Atlas, Part 1 (A Four Horsemen Companion Duet)

Chapter 16

Atlas had to take twice as many steps to keep up with War’s long strides, and it suddenly occurred to him that Conquest had been slowing down for him. What a considerate asshole.

“They went for the Capitol Building, and now this. Are these their last attacks?” Atlas asked, hurrying after the second Horseman. Were they close to extinction?

“Could be.”

Cryptic vague bullshit. Fantastic. His race was on the brink of being wiped off the face of the Earth, and all War had to say was “could be”? “Or?” he pushed.

“Or they could just be playing with you ’cause they’re bored.” War shot him a playful smirk, his long braid flicking over his shoulder. “Who knows? Let’s kill ’em and find out.”

With a wink, War flung open the front doors and charged into the battle, forcing them all into action.

“He’s worse than Con,” Atlas muttered as he shot the first Demon in his path.

Raziel laughed, the sound almost jarring against the violent backdrop. Too beautiful for a setting like this. He was full of purity, and innocence, with a smile that reached all the way to his eyes. Atlas wanted to pack him up and shove him inside where it was safer.

They shared a look as Atlas readied his gun and followed, dread taking up shop in his stomach.

Would the three of them be enough?

Raziel took flight and instantly rained acidic poison down on the hoard. Demons screamed as their skin melted . Then Raziel dove in while they were distracted, using his sai to impale them and his wings to slice into them. The tips of his feathers had to be as strong as steel, or stronger, considering the ease with which they were going through bone.

Atlas ducked and weaved, dodging claws and tails and fucking teeth —some of them had teeth bigger than their heads, giant maws ready to eat him whole. He fired his carbine in short, sharp bursts, the close proximity making it both harder and easier to aim for their heads. Hollywood wildly underestimated the difficulty of shooting accurately at a moving target that was coming right at him . Sure, he could hit them, but getting the bullet where he wanted it to go? Another matter entirely, though he was the most effective when he managed to fire between their eyes. With that shot, they went down like with nothing else.

Despite his efforts, every shot felt pointless. For every dozen he took down, two dozen took their place. They were like locusts. Giant, hungry, extremely hard-to-kill locusts.

One of them grabbed him from behind, claws cutting into his upper arm, sending pain running down to the tips of his fingers. Atlas jammed his elbow back, striking something . Not quite bone, not quite muscle. Did he want to know what he’d hit? He didn’t get a chance to decide; he turned, shot the thing in the face a few more times than necessary—and yet, not nearly enough times—and moved on to the next.

He twisted, automatically searching for Raziel to make sure he didn’t need help. When he found him, he stopped in his tracks, mesmerized. Atlas knew he shouldn’t get so easily distracted since he was surrounded by so many enemies. He couldn’t help himself, and he challenged anyone to be able to look away. Absolutely glorious in battle, Raziel swept through the rabble with his wings spread wide, slicing into the Demons and melting them simultaneously in his wake. Death had never looked so fucking good.

Raziel had dripped some of that when they’d been in bed the first time. Atlas hadn’t cared about the danger. The risk had been worth a glimpse of that skin. The touch of those lips. The chance to taste and savor.

A line of flames roared toward him, and Atlas barely managed to get out of the way. What the hell? He turned to tell War to fucking watch it—Atlas was not goddamn fireproof!—and instead, watched in awe as War’s mare Feud galloped through the horde, her unnatural red coloring currently on fire . She roasted Demons and danced around like she’d been born on a battlefield, using her hooves to kick creatures to the ground and then crush them, tail flicking behind her and spraying flames and embers in her wake. As lethal as her rider.

Despite her fearsome and incredible display, Atlas had a sudden urge to see Victory out here. How wonderful would she look in battle? What tricks did she have? A worthy companion for someone as impressive as Conquest. Both of them big and strong, ornery and opinionated, she was a perfect representation of her rider.

It should bother Atlas that Conquest was inside, torturing someone. It didn’t. He wanted the Horseman and his Angel with a depth of feeling that staggered him, and with that came the ugly parts of the world they brought with them.

Atlas grunted in pain as a tail slashed across his stomach and hooked around his side. For fuck’s sake. This is what he got for letting himself get distracted. He knew better than that. Not to mention, his uniform couldn’t protect him against their kind of weaponry, and he needed to be doubly careful, not complacent.

He punched the Demon in the face, both as a fuck you but also to remind himself to fucking focus. He pulled out his combat knife from the strap around his thigh and slit its throat for good measure. He didn’t wait for the Demon to hit the ground before moving on to the next one, sliding his knife back in place and gripping his carbine again. The knife did the job, but he just really enjoyed shooting them in the face. It was the kind of therapy he could get behind.

Raziel landed nearby, his six magnificent wings keeping a solid radius between him and the enemy. He thinned some of the crowd around Atlas, giving him breathing room. Their eyes met for half a second. Long enough to set Atlas on fire—metaphorically, not like half the Demons around them—and raised his heart rate to a dangerous degree. Raziel and Conquest were in his bloodstream now. Too deep. Too close.

He turned away, doing his best to cut down as many as he could, frustrated that it didn’t make a difference. They were endless, and the three of them couldn’t hope to turn the tide even if one of them happened to be War himself.

Raziel came up behind him, tugged him into his arms, and jumped him several feet away in one leap. Atlas instantly relaxed into the hold, trusting him. A second later, cracks spread across the ground, fire bursting out of them. One crack was exactly where he’d been standing. Raziel had saved his life.

Atlas spotted a flash of something hurtling into the air, bright sparks of yellow, red, and orange. And then it exploded. Raziel pushed Atlas down onto one knee and covered him with his wings in a perfect half sphere.

Atlas didn’t like the idea of needing protection. At the same time, he also knew there were some things in their world he simply couldn’t protect himself from. And there were worse things in the world than being shielded by such exquisite wings. They were the darkest black, with deep forest-green tips, both as soft as feathers and as sharp as a blade.

The view from down here wasn’t bad either. He’d gotten hard more than once during battle before, though it usually occurred due to adrenalin, not because he was kneeling in front of a man whose dick he wanted to suck. He couldn’t help succumbing to the temptation of Raziel’s groin, basically in his face.

He didn’t get long to admire his position or do something stupid like get Raziel’s cock out so he could get it wet with his tongue. Raziel pulled him to his feet, hands running over him. Smooth palms slid across his cheeks, down his throat, over his shoulders and chest.

“Are you okay?” Raziel asked frantically. “Did it get you?”

Did what get him? A quick glance around their immediate vicinity answered his question. More than fifty Demons around them were nothing but ash. War’s doing. Whatever he’d thrown in the sky. Without Raziel’s protection, Atlas would have fallen with them. Twice now, he owed his life to the two men who held him in the palm of their hands. More than that, probably, if he were keeping count.

“Atlas?”

Hands at his cheeks again, firmer this time. Atlas clasped them, stilling their descent.

