Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
Emilia
Consciousness returns slowly, like wading through molasses. My head throbs, a dull ache pulsing behind my eyes. I blink, trying to bring the world into focus. The ceiling above me is unfamiliar—all smooth, pristine white instead of the industrial tiles of the hospital.
Where am I?
Panic flutters in my chest as I struggle to piece together my last memories. The earthquake. The ER. Raphael’s kind smile. Then... nothing. Just a void where hours—days?—should be.
I try to sit up, but my body feels leaden, uncooperative. The silk sheets—wait, silk?—slide coolly against my skin as I manage to prop myself up on my elbows. The room swims into view, and my breath catches.
This is definitely not the hospital.
I’m lying in a massive four-poster bed that looks like it belongs in a medieval castle, not... wherever this is. The room around me is vast, easily twice the size of my entire apartment. Every surface gleams with understated opulence— rich mahogany furniture, plush carpets in muted earth tones, artwork that looks like it belongs in a museum.
It’s beautiful, in a cold, impersonal sort of way. Like a luxury hotel suite designed by someone who’s only read about human comfort in books.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, wincing as my bare feet sink into an impossibly soft carpet. My clothes are gone, replaced by silk pajamas that probably cost more than my monthly rent. The thought sends a shiver of unease down my spine. Who undressed me?
Wrapping one of the obscenely soft blankets around my shoulders like a protective shield, I pad across the room. My reflection catches my eye—a pale, disheveled stranger staring back at me from an ornate full-length mirror. Dark circles shadow my eyes, and my usually unruly hair is a rat’s nest of tangles. I look... small. Vulnerable.
I turn away, unable to face that version of myself.
The window beckons, promising answers. Or at least a clue to where the hell I am. I approach cautiously, half-expecting to see the LA skyline or maybe the hospital parking lot. Instead, my breath catches in my throat.
Dense woods stretch as far as the eye can see, a rolling sea of green under a clear blue sky. Towering redwoods and pines crowd right up to what looks like a manicured lawn, their branches swaying gently in a breeze I can’t feel through the glass. In the distance, I can just make out the hazy outline of mountains.
It’s breathtaking. And completely, utterly foreign.
“This can’t be real,” I whisper, pressing a hand against the cool glass. But the forest doesn’t shimmer and fade like a mirage. It remains stubbornly, impossibly there.
Awe and terror wash over me in equal measure. I’m not in LA anymore. I’m not even sure I’m in California. How far have I been taken? And by whom?
As if summoned by my rising panic, the door behind me opens with a soft click. I whirl around, clutching the blanket tighter, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Uriel—Dr. Angelstone, the freaking archangel—strides in, looking as impeccably put-together as always. Not a hair out of place, crisp white shirt under a tailored vest, polished shoes gleaming. He could be stepping into a board meeting instead of... whatever this situation is.
For a moment, we just stare at each other. The silence stretches, taut as a bowstring. I search his face for any hint of emotion—concern, maybe, or guilt at my obvious distress. But his expression remains impassive, those icy blue eyes revealing nothing.
“Ah, you’re awake,” he finally says, his tone clipped and professional. As if this is just another day at the hospital, as if I haven’t woken up in some strange Twilight Zone version of reality. “How are you feeling?”
The casual question, so at odds with the surreal situation, snaps something inside me. Anger flares, hot and bright, burning away the lingering fog of confusion.
“How am I feeling?” I repeat, my voice rising with each word. “I’m feeling kidnapped , that’s how I’m feeling! Where are we? Why did you bring me here? What the hell is going on?”
Uriel’s eyebrows shoot up, a flash of indignation crossing his face. For a split second, that perfect composure cracks, revealing something almost... human underneath. But it’s gone so quickly I might have imagined it.
“Kidnapped?” he says, and I swear I hear a note of offense in his voice. “I assure you, Ms. Thornton, I did no such thing. I merely ensured your safety during a crisis situation.”
“By whisking me away to... where exactly are we?” I gesture wildly at the window, at the impossible forest beyond.
“My private residence in the Santa Monica mountains,” he replies stiffly, as if that explains everything. “It’s designed to withstand seismic events far greater than what Los Angeles has been experiencing.”
I gape at him, struggling to process this information. “You brought me to your house? While I was unconscious?” The implications hit me all at once, and my cheeks burn with a mixture of embarrassment and outrage. “Do you have any idea how inappropriate that is?”
