Chapter 4
For the next few weeks, every time Atlas turned around, he ran into either Raziel or Conquest—usually both since they were attached at the hip. If their goal was to drive him insane, it was working.
Raziel was sweet and charming and so full of life and inquisitiveness. He reminded Atlas of Matty and his bright optimism. He had a smile and a kind word for everything. The amount of Demon blood he spilled didn’t detract from that air of innocence he carried so well.
And Conquest… the less Atlas thought of him, the better. He was arrogant, so fucking bossy and so fucking big . That shouldn’t do it for Atlas. He didn’t like being told what to do. He didn’t like feeling so out of control, and that was all they did to him. Whatever attraction he had to them—whether it was because they were both dangerous as fuck, or because they were inhumanly attractive in such different ways—needed to die.
Conquest was an asshole, not sexy . And Raziel was completely off-limits because he was taken, by Conquest. They were a striking couple and not for Atlas . Maybe if he repeated that sixty times a day for a century, it might sink in.
Waking up to Raziel staring down at him where he was sleeping on the bottom bunk of the bed he’d crashed in a few hours ago didn’t help.
“ Jesus , Raz,” Atlas sputtered, sitting up and smacking his head on the top bunk. He cursed and rubbed the sore spot. These beds were not made with comfort in mind at the best of times. His dog tags had twisted in his sleep, and he righted them so the chain wasn’t choking him.
“Is this where you live?” Raziel asked curiously.
Atlas stifled a yawn and slipped out of the bed, the floor cold underneath his bare feet. “No.”
He looked up when Raziel didn’t respond and caught him staring at his side. “What is it?”
“You have—” Raziel reached out to touch the ink covering Atlas’s left side. A collection of clocks and a banner with words he’d had on him for years. He pulled back at the last second, without touching.
Atlas wanted to grab his hand and put it on his skin so he could feel its warmth and know what it felt like to have Raziel touch him.
“I haven’t seen it before,” Raziel said, visibly swallowing. Atlas couldn’t look away from his throat and all the places he wanted to lick. For fuck’s sake, he needed an intervention. And for them to stay out of his space long enough for him to get over this stupid infatuation.
“You haven’t woken me up before.” There had never been a reason for Atlas to be shirtless in front of him or Conquest. And it’s not like he went around lifting his top so everyone could see his tattoo. That would be weird even for him.
Raziel’s gaze swept down his body, to his bare legs—when Atlas had gone to bed wearing nothing but his briefs and tags, he hadn’t expected it to result in being ogled. No one ever woke him, because he never slept long enough for it to be an issue. He was running on fumes at this point.
Raziel cleared his throat and took a small step back, giving Atlas some breathing room that he both did and didn’t want.
“Why do you sleep here if it’s not where you live?” Raziel asked, picking up their earlier conversation.
Atlas’s dog tags clinked and rubbed together as he pulled a shirt from his bag and slipped it over his head. When he tugged it down, he caught Raziel staring again. He swallowed as a flush ran over him, and then he awkwardly pulled it the rest of the way down, smoothing it out. He left his tags resting under it, the metal warm from his body heat.
What was the question? “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the city’s been overrun by monsters that are intent on killing every last human on Earth. I don’t want to attempt sleeping somewhere unprotected. I’d like to think that I’m not that stupid.” Debatable, at times, but in this he knew that going outside of the base to sleep was the worst idea in a string of bad ideas. He hadn’t been home since all this had started. Had his apartment been destroyed? What was left of it? His belongings, his clothes, all the things that were personal. Nothing compared to the people he’d lost.
His parents were gone. He should have been more upset by that. Maybe it hadn’t sunk in properly yet. Matty was still gone. Time passed, and he still wasn’t coming back. It wasn’t just Atlas. So many personnel had lost loved ones. Immediate family, friends. The majority of the population was just… gone.
Not seeing his apartment again was low on the list of priorities.
“That’s why you’re always in uniform,” Raziel said, studying him. “Because your clothes aren’t here?”
Atlas checked the flight pants he’d taken off and left at the end of the bed, sniffed them, and then tossed them back. He’d drop them off at the laundry on his way through. The second pair in a duffel bag underneath the bunk were cleaner. He shrugged them on, acutely aware that Raziel was still staring , and he just hoped the Angel didn’t notice that certain parts of Atlas’s anatomy were taking notice.
“Yeah,” he said in response to Raziel’s question. “That, and they offer protection civilian clothes don’t.” But mostly, it was the not having them here thing. It wasn’t just Atlas; no one could go home. When they could, they’d been sending people out to places that were close to their homes and making stops for people to gather what they needed. Space was limited, and they were ordered to only grab the essentials. It was getting cramped with all three of the armed forces in the one space, not to mention all the civilians they were bringing back every day, but they were making do. Every extra person they saved was worth the discomfort. And they were saving fewer and fewer, with some days yielding no results.