“I’m fine,” Atlas assured him. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m not hurt,” Raziel said with a small smile. He then surprised Atlas by thrusting a sword—where the fuck had that come from?—at Atlas as if he wanted him to take it.

Atlas moved away, hands up to avoid taking the archaic weapon. Beautiful to be sure, with a subtle curve at the end. Not a broadsword, not quite a katana either. Something unique, in between the two. “The fuck is that for?”

“For you.”

Yes, he’d worked that part out. He’d been looking more for a why ? “I don’t know how to use a sword , Raz.” He’d end up cutting himself. Or Raziel, which was the last thing he wanted to do. He’d do more damage to their side than the Demons with a weapon he had no fucking clue how to use.

Raziel took his hand and forced it around the hilt. It didn’t weigh half as much as Atlas had expected. It was lighter than it should have been, given its size.

“It’s easy. Just swing.”

Easy? “That’s not at all—” Raziel pushed up into the air before he could finish. Atlas gaped at him. Had he just—what the fuck was Atlas supposed to do with this?

Demons closed in on him, forcing his hand. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

Atlas hefted the sword in the air and… swung. It slid through a Demon like butter left out in the sun on a warm day.

Fucking hell . He stared at the two halves of the Demon. The sword couldn’t be made of regular steel. Or any kind of steel the human world knew about.

He didn’t have time to ponder it further as more Demons swarmed him, their advance not letting up. He managed to work out how hard to swing and the best angle to cut all the way through after he’d made his way through a few Demons. Nothing could beat trial and error.

With the new weapon, he cut Demons down faster than he would have been able to with his gun.

He had a better understanding now of why all the Horsemen used what he’d thought of as “rudimentary” weapons. Guns had nothing on these—the sword was not only kind of fun to swing around but ridiculously more effective.

He made a few critical mistakes, inevitable considering he’d never had one fucking lesson. He got a few more slashes on his side and thigh for it, blood steadily dripping down his uniform. And still the horde kept coming.

War’s mare stuck close to him, always there whenever he turned around, maiming and burning as she trotted in circles around him. Raziel did the same thing, weaving and diving through the swarm of Demons.

Another Demon got too close to him, even with Feud and Raziel running interference. It cut right above the gash already bleeding on his side. This time he stumbled, dizziness swamping him. Fuck . He’d lost too much blood, his numerous wounds adding up.

There were too many of them, and Atlas had to admit the truth: he couldn’t keep up. Even with the firepower at their disposal—namely War as well as Raziel and Feud—they wouldn’t win this battle, not with so few to help defend. Was the cavalry coming, or is this how he would die?

Not the worst way he could think of to go out, though not his preference either. He wished he’d kissed Conquest and Raziel at least one more time.

“Raz!” War yelled, somewhere to Atlas’s right.

Atlas gutted a Demon and then found Raziel standing on top of one himself. He used his lethal wings to slice the Demon’s head off, the creature’s disgusting skin only improving as Raziel’s acidic poison melted it.

“Yes?” Raziel questioned, almost conversationally, like they were taking a stroll through the woods on a nice fall day.

Atlas wanted to suck his dick. Get on his knees and fucking worship him until he came down his throat. His blood rushed south. Not ideal, considering he’d lost a considerable amount of it already.

“Take your mortal and get back inside,” War ordered. “Get Con, Fam, and Death.”

While Atlas didn’t take offense at being labeled as Raziel’s—he liked hearing it—War didn’t have to say it quite like that. And he didn’t need an escort. It wasn’t as though War’s brothers were half a continent away.

“But you—”

“Just do it.”

Atlas took a step in the direction of the building, his side screaming at him. Not to mention the other places that throbbed, bled, and were bruised. He hadn’t felt quite this level of fucked up since his first year of training.

Raziel appeared at his side and slid an arm around him, taking some of his weight. Every step drained him further, and he discarded the sword somewhere between there and the entrance. Not like he could use it, considering his strength had dropped to almost nothing.

They didn’t get far inside before Demons poured in behind them, following them into a too-narrow passageway that led to their destination. So close, but too far away to call for help.

“I’ll handle them,” Raziel said stubbornly.

Atlas stumbled into the wall when Raziel let go, hands splaying on the surface to steady himself. He barely managed to turn and move out of the way of claws slashing at him, back pressed to the wall—half leaning on it if he were being honest. He pulled out his combat knife and jammed it into the side of the Demon’s neck, panting as he used the last remnants of his strength.

He refused to be killed while retreating, dammit.

Before Atlas could wonder how the fuck they were getting out of this , Conquest appeared like a knight in shining armor, cleaving a nearby Demon in two with his glaive. The Horseman waded into the fray with ease, using his purple energy and giant weapon to cut everything down. Within a minute, every Demon that had followed them lay in pieces, blood spreading across the floor.

“Could have used you five minutes ago,” Atlas huffed, his words coming out weaker than he’d have liked. He’d have given anything for a cold beer and a nap right then. An evening at home watching the sun go down with his men. Pizza, beer, and a quiet night. He could have shown them the beauty of this world if only he’d been given the chance.

Conquest’s gaze darkened, features turning down into something that Atlas might have thought resembled concern if he didn’t know any better, swinging his glaive onto his back and moving to hover over Atlas. “Where are you injured?”

“Oh, you know, a little bit of everywhere.” He had no idea about the extent of the damage. Not like he’d had the opportunity to go through and catalog all the wounds.

Conquest turned him forcefully, fingering his side and coming back with blood on the tips of his fingers. Atlas hissed in pain; if Conquest wanted to know if he was bleeding, he could have asked . At this point he more resembled a straw poked with extra holes than a human being.

“You need bandaging.”

“Probably stitches too,” Atlas added helpfully. If they could stop talking about the obvious so he could go and get said stitches, he’d appreciate it.

Raziel made a startled sound, and then he crowded on the other side of Atlas. “Is it that bad?” he asked frantically, hands reaching.

Atlas grunted in pain and stayed his hands so he couldn’t poke more. His wounds didn’t need help to throb, they were doing just fine on their own. “Your brother needs you out there,” he said to Conquest. “He sent us to get reinforcements. There are too many of them.”

Conquest swore and hesitated. That single second of him being torn between helping his brother and staying with them made Atlas want to reach for him. He had known Raziel meant that much to him, but knowing that Atlas was at least part of the equation did things to his heart.

“Raziel, get him to Famine and Death. I don’t care who you have to threaten; make sure someone sees to him immediately.”

“I will,” Raziel said, nodding. “Um, maybe not the threatening part?”

Atlas barely noticed as Conquest disappeared outside. Putting one foot in front of the other kept him occupied as Raziel half carried, half dragged him back to safety.

Raziel worried his lip as the medic—Thomas—cut off Atlas’s shirt and cleaned his wounds. There were too many gashes, still open and seeping blood. Even as Thomas wiped over the wounds, every few seconds, more blood spilled free.

