Chapter Three
Ezekiel tried not to stare at Archer as they made their way down the sidewalk. Over the many centuries of waiting, he’d refused to fantasize about what his mate would look like. His appearance wasn’t important. But the tall, ruggedly handsome man with a full head of wavy brown hair and piercing green eyes would’ve called to him regardless of them being fated.
Archer claimed the coffee shop was nearby and it would be quicker than trying to find a parking spot. He glanced at Archer again and got a side-eye and smirk for his trouble.
This was the man he now knew was his mate. Such a fantastic turn of events. But was Archer a man? He had to be Nephilim, or else they couldn’t be fated. Yet, Archer was adamant that he didn’t believe in anything of a supernatural nature.
While staring at his fated one was truly tempting, they were better served if he remained vigilant of their surroundings. Despite how reckless the shadow gargoyles had been lately, they rarely attacked in public, and never during the day.
Regardless, Ezekiel kept his senses on high alert. If shadow gargoyles were in the vicinity, he’d feel their presence. He understood why Archer needed to process everything that was happening, and he was proud that his mate possessed such a strong character. But if ever time was crucial, it was now. The rogues knew the relic was nearby and they’d already tortured to get more info. Perhaps Ronen unwittingly confessed something when he was at their mercy.
“Here we are.”
Archer opened the door and gestured for Ezekiel to go ahead.
Ezekiel smiled. “Thanks. But after you.”
He swept his hand toward the interior of the busy, bright and modern coffeehouse. With a scowl, Archer stepped inside with Ezekiel close on his heels. Once they ordered, he chose a small tiled table with two uncomfortable wrought iron chairs as far from the crowd as feasible. He scraped the ornate chair closer to Archer so he could keep their conversation private. Otherwise, he’d be yelling to be heard above the noisy echo of chatter.
To his surprise, Archer didn’t recoil from him the way he’d been doing so far. Instead, he seemed to welcome Ezekiel’s closeness. But no sooner had the thought left him, Archer cleared his throat and angled his body away from Ezekiel, his eyes darting around as he took a sip of his coffee.
Ezekiel sighed, admonishing himself for getting hurt by Archer’s unspoken rejection. Maybe Archer wasn’t entirely human, but he was clearly unaware of his angelic heritage, and probably still thought Ezekiel was a lunatic.
“I’m sorry this is happening to you.”
Ezekiel almost laid his hand on Archer’s but stopped himself in time. Was Archer even gay? That could be awkward. He cleared his throat before continuing. “If I could spare you this anguish, I would.”
Archer cocked his head. “You have an unusual manner of speaking.”
Ezekiel raised his eyebrows. He didn’t get out much, particularly not in the last century when his healing powers had been needed the most, but no one had ever commented on the way he spoke before.
“How do you mean?”
Archer rubbed his chin then took another sip of coffee before setting down his cup. “Hmm. I suppose the best way to describe it would be as if I was reading something from Pride and Prejudice.”
“The romantic tale by Jane Austen?”
Archer pinked and averted his gaze. “You know what I mean. As if you just stepped out of an episode of Bridgerton.”
Ezekiel drew his eyebrows together. “I don’t think I’m familiar with that one.”
Archer regarded him as if he were under a microscope. “You know, the more I’m around you, the more I find myself believing your goofy story.”
Ezekiel huffed. “Please. I concede that this must be overwhelming for you, but I would hardly describe what happened at your home goofy.”
Archer frowned and let out a small growl. “There’s something we can both agree on.”
He took another big swallow of his coffee then swept the cup aside. “Enough of this chit-chat. Tell me what the hell we’re supposed to do next? Obviously, we go to the bank, and we see what this supposed relic is. But then what? Take it to the authorities?”
Ezekiel didn’t want to get frustrated with his mate, but his nerves were truly being tested. “As I explained earlier, that’s the last thing we can do. We need to get the relic, but we can’t rush in if we’re being watched. We could be ambushed right after we have the relic in our possession.”