Atlas saw Matty in every new person that came through the front gates. He’d given his life to save the innocent, and Atlas knew he would make the same decision every time, regardless of the outcome. It’s who he’d been. And who Atlas honored. He couldn’t let his death be in vain, to have it mean nothing.
“Where do you live?” Raziel asked curiously.
“It’s too early for twenty questions, Raziel,” Atlas grumbled. “What did you even wake me fo—” A large explosion rocked the building, the walls and floor shaking like thunder. Atlas unbalanced from the sudden movement. He instantly reached for the closest thing to hold onto, which happened to be Raziel, and they went down together in a tangle of limbs.
Atlas couldn’t look away from Raziel’s unnaturally blue eyes. His tags rested on Raziel’s throat, in the hollow, and he could see them rise and fall as his heart rate picked up.
“Because of that,” Raziel said quietly. “They’ve been throwing exploding projectiles at the base for about… two hours now.”
The words were like a cold splash of water over Atlas’s face. “Two hours ?” he exclaimed. “Why didn’t anyone wake me?” How had he slept through that? Had someone left Landry or Leon in charge? Fuck, he hoped not. The only person with the same rank as him, Captain Stanva, was coordinating a different platoon of soldiers on the other side of the city, so it couldn’t be him.
“Conquest said not to disturb you.”
Of fucking course he had. “And everyone just listened to him?” Conquest wasn’t in charge. Maybe Raziel followed his orders, but Atlas—and the rest of the men he commanded—didn’t. He wasn’t military, and he didn’t get to make the calls. If their base was being attacked, someone should have woken him when it had first begun.
“Yes?” Raziel said it like it hadn’t occurred to him that anyone wouldn’t listen to his lover. Maybe he was the big boss where they came from, but here he wasn’t. And he didn’t get to fling orders around and expect to be instantly obeyed. “Are you hurt?”
Was he hurt? “What? No?” Why would he be hurt?
“Well, you’re… um…” Raziel trailed off. He wriggled his body, and Atlas almost swallowed his tongue when certain parts of their anatomy rubbed together. “Are we staying down here?”
Fucking hell, the feel of Raziel beneath him was too good, and he needed to get up. Right now. Up. Go.
Raziel licked his lips, and Atlas was mesmerized. He had pretty lips. Lips that Conquest had kissed. Atlas bet he’d done other things with them too. What did they feel like? What did Conquest’s feel like?
He wasn’t going insane; he was already there.
He went to get up—and tell his body to calm the fuck down—when another explosion rang out. This time it must have hit the building they were in, plaster cracking above them and showering them with dust. Atlas shifted, covering Raziel completely and shielding him from the random falling debris.
Raziel absently traced the chain of Atlas’s tags, running it through his fingers and sliding it along Atlas’s throat. As if that wasn’t torture enough, he simultaneously tugged a dangling thread on Atlas’s T-shirt, twirling it, brushing against Atlas’s skin on every twist. Atlas couldn’t hide his full body shudder, the want in him like a physical ache. Raziel froze, staring with wide eyes. Did he not know how he affected Atlas? A cruel irony that there was barely anyone left in the world, and Atlas had somehow still managed to find the two most unattainable and lust after them. Good fucking job.
He scrambled to his feet. The shaking hadn’t quite subsided, but he found his footing okay and anchored himself. “Did they get inside?” Were their soldiers battling out there while he was sleeping like a lazy asshole? Conquest was getting punched in his ridiculously handsome face. Twice. Maybe even three times if Atlas felt like two wasn’t enough.
“No, they haven’t. They can’t get through Famine’s protections.”
“They’re hitting buildings.” How did that not constitute getting inside ?
“With projectiles. The protections aren’t… they’re for physical Beings, right? Not… fire.”
Not fire. Fucking fantastic.
Raziel stood more slowly than Atlas and dusted himself off. The outfit he wore—a replica of the same kind of armor that Conquest himself wore—was cleaner than yesterday. How many sets did he own? Were they suddenly living in a Simpsons episode, where everyone just always wore the same thing? Groundhog Day. But worse. There were no do-overs here. Those that died didn’t come back the next day.
“Have they evacuated the targeted buildings?” Atlas asked. He snatched up his watch, his flight cap, and his phone, shoving them all into his pocket. He had no clue where his wallet was. What did it matter? ID and money were useless right now. His phone was mostly useless now, too, but habit more than anything had him keeping it near him. He’d worry about the rest when he needed to. When they made it through this.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“They’ve been secured, and it’s safer for them to stay where they are. Since it’s random, moving targets are easier to hit.”
Atlas vehemently disagreed with that logic. He slid his handgun and combat knife out from under his pillow and strapped them on his waist and thigh. The last thing he grabbed was the automatic rifle resting against the bunk. No one went anywhere anymore without a weapon in reach. Multiple if possible. It was a hard rule that Atlas had laid down from the start. One he expected everyone to obey. There was never warning when an attack started, and everyone needed to be prepared to fight at a moment’s notice.
