Epilogue
One Month Later
T he deep loamy soil beneath Rhode’s boots had begun to finally soften as winter took its slow and final march out of the area. He couldn’t say he was sad to see it go. The plans he’d been kicking around were somewhat seasonally dependent, which was why their current trip to Aurora’s Landscaping and Garden Supply Center had been pushed off by a few weeks.
The visit, when he’d suggested it to Neela, had been met with the same amount of exuberance if he’d just told her he’d scored tickets to New York Comic Con, complete with celebrity meet and greets. Plump cheeks, achingly gorgeous smile, strong legs bouncing from toe to toe, and the flush dappling her alabaster skin that he mentally challenged himself to recreate on other parts of her later. Neela’s joy had been a balm to his thawing soul, and when opening day arrived for the town’s plant mecca, her vehicle was the first one in the parking lot.
“Ooh, what do you think of these?” Neela snatched up one of three small earthen pots that held another mound of soil with a green stem shooting out of it.
Rhode leaned forward and squinted at the thing. “What is it?”
“Orange butterfly milkweed. I’m thinking of making a butterfly garden for the monarch butterflies. Did you know that the eastern monarch butterfly population is in the shitter? Down fifty-nine percent in central Mexico due to habitat loss. If I could build out even a small patch of garden that’ll attract them, maybe they’ll call it home this summer and it’ll help grow their local numbers a tad. I know we’re not in Mexico, but every little bit helps, right?”
The fact that this woman had not only researched declining butterfly populations in parts of North America where she did not live but enacted a plan to save them regardless was enough to make him consider tattooing her name across his heart just so he’d always be able to guard her eternal kindness.
Rhode leaned over Neela’s shoulder, picked up two more of those pots that looked identical to all the other pots but what the hell did he know, and put them in their shopping cart. The sign above the planters offered up a variety of Monarch Munchies , according to the pastel chalked floral script, but he’d have to take their word for it.
Neela rose up on her toes and kissed the edge of his jaw. “I love you.” Then she bent down to a lower shelf he hadn’t seen and put several more pots in the cart. “We’re also getting the grayleaf goldenrod and the smooth blue aster. The aster won’t start blooming until August, while the others start in June, but it’ll last a bit longer into October. Between all the plants, that should give the butterflies most of the summer and fall seasons to enjoy themselves.” Then her eyes drifted around his shoulder and took on a liquid sheen. “Oh my God, they have winterberry shrubs! Those will be perfect for the soggier land near the property’s creek. And they’re partial shade fiends, too, so it should work out great!”
Rhode aimed the cart toward whatever bush thing would be coming home with them next and knew he didn’t have to look any further to know he’d made the right decision.
While the apartment Neela had originally chosen was certainly a wonderful place for her, the fact that she wouldn’t have any land to work, grow, and fill with all the living things she had yet to care for made his heart physically hurt. And while Cerberus would have been the perfect apartment dog, contrary to popular belief owing to his size, it just wasn’t fair to either of them. The dimensions of the cage didn’t matter as long as someone else owned it. So when he’d floated the idea to her about buying a plot of land and building out their own space instead, he’d barely had time to catch her before she lofted herself into his arms and tackled him to the bed in squealing glee.
The weeks had been somewhat of a whirlwind after that, what with him recruiting the other sentinels to help him scout out the perfect property, buy it for pennies on the dollar—because who the hell wanted to buy frozen, undeveloped, and partially forested land in the middle of a New England winter?—and start getting some architectural and utility sketches mapped out. It’d still be many months before they could officially break ground on the project, but that didn’t stop Neela from taking care of the flora along the property’s perimeter. She called it her therapy, and her happiness was his everything.
Surprisingly, Iron had been the most helpful, especially when it came to scouting out the ideal location. Unfortunately, his help also came with a boatload of frustrated grunts and aggravated murmurs that made working with the angel more of a bitchfest than a build meeting.
But it wasn’t like Rhode couldn’t understand why.