Archer straightened, whipping his head around the room. “Do you think someone followed us?”
Ezekiel placed a reassuring hand on Archer's arm before he could stop himself, the jolt of electricity at the contact stealing his breath. He quickly pulled back at Archer’s startled expression. “No, I don't sense any immediate danger. But we must remain cautious.”
Archer nodded, his jaw slack. “I…”
He blinked several times then straightened again, rolling his shoulders as if trying to wake himself up. “Right. So what's the plan then? We can't just sit here all day.”
“We need to formulate a strategy, and a colleague is nearby who we’ll meet with soon.”
Ezekiel hesitated to use Uriel’s name yet. Archer didn’t need more ammunition to doubt what was happening. “The shadow gargoyles are ruthless and cunning. You saw what they did to your home. They’re equally ruthless when it comes to getting what they want from someone.”
Archer ran a hand through his hair. “This is insane. I must reiterate that I'm a surgeon, not some... supernatural treasure hunter.”
Ezekiel's heart ached over his mate's distress. “I understand this is difficult to accept, but you're more than a treasure hunter to me.”
Archer narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean by that? You keep acting as if I’m someone special to you.”
He snorted. “Which is even more ridiculous than this holy relic nonsense.”
Exekiel’s chest tightened, his heart hurting for his mate. “Why should someone finding you special be so impossible? I imagine you possess many fine qualities. The fact that you’re a healer says so much about your character.”
“I…that’s not…”
Archer frowned before glancing away, then shifted his position on the unforgiving metal of the chair. Ezekiel knew how he felt. The coffee shop really didn’t want their customers lingering.
Ezekiel took a chance and clasped Archer’s fingers, but Archer yanked his hand away. “I’m sorry, Archer. It’s only that I can feel your anguish, and I wish I could comfort you.”
“Stop it,”
Archer gritted through his teeth. “I don’t know what your agenda with me is, and I don’t care. Forget I mentioned it.”
He pressed his back to the chair and crossed his arms. “Let’s get on with it. If we can’t go to the safety deposit box because we might be followed, and we can’t sit here and rot, then what do you suggest? I want to move on with my life.”
He groaned. “I can’t wait to see how much the house repairs are going to be.”
As agitated as Archer was, Ezekiel didn’t think it was wise to remind Archer that he would never be going back.
“Is there anything else you can tell me about your patient? Perhaps there’s a clue as to what the relic might be.”
“I’ve got a clue what it might be.”
Archer smirked. “Unlock the safety deposit box and look inside.”
Ezekiel pressed his lips together. Archer wasn’t the only one who was getting agitated.
“Getting the artifact isn’t the issue, Archer, you know that.”
He sighed. His mate was going to be a real challenge. “The Slayers who ran off the demons at your home will be in touch soon, will let me know it’s time to meet up with our colleague. That’s when we make our next move.”
Archer dropped his head in his hands. “This is ridiculous. I’m exhausted, stressed out, and pretty pissed off about everything right now. I just want this over with.”
“Try not to worry. I sent a message to the area team before we left the house. They’ll let us know when it’s safe to meet up.”
Archer fell back in his chair with a sigh. “Terrific,”
he mumbled. “Fine. Then as long as we’re stuck here, why don’t you fill me in on more details.”
He leaned forward, folding his hands on the table, and fixed his gaze on Ezekiel’s. “And don’t sugarcoat. Give me all the details, or else I’m taking my chances with the cops.”
Ezekiel’s gut tightened. Archer was as good as dead if he followed through on his threat. “Okay. I’ll tell you everything. But please, I beg you. Don’t get the authorities involved. Your life truly is in danger.”
Archer narrowed his eyes. “I’ll make that decision once I’ve heard your story.”