Once he was ready, he unsteadily wound his way around the bunk beds and headed for the door, catching himself a few times on the metal poles. “Which buildings are they targeting?” he asked. He should have asked that first.
“All of them.”
Raziel said it so casually it took Atlas’s brain a moment to repeat and comprehend. They didn’t think that was cause for concern? Conquest didn’t think that was worth waking him up for?
He stopped abruptly, and Raziel ran into his back, hands resting on his hips. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.
They were like brands on his skin without even touching his skin. The lightest indent he was sure he would feel forever. The only glimpse of just how soft Raziel was, in all ways.
“ All of them?” he repeated, pulling himself back to the conversation and away from his traitorous mind.
“I’m not sure it’s deliberate; I think they’re kind of just flinging stuff and hoping it might hit something?” Raziel said.
Sometimes it was the stupidest strategies that were the most effective. They were definitely hitting stuff. It was like a real-life version of Battleship, guessing random locations and hoping you sank the opponent’s ships.
Atlas opened the front door of the barracks and gestured for Raziel to go ahead of him. If it was because he wanted Raziel to brush up against him, that was his business. It was all he’d ever get. He’d rather not give Conquest an excuse to rip his head from his body. As if he needed one.
There was a jeep parked next to the building, and he fucking hoped they’d left the keys in it. Yes. Good. He turned around, and Raziel was heading in the opposite direction, his six black wings spread wide. Fuck, they were beautiful, glinting in the sun, so dark they were almost blue. The dark green tips only enhanced the magic of them. He’d seen other Angels’ wings, and nothing compared to the six that Raziel wore so well.
“How do you get your wings out?”
“It’s funny that you should ask. Conquest tried to teach me at first, and it didn’t go so well. It was War who showed me how to do it. And now it’s just second nature. I think it, and it happens.”
A nonanswer. And he was still moving away from Atlas.
“Where are you going?”
Raziel paused and twirled around. How he managed to keep those wings upright, Atlas had no idea. They were bigger than he was. “Oh, are we going in that?” he asked, coming back and standing on his toes so he could peer into the jeep.
“I can’t fly,” Atlas responded. “Are we supposed to walk all that way?” Not an option, considering that they were in a hurry. There was a perfectly serviceable vehicle, and they were going to use it.
His lips parted in shock, mouth going dry, as a giant flaming ball of fire flew overhead, hitting the barracks he’d been standing in not two minutes ago. Where he’d been sleeping not five minutes ago. It lost the battle and crumpled under the force, flames flickering high and smoke rising.
“What the fuck ?” When Raziel had said projectiles, Atlas thought he meant like rockets or something. Not tank -size fireballs. How were they supposed to fight that? He needed to get back to their main building of operations and work out a plan of attack. He should never have taken a moment to get some rest.
Some of that blame could still squarely go on Conquest’s shoulders. He had no right to make that decision for Atlas.
Raziel peered inside and then hiked himself up and crawled into the driver’s seat before moving across to the passenger seat. His pert ass in the air all but begged to be touched and caressed and goddamn fucking worshipped .
Atlas had done something horrible in a past life to deserve this. Maybe even in this life—it wasn’t like he was a saint. Because Raziel had a perfect ass, and Atlas shouldn’t be looking, but it was right in front of him, and what the fuck was he supposed to do? Not look? Impossible.
“Where’d you get the armor from?” he asked to distract himself as he slid into the vacated seat. He slammed the door shut and turned the ignition.
“Conquest had it made it for me.”
That explained why it shaped his ass like a glove. Probably an excuse to behead anyone who dared look at it. It was the perfect lure. When some poor idiot—like himself—got caught looking, then bam , no more head.
“Do you like it?” Raziel asked. “I think it suits me. And blood doesn’t stick to it.”
That was… specific criteria. Considering the amount of blood they’d all spilled over the last few weeks, maybe not that dumb an idea, though. Atlas wished his own uniform didn’t soak it up quite so badly.
Raziel watched him expectedly, and Atlas realized he hadn’t answered the question.
“Uh, yeah, it’s nice.” Understatement. Atlas wasn’t touching this with a ten-foot pole, because all he wanted to do was strip it off him and see what was underneath. And he wasn’t ever going to utter those words out loud. Conquest would probably hear it no matter where in the world either of them were.
He whirled the jeep out of the parking lot, exceeding the on-base speed limit as he took off down the road. He didn’t think any MPs were going to come up behind him and give him a ticket.
On the way to their destination, another fireball went over their heads. This time it was headed for— “Fuck!” Atlas cursed. The tires squealed as he did a sharp U-turn.
Raziel squeaked and held on. “What are you doing?”
“That was headed for the building where we keep the civilians. Since someone decided not to move them, then we need to get there.”