“What was inappropriate was the way you fainted in the middle of a crisis,” he snaps back, some of that perfect control slipping. “You’ve been unconscious for over twenty-four hours. The city is in chaos. I made a judgment call to ensure your well-being.”
“My well-being?” I sputter, torn between disbelief and growing horror. Twenty-four hours? I’ve lost an entire day? “What about my patients? The people who need help? There’s a whole city out there suffering, and you decided to play white knight and spirit me away to your... your fortress of solitude?”
Uriel’s jaw clenches, a muscle ticking at the corner. When he speaks again, his voice is low, intense. “The earthquakes have stopped.”
That brings me up short. “What?”
Instead of answering, he turns to a sleek flatscreen TV mounted on the wall that I hadn’t even noticed before. With a click of a remote, the screen flickers to life. A news anchor’s grim face fills the screen, scenes of destruction playing behind her.
“...miraculous cessation of seismic activity,” the anchor is saying, her voice filled with barely contained relief. “Scientists are baffled by the sudden stop to what they’re calling ‘beehive tremors.’ While the city begins to rebuild, many are expressing gratitude for this unexpected reprieve...”
I stare at the screen, then back at Uriel. The anger drains out of me, replaced by a creeping sense of dread. “I don’t understand.”
His eyes meet mine, and for the first time, I see a flicker of uncertainty in their icy depths. It’s unsettling, seeing that crack in his usual unwavering confidence. “The quakes stopped approximately ten minutes after I brought you here,” he says slowly, as if the words pain him. “They haven’t resumed since.”
The implications of what he’s saying hit me like a ton of bricks. My knees suddenly feel weak, and I sink onto the edge of the bed. “You mean... us being together... it’s actually affecting the earthquakes?”
Uriel nods grimly. “It would appear so.”
“Oh,” I breathe, the word barely more than an exhale. My mind reels, trying to make sense of it all. The prophecy Azrael mentioned, the union between heaven and earth... it’s real. It’s happening. And somehow, impossibly, I’m at the center of it.
“Indeed,” Uriel says, and for once, he looks as lost as I feel.
We stare at each other in awkward silence, the weight of divine prophecy and global catastrophe hanging heavy between us. The enormity of it all threatens to crush me. I’m just a social worker, for God’s sake. How am I supposed to handle this?
A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat, and I clamp down on it hard. If I start laughing now, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop. Instead, I clear my throat, grasping for something, anything normal to cling to.
“So...” I say, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears. “Got any coffee in this earthquake-proof fortress of solitude?”
Uriel blinks, clearly thrown by the mundane request. Then, to my utter shock, the corner of his mouth twitches in what might almost be a smile. “I believe that can be arranged.”
As I follow him out of the room on quivering legs, I can’t shake the feeling that my life has irrevocably changed. The world I knew—with its simple problems and straightforward solutions—seems to have crumbled away, leaving... this. Whatever this is.
The hallway outside is just as opulent as the bedroom, all polished hardwood and tasteful artwork. Our footsteps echo in the silence, and I’m acutely aware of Uriel’s presence beside me. Not for the first time, I wonder what he really is beneath that human facade. How much power is contained in that perfectly tailored suit?
We descend a sweeping staircase that would look right at home in a period drama. The main floor of the house—mansion, really—is just as impressive. Soaring ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows that bring the forest inside, furniture that probably costs more than I’ll make in a lifetime.
“This place is... something else,” I murmur, unable to keep the awe from my voice.
Uriel glances at me, a hint of pride in his eyes. “It serves its purpose.”
We enter a kitchen that looks like it belongs in a magazine spread. All gleaming stainless steel and marble countertops. It’s beautiful, but also strangely sterile. Like it’s never actually been used to cook a meal.
Uriel moves with practiced efficiency, pulling out a sleek coffee maker that probably cost more than my car. The domestic normalcy of it all—an archangel making coffee—is so surreal that I have to stifle another burst of hysterical laughter.
“How do you take it?” he asks, his back to me as he measures out grounds.
“Black,” I reply. “Strong enough to raise the dead.”
He pauses, turning to give me an odd look. “That would be my brother Raphael’s department, actually.”
It takes me a second to realize he’s made a joke. An honest-to-God joke. From Uriel, of all people. I can’t help the startled laugh that escapes me.
