My apartment’s spelled too, stopping her from dropping in whenever she wants. Given the set of her jaw when she turns to the side, she’s not impressed with my no-uninvited-guests policy. I give her a few more seconds to hit peak annoyance and then straighten up.
“The angel you’re calling doesn’t want to deal with your shit right now.” I cross my arms when she spins. “Fuck off until next millennium at the beep.”
She scowls, lowering the phone. “You’re such a—”
“Beep,” I say, stepping around her to unlock my apartment.
She huffs in the doorway, unable to cross the threshold. “Using divinity blocking spells makes me think the three of you left are hiding something from me.”
“We are.” I grab the bag hidden in my cupboard and pick one of the crystals out to deactivate the spell. When I turn around, Lydia’s in the archway that leads to the living room. I set the bag and crystal on the counter, and on my way through, I duck down to her ear. “Our shit from you.”
“I’m sure Cass reported to you about Samyaza?”
I stop, stiffening at the name. Samy—my brother, the leader of the original Watchers. Samy, Cass, Rosdan, and I were brought into existence together. As angels, that was our beginning, but our beginning ties to the beginning. The beginning of everything. The divine light that shaped the cosmos is the same energy, the same substance used to create us. But by coming into existence together, the four of us share a deeper bond. We’re family, so when one of us goes the fuck off the rails, it’s a jagged cut—infected from the start.
Not that I’ll give Lydia the pleasure of knowing any of that.
“I think he mentioned something,” I say, feigning indifference.
She narrows her eyes, suspicious of any bullshit out of my mouth.
Fair, because it is all bullshit. I know every detail about what happened with Samy. Far more than the scraps she’s pieced together. I also know the Demon of Destruction cracked open the Abyss, so he could get the Dimming Blade—the only thing that can wipe an angel from existence—but she doesn’t know anything about that.
And I’m not going to be the one to tell her.
“Why are you here, Lydia?” I ask. “Is this another sad attempt to get with me? Because I hate to burst your bubble, but—”
“Please stop talking.” She holds up a hand, her cheeks brightening. “I would give up my eternity to forget that night.” She drops her arm and sighs. “Since none of The Fallen have been checking in once a century as required, I’m conducting random drop-ins. So, report on your charges.”
The Fallen. Our punishment as Watchers shines as a prime example of how fast everything can go to shit. Twenty of us were sent to Earth to oversee mankind. None of us expected to find such a shitshow when we got here, humans starving and struggling to survive. Sure, my brothers and I technically went against God’s plan by deciding to help them. Still, I stand by the fact that they would have learned how to predict the weather and plant a fucking seed anyway. Except, while we were busy teaching them how not to die like dumbasses, a bunch of the other Watchers created a race of angel-human hybrids—the Nephilim—which led to a fucking bloodbath.
Was it a disaster? Yes. So much so that God opened the Abyss, bringing on a flood that scratched out creation so a new one could begin.
Did the thirteen assholes who couldn’t keep it in their pants deserve to be punished? Probably. They weren’t remorseful for the part they’d played, even after they were turned human and told their souls would rot outside of Heaven’s gates for eternity after they died.
Should those of us who were only guilty of being too nice have been banished from Heaven until we redeemed ourselves? Hell no. But we were, and I’ve been tied to one of the seven Nephilim bloodlines saved by God for our punishment ever since. Their powers on lockdown, mine only available when one’s in danger—or when they experience a spike of adrenaline, my favorite loophole. I’ve kept all my charges safe until they died of natural causes, self-sacrifice, or an act of God. And now, I’m down to the last two. Then I’ll finally be able to go the fuck home, where I belong, with the divine light pulsing through my veins—a true angel and not this sad excuse of a babysitter.
“Kai and Avery Benson,” I tell Lydia.
She stares at me, expecting more, and when I don’t provide, she rolls her eyes. “You guys make me drag every single word out of you. What happened to the other charge you had last time?”
“Their mother, Rachel Benson, died of cancer just shy of a decade ago.”
The same type as her father and his grandmother and her brothers before that. The cancer had been skipping a generation until then. Now, it seems to hit all my charges, the last one before she turned forty. After she died, Kai and Avery were raised by their paternal grandparents, who are currently enjoying retirement in Arizona.
“Avery,” Lydia says, a hint of disdain rolling off her tongue. “Do I have to worry about you screwing her like Kasdaye and his little—”
“Hannah. And can you blame him?” I add with a smirk. “She’s hot.”
Lydia’s always had a thing for Cass, and her nostrils flare at the mention of Hannah Kelley, his final charge and love of his existence—his words. The connection we share with a charge is strong, and Kelley’s cool and all, but the sacrifice to be with a mortal is our immortality. To ask to become human and give up the light we’ve been fighting to get back this entire time.
“Whatever.” She clips her tone, trying to regain control even though she’s never had the upper hand. “Just keep your ass in line, and remember, I’ll be back soon.”
“I’ll be waiting, gorgeous.” I gesture to the door. “Now, why don’t you go bother Rosdan? Give him a chance to turn you down.”
She levels me with a glare. “Screw you, Chazaqiel.”
“Been there, done”—she’s gone before I finish—“that.”
I sigh, returning to the kitchen. The crystal goes back in the bag, the bag back in the cupboard, and my ass back across the hall. When I throw the door open without warning, the light that was dulling reignites as Avery jumps.
She groans, realizing it’s just me. “You suck.”
I chuckle and crash down on the cushions beside her. Maybe I get the Cassannah attraction a little. The light feels incredible on its own. Throw in direct contact with the source and sex, and you have one hell of a combination. A chance at combustion under the right circumstances.
I end up watching Avery instead of the movie, tracing the soft curves of her face and then lower, my mind playing with the possibility.
After a while, she flinches at something on the screen and covers her eyes. The heat inside me churns and thrashes around along with the beat of her heart.
As she lowers her hands, she glances over. “If you plan on messing with me again, don’t.”
I shake my head, sliding closer. I’ve never thought about Avery as anything but a charge until recently, but I won’t lie, I’ve been wondering.