“Conquest and Famine are handling it.” Raziel frowned. He twisted in his seat, getting up on his knees and peering behind them.
“Excuse me if I don’t find that as comforting as you do.” He wasn’t about to trust the safety of people under his care to some vague notion of protection. Conquest was hardly the poster child for it, and he didn’t know enough about Famine to be sure. And he wasn’t risking anyone for a “maybe.”
The building was still standing, at least, even if it looked a little worse for wear. As he got closer, he noticed a glimmer of something around it, acting like a barrier to the flames attempting to consume it.
Atlas stopped the car with a jerk, glad he hadn’t bothered putting a seat belt on, or he would have choked himself. He almost forgot to put it in Park before jumping out. “Is this what you mean by protection?” he asked, jogging toward the entrance.
“I guess so?”
Atlas frowned. “You don’t know?” He’d sworn by the protections that Famine had erected and didn’t even know how they worked? That was next-level trust, the kind that Atlas would never have even if he lived a thousand lives.
“I’m still learning too,” Raziel said defensively. “A lot of this is new to me. I was isolated in Heaven. Most everything I’ve learned has been after I met Con.”
In Heaven . Atlas had so many questions, about Raziel specifically, about the places they all came from. Religion consumed so much of the world, but it wasn’t something that Atlas had ever particularly dwelled on. He had bigger things to worry about. And even so, nothing he was learning about their world matched up with the church’s rhetoric.
Demons had come from Hell and were now roaming the earth. Angels swept down from Heaven and did next to nothing to help the wounded or the dying. And in the middle of whatever battle was going on, humanity sat as fodder. Atlas wasn’t convinced that this Angel, and the fucking Horsemen of the Apocalypse —the two of them he’d met anyway—were really here to help them, no matter what they said. He had no choice but to let them play their games. The humans were the weakest link, no matter how hard Atlas fought.
Demonic figures came around the corner of the building, and suddenly Raziel was in front of Atlas, his six wings spread wide enough that it blocked his view.
“Seriously—Raz, c’mon, I can’t see,” Atlas huffed, shifting to the side so he could peek over the end curve of the wings. There were five of them, and they looked similar to others he’d seen. Some as black as the night sky, others blood red, and the worst ones of all: the ones that looked human and were anything but. Tails, fangs, claws as long as Atlas’s forearm, and horns sticking out from their heads, some atop, others at the back, and others around their ears. There was no rhyme or reason to their appearance as if they were all individually handcrafted with whatever leftover parts their maker had.
“Well, well, well,” the biggest of the five drawled. “Look what we have here. Fresh meat .”
Atlas rolled his eyes. How original.
“This area is protected by the Horsemen,” Raziel said, a light waver in his voice. “You aren’t welcome here.”
Atlas stepped closer, putting a hand between Raziel’s wings, along his spine. The feathers were so fucking soft, and so was his skin. He remembered how they had felt when he’d been looking for the claw wedged underneath. Warm, soft, delicate. He’d wanted to run his tongue underneath, see what it tasted like, the sounds Raziel would make if he touched him so intimately.
More fantasies for his sleepless dreams.
The Demon looked around with a smirk that made Atlas want to punch him. Conquest looked arrogantly handsome when he did that. This idiot just looked like a tool. “I don’t see any of them here, do I?” He pointed at Raziel. “Just you. And I know who you are. Conquest laid claim to you.”
Atlas checked the magazine in his rifle. A habit more than anything. He knew it was full. It was like checking a bank account before shopping. Not because he was worried he didn’t have enough, just confirmation that everything was fine.
“Why don’t you come with me, and I can show you a real lover.”
Atlas snorted. Seriously? As if any of them could compete with someone like Conquest. Atlas didn’t have firsthand knowledge—the dirty dreams that plagued him absolutely did not count—but he couldn’t imagine the big guy being anything less than phenomenal.
“No, thanks,” Raziel said. “You can leave, or you can die. Be thankful I’m giving you a choice.”
He had to have learned that from Conquest or was trying to emulate him. It was a nice attempt, and the rough harshness to his tone got his point across. And made Atlas’s heart skip a beat. It shouldn’t have tightened his gut, or made him want to put his hands all over the small Angel, but here he was.
Atlas hadn’t known Raziel long. Roughly a month, give or take a few days—time flowed differently now that every day bled into the next, survival the only thought. What he did know was that he wasn’t quick to anger, had a smile for every situation, and his backbone was stronger than it seemed. And every time he brought it out, it upset Atlas’s balance, dragging him further down the black hole of need that he couldn’t seem to find a way out of.
He would die by Conquest’s hands, he was sure, when he realized the extent that Atlas wanted his Angel. Wanted him . Atlas would never betray them by giving in to the need, but the fact that it existed at all would be enough.
“You think those wings make you strong? I know where you came from, the pathetic waste of space you were. You’re weak. And I’m going to rip those wings off while you scream. That’s Conquest’s favorite pastime, did you know? The way he abuses wings is legendary. I’ll do you a favor and let you be the entertainment for the night.”
