Eve of Chaos

Sydney laughed. “I had no idea interior design worked up such an appetite.”

Eve was grateful the mark prevented blushing.

After the orders were in, drinks were on the table, and they were relatively alone, Montevista leaned back in his plastic patio chair and said, “The reverend on the corner is really gunning for you, Hollis.”

“Reverend?”

Montevista smiled. “Presbyterian.”

Eve reached for her iced tea. “He’s a whack job. Zealots like that should be marked. They’re clearly devoted. If the seraphim sent enough of them after Satan, he’d give up quick.”

“He thinks you’re a call girl.”

“What the hell?”

“Because of the number of men you have visiting

“Maybe I’m holding Bible study. Did he ever think of that?”

Montevista’s eyes twinkled behind his dark shades. “He says you have a body built for sin.”

“Gee, thanks. Did you straighten him out?”

“I fought the good fight, but he says I’m bewitched. I don’t think anyone short of God will get him to change his mind.”

“Great.” Eve crossed her arms.

Sydney smiled. “Hey, look on the bright side. I wish someone said I had a body built for sin.”

“You do have a body built for sin,” Montevista said with a soft purr that made Eve look twice.

Sydney stared at her partner for a long moment, then gulped down her soda. Eve’s brows rose. How long had Montevista had the hots for Sydney? And why did Sydney seem so surprised? After working together for decades, any sort of attraction shouldn’t have gone unnoticed.

“Anyone short of God, eh?” Eve repeated, considering. “You just gave me an idea.”

“Uh-oh.” Montevista looked at her with brows raised above the top edge of his sunglasses.

Eve gave him a mock glare. “I have to return a Bible to Father Riesgo. I’ll ask him to come over and put in a good word for me.”

“Tossing a priest into the line of fire?” Sydney asked dryly.

“Have you seen Riesgo? That man can take care of himself. Besides, he seems determined to save me.” Eve sat back as the waiter returned with a tray overflowing with plastic plates. “He can start with Evil Santa.”

CHAPTER 11

Alec sat on the steps of the old Masada fortress for nearly an hour before the power he gained from proximity to the firm waned and he felt remotely like himself again. He breathed slowly and deeply, battling against his new nature until he reestablished enough control to consider associating with others. He needed help, but he wouldn’t get it if he kept being an asshole.

Where could he turn? Uriel was his first choice, but if the archangel suspected that Alec was a danger to himself or others, he would tell Michael and Gabriel. They would kill him, Alec had no doubt. But who else had answers? Who would protect him if they discovered his secret?

There was only one place he could go where he would be accepted as he was. Whether that was also the place where he would find answers was something he’d determine when he got there.

Shifting before he could change his mind, Alec entered Shamayim—the First Heaven, abode of his parents. His booted feet hit the dirt with a thud and he took a deep breath to regain his bearings. The neatly tilled rows stretching out in front of him caused a pang in his chest. There had been a time when he couldn’t imagine his life being anything other than that of a farmer.

He wasn’t that guy anymore.

So a man will leave his father and mother and be united with his woman...

“Cain!”

Alec turned his head and found his father at the far end of the field. Adam dug the plow tip into the dirt and tied the reins of his mule around a handle to keep the beast in place.

Shifting to a spot just a few feet away, Alec offered a wary smile and spoke in Hebrew by habit. “Shalom,

Abba.”

“Your mother has been missing you,” Adam said gruffly, pushing his hat back from a sweat-slick forehead. His dark eyes were assessing, watchful.

Alec resisted the urge to bristle at the thinly veiled chastisement. “I miss you both, too,” he replied tersely. “It’s crazy down there. There’s not enough time in the day, even when the days are endless.”

He’d learned to include his father in his replies, but Alec resented the fact that Adam couldn’t say anything remotely supportive or appreciative. Abel had always accepted their father’s distance without issue, but it ate at Alec. When he’d been younger and more hotheaded, he would pick fights to ease some of the sting.

“How is Evangeline?”

The question startled Alec. He hadn’t been aware that his father knew, nor cared, about the details of his life. “She’s perfect. I’m the one who’s fucking everything up, as usual.”

“Something wrong?”

“What do you know about the archangels?”