The damage had cut right across his tattoo, breaking it into six parts. Raziel’s heart dropped, seeing one cut straight through the words that meant so much to Atlas.

Atlas followed his gaze and then huffed derisively. “Guess I’m not the master of my fate after all.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Atlas lifted an arm, and Raziel moved into the crook of it. He absently caressed Raziel’s back; Raziel could feel the touch even through the layers of his armor.

“The wounds will heal.”

“The tattoo won’t.” He would scar, and the clocks would forever be marred. All because he’d had the misfortune of being dragged into a world he should have been safe from.

“Plenty of tattoo artists can do good things with scars,” Atlas said, shrugging.

Thomas snorted, head bent and sideways as he cleaned down Atlas’s side. “Where are you going to find one?”

“Do I come into your house and piss on the floor?” Atlas asked. He hissed when Thomas pressed on a tender spot. “Someone will have to learn when we recover from this. Maybe you can do it?”

“Come find me if we all get out of this alive.”

Raziel bit his lip, sadness like a stabbing pain against his heart. They weren’t getting out of it alive. Even if they survived Lucifer, Conquest and his brothers still had a job to do. Where would it end? Raziel wanted to take Atlas and run as far as he could, find a corner of the world for them to hide in, away from all the pain and bloodshed. Where their ending could be a happy one and not a tragedy.

“Alright, this definitely needs stitching,” Thomas said. “I’m going to numb this area first. Can you pull your pants down over your hips for me?”

“What?” Raziel squawked. Get naked in front of all these people? Not on his watch!

Thomas’s lips quirked. “We’ll protect his honor, don’t worry.” He pointed to the lowest gash, which almost touched Atlas’s waistband. “I need some undamaged skin around the wounds to insert the anesthetic.”

Raziel stiffened. He was going to what the what? When Thomas pulled a needle from the bag of goodies at his side, Raziel whirled around, heart in his throat. He didn’t want to see Atlas being inserted with that horrible thing.

“Alright, Raz?” Atlas asked in amusement. “You’d think you were the one about to be turned into a pincushion.”

Raziel winced at the images that conjured. His stomach flipped over, and he rubbed it in comfort. The needles weren’t for him; everything was fine. “I’m fine,” he said unconvincingly. He waved behind himself without looking, failing miserably at nonchalance.

“You’ve cut Demons in half, melted their skin, and chopped off their heads—that’s before we even get into what Conquest has done to them in front of you —but it’s a needle that makes you queasy?”

Raziel could have done without the humor at his expense. It wasn’t the same thing at all . “Things done in battle are different.” Besides, something about needles creeped him out. It was so… deliberate. “What does it do? The…” What had he called it? “Anesthetic.” What was that? Raziel wanted to touch it so he could find out what it was for. Except it meant getting too close to the needle, and no.

Thomas answered instead of Atlas. “It will numb the area around the wound so I can stitch it without causing Atlas pain.”

That didn’t sound so bad. Raziel glanced over his shoulder. A mistake. Thomas was inserting the needle into Atlas just below one of the gashes. He felt the color drain from his face, and he quickly turned back to staring at the wall, close to where Paul was curled up and sleeping on a chair with his new Hellhound friend.

Death stood nearby, close to where Azael was still pinned to the wall, the Fallen Angel’s head slumped forward. Unconscious, not dead. Probably for the best; Conquest had done considerable damage to him, and it hadn’t healed. That had to hurt.

Famine had already been gone when Raziel had stumbled into the room with Atlas. Death hadn’t volunteered information, and Raziel hadn’t asked, still a bit terrified of the tall man that remained cloaked in his hood. It hid his face; Raziel had only seen it once before. Just the once, but that was enough for it to be imprinted in his memory forever. The milky white of his eyes were like a direct line to the soul of everything that had ever existed, a lifetime of knowledge and sadness. Raziel couldn’t hold his gaze for more than a few seconds at a time. The pretty face had been more unexpected than the eyes, absolute perfection in a face. A deadly lure. Something about Death made Raziel want to hold him, to soothe the echoing sadness that wrapped around him like a blanket. Loneliness. He couldn’t touch a single soul, and Raziel couldn’t imagine the isolating feeling that created.

“A long time ago,” Thomas said, bringing Raziel back to the present. “They used alcohol to clean wounds and to cover the pain.”

“I could use some of that right about now,” Atlas muttered. “I’d even take cheap shit off the bottom shelf.”

Thomas chuckled, and Raziel tilted his head curiously. “What’s alcohol?” he asked. Something for medicine?

The sound of Atlas choking made Raziel spun around in fright. Had Thomas hurt him? “Are you okay?” He seemed alright? A light grimace was on his face but nothing overly concerning.

“You don’t know what alcohol is?” Atlas asked incredulously, looking like Raziel had just admitted he didn’t know his ABCs.

“Should I?” Raziel blanched. Thomas stuck some kind of metal hook into Atlas and pulled thread through the hole he’d made. That was worse than the needle. So much worse. He turned back around, squeezing his eyes shut as his stomach churned, nausea rising in his throat.

“Remind me to introduce you to it once we’ve gotten past all this,” Atlas said. The lilt of amusement was still in his tone. How could he have high spirits while being impaled?

“Okay, I’ll remind you,” he said, using the conversation to distract himself. A memory tickled him. One he couldn’t pluck out, lost to the murky waters of the past.

Conquest rushed into the room with a dark scowl on his face. He first found Raziel in the room, looked him up and down, cataloging him. Then he turned on Atlas. “All good?” he asked gruffly.

“Peachy,” Atlas replied.

Raziel refused to look until he’d been given the all-clear notice. “Do you know what alcohol is?” he asked. Conquest would, of course. He knew everything. But the more they talked, the less he thought about what was happening behind him.

Conquest looked between them, gray eyes intent, before he said, “Yes. And so do you.”

“Do I?”

“The wine you were drinking at the dinner party at the White House is a form of alcohol.” When Raziel furrowed his brows, Conquest followed up with, “The drink that had you dancing in the First Lady’s Garden.”

Atlas made another choking noise, but this time Raziel didn’t turn around. He’d learned his lesson, and if something were wrong, Conquest could go to him now.

Oh. That’s right. His memory of that night was fuzzy, and mostly the good feelings had been replaced with terror as a shadow controlled by Abaddon had chased him and Conquest from the grounds.

Now he remembered.

How’s the alcohol treating you?

Wonderfully!

“Did you just say dancing in the First Lady’s Garden ?” Atlas asked. “ When ?”

Raziel bit his lip, trying to recall. Time didn’t mean the same thing to them as it did to the mortals. It felt like a lifetime ago, which couldn’t be right. Back when Conquest hadn’t even kissed him yet. Before he’d had any idea just how important the Horseman would become to him. “I don’t remember.”

“Where is War?” Death asked, interrupting their conversation and Raziel’s walk down memory lane. “And the Demons?”

