Prologue
The cell was dark and dingy, cool, and slightly damp. A high window leaked just enough light to illuminate the moist stone walls, stained mattress—too thin to really be called a mattress—and the bruised body shackled to the floor. What should have been clean, breathable air had long since soured, thickening with the overwhelming stench of urine, body odor, and blood.
So much for heavenly accommodations, Beau thought as he tracked the dust motes floating lazily through the dull shaft of light.
His tongue was heavy with thirst, his throat raw. A rank film of sweat, dirt, and other manners of filth coated his skin, doing little to cover the mottled bruises coloring his body in a depressing tapestry of abuse. After three days in this stinking hole, deprived of Utopia’s healing energy, fresh air, and sunlight, he had stopped healing. Purposefully drained of energy, he was left to rot in his own shit, his bones aching, his flesh torn to shreds.
This was almost worse than that damned basement he’d been confined to all those years ago. No one here had tried to tap his vein, so it wasn’t quite worse. Almost, but not quite. It merely solidified his belief, or lack thereof, in his brethren. Angels were capable of just as much cruelty as demons. It was a lesson he had learned well long ago.
Angels. The Maker’s crowning achievement. Or so they said.
To be honest, Beau preferred the company of humans. They were simple at times, and yes, they could be cruel, but they were real. They understood their faults, the flaws in their humanity. There was less subterfuge, and he appreciated their unapologetic honesty, even when they were wrong.
But angels? His people? Corrupt, deceptive, blind, the lot of them.
Yet that was the truth of all the Maker’s creations. They were all capable of horrendous evil. Fallen, Angel, demon, or human, none of them were immune to the depravity infecting their very DNA. Not even Beau himself. He was just as bad as the rest, wasn’t he? Even when he tried to make things right, to protect those he loved, he still managed to fuck it up.
When faced with his sins, he wondered whether he deserved all the shit he’d dealt with in his long existence. Maybe he did; maybe he didn’t. But it wasn’t like his brethren had done much to lend a helping hand. No, they’d left him to wither away in the depths of Hell at the hands and fangs of cruel masters. The law had been broken, but did the Council come for him? No. What was he to them but a lowly Dominion? People like him didn’t matter to beings like them. Beau, Noel, lower angels tasked with menial work, they were protected as long as they were useful. But when they were nothing but a nuisance, they were forgotten.
He’d been locked in that nightmarish hell for weeks, praying to the Maker for deliverance. When it never came, he prayed for death. He wasn’t granted that mercy either. Perhaps this time would be different. But he didn’t hold out hope. There would be no knight in shining armor to rescue him. Not this time.
He shifted his position to alleviate the stiffness in his muscles but instantly ceased with a hiss. His ass throbbed, fresh blood wetting the inside of his thighs. The pathetic tunic they’d dressed him in had long since soiled, sticking to the dried blood hiding beneath. Unable to heal, he could do nothing but breathe through the searing agony of ripped tissue and torn muscle.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been held down against his will, fucked like an animal, and left to bleed. No, it wasn’t the first time, and he feared it wouldn’t be the last.
Footsteps thudded on the other side of the wooden door, and trepidation cinched Beau’s throat. So soon? At this rate, they’d pulverize his insides until he drowned in his own blood—not that the angels fucking him would care. He was destined to lose his wings either way, so what was a bit of internal bleeding?
Or perhaps not. The footfalls were too heavy, too purposeful to be who he feared. There was no braying laughter or drunken taunts. Had the Maker finally granted him a reprieve? Though the unknown was just as frightening, wasn’t it?
Who had been sent this time to torment the truth from his lips?
Hushed whispers were exchanged on the other side of the door, then the creak of metal bolts. The wards lowered enough for the door to open. An angel entered.
“Gideon?” Beau’s voice cracked from disuse as the enormous male shut the door, the bolt locking them in together.
Why would they send Gideon? He had been dishonored long ago, before Beau’s time. He held no seat on the Council, and he rarely garnered favors from those who did. Yet here he was. Either things would be looking up for him, or Gideon was here to kill him. Funny how Beau didn’t care which would come to pass.
The formidable male paced before the cell bars separating them, never once glancing in Beau’s direction. He tugged on his ear as he muttered incoherently to himself.
At long last, Gideon ceased his incessant pacing, then waved his hand to cast a silencing ward over the room. No one would hear their conversation… or Beau’s screams. His heart stuttered in terror. He never thought he’d meet his end at the hands of a male he respected.
Wasn’t Fate a bitch?
As Gideon faced him head-on, Beau’s fright melted to concern. Lifeless green eyes lifted from the floor, the skin beneath blackened by lack of sleep and worry. Stress lines were etched into his brow and around his eyes, his normally golden skin sallow. His dark blond waves hung dull and limp around his face. Normally, Gideon was straitlaced and put together, but his shirt was untucked, misbuttoned, and rumpled.
Beau’s heart dropped to his toes. “What’s happened?”
With a thick, audible swallow, Gideon cleared his throat. His voice came out hoarse. “They took Riley.” Three words, yet they drained Gideon of whatever life remained inside him. His shoulders slumped, his breath hitching. “They took him.”
Beau’s throat swelled as panic buzzed through his veins. “When? How?”
“He’s been gone a few hours.” Despair clung to the Archangel, dragging him down like a physical weight. Beau never thought it was possible for the male to look small, yet he looked like a light breeze would tip him right over. “Where is he, Beauregard?”
Oh, so that was what brought him here.
“I don’t kno—”
“Don’t lie to me!” Gideon’s fists smashed against the cell bars, his lips curled back in an inhuman snarl. “You were his friend. He trusted you, you son of a bitch. You owe him this. Now tell me where he is!”
Cowering into the wall, Beau choked on a sob. “I don’t know! This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this—I tried to protect him.”
“Liar!”
“I never wanted this to happen.”
Gideon roared, rattling the enchanted bars, entirely unhinged. “He trusted you. Even when they arrested you and threw you in here, he didn’t give up hope. He still stood by you.”
The words shredded Beau’s heart inside his chest. Of course Riley would believe in him. Because Riley was everything good and wholesome in this universe. And Beau had failed him.
“I tried—”
“Where did they take him?” It was a plea this time, and tears trickled down Beau’s cheeks as Gideon dropped to his knees, his grip on the metal bars the only thing keeping him from curling into the fetal position. He was a man dying from within, and Beau couldn’t bear to see it. “Please.”