Raziel wavered, leaning back against Atlas’s hands. That was enough of this bullshit.
“Why don’t you crawl back into whatever hole you came out of and fuck off?” he snarled, shifting to stand in front of Raziel. Conquest wasn’t here, so it was up to Atlas to keep Raziel safe. No one had a right to put their hands on him with the purpose of harming him. Atlas would kill every motherfucker that thought they could.
The Demon sneered, and the other four laughed. “What the fuck do you think you’re gonna do about it, human ?”
Atlas had his blade out, throwing it before any of them could move. It landed perfectly in the center of the Demon’s forehead, buried to the handle. It flung him backward to land with a heavy thud on the concrete.
It wasn’t going to keep him down; killing these assholes was like trying to push over one of those roly-poly toys. With enough determination it could be done, but it was a pain in the ass. That’s why he also had a gun and boots that could deal serious damage with the right amount of force.
“You want him?” Atlas snarled. “You have to come through me.”
Raziel’s wings fluttered at Atlas’s words, his heart doing the same thing. He wasn’t the strongest Immortal in existence—far from it—but he was still stronger than any human alive. If anyone should be protecting anyone, he should be the one protecting Atlas.
One of the Demons laughed and then came straight at them, the long sharp claws on his hands lengthening. They would cut right through Atlas if they hit their target. His uniform would do nothing to help him.
Raziel spanned his wings and slid around Atlas at the same time that he flung acidic poison from his hands. It splashed across the Demon’s face, and then he let out a horrifying scream as his skin melted. Not enough to stop him but enough for Raziel to tackle him to the ground and slam his hands over his face. He tightened his thighs to stop the Demon from bucking him off and stayed still until his entire head was nothing but a hollowed-out, melted husk, and he was still underneath him.
He breathed heavily, nausea swirling in his gut as he stood, legs shaking. What he wouldn’t have given for a Gift like Archangel Michael’s, one full of life and something good . Not this curse. The ability to turn something into this disgusting mess.
The four remaining Demons stared in horror, and it only made the churning in Raziel’s stomach worse. He was a monster. And it was the only way he could continue to protect the people he cared about.
“Who’s next?” he asked, trying his best to keep the emotions out of his tone. They didn’t need to know about his turmoil or the guilt that threatened to break him.
Unfortunately, they all came at him at once, which had not been part of his plans. He panicked and stumbled backward, falling against Atlas. A hand steadied him, pressing right between his wings.
“Stay behind me,” Atlas ordered, pushing Raziel back and firing at the nearest Demon, staggering it.
“You can’t handle them on your own,” Raziel protested. Could he throw acid? Doubtful. “ You stay behind me .”
Atlas gave him a look. Raziel scrunched up his face and then pushed himself up and off the ground, using his wings for momentum. Most of his existence, people had looked at him exactly like that. Like he was weak. Like he couldn’t protect himself. Conquest had been the first to look at him like he was more than that, pushed him to be better than that. Protected him without the bubble-coated layer that stopped him from growing and learning his own strength.
Raziel landed next to the body of the first Demon, the biggest one, who currently had Atlas’s knife in his face. The twitching of his body didn’t bode well. He would wake up soon if Raziel didn’t do anything, and he didn’t want to face one this size head-on. Raziel yanked the knife out and stabbed into the heart with it. That should slow it down further and give Raziel time to figure out the next part. Head removal. Conquest was better at this part.
He narrowly avoided the slashing claws of a different Demon, leaping out of the way as they aimed for his wings. He cut it across the chest with the tips of them in retaliation, coating the wounds in acid as he went. How dare they try to cut up his wings like confetti?
Atlas wasn’t having any trouble with his own two Demons. He’d switched to another knife—how many was he carrying on him?—and stabbed it right into the hollow of a throat while side-kicking the other in the chest, pushing it out of his space and giving himself room to breathe.
He moved so fluidly between the two despite the huge strength difference between him and them that it was pure poetry. He reminded Raziel of some of the majestic battle paintings he’d seen in some of the museums that Conquest had taken him to. A warrior among mortal men.
The breathtaking fluidity and grace of his movements mesmerized Raziel. So different from Conquest—who was beautiful in his brutality and knew how to use his sheer size to his advantage—and yet, equally compelling.
A twinge of guilt sat heavily in Raziel’s gut as he admired the way that Atlas so effortlessly dispatched his enemies. He shouldn’t be looking at him like this. He couldn’t look away.
Something heavy and painful smacked against his side, and Raziel yelled, tumbling into the dirt. He winced, struggling to get up against the burning agony spreading across him. He palmed the spot where it hurt the most, and his hand came away wet with blood.