“Uriel killed them all,” Conquest said.

“Uriel is here?” Raziel asked, automatic terror climbing in his chest. He couldn’t control his visceral response to hearing the Archangel’s name. Uriel turned Raziel’s blood cold, all his thoughts focusing on the memories of pain slashing across his throat and the look of horror in Conquest’s eyes. Uriel had meant to end them and had been so close to succeeding. Would he try again? Could Raziel withstand him a second time?

“One person killed them all?” Atlas sounded stunned.

“One Archangel killed them all,” Conquest corrected. “He’s a bastard but a dangerous one. Besides, War had dispatched a lot of them already, so let’s not get too excited.”

“They didn’t want to come inside?” Death asked.

“They’re busy fucking,” Conquest said bluntly, all but spitting the words out in disgust.

A pregnant pause. Raziel blinked. Wait, what? “They’re really out there…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. The word “fuck” wasn’t something he was comfortable saying in the first place, but also, Uriel being intimate felt somehow wrong. He was so cold . The idea of the Archangel letting anyone that close boggled his mind.

“War has terrible taste in men,” Conquest grunted. “And if they don’t hurry the fuck up, not even his wall of fire will keep me out. We have more important business to attend to.”

“He has singular taste in men,” Death said. “As does Famine. A running theme, don’t you think?”

“My taste isn’t singular,” Conquest said dryly, casting a meaningful glance at Raziel and Atlas.

“I believe that it is.”

Raziel had no idea what they were talking about.

“Alright,” Thomas said cheerfully. “All puncturing done.”

Though glad he could face Atlas again, Raziel winced at the word choice.

Thomas wiped a strong-smelling cloth over the four neat rows of stitches that covered Atlas’s side and curled around to his flat, chiseled stomach. Raziel could stare at all that smooth skin forever, though he preferred it without all the injuries. He didn’t want anything to hurt Atlas. And the sadness at the damage to his tattoo still sat heavy, a weight he couldn’t shift. It had been Raziel’s fault for not protecting him better.

Thomas pulled out a roll of gauze and wound it carefully around Atlas’s body. Raziel knew that the perfunctory touch held nothing else in it. Thomas only placed his hands where he needed them in order to wrap Atlas’s wounds. Raziel found he still didn’t like it.

He’d never felt this… unsure of himself. He didn’t doubt Conquest’s devotion; he showed it in every look, every touch. Atlas… he was an enigma, and as much as he made it clear he enjoyed them both, what did that mean, really?

Before Raziel could get too far inside his head, War returned, boots heavy on the floor as he entered. He looked none the worse for wear and definitely not like he’d just been outside having sex. His dark-brown braid hung over his shoulder, and his armor sat perfectly in place.

Uriel followed him inside, and Raziel tensed involuntarily. The Archangel’s enormous wings were out, spanning wider than Raziel’s. They sparkled under the light, ice dust covering them like a mist. Raziel had always thought they were beautiful even as much as Uriel scared him. The black streaks across one where Raziel had damaged it made him swallow hard. Would Uriel come for him because of it? Raziel had been protecting Conquest, and he had no regrets. Would do it again.

Raziel had fought Lucifer and come out of it alive. He could take on an Archangel, too, if he had to. He had so much to live for, and he wouldn’t allow anyone to take that from him.

That didn’t mean he didn’t fear retribution, or that the dark look in Uriel’s purple eyes would ever not make fear choke him.

Conquest subtly moved in front of Raziel, and he’d never been more grateful for the Horseman’s protection. Even when he didn’t need it, he needed it. Knowing that he wasn’t alone anymore, that someone looked at him and cared, made the hard parts of life easier to handle.

The Hellhound woke from her resting place with Paul and immediately jumped down, heading straight for War. She pushed against him, her spiked tail digging into his legs. Raziel winced in sympathy. Ouch. Those spikes looked dangerous, and her tail was almost bigger than her, like she hadn’t quite grown into it yet. Would she get as big as the same hounds that had attacked him, Conquest, and War at the estate with Lerajie and Azael way back when?

“New family member?” Uriel asked dryly.

“Yeah,” War answered. “I’m thinking of naming her Uriel since she shares your personality traits.”

Raziel stifled his smile with considerable effort. He would never dream of speaking to the Archangel the way that War did. It occurred to him suddenly that it wasn’t really all that strange to know they were together. Or at least sleeping together. They were equals in a way that Raziel would never be, not with either of them. War wasn’t afraid of Uriel as a person or as an Archangel.

“If you do that, they’ll never find your body.”

It didn’t look like his namesake feared Uriel either. She went and sat at his feet, staring up at him in fascination. He was striking, Raziel would give him that. Cold, and stoic, and terrifying. But all the Archangels had something special about the way they looked. Like they had been polished to perfection. Statues that embodied everything an Angel should aspire to be.

“What do you want? I won’t pick you up.”

Raziel’s attention shifted from the strange duo and their new pet to Atlas when he hissed.

“Too tight?” the medic asked, one hand splayed over Atlas’s stomach over the bandages secured around his waist.

Raziel’s hands fisted at his sides, resisting the strange urge to snap at the man. He didn’t know what to do with the unfamiliar feeling. Conquest placed a hand on his shoulder and sent Atlas a meaningful look.

Atlas stood abruptly, Thomas’s hand slipping off him. “It’s fine,” he said stiffly, not looking away from Conquest, his lips flat as he scowled.

Raziel squeezed Conquest’s hand, his small palm fitting into his larger one. Conquest relaxed… sort of. Enough for Raziel to feel confident he wasn’t going to launch himself at the poor medic. The same one that Raziel kind of wanted to claw at. He didn’t like the feeling or how it affected his thoughts. Was this the cause of Conquest being grumpy all the time?

“It’s true, then?”

When Azael spoke, Raziel jumped, hand twitching in Conquest’s. He’d completely forgotten the Fallen Angel still hung on the wall, pinned there like a painting. Even through the damage on his face, his ethereal beauty still came through, what had once marked him as an Angel—now one of Lucifer’s Fallen.

“You two are a thing?” Azael continued, leering. He raised a haughty brow. “Your dick doesn’t freeze off?”

Raziel’s jaw dropped at the casually asked, extremely personal question. Why would it—oh. No, not something to think about. War or Uriel’s genitals had nothing to do with him. There were only two people whose dicks he cared about.

Uriel shifted the Hellhound pup in his arms—when had he picked it up? Why didn’t it gouge him like it had War? He covered Azael’s face with his palm. What was he—Raziel’s heart skipped a horrified beat as a thick spike of ice speared right through Azael’s face, and he went limp.

Raziel’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, his stomach content—of which there was none —threatening to come back up for the third time in less than an hour.

Raziel killed when he had to, had lost count of the lives he’d taken, and even went so far as to do it without remorse. Those he killed were hateful abominations that would only hurt others if Raziel didn’t end them. He did it to protect. He didn’t know if that could justify it, but that’s all he had.