Ezekiel sucked in a breath. Here goes everything. “Our connection runs deeper than me making sure the relic is found and kept safe. As I explained, I’m part of a network of slayers—ancient gargoyles who the Archangel Michael has appointed to save the holy relics the rogue demons and shadow gargoyles seek. If they collect enough of them, the world will plunge into darkness, and humanity will be destroyed. I wasn’t expecting this to happen, but…”
Ezekiel squirmed in his chair—and not because of the hard metal surface. “Well, I recognize you as my Fated One, the one who I will spend eternity with as my mate.”
Archer blinked several times, his jaw going slack as he gaped at Ezekiel. He snapped his mouth shut then shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. “Yeah. I’m out.”
Archer jumped from his chair, the metal legs scraping on the wood floor. Several customers whirled their heads around, undoubtedly hoping for a good scene. Ezekiel needed to get them out of there fast before someone decided to record them and post it on social media.
Ezekiel sprang up, reaching for Archer's arm. "Wait, please—”
But Archer was already striding toward the exit, his shoulders tense and fists clenched at his sides. Ezekiel hurried after him, weaving through the maze of tables and curious onlookers. As they burst out onto the sidewalk, the crisp Boston air hit him, carrying the faint scent of the harbor.
“Archer, stop!”
Ezekiel called, his voice tinged with desperation. “I know it sounds insane, but—"
Archer whirled around, his eyes blazing. "Insane? That's putting it mildly. Gargoyles, demons, fated mates? I can’t believe I almost bought into your crazy story. I'm a man of science, for God's sake!"
Ezekiel stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I understand your skepticism, truly. But think about what happened at your house. You saw it with your own eyes. How do you explain that?"
Archer froze, scrubbing his face with one hand before bowing his head. “I can’t, dammit. And I truly don’t want to believe a damn thing you’re saying.”
He lifted his gaze, and Ezekiel noted the pain in his eyes. Ezekiel took a chance and laid a hand on his shoulder in comfort. Almost immediately, Archer yanked his arm away, but paused, his eyes wide. “Why the fuck does that keep happening every time you touch me?"
“It’s the connection between us,”
Ezekiel said softly, aware of the curious stares around them. “I know it sounds incredible, but you must feel it too.”
Archer ran a hand through his hair, his expression a mix of confusion and frustration. “I don't know what I feel. This is all too much.”
“I understand,”
Ezekiel said, taking a cautious step closer. “But I implore you to hear me out. I’m serious about your life being in danger, whether you believe in the supernatural or not.”
“What am I supposed to do with that information, huh? You’re asking me to accept that everything I’ve ever believed to be true about my existence is wrong.”
He threw his hands in the air. “Does that mean my old life is over? That I can no longer work as a surgeon, live in my home, or…”
His brow wrinkled. “Do other things.”
Ezekiel tilted his head. “You mean be with your family and friends?”
That was the biggest aspect of their situation that Ezekiel was worried about. If he were in Archer’s position and no longer had the support of his fellow slayers, or even the snarky Michael, he’d be devastated. They all might bicker and let the snark fly, but that didn’t mean they didn’t care about or love each other. They were a team, and it must be an awful thing for Archer to contemplate leaving his world behind.
Archer’s jaw ticked, his eyes darting around. “It’s kind of chilly out here.”
His tone had definitely softened. “We don’t dare return to the coffee shop, but maybe we can find somewhere else to warm up.”
Archer was holding something back, although Ezekiel sensed that his defenses were finally coming down. He was much less growly than he’d been.
Ezekiel nodded. “I apologize. I forget how humans are more susceptible to cold than we are. Although, since you’re most likely a…”
Oops. “I mean…”
Archer glared at him. “What aren’t you telling me?”
He balled his fists. “You promised not to hold anything back! This isn’t a great way to build trust, you know?”
Ezekiel’s stomach did a flip. That one small statement meant that Archer was considering a relationship on some level. Even if it wasn’t the one they were meant to share, there was now the possibility of something.
“I know, you’re right,”
said Ezekiel. “Part of my hesitation is that I’m not sure yet.”
Archer frowned. “Not sure of what exactly?”
“Well…”
Ezekiel shifted from foot to foot. “Shadow Slayers aren’t destined to mate with any type of human.”