Any attempt to conjure his acidic poison failed as the Demon who had injured him loomed over him. Terror stripped him of everything, the throbbing pain at his side only making it worse. Hands reached for him, and he scrambled to find something, anything, to use to fend him off. The thick panic in his throat made it hard for him to breathe. His vision spun in and out, dizziness swamping him.
Atlas appeared behind the Demon and then slashed its throat in one swift motion, spraying Raziel with blood. The past collided with the future, images of Conquest crushing a skull and coating him with thick red. Both to save him. Both because he couldn’t save himself.
“I said,” Atlas hissed, stabbing its throat, “you have to come through me.” He flung the Demon away like a rag doll and dropped to his feet at Raziel’s side. “Where did it get you? Raziel. Raziel, sweetheart, look at me.”
Hands cradled his face, and all the fuzziness faded the moment he met Atlas’s blue eyes, worry shading them. He had beautiful eyes. A similar color to Raziel’s own but somehow so much more. Bracketed by thick, dark eyelashes, they were an endless sea of the clearest blue, a morning fog promising a day of sunshine and warmth. The emotion in them was overwhelming, like Atlas didn’t know how to be anything but one hundred percent on all the time. His Angel-born status had never been more obvious than right now.
He’d saved Raziel. Had fought Demons for him, even when he was outnumbered, and the odds were against him.
“Where are you— fuck .”
Raziel blinked slowly. Where was he what? He winced when fingers poked at his side. The wound would have healed, but the tenderness would remain a while.
“Damn, it’s already healing,” Atlas said in low wonder. “How the fuck do you do that?”
“Just—happens,” Raziel said, unsure how to explain. All Immortals healed this way, though at varying levels of skill. Raziel was faster than he used to be but nowhere near the Horsemen’s speed.
“Are you okay?” Atlas asked, leaning even closer. Raziel could smell the sweat and hints of something… vanilla, maybe? Sweet, like his favorite desserts. “Does it still hurt?”
Did what still hurt? Atlas had two dark beauty spots on his right cheek. Raziel wanted to touch them. Were they smooth or bumpy? What did they taste like?
Raziel reached up for them, and Atlas caught his hand. “What are you doing?”
“I’m hungry.” For what, he didn’t know. Things he shouldn’t be. Maybe he’d hit his head on the way down.
Atlas’s brows drew in. “What? Can you get hungry? I’ve never seen you eat.” He examined Raziel’s wound. “It’s completely healed. That’s incredible. Imagine the world if life-threatening injuries like that could just… close themselves?”
“The things you have to trade for it aren’t worth it,” Raziel murmured.
No. That wasn’t completely true. Raziel had no memories of his human life. Abaddon had taken those with him when he’d died. They were gone. Whoever Abaddon had been, whoever he’d been as a human and as a Demon, it was all lost, and with him, any hope for Raziel to learn more about himself. The first hundred years of his life as an Angel had been miserable and if asked back then, he would have agreed that it wasn’t worth it.
But now? With his wings, and with Conquest, he had everything he could have ever dreamed of. He would never be alone again. And that was worth a hundred years of loneliness to get there.
“Yeah, immortality seems like such a drag,” Atlas said with dripping sarcasm.
“Be careful what you wish for.” There were good things about it. There were also very bad things as well. They healed quickly out of necessity, which said a lot about what they dealt with on their side of the garden. An Archangel that was supposed to protect had slit Raziel’s throat and torn out Conquest’s heart, and Lucifer and his Demons wanted to steal him back for a reason that Raziel didn’t fully understand.
Conquest and Famine were adamant that Lucifer—who Conquest called Diablo, for reasons Raziel also didn’t understand—hadn’t done all this just for him. It also had to do with Famine’s connection to him. A futile effort, looking for rationalism in the King of Hell. Maybe he’d just finally gone over the edge, taken that last step to complete insanity.
Raziel had read about it happening to Archangels that existed too long. Though Archangels Raphael, Uriel, and Zadkiel had been around a long time, and they seemed of sane mind? Being terrifying, and for some of them, cruel, didn’t make them crazy.
“Can you stand?” Atlas asked.
Raziel nodded resolutely. “I think so.” He was fully healed now, and the only thing left was shock. Atlas touching him helped with that.
“ Raziel !”
The booming voice rid Raziel of the last of his unease, love like a blanket wrapping around his heart. He held tight to Atlas as he twisted, looking for where it had come from.
There.
Conquest strode toward them, eyes thunderous, a magnificent sight in full armor, with his cape flowing behind him.
Raziel smiled, tension leaving him in an instant. His warrior. His everything. They would be okay now.
Conquest lifted him to his feet in a single tug, plucking him from Atlas’s arms and into his own. Raziel leaned heavily against his chest, tucking his wings under the familiar weight of his arms. Thick fingers threaded through his hair, massaging the back of his head, sending pleasant tingles across his skin.
“You should have called for me,” Conquest said gruffly. “Where were you hurt?”
