Uriel (Speed Dating with the Denizens of the Underworld #39)

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Uriel

I pace the length of my office, each step measured and precise, a futile attempt to impose order on the chaos swirling in my mind. Azrael’s words echo relentlessly: a prophecy, a union, the fate of the world hanging in the balance. And at the center of it all, Ms. Thornton and myself.

Preposterous. Impossible. Absolutely out of the question.

I halt before the window, gazing out at the city skyline. Los Angeles sprawls before me, blissfully unaware of the cosmic drama unfolding within these walls. How can I possibly be expected to... to...

I can’t even bring myself to think it.

A knock at the door interrupts my brooding. “Come in,” I call, smoothing my features into their usual impassive mask.

Michael enters, his brow furrowed with concern. “Uri, what are you doing locked away in here? We need you! It’s madness outside—Ramírez is all but fuming over the extra hours, a social worker fainted in pediatrics, there’s serious damage in the OR. I’ve been assured it’s nothing structural, but…”

“Do you mean Emilia?” I blurt. “Is she alright?” My fingers cling to the desk’s edge. My heart races beyond control. I realize then, I need her alive—the whole world does.

Michael flinches, confused. “Yeah… Raphael’s with her now, but?—”

“Great. Everything’s fine,” I cut him off, perhaps too sharply. “Ms. Thornton is likely just overtired from the day’s events. I’m sure Raphael has the situation well in hand.”

Michael’s eyes narrow, studying me with that insufferable perceptiveness of his. “What’s going on?” he asks.

I remain silent.

“You’re hiding something, brother,” he adds.

I turn back to the window, unable to meet his gaze. "Don’t be ridiculous."

“Uri...” His tone softens. “Whatever it is, you know you can trust us. We’re family.”

For a moment, I’m tempted. To unburden myself, to share this impossible task that’s been thrust upon me. But then I imagine their reactions—Michael’s earnest encouragement, Raphael’s insufferable teasing. No. I cannot bear it.

“There’s nothing to tell,” I say firmly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do—calls to make. I’ll get out there as soon as I can.”

Michael lingers a moment longer before sighing in defeat. “Alright. But I’m here if you need me.”

As the door closes behind him, I slump into my chair, crushed by the burden of my secrets. I cannot do this. I will not do this. Prophecy be damned, I am Uriel, Archangel of Chastity. I will find another way to avert this crisis.

Just then, my phone chimes with an incoming message. It’s from an unknown number, but the content makes my blood run cold:

“Tick Tock, lovebirds. Hell waits for no one. You have 4 days, 23 hours, and 17 minutes. Better start practicing those wedding vows! —A.”

As I stare at the message, a tremor shakes the building—stronger than any before. Books tumble from shelves, and in the distance, I hear the wail of sirens.

It seems the choice may no longer be mine to make.

With a resigned sigh, I reach for my phone. There’s only one being who might have answers—loath as I am to contact him. I dial the number, one I haven’t used in millennia.

It rings once before a smooth, sardonic voice answers. “Well, well. If it isn’t my favorite stick-in-the-mud archangel. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“Lucifer,” I growl, my jaw clenching. “Are you behind all of this?”

There’s a pause, then a low chuckle. “You’ll have to be more specific, Uri dear. I’m behind quite a lot of things.”

“Don’t play coy,” I snap. “The earthquakes. The prophecy. This... union.” The last word leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

Another pause, longer this time. When Lucifer speaks again, his tone has lost its mocking edge. “Believe it or not, Uriel, this is above my paygrade.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” he says, sounding almost... concerned? “Whatever’s happening, it’s big. Bigger than me, bigger than you. Hell’s stirring, but I’m not the one stirring it.”

A chill runs down my spine. If Lucifer isn’t orchestrating this...

“Then who?—?”

My question is cut off by another violent tremor. This one doesn’t stop. The floor beneath my feet bucks and heaves. Cracks spiderweb across the ceiling.

Through the phone, I hear Lucifer shouting something, but his words are drowned out by an inhuman shriek that seems to come from the very earth itself.

As my office crumbles around me, one thought blazes through my mind: I need to find Emilia. Now.