“Right,” I say, shaking my head. “I keep forgetting you guys are actually... you know. Real.”
Uriel’s expression softens almost imperceptibly. “It’s a lot to take in, I imagine.”
“You could say that,” I mutter, sinking into one of the high-backed chairs at the kitchen island. “Yesterday—well, I guess two days ago now—my biggest worry was getting chewed out for bending hospital regulations. Now I’m apparently part of some divine prophecy to save the world. It’s... a lot.”
Uriel slides a steaming mug of coffee in front of me. “I understand,” he says quietly. “This isn’t easy for me either.”
I look up, surprised by the admission. For a moment, I see past the stern exterior to the turmoil beneath. He’s as thrown by all this as I am, I realize. The thought is oddly comforting.
We sip our coffee in silence for a while, each lost in our own thoughts. The rich aroma fills the air, grounding me in the moment. It’s good coffee, I have to admit.
“So,” I finally say, setting down my mug. “What happens now?”
Uriel’s brow furrows. “I’m not entirely sure,” he admits. “The prophecy is... vague on the details.”
“Of course it is,” I sigh. “Because that would be too easy, right?”
A ghost of a smile flits across his face. “Indeed.”
Another silence falls, less awkward this time. I take the opportunity to really look at Uriel, to try to reconcile the stern administrator I’ve butted heads with so many times with the celestial being I now know him to be.
He’s handsome, in a classic, almost severe way. High cheekbones, a strong jaw, those piercing blue eyes. But there’s something more, something I can’t quite put my finger on. A sense of otherness, of power carefully contained.
“You’re staring,” he says, not looking up from his coffee.
I feel heat rise to my cheeks. “Sorry. It’s just... weird. Seeing you like this. In your home, I mean.”
He meets my gaze then, and I’m struck by the intensity in his eyes. “Is it so hard to believe I have a life outside the hospital?”
“Kind of, yeah,” I admit. “I always pictured you, I don’t know, powering down in a closet at night or something.”
Uriel actually chuckles at that, the sound rich and warm. It transforms his whole face, softening the hard lines. For a moment, I catch a glimpse of what he might have been like before... before whatever made him so rigid and rule-bound.
“I assure you, Ms. Thornton, I am quite capable of existing outside a professional setting.”
“Emilia,” I say suddenly. At his questioning look, I elaborate. “If we’re going to be... whatever this is, you should probably call me Emilia.”
He considers this for a moment, then nods. “Very well... Emilia.”
The way he says my name sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. There’s a weight to it, like he’s bestowing something precious.
The moment stretches, charged with something I can’t quite name. Then Uriel clears his throat, breaking the spell.
“We should discuss our next steps,” he says, all business once more. “The earthquakes may have stopped for now, but I doubt our respite will last long.”
I nod, trying to focus on the task at hand and not the lingering warmth from the way he said my name. “Right. So, what do we know?”
Uriel’s expression turns grim. “The prophecy speaks of a union between heaven and earth to seal a breach and prevent Hell’s armies from invading this realm. But I refuse to accept that at face value.”
His jaw clenches, a determined glint in his eye. “There must be another way. Prophecies are often metaphorical, open to interpretation. I’ve been researching alternative methods while you were unconscious, exploring every possible loophole.”
I lean forward, intrigued. “What have you found?”
“There are mentions in ancient texts of rituals, powerful spells that might serve our purpose without resorting to... more personal measures.” He clears his throat, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “I believe with further study, we can find a solution that doesn’t require any sort of carnal union or marriage bond.”
The relief in his voice is tangible, and I feel an answering wave of my own. The idea of being cosmically bound to someone I’ve spent most of my time arguing with is... unsettling, to say the least.
“That’s... good,” I say cautiously. “But are you sure it’ll work? I mean, if the prophecy specifically calls for a union...”
Uriel’s eyes flash with that stubborn determination I’ve seen so many times at the hospital. “I am the Archangel of Chastity,” he says firmly. “I’ve upheld that vow for millennia. I won’t abandon it now, not even in the face of apocalypse. We will find another way.”
I nod slowly, trying to ignore the tiny part of me that feels... disappointed? No, that can’t be right. I push the confusing emotion aside, focusing on the task at hand.