“I… didn’t think to,” he mumbled into Conquest’s armor. The thought hadn’t occurred to him; he was too busy focusing on Atlas. Protecting him. Being protected by him. “Atlas saved my life.”
Conquest’s caress faltered, arms tightening. “Did he?”
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Atlas asked indignantly. “Was I supposed to leave him to die?”
“A Demon would have a hard time killing him these days,” Conquest said. “He would have found a way to survive because he’s stronger than he thinks he is. But you? Putting yourself in the firing line only ensures that you’re going to get yourself killed.”
“Are you pissed at me because I didn’t just sit back and let him die? You know what? Fuck you! I’ve got better things to do than deal with your bullshit.”
Raziel attempted to squirm out of Conquest’s grasp, but he held strong, and Raziel had no hope of getting out of it or turning to see Atlas’s face. He bet it had gone all red, like it often did when they were around, more so when Conquest opened his mouth. His Horseman had a way of riling up even the most stoic person. His arrogance poked holes in other people’s vulnerabilities, and they generally didn’t respond well. Atlas certainly didn’t.
“The Capitol Building,” Famine said, somewhere to Raziel’s left.
“Will you let me go?” Raziel huffed. He wanted to see . He hadn’t even known Famine was there. Was Paul with him? He wiggled again, to no avail. Conquest was doing this on purpose. Had to be.
“What about it?” Atlas asked. Was he crossing his arms? Raziel bet he was.
“It’s one of the most fortified areas in the city,” Famine answered easily. “And it’s old.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Older buildings are easier to manipulate. I can weave protections into it with minimal effort. Paul, please.”
Raziel shoved away from Conquest, pushing himself up so he could look over Conquest’s shoulder, just in time to see Paul half dangling over Famine’s head, his front legs finding purchase on Famine’s chest. Famine held his giant butt to stop him from face-planting into the ground below.
Atlas shuddered and took a healthy step backward, almost tripping over a Demon body. He glanced at it with a scowl.
“He won’t hurt you,” Raziel reassured him. His initial reaction to the giant spider had been much the same. Something about spiders hit that visceral-fear button inside almost everyone. Maybe it was the legs, or the fangs, or… Raziel had no idea. Any number of things. It didn’t take long for that impression to go away; Paul was sweet, and kind, and inquisitive, and his goal in life seemed to be to get as many cuddles as he could from every person he met.
Paul leapt off Famine, pushing him back from the force. He landed solidly in front of Raziel, eight eyes blinking up at him. Almost as though he’d heard Raziel’s thoughts and wanted one of those aforementioned cuddles. Raziel scratched him gently until he found the spot that—there. One of Paul’s back legs kicked, like Raziel had hit a nerve. Paul made a small sound and relaxed into it, blissed out.
“Fucking hell, it’s like a dog,” Atlas exclaimed. “That’s not normal. What even is that?”
“He’s harmless,” was all Famine said. A lie; Raziel had seen him in battle, and he did his fair share of damage. He was harmless to the right people, not to everyone.
They all watched as Paul sniffed at one of the Demons and then pounced, wrapping it up as he turned it, covering it in webbing.
Atlas grimaced. “Is he gonna eat that? That’s fucking disgusting!”
Famine smiled lightly. “He needs to eat too. Be careful how many insults you direct his way. I may take offense soon, and you won’t like what happens then.”
Raziel nodded sagely. Famine was scarier than Conquest. He just hid it better.
“Whatever, I don’t care. Let the thing eat whatever it wants. What about the Capitol Building?” Atlas asked. “It was a tomb, last I looked. Everyone inside was slaughtered. They decimated over half of our political influence in one swoop. They took out the president, the vice president, the joint chiefs of staff, secretary of defense—basically anyone who could remotely coordinate efforts—in one attack.”
Raziel plopped himself down on the ground and gathered Paul into his arms, scooping him up into his wings. Paul vibrated with happiness, circled a few times, and then settled into a ball. He rubbed his head against Raziel’s soft wings, closed his eyes, and fell into an immediate slumber.
“It’s empty now.”
Atlas’s lips curled up in disgust. “Empty? Where are the bodies?”
“It’s best not to think about it. The point is that it’s contained, and I can put protections on it that will keep people inside safe. In turn, it means that you can stop spreading your forces so thin.”
Atlas bristled. “I’m doing the fucking best that I can.”
“Pull your claws back in,” Conquest said, goading in his tone, like he wanted Atlas to do the opposite. “He didn’t say that you weren’t. It doesn’t change the fact that it’s not good enough. You’re fighting a losing battle, and the sooner you accept that, the easier it will be.”
“Fuck off.”
“Demons versus mortals is not a fight. They’re playing with you. It’s impressive you’ve held out this long, but once they decide their game is over, you don’t stand a chance. Famine and me? We’re the only reason they’ve slowed down their efforts, and that won’t save you forever.”
