s angry. Violent. Very strong.”
“Too strong?”
“Not yet.” Alec looked at the ocean. At night, one beach looked like another. He couldn’t help but think of nights spent with Eve. The selfish part of him wished he could share this mess he was in with her. “But I want better control over it.”
“Perhaps the ascension freed a.. . repressed part of your personality?”
“Do you believe everything you hear?”
The wicker creaked as the archangel rose to his feet. Although his approach was silent, Alec sensed Uriel coming. The rush of power he felt around a single archangel was of equal force to the rush he felt when entering a firm.
“Depends on who is doing the talking,” Uriel murmured.
Did Jehovah know the truth behind the rumors?
Alec’s heart rate kicked up in response to his panic. Something was overriding the safeguards of his mark and the unexpected physical response caused a slight disorientation.
His hand rubbed at his chest through his thin cotton T-shirt. “Who did the talking to you?”
“Does it matter? The point is that perhaps the problem is in your blood.” There was a length of silence, then Uriel touched his shoulder. “You should direct your questions to Jehovah.”
“And fall my first challenge as an archangel?” Alec scoffed. “No way.”
“You think this is a test?”
“Isn’t everything? My entire life has been a trial.” He faced Uriel. “That isn’t a complaint, just a fact.”
“I understand. We all face trials, saints and sinners alike. I wish I could help you with this one.”
Alec’s brow arched. “Are you sure you can’t? You haven’t offered me much of anything.”
Uriel smiled, but the gesture didn’t reach his eyes. “The best advice I can give you is to look elsewhere. You speak of anger and violence inside you, yet you do not approach the one of us known for those traits? Why?”
“Michael?”
“Commander of the Lord’s army. Who knows darkness better than he? He has defeated Sammael himself.”
Alec stepped farther outside. Uriel followed. Together, they stood at the railing and watched the moonlight shimmer over the water.
“You fear him,” the archangel noted, still looking forward. “You should. But if anyone can help you, it would be him.”
“Thank you.”
“Do not thank me yet, Cain.” Uriel glanced at him. “If you become a danger, I will hunt you myself.”
Inside Alec, the thrill of prospective battle quickened his blood.
Uriel’s gaze hardened. “I smell it on you. Perhaps you should go, before I decide not to let you.”
Cursing inwardly, Alec shifted away.
Reed was preoccupied with his thoughts. So much so that it took him a moment to register that the beer he’d ordered was sitting in front of him. The waitress who’d brought it was waiting patiently.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I missed what you said.”
“Would you like anything else?” The pretty brunette smiled wide. Her name tag said she was “Sara,” which was an unfortunate moniker but not her fault.
“No. I’m good, thanks.” He picked up the bottle, ignoring the frozen glass beside it. For mortals, it was perhaps a bit early in the day