Knowing that those Raziel killed came back didn’t make the guilt easier to bear. The parts of his soul that were taken with each kill wouldn’t return.

He was like you, baby Angel. And then he wasn’t.

Had Uriel justified himself like that once? Would Raziel one day be like him, where he would so easily kill others without a second thought?

“Uh…” Atlas looked from the dead Fallen Angel to Uriel and back again. Raziel settled somewhat at seeing his unease, glad that he wasn’t alone in his thoughts, that he wasn’t the only one in the room that struggled with the reality of who they were. “You’re… an Archangel, right? The ones from Heaven? Archangel… Uriel?”

“He’s really a sweetheart,” War said, a clear lie. No one would ever describe Uriel in that way, not even under duress. He was the coldest of all three current Archangels and the meanest.

“He’s really a piece of shit,” Conquest said, tone snide and angry. “And he’s fucking lucky I don’t rip his head off right now after the stunt he pulled and the secrets he and his God have been keeping. You want to slum it, War? Fine, but fuck off, and do it somewhere else.”

Raziel shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. Atlas shifted closer to him, frowning as his gaze flitted between everyone in the room. Impossible not to notice the hostile undercurrent between the occupants. Especially since Conquest vibrated with it.

“How’s the heart?” Uriel drawled. “I do hope it healed okay when Raziel put it back in. Organs can be tricky once they’ve been pulled out.”

Raziel swayed, dragged unwillingly back in time, trembling at the memories, heat prickling at the back of his eyes.

Pain across his throat.

Blood spilling out, choking on it. In his throat, in his mouth, up his nose, he couldn’t get away from it as he drowned in it.

Falling.

Conquest pulled the glaive at his back from its resting place and buried the bladed end into the wall beside Azael’s body, mere inches from cutting off his ear. The dark, thunderous look on his handsome face didn’t bode well for the energy in the room. Raziel shook himself out of the past and leapt forward, pressing a hand into Conquest’s stomach to stop his forward march toward Uriel. It would only result in bloodshed, and they couldn’t risk Atlas being in the middle of that. He wouldn’t survive it.

Raziel’s heart beat thickly in his chest, and he struggled to pull in breaths. He stared earnestly at the love of his life, hoping Conquest saw the words he couldn’t say. He didn’t want them to fight in here. Didn’t want to risk losing Conquest again, or Atlas , their too-fragile human. If they brought their Powers and Gifts out here, nothing would be left standing. For whatever reason, Uriel seemed willing to stand by War and hadn’t actively attacked any of them despite plenty of opportunity to do so. They needed to do whatever they could to hold onto that tenuous alliance.

“Please,” Raziel implored. Please . Conquest’s liquid-gray eyes narrowed, so many emotions in their beauty that Raziel could never hope to parse through them all, not even with an eternity to do it. “We need to work together.” Or at least try not to kill each other. Raziel would settle for that.

“You really want to work with him? The same asshole that slit your throat and left you for dead? The same one who’s been working against us from day one? We’re supposed to just play nice ?”

Raziel deliberately didn’t look at Atlas. Didn’t want to provoke him, whether purposely or by accident. If Atlas attacked Uriel, he wouldn’t be leaving this room alive. The rest of the Horsemen might protect him—for Conquest and for their agenda—but Uriel would have no such loyalty. A Guardian Angel he was not.

“I didn’t say play nice,” Raziel said carefully. As if Conquest would ever go that far. Raziel wouldn’t be stupid enough to even ask it of him. “But if he’s here, and he’s not attacking us, then I think right now we’re on the same side?” Middle ground.

Raziel turned to meet Uriel’s purple gaze. It took considerable effort to not look away from its intensity. This was the same person who had killed him without a care, had ripped out Conquest’s heart, all but ripping out his own. Death had saved him from Abaddon’s clutches, but Raziel had only cared about saving Conquest. If he hadn’t woken, if he’d forgotten the love they shared, Raziel would never have recovered. Uriel had almost taken everything from him. For that alone, Raziel knew it would be so easy to let himself learn how to hate. He had to be better than that because no one else in the room would be.

He couldn’t help but wonder what it might have been like if he’d been given Uriel’s Gift. If the Archangel had cared for him, trained him. Helped him understand his differences and how to use them instead of keeping him at arm’s length and treating him like everyone else: like he didn’t matter, and that his differences were weaknesses. If Uriel had been the mentor and guide that he should have been and helped Raziel.

Useless thoughts. He couldn’t change the past, and whatever had made Uriel this way, Raziel would never know the truth. Did War know?

Uriel didn’t respond to Raziel’s unasked question. He stroked the Hellhound in his arms like he didn’t care about anything they said, so detached from the world around him that he could have been made from pure marble. War had kissed him, hadn’t he? Had seen something else in Uriel, something no one else could see. Didn’t that mean Uriel couldn’t be completely heartless?

Conquest pointed at Uriel, and Raziel could feel the tension in his body, just ready for one wrong word to give him a green light and for all hell to break loose. “If you so much as even look at him—”

“You’ll what?” Uriel asked abruptly. “I’m not here to engage with you or to get in between your disgusting lovefest.” He said the word as though the very idea of love sickened him. Raziel felt sad for him. Love made the pain worth it.

One of Uriel’s wings fluttered, the same one Raziel had tarnished. Shards of ice scattered across the floor like perfect crystals. They really were extraordinarily beautiful even if they belonged to someone encased in ice.

“This is where you’re coordinating your forces? Our Angels are not fodder, and we won’t deploy them for a lost cause if you aren’t taking it seriously.”

Is that why they hadn’t been helping? Because God had already declared it a “lost cause” and given up on the world he was supposed to protect? No, that didn’t make sense. God wasn’t cruel. Yet he’d abandoned Raziel, had abandoned the mortals. If he hadn’t been the one to summon the Horsemen, then his goal couldn’t be eradication.

“And what are we, chopped liver?” Atlas asked angrily. His face turned down in a snarl, red spots on his cheeks betraying his heavy anger. It darkened the two beauty marks on his cheek, and Raziel wanted to lick them.

“You’re inconsequential,” Uriel replied carelessly. “The Horsemen have been summoned. They don’t come to the Mortal Dimension for anything less. Which means you’re being aided by the very Immortals whose task it is to eradicate you.”

Atlas’s blue eyes met his, and Raziel wished he could reassure him, could tell him that Uriel lied, and they were only here to help. Except that Uriel wasn’t wrong, and Raziel would be the one lying.

“A little less of the doom and gloom, Uri,” War said. He rubbed Uriel’s shoulder gently. Uriel didn’t push him off. If anything, he leaned into it. Somehow, above everything else that had happened thus far—including the idea that War and Uriel had been having sex not all that long ago—seeing the quiet intimacy shocked Raziel the most.

“Call if you need me,” Death said through his hood. It shifted as he nodded. “Uriel.”