Atlas stepped up to him, craning his neck up, braced and ready for a fight. When they were like this, intensity like electricity sparking between them, their size difference didn’t seem to matter. Raziel couldn’t look away from the stunning picture they presented.
“We’re stronger than you think,” Atlas said through clenched teeth. “If we have to, we’ll win this fight without you.”
The way that Conquest looked Atlas up and down made a shiver run through Raziel. It was visceral, like a physical touch, and Raziel felt it all the way to his bones.
“No, you won’t. And if you’re stubborn about it, you’ll die sooner. If Famine says that building is your best bet, then that’s where we’re taking them.” He grasped Atlas’s chin, lifting him high enough that Atlas had to rise onto his toes and span his hands across Conquest’s chest so he didn’t unbalance. “Or we can slaughter them all now. I’m not opposed to either idea.”
Atlas spat in his face, and Raziel sucked in a breath.
Even the air was still as silence descended on them as if the whole world had stopped, waiting for what Conquest would do next.
“Now, that wasn’t very nice,” Conquest rumbled, voice deep and guttural. Angry and something else. “For the insult, I could kill you now and help the Demons kill the rest of you. Eagerly.”
Atlas’s jaw worked, lips twisted in a snarl, clearly doing his best to hold back what he really wanted to say. Raziel nervously bit his own lip. Please don’t kill him. He knew that any pleading he could make on Atlas’s behalf would fall on deaf ears. He’d signed his own death warrant, and Conquest would decide his fate regardless of Raziel’s feelings on the matter.
Conquest swiped the spit from his cheek with his thumb. “I believe this is yours,” he said, forcing Atlas’s jaw open with the hand still holding his chin and then sticking his thumb into the opening. “Lick it clean, or I’ll rip out your throat and watch as you choke to death on your own blood.”
Raziel swallowed hard, fluttering in his stomach and heat invading his senses as Atlas did, cheeks hollowing out as he sucked. Atlas didn’t look away from Conquest, defiance in every tense line of his body. When he bit down on the digit, Conquest smirked, leaving it there for a long moment before pulling it out. He wiped the saliva across Atlas’s cheek and then let him go.
“You do that again, and I’ll make sure it hurts before you die.” Conquest all but threw him away and turned to face his brother, dismissing him.
Atlas clenched his hands into fists at his side, lips flat and trembling, cheeks flushed and his chest heaving.
“It would be better if War were here, but we have to do the best with what we have,” Famine mused casually as though none of that exchange had occurred. Except it had, and it would be imprinted on Raziel’s brain forever. Had Atlas’s tongue flicked against Conquest’s thumb?
“Why?” Atlas asked hoarsely, struggling to compose himself.
“He’s a master strategist. He would know better how to navigate this mess,” Conquest said.
“So where the fuck is he?”
“An excellent question,” Famine said. He bent and gathered Paul into his arms and out of Raziel’s lap. “Thank you for holding him.” He absently stroked Paul’s head. “We’re looking for him. He took off with someone, and we haven’t been able to pinpoint where he went. I fear something bad has happened to them both.”
Raziel’s wings felt cold where Paul had been resting. It would have been nice to have some quality snuggling time that wasn’t interrupted by doom and gloom and death and sad things.
“I fucking hope something bad has happened to that piece of shit,” Conquest said angrily.
“War?” Atlas asked. “Isn’t he like… your brother or something? Why are you looking for him if you hate him?”
“He’s talking about an Archangel,” Raziel said quietly. He’d thought a lot about Uriel since everything had happened. Anger was part of it, along with a whole other host of complicated feelings for the betrayal that had almost cost him everything. He couldn’t give out the wish of death lightly, and even after everything, he didn’t wish it on Uriel. The Archangel was part of the balance. An important piece.
Atlas looked between them. “I don’t think I want to know. Let’s just get the civilians moved before more of your friends come and crash the party.”
“They’re not our friends,” Raziel said, standing and dusting himself off. “Can Demons be friends?” he wondered aloud. The only ones he’d encountered were horrible, inside and out. Did they have the emotional capacity to be a friend?
“Some of them,” Famine said. “They can even love.”
“Their version of love,” Conquest said darkly. “Don’t go there, Famine.”
Famine smiled sadly. Was he thinking about Lucifer? How could someone love the literal embodiment of all evil? What did he see when he looked at the King of Hell? Something that no one else did? There was a kind of beauty in that. To see past it all to the person at the core and to love all of them anyway.
Raziel squinted at Conquest. Did he see things in his Horseman that no one else did? Conquest was arrogant, haughty, and cruel when the situation called for it. He was callous, brusque, and never took anyone else’s feelings into account. He was also thoughtful, romantic, and when he loved, he loved deeply.
Maybe Raziel could understand Famine, just a little bit.
Conquest caught him looking and raised a thick eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Raziel?”
Raziel pulled his wings back in, smiled, and placed his small hand in Conquest’s much larger one. Conquest squeezed gently.