“Okay,” I say. “So what’s our next move? How can I help with this research?”
Uriel seems to relax slightly at my willingness to cooperate. “I have an extensive library of occult texts. Many are in ancient languages, but I can translate as needed. Your perspective as a human might prove valuable in deciphering some of the more obscure passages.”
I can’t help but smile at that. “Look at us, working together without arguing. Maybe the apocalypse isn’t all bad.”
The corner of Uriel’s mouth twitches in that almost-smile. “Indeed. Though I wouldn’t go celebrating just yet. We have a long road ahead of us.”
I take a deep breath, trying to center myself when a thought occurs to me. “Wait, shouldn’t your siblings be helping with this? I mean, if the fate of the world is at stake...”
Uriel’s expression closes off so fast it’s like shutters slamming down. “That won’t be necessary,” he says stiffly. “We are more than capable of handling this ourselves.”
I raise an eyebrow at his sudden shift in demeanor. “Okay, touchy subject. Got it.” There’s clearly some family drama there.
“For now,” Uriel continues, ignoring my comment, “I believe our best course of action is to stay here and monitor the situation. If our... proximity is indeed affecting the seismic activity, it’s safest for everyone if we remain together.”
The thought of being cooped up here indefinitely, alone with Uriel, stirs a whirlwind of emotions within me—apprehension, certainly, but also a strange flutter of... anticipation? I push that feeling aside, focusing on practicalities.
“What about my job? My apartment? I can’t just disappear.”
“Already taken care of,” Uriel says smoothly. “I’ve arranged for an extended leave of absence from the hospital, citing medical reasons. As for your living situation, I took the liberty of having some of your belongings brought here.”
I blink, torn between gratitude and indignation. “You went into… my… apartment?”
“I sent someone,” he clarifies. “I assure you, your privacy was respected as much as possible given the circumstances.”
I want to argue, to rail against the high-handedness of it all. But I’m too exhausted, physically and emotionally, to summon the energy. Instead, I just nod.
“Fine,” I say. “But we’re going to need to set some ground rules if we’re going to be living together. And I want regular updates on what’s happening in the city. Just because we’re stuck here doesn’t mean I’m going to stop caring about the people who need help.”
Uriel studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. “Very well. I can agree to those terms. We’ll establish a set of guidelines for our... cohabitation, and I’ll ensure you receive regular reports on the city’s status.”
I feel some of the tension leave my shoulders. At least we’re on the same page about this much. “Thank you,” I say, meaning it.
“Now,” Uriel continues, rising from his seat, “you should eat something. I’ve arranged dinner.”
I want to argue that I’m not hungry, but my stomach betrays me with a growl. “I guess I could eat,” I concede. “But first, could you show me where my things are? I’d kill for a shower and some clean clothes.”
“Of course,” he says, gesturing for me to follow him. As we make our way back upstairs, I can’t help but wonder what I’ve gotten myself into. Living with an archangel, researching ancient prophecies, trying to prevent the apocalypse... it’s like something out of a bizarre dream.
But as I glance at Uriel’s profile, his jaw set with determination, I realize this is all too real. And whether I like it or not, we’re in this together now.
“Here we are,” Uriel says, opening a door to reveal a spacious guest room. I step inside, taking in the luxurious space.
“Your clothes and personal items have been organized in the closet,” he explains, moving to slide open a set of ornate wooden doors. I peek inside, surprised to find my belongings neatly arranged on hangers and shelves. It’s a bit unnerving how efficiently he’s integrated my life into his space.
“The en-suite bathroom is through there,” he points. “Take your time to freshen up. Dinner will be ready in an hour.”
I nod, suddenly feeling awkward. “Thanks, Uriel. For everything, I guess.”
He pauses at the door, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. “You’re welcome... Emilia. I’ll see you downstairs when you’re ready.”
As the door closes behind him, I sink onto the plush bed, the events of the day finally catching up to me. I run my hand over the soft duvet, marveling at the surreal turn my life has taken. An hour ago, I was panicking about being kidnapped. Now I’m preparing for dinner with an archangel while the fate of the world hangs in the balance.
With a deep breath, I push myself up. A hot shower and clean clothes sound like heaven right now. And who knows? Maybe after dinner, this will all start to make sense.
But as I step into the luxurious bathroom, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m only at the beginning of a very strange and potentially dangerous journey.