“There’s a piece missing,” Iron had explained with a soul-deep weariness Rhode wished he couldn’t relate to. “The relic is mostly intact, but a part of it got chipped. I suspect it happened when Neela swiped it off Cyro’s wrist, judging by where the break is. It’s not a huge piece. We hardly noticed it at first. But it’s enough to make me worried that the juice this thing’s holding might not be sufficient to get us home.”
Then there were the unspoken worries about what sort of juice they were all hoping the relic still had in the first place. So much was riding on little more than estimation, supposition, and triangulated theories that there was so little left to throw into the hope bucket at times.
But that hadn’t been the only thing that had chased Iron into the role of Rhode and Neela’s foreman.
He’d been having dreams. Or the dream, as Iron had put it. One single recurring dream he refused to give details about except that it involved a woman. But whenever Rhode tried to delicately pick at that scab, knowing full well just how miserable it was to unlock something just to satisfy the curiosity of others, he treaded really fucking carefully. After he was met with silence the second time, Rhode gave up.
If Iron wanted to talk about it, he would. And if he wanted to throw himself into a project that kept his mind on things that were easier to solve, Rhode had no problem giving him the outlet to do so.
While Rhode rested his forearms on the handle of the cart and waited for Neela to inspect an eastern prickly pear plant, which, according to the lecture she’d just given him, was the only native cactus in New Hampshire, an elderly gentleman hobbled into the aisle across from him. Dapper as ever, with a navy sweater, gray-and-red flat cap, and cane that looked handmade, the man extended his elbow to the woman next to him—his wife, presumably—who accepted it instinctively. She then clutched the two halves of her sweater tighter against her throat and stood a bit taller as she lifted her glasses to read one of the tags beneath a watering can on the higher shelf. When her sandalwood orthopedic shoes got a bit too wobbly for the man’s liking, he set his cane aside and cupped her elbow with both hands, guiding her steadily the few extra inches to read what she needed to. Once satisfied and stationary again, she looked up at the man and smiled, shrinking her watery eyes into tiny slits behind her large thick cat-eye glasses. And wouldn’t you know, that man, who Rhode guessed had to have been pushing the better part of his eighties, summoned whatever strength his brittle bones could still squeeze out, reached up, and snagged her selection down from the shelf.
The quivering joy on her face was a memory Rhode promised to play on repeat whenever the years ahead of him got too heavy with expectation.
The man carefully placed the teal watering can in the shopping basket at his elbow and continued escorting his wife around the store. The look of unabashed adoration on his face filled out every wrinkle, somehow giving him a vitality far younger than his years. When he brushed past Rhode, the man dipped his head slightly, then gestured toward Rhode’s shopping cart and said, “Just keep pushing and you’ll be all right.”
And he would be. The realization left him dazzled, delirious, and damn determined to care for Neela in whatever way she needed him to.
It was another promise he swore to himself and one that had been immediately etched onto his soul as fiercely as Neela’s name had been.
She was a part of his family, and family came first. Always.
For untold eons, Iron has been the dark horse of the fallen angel sentinels. With a haunted past that plagues his future, he keeps his eyes on the prize: returning to the Empyrean. But when heated dreams finally show him his ticket home, the mate they reveal is single, pregnant, and prefers solitude to the support she very much needs. Find out what happens when the last of the sentinels must face an impossible choice: save his soul bond, or save the world. Start reading Angel’s Smoke!
Can we keep in touch? Are you curious to see what happens when Neela plans a birthday party for Cerberus, complete with a K-9 agility course, but Rhode and Chrome think they can each master the course better than the other? It’s a battle of brotherly love and Empyrean egos. Claim your BONUS EPILOGUE when you sign up to my newsletter to see how what should have been a fun romp for the dog turns into a sentinel strength and agility competition that would shame even the Greek gods themselves. Enjoy!
Thank you so much for reading Angel’s Vengeance! If you loved seeing Rhode and Neela’s relationship grow, let your friends know. Help other readers fall in love with this couple, and all those hunky angels, by leaving a review.