Chapter Six
Archer pressed his lips in a grim line as he adjusted the angle of the lamp, casting a focused beam onto Cassiel's injured side. He’d already swabbed the puncture wound with antiseptic and was readying to stitch her up. She watched him work with interest, and once again, Archer marveled how all the Slayers took their pain and suffering in stride, their main concern being to eradicate evil and protect humanity - not protect themselves.
He brushed the thought aside to focus on Cassiel’s injury. Another time, he could ruminate on his shame at how selfish he'd been his whole life.
“Man,”
she said, furrowing her brow. “That rebar in the alley got me good.”
She chuckled. “Good thing it wasn’t Raziel’s claw. Shit’s got hellfire poison. I would’ve needed Ezekiel’s light or probably wouldn’t make it.”
She jerked her head to the threshold of the room. “And he’s got his hands full with Darius.”
Archer remained focused on his task, but he had so many questions. Without looking up, he said, “Thanks for protecting us today.”
“Don’t get all teary-eyed, sweetheart. Our main concern was the relic.”
Despite their dire circumstances, the corner of his mouth tugged into a half-smile. “Fair enough. But you guys did an incredible job.”
“Ppph. You should see a full-on air-battle. Those are pretty sweet.”
Archer shook his head with a chuckle. He was immersed in a bizarre and remarkable world that he still wasn’t a hundred percent sure was real, yet he’d never felt so alive, so thrilled to be a part of something.
And maybe…
He gave himself a mental shake. Any thoughts of Ezekiel were dangerously distracting. He was still fighting the urge to jump the guy.
Cassiel flinched “Fuck! Easy there, Archer.”
“Sorry,”
Archer said, unsure if he was apologizing for the pain or being so mentally absent when Cassiel needed him present.
“Hey, you're doing great. I've had worse scrapes from shaving my legs.”
she joked, though the pallor of her skin suggested otherwise.
As he reached for another gauze pad, one of the other Slayers resting nearby let out a long groan as if he’d been holding it in for as long as he could, but the agony was too much. Next to him, a fellow Slayer had seemingly fallen unconscious. Archer couldn’t be sure, though. He didn’t dare leave Cassiel until he’d stitched her up.
The anxiety from having to handle all the gravely wounded gargoyles without so much as a nurse assisting was beginning to get to him. How did Ezekiel handle this by himself? What if Ezekiel hadn’t found him that morning, hadn’t brought him to the lair? Would all but one or two of the Slayers have died because Ezekiel didn’t have help?
He sucked in a sharp breath. The concept of fate was beginning to carry the ring of truth.
The frustration that had been simmering within him bubbled over and before he could form another thought, a light emanated from his palms, soft and warm, like the first rays of dawn. It wrapped around the wound, seeping into the torn flesh. His breath hitched, the world going silent save for the thrumming in his ears.
Cassiel's eyes widened, her jaw-dropping. “Holy shitballs, Archer. Your hands...”
“Are freaking glowing. This can’t be.”
Cassiel grinned wide. “Oh yes, it can, dude. About time you let your Nephilim freak fly.”
The light intensified, pulsing with the beat of his racing heart as the edges of the wound knit together right before their eyes. The room was awash with an otherworldly radiance, and for a brief, suspended moment, Archer felt connected to something grander—a force beyond the confines of his own skepticism. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the glowing light receded, leaving behind nothing but healed skin and his shattered doubt.
Archer couldn’t speak, barely able to process the magic that had flowed from his fingertips. He gaped at his hands as if they belonged to someone else, someone decidedly more mystical.
“Wow,”
said Cassiel. “Looks like Ezekiel got his wish.”
Archer blinked several times, then jerked up his head as her words sunk in. “Huh? What wish?”
“He’s been bitching to Michael that he needs help. Never shuts up about it.”
She prodded at her now healed side as she rose. “Not to mention feeling as if he was getting the short end of the stick in the fated mate department.”
Archer tensed. Was that a dig? “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She gave him a belly smack with the back of her hand. “Ease up, Mr. Delicate Sensibilities. I don’t know how much you’ve been filled in on from Ezekiel. But we have a minimum kill quota to meet before the Divine Spark gives us our mates. Zeke was complaining that because he’s the only available healer, he’s unable to go out and kick evil gargoyle ass.”
Archer didn’t know what to make of Cassiel’s words, but a pained moan yanked him back to reality.
“Shit,”
he mumbled, rushing to the Slayer’s side.
“Anything I can do to help, slick?”
asked Cassiel.
Archer let out a heavy sigh as he peeled back the remains of the Slayer’s shredded shirt. A series of deep cuts crisscrossed the gargoyle’s torso. A distinct warmth built in his core, slowly traveling up his frame and into his arms before beginning to glow at the tips of his fingers.
“I think I’ve got this.”
He glanced as he leaned over the hurt Slayer. “But can you do me a favor? Tell Ezekiel I could really use him in here once he’s finished with Darius.”
She patted him on the shoulder with a smile. “No problem.”
Battling his nerves as he worked on the gargoyle, he silently willed Ezekiel to his side. He had no idea if he’d ever be capable of doing whatever it was the Slayers did to communicate, but he gave it a try anyway - because he sure as hell had no idea what he was doing.
"Is this going to be a regular thing? Because I'm not sure my heart can take the surprise," Archer said, half-joking, trying to steady the tremor in his voice with a dash of levity. Inside, his mind scrambled to catch up with reality—or whatever version of reality now included impromptu light shows and instant healing.
* * * *
“Is this a bad time, or did I just walk into the grand finale of a magic show?”