“Death.” Even Uriel didn’t show disrespect to the one Being in the room that could kill them all with a single touch.

“Atlas,” Conquest murmured, so quietly his voice barely carried at all. “Don’t.”

Atlas looked twitchy. Too twitchy. His eyes blazed, he trembled in rage, one movement away from reaching for his weapon.

“Die now or have a chance to save yourself later,” Conquest said more loudly. He casually folded his arms and leaned back against the wall, straightening a leg out. Raziel could see the tension underneath the movement. If Atlas took up his gun, would Conquest hurt him… or save him? Raziel desperately hoped for the latter, but in truth, he didn’t know.

Conquest wanted him, but he didn’t want to want him. If it came down to it, would he kill Atlas?

“Those are your only options,” Conquest continued, giving a clear warning to behave. “Right now, we’re on your side. Do with it what you will.”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend?” Atlas asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Raziel bit back his immediate response. We’re not your enemy. But weren’t they? What happened when Lucifer and his Demons returned to Hell? When the Archangels had no reason to roam?

“Something like that,” Conquest said mildly, face deceptively blank.

Raziel wanted to tug them both closer and hug them. He didn’t think it would be well received, not with the way they were glowering at each other. What if they could just run away together? Leave the rest of them to deal with all of this and just be ? His heart ached with how much he wanted that. When would the bloodshed, the war, and all their sorrow and hurts end? A quote he remembered reading came to mind.

An eye for an eye and the whole world goes blind.

Where did it end?

“This is all very touching,” Uriel said dryly. “Can we get on with it now?” He bent and placed the Hellhound puppy beside Paul. The two creatures immediately curled around each other and went back to sleep. Would anyone notice if Raziel curled up with them? He could use a nap.

Atlas’s gaze lingered on Conquest for a moment longer. Then he turned away, back straightening as he went into leadership mode. He outlined their remaining forces and Demon concentration and what his soldiers were doing to stem the tide. Not a hint of hesitation; he had every right to be standing with them.

Raziel couldn’t look away from him even if none of the words were getting through. He knew it all already, and he found more interest in tracing every line of Atlas’s face with his gaze. Raziel had never seen a more beautiful person. Conquest was handsome and so damn masculine that he made Raziel’s heart speed up. Atlas was different, all sharp lines like glass and far too delicate. The light stubble under his chin and across his jaw only emphasized the perfect square cut of it. As stunning as those features were, Atlas’s eyes captured Raziel the most. The bright blue that looked through to the soul. Raziel never wanted to stop looking at him and seeing that gaze on him.

War moved closer to Uriel and murmured something in his ear. Raziel’s breath caught when Uriel turned his head a fraction, their lips almost touching.

He couldn’t hear what they were saying. He didn’t need to. The palpable raw magnetism between them felt like a whole other presence in the room. Raziel blinked when War nuzzled into Uriel’s cheek and kissed the underside of his jaw, and no one died.

“Could you fucking not?” Conquest burst out. He’d taken longer to mention it than Raziel had thought he would. “What the hell are you two even doing? You remember what happened the last time an Archangel fell in love with someone who wasn’t an Archangel?”

He meant Lucifer , Raziel realized. Lucifer and Famine. Their tragic love story. Punished for falling in love.

“It’s not the same thing,” War said, face tightening.

“You think if you keep repeating it to yourself that you’ll believe it?”

“Fuck you, Con.”

“What do you think God is going to do if he finds out and doesn’t like it? Diablo was his favorite Archangel, and look what he did to him.”

“Who gives a fuck?” Atlas said angrily, interrupting the tension between the brothers. “I don’t care about what kind of weird-ass love triangle is going on—”

“There’s no love triangle—” War choked out.

“Don’t care,” Atlas said, waving his hand in dismissal. “Every minute you waste bitching at each other is another minute closer to all life on Earth ceasing to exist, so if we could please fucking focus?”

Uriel pushed off the wall, and Raziel’s wings immediately peeked out from his back, readying himself. No matter how scared he was, Raziel would face Uriel if he had to, to protect Atlas. He’d put that scar in Uriel’s wings, and he could do it again.

Conquest subtly shook his head and pushed his hand down in a gesture of “stand down.” Raziel refused, ignoring the command. This was his fight too, and he couldn’t rely on Conquest to always be his savior.

Uriel didn’t go for Atlas, only circled the table, his fingers trailing over the edges of it. The touch froze everything in its path. Spiked peaks of ice formed in various sizes in certain spots. When Uriel spoke, it had a dangerous edge to it, like nails on a chalkboard. “We could bring the full might of Heaven down here to help fight, but it would be pointless.”

Because Lucifer’s forces were too strong? Or something else, something worse?

“Yeah, why’s that?” Atlas asked angrily, lips twisted in a snarl. “‘Mortals’ not worth dying over?” He placed his hands over the ice on the table, spreading his fingers as if the cold didn’t bother him at all. With the anger riding him so hard, maybe it didn’t.

Uriel’s purple eyes flashed, and he lifted his hand from the table. His extreme strength meant the ice didn’t melt even from the heat radiating off War. “The goal here is to save mortal life, correct? Bringing the entirety of Heaven into this skirmish would spark a war between us and Hell. It may be exactly what Lucifer wants, and it’s exactly what we don’t want to happen.”

Raziel could see Atlas’s brain working overtime. “ Lucifer ? Is that the same person as this ‘Diablo’ Conquest talks about? The actual fucking Devil ?”

Who did he think they were fighting?

“He goes by many names,” Raziel explained eagerly. He didn’t have a lot to add to discussions like this. He wasn’t a strategist, and without Conquest, he wouldn’t have even survived this long. But this, he at least had some knowledge about. “You’d likely know him best as the Devil or Satan.” Like he’d said. “He was once an Archangel named Samael.” That information had come from Conquest; he’d known Lucifer had been an Angel, not an Archangel. An important distinction. “When he was cast down, Heaven marked him as Lucifer, the first Fallen Angel. Diablo seems to be a moniker that the Horsemen have attributed to him, though I’m not clear why. And the ‘Devil’ title was given when he became King of Hell.” That covered pretty much the extent of his knowledge. He certainly didn’t know the specifics about why Lucifer had been cast down. Not common knowledge for a reason, Raziel imagined. God likely didn’t want to be seen as unreasonable.

He clammed up, heat rising in his cheeks, when everyone turned to look at him. Should he be offended that they were surprised he had that much knowledge? “I had a lot of time to read when I was ignored in Heaven.” All the time, in fact. He’d never had anything else to do. Not when no one spoke to him, and all the teachers had long given up on him. Damaging the gates had been the last straw, and he’d been left completely alone. He’d tried to explain he didn’t know how he’d done it, but God had known all along, hadn’t he? It was a manifestation of the power they’d been trying to keep him from.