He arched his eyebrows. “I take it that these gargoyles, of which you’re one, are the Shadow Slayers?”
“Correct. And the only fated mates that the Divine Spark has chosen for us are Nephilim.”
Archer snorted. “What the hell is that?”
“Half human, half angel.”
Archer stared at Ezekiel for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he burst out laughing, the sound tinged with hysteria. “Oh, that's rich. First, I'm supposed to believe in gargoyles and demons, and now you're telling me I'm half angel? I can hardly wait to hear what’s next.”
Ezekiel winced, understanding the absurdity of it all from Archer’s perspective. “I know it's a lot to take in—"
“A lot?”
He interrupted, his laughter dying abruptly. “Try impossible. I'm just... me. A regular guy who happens to be good at surgery. There's nothing angelic about that.”
He huffed. “My ridiculously expensive education is the culprit when it comes to any expert abilities I might possess.”
Ezekiel took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “Your skill as a healer might not be as ordinary as you think. And there are other signs—the way you reacted when I touched you, right? I saw how startled you were.”
He arched his eyebrows. “When you say you don’t believe in the supernatural, what does that mean exactly? You’re telling me you’ve never experienced anything? Not a premonition, deja vu, a flash of something you couldn’t explain. Nothing?”
Archer took a step back from Ezekiel, as if the words he’d used held a physical power. He shook his head a bit too frantically, rubbing his wrist as he glanced away.
“I prefer everything to be logical and ordered,”
said Archer in a biting tone. “Chaos and uncertainty have no business in my life, and I refuse to allow this nonsense you’re spouting to disrupt my world.”
Ezekiel chuckled before he could stop himself. He was rewarded with an icy glare from Archer. “I’m sorry, Archer. I’m not mocking you. But what you describe is impossible. No one’s existence is perfect. Surprises, abrupt change, disappointments—that’s true for everyone.”
Ezekiel smiled. “Supernatural or not.”
“Look.”
Archer licked his top lip. “I doubt you’d understand. But I grew up in the foster care system, and I swore I’d never let my world be such a mess again. I was bounced around from here to there, no one would commit to me for some reason, and the homes were typically overcrowded. I formed zero attachments, there was never a chance for me to get settled.”
He looked away. “I still don’t understand why other kids stayed when I was kicked out. I don’t remember causing any problems. I don’t know why…”
His breath hitched then he shook his head again. “God, I have no idea why I’m telling you any of this. I never talk about it anymore.”
He shrugged. “What’s the point? It happened when I was a kid. Means nothing now.”
Ezekiel’s heart broke for his mate. If only he could hold him, comfort him. “Of course it means something. All your experiences shaped who you are today.”
Ezekiel rubbed his forehead. “Perhaps there were moments from your childhood, events you’ve tucked away, that indicate your true identity. Maybe that’s why your foster families never bonded with you. Do you know anything about your real parents, your history?”
“Not a damn thing,”
Archer growled. “I was one of those special cases, loved so much I was dumped at a fire station. No one knew who the fuck I was, not even my real name.”
Archer regarded Ezekiel with a scowl. “Archer was what my first family called me, and their last name was Blackwood. So that’s what went on my updated birth certificate. Basically, it’s all bullshit. I’m not really me.”
He barked out a derisive laugh. “So sure, whatever. I can be your Fated One, your little angel.”
He jabbed a finger at Ezekiel. “But let’s get this shit over with so I can go back to my old make-believe existence or start a new one if everything’s been destroyed as you claim.”
He crossed his arms, anger blazing from his eyes. Ezekiel hated the way his mate had been treated, despised how Archer was cast aside. He’d never let that happen to him again. With that in mind, he laid a hand on Archer’s arm, battling the urge to feel hurt when Archer flinched.
He has to feel the connection.
“I won’t hurt you, Archer. And I’ll never allow anyone else to, either.”
They locked eyes, Archer not backing away from their shared gaze. “Sure, Slayer. Whatever you say.”