Ezekiel couldn’t hold back a smile as he entered the infirmary, admiration filling him over how well his mate had done.
Archer glanced up, his wrinkled brow and the worry in his eyes tugging at Ezekiel’s heart.
"I—uh, yeah. You could say that,”
he said with a shaky voice. “Why didn’t you warn me this could happen?”
Ezekiel rested his hand on Archer’s shoulder as he leaned over to examine Baron, the Slayer he believed couldn’t be saved when they arrived at the lair. He’d sense the life force rapidly draining from him and determined that Darius was the next priority.
“You have a remarkable gift, dearest.”
His chest swelled with the pride he felt for Archer. “I didn’t know whether you’d manifest healing powers at all. I’ve never met a Nephilim who had that ability.”
Archer frowned. “Seriously? Do you think that’s why we were brought together so quickly?”
Ezekiel tilted his head in confusion. “Did Cassiel say something to you?”
Archer shrugged as he pulled a blanket over the sleeping Baron. “Yeah, but I grilled her.”
He snorted. “I was shocked as fuck when the light burst out of my hands.”
“I’m sorry, my angel. That must’ve been startling. I promise I would’ve said something had I known.”
They locked eyes, and the pull to kiss Archer was almost unbearable. To be locked in his arms, to touch and taste his mate - to fill him with his seed. Archer moved closer until they were less than a few inches from each other. He lowered his eyes, rubbing their noses together. The gesture was unexpectedly soft and gentle from the growly man he’d first encountered that morning. They’d been through an excruciating day, and Archer had to be drained.
“Come on, let’s grab a room so we can get some rest.”
Ezekiel wrapped his arms around Archer’s waist, their foreheads pressed together. “Let me take care of you tonight.”
Archer pulled back, holding Ezekiel’s gaze. “Take care of me the way I want?”
Ezekiel paused, not sure what the best course of action would be. When he went to Archer’s home that morning, nothing could’ve prepared him for what meeting his Fated One would entail. Archer didn’t seem to be in the throes of an agonizing heat, which was probably related to the energy he’d drained from the healing. In many ways, it was for the best. Not only because it gave Archer a chance to adjust to his new circumstances, but Malachi’s admonishment still rang in Ezekiel’s mind. He had to reveal to Archer what would eventually happen.
“Follow me.”
Ezekiel laced their fingers together. “We’ll find a room, relax, grab a bite to eat. I could use a shower, too.”
Archer nodded, allowing himself to be led out of the room. “I could use one, too. And I’m definitely ready for something to eat.”
He squeezed Ezekiel’s hand. “When we get to the room, I need to confess something to you I didn’t think was possible.”
“Oh yeah? I can’t wait.”
Ezekiel headed to his favorite guest suite in the Boston lair. He doubted it was already occupied. With Michael, Malachi, and the other forces leaving for Mt. Shasta, plus the remaining Slayers in the infirmary, that only left Darius and Cassiel. This was their home base, so their quarters would be in the section at the opposite end of the long hall.
They reached the door, and Ezekiel gave it a light tap before entering. Archer froze once they crossed the threshold.
“Damn,”
he breathed. “What a magnificent room. The artwork…”
his gaze darted around the suite. “These woven tapestries, so medieval. It's like stepping into another world from a different era,”
Archer murmured, his eyes wide as he took in the opulent surroundings. He wandered throughout, pausing to run his fingers along the intricately carved mahogany bedpost of the luxurious four-poster bed. “This embroidered satin duvet. Remarkable. Such detail with the fleur de lis and…griffins?”
He peered up at Ezekiel. “Should I ask?”
“Another time,”
Ezekiel smiled. “I still have a lot of other things to tell you first.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “And I believe you had a confession to make?”
Archer sank onto a side chair covered in a rich, forest green velvet. “I think I need that shower and some food first. Exhaustion is finally taken over.”
He yawned. “I’ve been up for almost thirty-six hours.”
Ezekiel sucked in a sharp breath. Already he was failing at caring and providing for his precious mate. “Let me run a bath for you, angel. You relax while I get us something to eat.”
Archer shook his head. “That’s all right. I can just jump in the shower.”
Ezekiel pressed his lips together. “No. I insist.”
He made his way toward the ensuite bathroom. “You stay there, and I’ll get it ready.”
Archer sighed. “That’s ridiculous. I’ll help you,”
he said as he pushed up from the chair.
Ezekiel rushed forward, placing his hands on Archer’s shoulders and encouraging him to sit down. He didn’t face much resistance.
My poor angel.
“Don’t argue,”
chided Ezekiel. “I’ve waited centuries for a mate to care for. Don’t rob me of this moment.”
Archer lifted his eyes. “Centuries?”
He scrubbed his face with both hands. “Yeah. Absorbing all this info is going to take a minute. Griffins can wait.”
Ezekiel chuckled, kissing the top of Archer’s head. “That’s my good boy.”
“Boy? Ha! I don’t think so.”
But Ezekiel didn’t miss the quirk of a smile from his less growly mate. “I’m not much of a cook, but I can scrounge up some smoked meats, there’s never a shortage of that. Probably some cheese and bread, too.”
Archer closed his eyes, his head lolling to the side a bit as he relaxed against the velvet chair back. “Mmm… Sounds great.”
Ezekiel couldn’t resist pressing his lips to the top of Archer’s head one more time. “I’ll be right back, dearest,”
he whispered.
As he made his way down the corridor to the kitchen, his body seemed lighter than it had in a while. Finally, after a seemingly endless amount of time, he felt as if his life had truly begun. He only hoped that Archer would feel the same after he learned of his role in their pairing.