Atlas rubbed his forehead, and Raziel could see the fatigue in every line. He needed sleep. Humans weren’t meant to run on so little. If they had time, he and Conquest would have given that to him. Protected him while he recovered. But they had all run out of time.

“Fascinating,” Atlas said. “Look, there’s already a war going on, and we need reinforcements. Why wouldn’t we bring your Angels in if that’s an option? Some of you are already helping us.”

Is that what Atlas called it? Raziel wouldn’t have. Maybe if they were helping, they could have prevented the decimation of Atlas’s forces at the Capitol Building. Their numbers had taken a huge blow from that, one he doubted they would recover from. Needing reinforcements was an understatement.

“They’re searching, not helping,” Uriel said, strangely on par with Raziel’s thoughts. Weird. “The last Holy War lasted eons, and no mortal survived.” He said it like Atlas should have known that, as if he had any idea of their history. “It was as good a purge as the Apocalypses before it. Holy Wars aren’t meant for mortal life, and it won’t preserve yours.”

Atlas ran a hand down his face. “How do we stop that, then?” Atlas asked.

“We find Lucifer, and we put him down.” Uriel made it sound so much simpler than the reality. Was Lucifer even on Earth right now? They had no idea of his real purpose. Impossible to predict the movements of someone so unpredictable.

“He’s a slippery fucker, and he’s packing more firepower than we’ve ever seen,” Conquest said, lips pursed. “So how the fuck do you plan to do that?”

Every time the Demons attacked, the force came bigger than the last. A staggered effect, viciously calculated, and one depressingly effective. How much more did Lucifer have to throw at them? A scary answer.

“We use bait.”

Raziel froze. Bait? What did that mean? What kind of bait?

“Are you talking about Famine or Raziel?” Conquest demanded, eyes blazing in anger. “Because that’s cold even for you, asshole.”

If it meant protecting them, Raziel would at least hear him out. It wasn’t the first time they’d used him that way, that Conquest had used him that way. Conquest had kept him safe then, and Raziel trusted that he would keep him safe again if it came to that.

“You’re talking about Famine,” War said, voice low.

No . That wasn’t—they couldn’t possibly mean to do that? Use one of their own brothers?

Uriel shrugged nonchalantly. “Raziel could possibly work as well if Lucifer’s still obsessed with the idea that Abaddon can be returned to him, but Famine is the better option, yes?”

“No,” War said, echoing Raziel’s thoughts. “We find another way.”

Raziel deflated in relief. Thank goodness, reason would prevail. After everything that Conquest said Famine had gone through because of Lucifer? It seemed too much of a risk to use him as a pawn in whatever game Lucifer was playing. And not the right kind of risk.

Uriel’s wings curled in, leaving lines of crystallized ice dust in his wake. They ended in an almost perfect heart shape. He had such ease and control over his wings; they were so much more a part of him than Raziel could ever hope to accomplish. He’d had a lot more years with them than Raziel had, but it was more than that. He was attuned to them in a way very few Angels—or even Archangels—were.

“Do you have a better suggestion? Because I’m all ears,” Uriel said.

“I don’t give a fuck; we find something else,” War shot back, so unafraid of Uriel’s wrath. Raziel took a tentative step back, wanting to be out of the line of fire if a fight erupted in here. There wasn’t a lot of room to begin with, and Uriel’s wings took up a lot of space.

Conquest rested a hand on the small of his back, steadying him. Raziel leaned into it, taking comfort from it. No matter what, Conquest would look after him. And together, they would look after Atlas.

“You can’t hide him from this forever,” Uriel said, a muscle twitching in his jaw. It seemed to be more from frustration than anger. “And if you aren’t willing to see reason, then I won’t help you. If I can’t convince God that this is a good idea, you won’t be getting any form of support from any of us.”

Conquest put a hand across Atlas’s chest, stopping him from advancing on Uriel, and said, “You’re still on his side?”

“You can’t honestly think that God will agree to help us?” War asked, on the same wavelength as his brother.

“I’m an Archangel,” Uriel said as if any of them could forget it when he could never hide it. The way he spoke, the way he walked, and those bright wings: it could never be hidden. “Whose side do you think I’m on? I’m leaving to give my report. Find a better plan, or do this on your own.”

“Nice to see some things don’t change,” Conquest muttered angrily.

Uriel’s wings fluttered as he bristled. “Some of us know a thing or two about loyalty.”

Atlas tried to shove past Conquest, and Raziel lifted his hands in panic. No, he couldn’t—

Conquest sent Atlas a warning look, hand fisting in his shirt and shoving him backward even as Atlas fought the hold. He only let go when Atlas settled.

“You can’t hide from this forever either,” War said to Uriel. “You can’t straddle the fence, not with this. What you do now is going to matter.”

What all of them did now would matter. Everything hung in the balance.

Raziel squeezed Atlas’s hip gently, hoping his smile helped ease his anger. It seemed to since he shrugged Conquest off and moved back to the map table, bracing his hands over it with a huff.

“I won’t help you participate in genocide,” Uriel said.

Raziel opened his mouth to protest. When had that ever been the plan? He wouldn’t participate in that either. Conquest put a hand over his mouth, stopping him. Raziel glared, hoping it showed his annoyance clearly.

“We bring balance,” War replied.

“You can pretty it up with whatever words you want; they still amount to the same thing.”

“You say that like you and your precious God have never summoned us.”

Oh. The back and forth between War and Uriel seemed like so much more than their words alone. Raziel curled his fingers around Conquest’s hand and pulled it down, reaching up to give him a quick kiss.

“Intent matters,” Uriel argued. “And what Lucifer does is not for the greater good.”

“You’d be surprised what Diablo is capable of,” Conquest said. Raziel glared. Hadn’t he just stopped Raziel from speaking? Rude. He didn’t get to pick and choose who followed what rules. “And God can fuck right off with his pious bullshit. What he wants is control; it’s that simple.”

“The greater good doesn’t always justify the means,” Raziel interjected. The best of intentions could still cause a lot of pain. Hadn’t they all dealt with enough pain already?

“See your God,” War said, rubbing his thumb over Uriel’s bottom lip. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Don’t make us wait too long,” Conquest growled.

Raziel’s mouth dropped open when War and Uriel kissed. He’d known , of course, simply based on the way War touched Uriel as if he had every right to. It was another thing entirely to see it in this context.

Raziel averted his eyes, feeling like he was invading their privacy even though they were doing it in a room full of people.

If Uriel were capable of softness with someone he loved, then didn’t that mean he had softness somewhere in there? Did he love War? Would he let someone touch him like that if he didn’t? Raziel didn’t know how he felt, seeing this side of Uriel when he’d only known his cruelty. Did it make his conflicted feelings of hatred better or worse?

Whatever War said to his lover didn’t reach the rest of them, a whisper meant only for their ears. And then Uriel strode toward the door, not giving any of them a second glance. Until he turned at the doorway. Raziel’s lips parted in shock at the crystal crown in his palm.

