Chapter 27 #2
The next morning, I woke to the sound of a blood pressure cuff inflating on Papa’s arm and the low, steady voice of Doc muttering numbers under his breath.
Sunlight blazed through the bedroom windows, painting stripes over the mess of blankets and pillows across the bed.
Oscar sat sentry at the headboard, his fur slicked and neat as if he’d spent the entire night prepping for a royal visit.
The grimoire—my mother’s, and now mine—rested on the nightstand, its battered clasp glinting in the sunlight.
Papa looked almost normal. His neck was wrapped in a loose bandage, and his hand found mine the second he spotted me awake. The mate bond purred and hummed between us, not as electric as it had been after the blast, but settled, warm, alive.
Doc finished with the cuff and made a note on his phone. “You’ll live,” he said, one eyebrow raised at the two of us. “But you need to rest for a couple days. No heavy lifting, no moonlight strolls, no…” he made a vague gesture that I knew meant sex “…vigorous exercise.”
Papa managed a wry grin. “Can we define ‘vigorous’ for science?”
Doc shook his head, grinning. “For your age? You can probably walk to the mailbox by tomorrow. Just listen to your body, and if anything feels weird; like, supernatural weird, call me.”
I glanced at his hand. The knuckles were raw, stained with pink from scrubbing off Papa’s blood. His nails were chewed down to the quick, and his collarbone was tight as a bowstring. Doc was not made for house calls, or for being around archangels. Speaking of—
Archon stood in the bedroom doorway, arms folded behind his back, watching the sunrise as if he’d personally set the lightbulb to “stun” this morning.
Even in faded jeans and a t-shirt, he looked regal; like an emperor slumming it in suburbia.
He radiated presence, and I could feel Oscar’s hackles spike every time he so much as moved.
Doc packed up his bag, then made for the door with the hurried energy of a man who’d rather lance boils than make small talk with an angel king.
Archon turned and nodded to him, a gesture that held so much dignity it almost made Doc bow.
Instead, he froze halfway, then did an awkward two-fingered salute and vanished into the Texas morning.
Papa let out a snort. “He’ll need therapy for a year.”
I squeezed his hand. “You’re the one who almost bled out, Papa.”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “But you’re the one who saved the world. And me.”
That brought the memories back, flooding my skin with goosebumps: the heat in my chest, the fire in my hands, the sight of the Wyrdmother shattering like a mirror dropped off the roof. I wanted to shrink away from it, but the memory didn’t let me. I wasn’t afraid, not really. Just—changed.
Archon’s voice cut through the hush, softer than velvet but sharp enough to slice. “Aspen, if you’re up to it, we should talk.”
I expected him to sound formal, all thunder and commandments. But he didn’t. He sounded like a dad who’d never figured out how to be a dad, which made my heart twist even more.
I licked my lips. “Can Papa join? I don’t want to have to repeat everything to him later. He’ll just make me tell it, anyway.”
Archon’s smile flickered. “Of course. In fact, I’d prefer it.”
Papa and I made our way to the living room and got comfortable on the couch, and I placed the grimoire on the end table.
Archon strode to the kitchen and poured himself a mug of coffee, just, you know, like archangels do, and came back to the couch, perching on the edge of the ottoman like it was a throne.
He fixed his golden gaze on me, then on the grimoire, then back to me.
The air in the room prickled with something that felt holy and dangerous and more than a little like home.
I waited for him to start, but he let the silence stretch, watching the dust motes swirl in the sunlight.
Finally, he said, “Your mother was the most wonderful woman I ever knew.”
My breath caught. He’d never said her name. Not once, even at the wedding.
Archon saw it. He nodded, like he understood exactly what I was thinking.
“I met Laurel at a council in Geneva twenty-seven years ago. She was already the strongest elemental witch in her coven, and she argued like she was born to it. But she was kind, too. Gentle, in ways that surprised everyone. Including me.” He looked down into his coffee, the faintest frown at the surface.
“We weren’t supposed to fall in love. That’s…
forbidden, for angels. But we did. And then, you happened. ”
Papa squeezed my hand. Oscar let out a long, low whistle.
Archon’s eyes were far away. “She didn’t tell me she was pregnant.
She cut all contact. I thought it was just too much having to be secretive with everything.
So, I stayed away.” He shrugged, a celestial gesture that somehow still looked sad.
“Your mother was very good at hiding. I never knew you existed until last night.”
I stared at the floor. “She never told me, either. Not even at the end. She just said my father was ‘other’.”
“She was protecting you,” Archon said. “If the angelic host had known, you’d have been a target. From all sides. So she hid you. Hid your power, too, as best she could.” His gaze flicked to the grimoire. “But she left a way for you to find it. For you to find yourself.”
I felt tears burning behind my eyes, but I forced them down. “So I’m a… what? Witch-angel hybrid?”
He gave a single, small nod. “That’s as close as any language can get. You are unique. The first and only of your kind, as far as I know.”
Papa gave a low whistle. “Damn, Sunshine. No pressure.”
