“He certainly does seem overly upset.” Haziel let her gaze linger on Wrath. It was like looking at an unrefined version of her archangel. Ramiel had the same power and physical presence, but his didn’t pound against you like a gigantic wave against a rock. No, Ramiel was polished, and sophisticated. Elegant.
“I believe he is going to try to find his get,” Ramiel murmured. “I would follow him myself, but I am needed here to deal with the seal crisis.”
Haziel was so lost in the way Ramiel’s lips caressed the syllables of his words that it took a moment for their meaning to catch up with her. “You want me to follow him?”
Please, please, please let that not be what Ramiel wanted.
“Dear Haziel.” He turned his gaze to her and smiled, and it was like the dawn breaking over the sea. “You always know exactly what I need. What would I do without you?”
Follow Wrath himself? Haziel’s stomach twisted as she eyed the big hell prince. And she had to admit Ramiel was not far off in his assessment of the situation.
Wrath’s blue eyes had gone flint hard, rivaled only by the impregnable set of his jaw. His huge hands were fisted by his sides, veins popping along his forearm.
“His power was bound by that demon of Lucifer’s,” Ramiel murmured. “He shouldn’t give you any trouble.”
Ashe must have bound Wrath when he took Eddie, and Haziel had not known that. She studied Wrath more carefully. For a being with his power bound, Wrath didn’t look one iota less intimidating. It was probably the tremendous scowl creasing his rugged features. He might be quite handsome if he didn’t always look so irritable. Not that Haziel would take her existence into her hands and tell him so. Then something more important occurred to her. “How will he get his daughter back if he has no power?”
“Now you comprehend why it’s doubly important that one of us keep an eye on him.” Ramiel flashed her another of his rare smiles, and Haziel wanted to bask in its glory.
“We believe you should reconsider your stance on Deandra.” Gabriel nodded to Raguel, and he passed a tablet to her. “According to the treaty,” Gabriel read, although Haziel was certain Gabriel had no need to read the treaty, she probably had the entire thing memorized chapter and verse. A little angelic humor never went amiss. Someone should tell Wrath that, and perhaps he wouldn’t scowl quite so much. “The hell gate must have an active guardian at all times.” Gabriel handed the tablet back to Raguel.
Haziel liked Raguel. They’d spent many hours keeping each other company whilst their respective archangels did whatever they did. Raguel had a great sense of humor and a near godlike ability not to get irritated by Gabriel. He also did a wickedly accurate imitation of Michael.
“The hell gate will have an active guardian,” Chris snapped. “One is expected here imminently.”
There was another one that needed to grow a sense of humor.
“What?” Dee gaped at him. “You can’t just send someone into my home.”
“This is a hell gate.” Chris glared at her.
“But first it was my home,” Dee scowled right back. “This theatre has been in my family for generations. Long before the hell gate was established here, and you can’t march some stranger in here and expect me to house him.”
“Your family ceded their rights to the theatre as a home when they became guardians,” Chris said with a smirk.
“Not out of choice.” Dee’s eyes snapped with temper. “A fucking hell gate opened up in our basement. It’s not like we could exactly ignore it.”
Chris looked at Dee with open disdain. “That is beside the point.”
“Bullshit,” Wrath snapped. “That is precisely the point. My daughter’s family behaved with honor when they took on the responsibility of the hell gate. A hell gate that they neither wanted nor had any hand in creating. You are shitting on their honor.”
If Wrath had his power, Haziel was certain his wings would be out by now. Wrath had beautiful wings, glossy black with red and gold lights in the filaments. Her own wings were plain white, like a goose or a duck. She sent a mental apology to her wings for that thought. Wings were wonderful. She loved flying. And while hers might not be as beautiful as the other beings in this room, as a seraph, she had six of them.
“Stay out of this,” Chris bellowed. “This is guardian business.”
“We can’t involve ourselves, Wrath,” Gabriel said and smoothed down her skirt. “According to the treaty, we need to let the different realms manage themselves.”
“Fuck the treaty. This is my daughter we’re talking about.”
Gabriel’s cheeks went pink and her eyes flashed ire. “You can’t say that about the treaty.”
Yeah, Gabriel wouldn’t like anyone being disrespectful about her beloved treaty. She probably tucked it into bed at night with a story and glass of warm milk.
“The only reason you have a daughter,” Ramiel said, “is because you contravened the rules and lay with a human.” His distaste for the idea loaded every syllable.
“Oh, please.” Wrath sneered. “I’m hardly the first one of us to dodge that rule.” He looked around the archangels and hell princes with contempt. “Now, am I?”
Chapter Two
As the meeting descended into loud protestations and objections, Wrath reached his tipping point. If he stayed in the room much longer, he’d burn the whole fucking place down and everyone in it–without his powers. He’d go the human route of a can of gasoline and a match. With a nod to Shade, he turned and stalked out of the meeting. Fucking sanctimonious angels made him want to puke. As for his fellow hell princes, they could fuck right off as well. Hypocrites, the lot of them. Sitting there and pretending like nobody had ever made a little side trip to the human realm.
He stalked into the corridor outside the greenroom.
An attractive woman of middle years with long, dark hair stopped when she saw him, and her mouth dropped open. “Oh, hello.”
He’d seen her around the theatre. She had something to do with the production currently happening. Neither in the mood, nor having the time to play nice, he nodded to her and sidestepped.
“Excuse me.” The woman followed him, her sky-high heels clacking on the linoleum tiles. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Wrath ground his teeth as he turned. “No, we haven’t.”
“I’m Lillian.” She held out one elegant white hand. “Lillian Hampstead.” She giggled, a sound far more suited to a teenage girl than a grown woman. “Or Lady Macbeth currently.”
That was right. She was an actress. Wrath vaguely recalled something about her being married to the director.
Her green eyes were giving him a thorough eye fucking, which pissed him off and made him want to take a bath at the same time. He took great delight in replying, “And I’m Satan.”