Conquest’s Focus.

“Here,” Uriel said. “I have no use for this.” He flung it at Conquest, who caught it one-handed, inches from his face

“Just like that?”

Uriel didn’t answer, his lips curving. He left more quietly than he’d arrived.

Conquest clenched the crown in his palm for a split second before muttering, “I still hate him,” and then placing it back atop his head. The black crystals embedded in it lit up, beautiful light shining around his head. Energy shifted around him, settling under his skin.

Raziel could see the difference even if Conquest looked the same. That completeness from having a piece of himself returned. Maybe it didn’t mean anything to Uriel, but it meant everything to Raziel, for him to have given it back. A lost limb returned. Conquest would be feeling it as it lifted his Power, supplemented it. The strength he had at his disposal with it couldn’t be overstated.

Atlas frowned, watching him. He wouldn’t be able to see the crown, wouldn’t understand. The fact he was trying to warmed Raziel’s heart.

“Trust me,” War said, “the feeling is mutual.” He chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest. “Half the time, I still hate him too.”

“Is that while you have your dick up his ass?”

Raziel’s cheeks burst into flame from the blunt words, spreading across and then down his throat. “If we could keep the vulgarity to a minimum.” He cringed at the thought of Uriel doing… that . “I don’t want to think about Uriel doing… doing those things.” Any of them. The things he did with Conquest and Atlas were private. He would appreciate it if everyone else could also keep their own business private.

“Still so modest,” Conquest mocked him. He tugged Raziel into his arms, and he melted into them. What else could he do, when he loved the feel of Conquest surrounding him? “I thought you’d have gotten over that by now.”

Raziel’s cheeks burned hotter. They really didn’t have to talk about this in front of War, did they? Just because he liked doing certain things with his two men didn’t mean he was comfortable discussing it in front of everyone, or even repeating it. Words were unnecessary.

War ruffled his hair, and Raziel beamed at him. Did the gesture mean they didn’t have to talk about it? He liked that plan; it had his vote.

“Never change, Raz,” War said good-naturedly.

“Stop touching him.”

Raziel leaned into Conquest’s side, soothing him with a hand on his stomach. As if he had anything to worry about with War. Hadn’t he just seen the way Uriel and War had been sucking face? The Red Rider had different prey in mind.

“Could we focus?” Atlas said irritably. “Is the Archangel helping us or not?” His blue gaze glanced between War and Raziel as if he were just as annoyed by the touching as Conquest. Raziel almost rolled his eyes at their nonsense.

“He’s going to talk to God. So the answer to that question remains to be seen, depending on what the big guy has to say.”

“So we just sit on our fucking asses until the guy who I’m not even sure is a good guy goes to talk to God ?” Atlas closed his eyes and tipped his head back, like he couldn’t believe what had just come out of his mouth. “This isn’t happening. This is just a bad dream, and I’ll wake up soon. Rotor talked about this once: it’s like a waking nightmare. That’s what this is.”

Was it? Raziel didn’t know this Rotor person. Another soldier?

“Might want to wake up soon, then,” War said. “I’m going out to hunt.”

Atlas bent forward, leaning his elbows on the table as he stretched his back. He let out a silent growl and dropped his forehead the last inch to thud against the wood. “I don’t know if I like him or hate him.”

“It’s a fluctuating feeling,” Conquest offered unhelpfully.

“I like him,” Raziel said. War had only ever been nice to him. And given him food. And he’d given Raziel an animated tour of the Horsemen castle, vastly more entertaining than Conquest’s cursory “this is where that is, that’s where this is, and don’t go over there.”

“You would,” Atlas snorted.

“What does that mean?” War had never done anything to make Raziel feel badly about him, his choice in Archangels notwithstanding. Raziel understood deeply what little choice they had when it came to falling in love. Conquest had kidnapped him, tortured him, and forced him to obey, and Raziel had somehow found himself completely captivated. Now he never wanted to be parted from him, but it hadn’t always been that way.

“Is there a person alive you don’t like?” Atlas pointed out.

Okay… fair point. Raziel sucked his bottom lip into his mouth nervously. “Are we a bad dream?” he asked quietly.

Atlas sighed. His hands clenched, and he still didn’t lift his head. “No, of course not. That’s not—can we please not twist words right now? I’m too tired to argue semantics.”

Raziel circled around behind him and gently massaged up his back. Atlas groaned and arched further, giving him more room to dig his fingers in. “Do you need to have a sleep? We can take you back to your apartment.”

Atlas paused. He turned his head, cheek against the desk. “Can you?”

“We can protect you,” Raziel said simply. He didn’t care what it took to make that promise a reality, he would ensure it. When he looked at Conquest, his Horseman nodded. Raziel loved him so much he worried his heart would stop from the force of it.

“Maybe—soon. Not now. I have some phone calls to make. But don’t—don’t stop, please?”

Raziel smiled and continued to massage the tight muscles of his back. They were very tense.

“What did he give you?” Atlas asked, the word ending on a moan as Raziel hit a tighter spot.

“My crown.”

Atlas stood from the desk, turning in confusion. “As in, a crown for a king ?”

Conquest chuckled darkly. “Not quite. Every Horseman and Demon has a Focus. It enhances our Power and gives us a conduit in order to pull more. Most are insignificant, especially lower-level Demons. Mine is not.”

Atlas glanced at his head, though Raziel knew he couldn’t see anything. “And yours is a crown?” He snorted. “Figures.”

Conquest thumbed the underside of Atlas’s jaw, crowding them close. “It means everything to me.” He pulled it from his head, and it materialized in his palm. Purposefully showing it to Atlas.

Atlas’s lips parted, wonder in his eyes. He tentatively reached out a hand. His fingers skimmed the crystals, each one lighting in response to his touch. “Fuck, that’s gorgeous. I can feel something… it’s like…”

“Power?” Conquest suggested.

Atlas looked up, and their eyes locked. The air thickened between them, sucking the oxygen out of the room until they were the only ones left.

“Yes,” Atlas whispered. “It’s really that important?”

“With it comes a better chance of survival.”

Atlas visibly swallowed. “Yours, or ours?”

Raziel’s hand clenched against Conquest’s side. He didn’t want reality to intrude on this moment, on what they’d found together, on what they’d shared together.

“Ours,” Conquest said, and Raziel could have sworn he heard a sliver of pain in his deep voice. “I’ve already told you what will happen to the mortals.”

Atlas shoved his hand away, a sneer curling on his lips. “So when the time comes, you’re going to kill me too?”

Conquest’s gray eyes hardened, and he didn’t answer the question. An answer in and of itself.

Raziel’s heart cracked. No . Even if every other mortal died, he couldn’t lose Atlas. Not when their journey had only just begun. They had so much more to learn about each other, so much growth at their fingertips.

Raziel had to find a better way, a better outcome for when they won this war, one where Atlas stood strong at the end.

I can’t lose him.