I punched his thigh, laughing through the sting of tears. “No kidding. I just wanted to bake cakes and pay my bills.”
Archon actually smiled at that. “You’re allowed to want simple things. Even the most powerful beings crave peace. But you must also know that word of this will eventually spread, likely has already. And in the event that the Council calls for an accounting, I will be there by your side.”
Papa spoke up. “If the Council should call for an accounting, you should know that Maltraz was involved in this.”
I looked at Papa surprised.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Sunshine. But the symbol that green-jacketed man left was a demonic tracking sigil. Wrecker figured it out. By the time he did, you’d already been confronted by the crazy lady. I didn’t see a point in adding to your stress.”
Archon didn’t look surprised. “This is not a shocking revelation. Those who seek power are predictable. Maltraz can usually be counted among the top on that list. I’m sure the Wyrdmother promised him something.
She was certain she’d get the book and would have the power to destroy all who stood against her.
It could have been how she got the demon king to do her bidding. ”
I looked at Papa. “I’m not happy that you kept this from me. But I understand. Let’s just not make it a habit, please.”
He kissed my forehead. “I promise.”
I thought about the blast, the feel of raw magic in my bones, and looked at my father. “I’ve honestly just discovered my magic. I’d always been a dud magically and have certainly never done anything like that before. Should I be worried? That seemed pretty dangerous.”
His gaze sharpened. “It was. Immeasurably so. Your power is not only magic, but the force of creation itself. You must be careful when you use it. Control will come, but for now, do not call it unless there is no other choice. The backlash could be… catastrophic. For you, for those around you. But,” he reached out, taking my hand with a gentleness that shocked me, “you are not alone. You have Papa. You have Oscar. You have your pack. And if you wish, you have me.”
Oscar coughed, looking at the ceiling. “I will do my utmost, Miss. But I must admit, I am entirely out of my depth.”
Archon grinned. “That’s true for most of us, Oscar.”
I tried to absorb it all. The room felt too small, the coffee too bitter, my skin too thin. I looked at Papa, who smiled like he’d always known I was something special.
“I’ll be honest, the prospect of having a living parent in my life is really appealing.
I always thought my father wasn’t in my life because he had chosen to be absent.
That does a number on a person. I always thought there must be something wrong with me if one of the people who helped make me didn’t want to have anything to do with me.
” I hated how pathetic I sounded. I also hated that I was freaking crying again.
I was almost 26 years old, for Pete’s sake.
Archon took both of my hands in his.
“Aspen. I promise you, had I known of your existence, I don’t care what the consequences might have been, I’d have been in your life. I’d have been the best father I could have been, and you’d have known that I loved and wanted you.”
“That means so much to hear you say that.” I told him through my tears. “So, what happens now?”
Archon sipped his coffee. “Now you live. You heal. You learn to wield your power, but you do it on your terms. I will help you if you let me. The Creator knows all about you. He has forgiven me and has blessed me with being your protector. I will stand behind you always. But your path is yours, and no one else’s.
” He stood towering above us even in the little living room.
I stood with him. He reached out, brushed a thumb along my cheek.
It felt like starlight and forgiveness. “I am proud of you, daughter. You are more than I could have dreamed.”
“Dad? Can I call you that?” I asked him awkwardly.
“Of course, child. I love the sound of that.”
“How do I get in touch with you if I need you?”
He picked up my phone and handed it to me.
“Just search under Dad and shoot me a message. That’s the quickest way.
But I’m also connected to both of you. I can sense when you’re in trouble as well.
I’m never far. Now, I think you and Jonas likely need some time alone to process the events of the past several hours, so I’ll take my leave.
But remember, you can contact me anytime. ”
With that, he turned, left his coffee half-finished, and walked out the door. A moment later, I heard the whir of wings, and he was gone.
It took a long time for my brain to reboot. I curled up next to Papa, Oscar perched at my feet, the grimoire heavy and alive on the table.
“You okay, Sunshine?” Papa asked, voice softer than a summer night.
“Not even a little,” I answered. “But I think I might be someday.”
He pulled me onto his chest, careful of the bandage at his throat. “You’re going to be amazing. Hell, you already are.”
I wanted to believe it. I really did.
I let my fingers trace his scars, then his lips, then the line of his jaw. Every inch of him felt like home.
“Thank you for not dying,” I said.
He laughed, the sound vibrating through both of us. “Thank you for saving my life. Again.”
Oscar cleared his throat. “If I may, Miss—I believe you are owed several cake orders, and perhaps a nap.”
I snorted. “You always know just what to say, Oscar.”
Papa rolled us both off the couch, and we ended up tangled on the rug, laughing like fools. It felt good. It felt like a beginning.
I looked at the grimoire, then at my mate, then at the prairie dog who’d stood by me through hell and high water.
“I think we’re going to be okay,” I said. And for the first time in my life, I meant it.
Because if I’d learned anything from angels, witches, and wolves, it’s that you don’t have to be just one thing to belong. You just have to love with all your weird, wild heart.
And I did.