“I know you’re one now. Who would’ve thought, eh?”

Alec bit back harsh words. Of course his father wouldn’t expect him to attain such heights. “Yeah. Would Mom know more about them?”

A fond smile curved Adam’s mouth. “She’s a woman and a mother, she knows everything. Plus she took a bigger bite of the apple.”

“Right.” Alec turned to face the large cottage shielded from the sun by a copse of trees. As an afterthought before departing, he tossed over his shoulder, “Good seeing you, Abba.”

“Are you staying for dinner?”

“I might. Depends.”

“Not enough time in the day,” Adam parroted with a mocking tone.

Alec shifted to the cottage, pausing outside of it. Behind him, the bare field was hot. Here in the shade, the temperature was ideal. The home had been built like a fairy-tale cottage, a whimsical request from his mother that his father had spent years seeing to fruition.

A familiar and beloved figure filled the top half of the Dutch front door.

“You just going to stand there gawking?” his mother asked, pulling open the bottom section. She dried her hands on an apron wrapped around her waist and held her arms out to him. “You look like shit.”

“While you look beautiful, Ima.” He stepped into her embrace and pulled her close. His nostrils filled with her unique scent and some of the vibrating anxiety inside him calmed.

Withdrawing, he smiled down at her. The phrase “you haven’t aged a day” applied to both of his parents. They were arrested in time with the appearance of mortals in their late forties.

“Don’t jest,” she chided, examining his features with narrowed eyes. “You look sick. You’re pale, and the skin around your eyes looks bruised.”

A mirror wasn’t necessary to confirm her words. He felt wrung out. The fact that it showed was alarming. He was an archangel, damn it. He should be healthier and more powerful than he’d ever been in his life.

Her cool hands brushed over his face, pushing his hair back from his forehead and smoothing his brow. “You need looking after. It’s been too long since I visited you.”

“I have questions,” he said grimly.

She nodded. “Come in and sit.”

Alec followed her inside. She untied her apron while moving toward the kitchen in the back. The scent of a cooking meal soothed something inside him. He settled on a sofa in the family room and watched as his mother grabbed a half-filled pitcher from the counter. By the time she reached the seating area, two glasses had materialized on the coffee table in front of him. The darkness within him was irritated by the offering, which made him feel like a visitor rather than a member of the household.

Ridiculous, he knew, but his brain wasn’t running the show.

The interior of his parents’ home was a mix of primitive and modern. Contemporary sofas rested on a dirt floor and trendy glass tiles decorated the walls of a kitchen that boasted a water pump at the sink. Both his abba and his ima were blessed with an odd amalgamation of gifts. His mother could chill liquids with a touch and heat them just as easily. Prey came to them willingly, but they skinned and filleted their catch by mortal means. God had made their lives convenient in some ways, while still grounding them in the world they’d known since Creation.

His mother sat across from him, her long dark hair pooling on the seat behind her. She was as lovely as she’d always been, inside and out. Her concern for him was reflected in her brown eyes and the way she worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

“You should have come home sooner,” she admonished. “Is there any news about Raguel?”

Alec shook his head. “Nothing. At this point, Sammael hasn’t even acknowledged that he has him. Shows how powerful he’s become to keep his minions quiet about something of such magnitude.”

“He’s always been powerful. Don’t let mortal gossip cloud your mind. You know better.”

Leaning against the overstuffed sofa, he looked out the shaded window at the swaying branches and asked, “Do you know what happened to the other archangels? Sandaiphon, Jophiel, and the rest?”

His mother reached for a glass. “No.”

“It was suggested to me that there are only seven archangels by design.”

“Why? It places an added burden on all of them.”

“I wonder if that’s the point,” he murmured. “Like mischievous children, if you keep them busy, they don’t get into trouble.”

“What kind of trouble could they get into?” Alec exhaled harshly. “They control mal‘akhs and Marks. If they found a way to work together, think of all they could accomplish.”

His mother stilled with her glass to her lips. “Are you talking about a coup against Jehovah?”

“A revolt maybe. A bid for more power. Added privileges.”

The glass returned to the table with a sharp click. “You shouldn’t say such things. You shouldn’t even think them.”

“I should have faith,” he bit out. “Right?” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">