Yeah, nope, that wasn’t going to happen. Wrath released his wings and took to the air.
“Oy!” The seraph yelped and followed him. “You. Hell prince. Stop.”
Nope, he wasn’t going to wait around like some supplicant at his master’s gate while an underling sought permission for him to enter. The seraph may be able to keep up with him flying, but if it came to a fight, the ponce was seriously outclassed.
Another three seraphim popped into the air beside him. And then another twenty.
Well, now the odds were looking a little more even. Not much, but hey, he was feeling amicable. He’d give them a few free blows before he showed them why lesser beings did not mess with a hell prince. Especially not a hell prince on a mission.
Seven of the seraphim formed an attacking position and dived for him.
Wrath blasted them out of the air. Not hard enough to end them, but certainly hard enough to leave a mark. He spat white and silver feathers out of his mouth and kept flying for Ramiel’s palace.
The palace was no big surprise, given the tightwad who owned it. Low and sprawling, it lounged in glaring white across the top of a green hill. Built of flowing, pleasing lines and perfectly symmetrical, it made him want to take a shit on the walls, just to put something out of place.
Ramiel appeared on a balcony central to the complex and stared up at him.
He must have given some instruction to his angels because they kept pace with him but there were no more attacks.
Back winging, he landed on the balcony beside Ramiel.
The air stirred as seraphim landed all around them. Vexia had wanted to come with him, but he’d refused. He wasn’t here to make war. Not yet, at least.
“Satanus.” Ramiel raised a brow. “Nice of you to drop in.”
Wrath gestured to the seraphim around him. “Get rid of the pigeons.”
Waving a hand, Ramiel dismissed his host.
The one who’d met Wrath at the gate gave him a glare as he went.
Wrath flashed a grin at him. Yeah, food chain, shithead. And he was on the top.
“How is your seal?” Crossing his arms, Ramiel studied him.
Wrath was okay with getting the pleasantries out of the way first. “Eddie’s repair is holding, for now, but we need to find a permanent solution.”
“Hmm.” Ramiel pursed his lips. “And the other seals?”
“Shit.”
Nodding, Ramiel said, “We are making some headway into researching seal repairs, but nothing definite yet.”
“Not going to invite me in?” Wrath gestured to the open glass doors behind Ramiel.
“I’m considering it.” Ramiel shoved his hands in his pockets.
It had taken Wrath a few days to arrive at his determination to come here, and he wasn’t going to be turned back now. He strode for the doors.
Ramiel stepped into his path with a growl. “Wrath.”
“You know why I’m here.” He met Ramiel’s gaze. “And after what you did, you owe me the courtesy of listening to what I have to say.”
Ramiel chuckled grimly. “Or what?”
“Or I level this place around your ears.” Wrath didn’t make the threat lightly. He was here to see Haziel, and he wasn’t leaving until he did.
“Try it.” Ramiel scoffed. “You think I’m going to stand by and let you do that?”
“I think you’d try to stop me,” Wrath said. “But it doesn’t have to come to that.”
A long, tense moment passed as Ramiel stared at him. Finally, he nodded and motioned Wrath to follow him inside.
The inside was as white and antiseptic as the outside. All this white would give him a ball ache before today was over. He couldn’t picture Haziel in this sterile environment. She was so full of life and fire. She was color, vivid and fascinating.
Ramiel surprised him by foregoing the ostentatious white throne on its white marbled dais—Ramiel really had committed to the theme—and led them to a smaller seating area to the right. He lowered himself into one of the three—you guessed it—white armchairs and motioned Wrath to take the other.
An angel appeared and put refreshments in front of them. The color of the biscuits, cheeses, and fruit seemed almost garish against everything else. Thankful he didn’t have to choke down a glass of milk, Wrath accepted a glass of ruby wine from the angel.
“I can guess why you’re here.” Ramiel crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. He held his glass of wine up to catch the light. “But why don’t you tell me anyway?”
“I want to see her.” Wrath sipped his wine and was surprised by Ramiel’s excellent choice of vintage. The Cabernet Sauvignon rolled across his tongue in a burst of blackberries and tobacco.
Ramiel tilted his crystal goblet and studied the red refraction of the wine against the crystal goblet. “Why?”
“There are things I must say to her.” Wrath wasn’t going to have this conversation with Ramiel. Haziel wasn’t some kind of medieval serf who required her lord’s permission to speak with him. Neither was she some female chattel that he needed to approach through her nearest male relative. “There are things that I would say to her and her alone.”
Ramiel hummed and sipped his wine. “You see, Wrath, we’re at a bit of an impasse here.”
