Page 62 of Light

Jophiel darted another nervous glance between them and opened her mouth. No words came out.

“What?” Adalaide asked, her throat going dry.

“Tell her,” he growled.

Jophiel nodded, her wings twitching in agitation. “We met with the Fallen and learned—” she shot another nervous glance at Gabriel. “There’s no easy way to put it.”

“Tell me, Jophi,” Adalaide said, scooting left to move around Gabriel. He went with her, blocking her path.

Jophiel’s glow dimmed so much that she might have passed for human as she said, “We learned that… when you die… it will not be enough.”

Adalaide rolled the words over in her mind. “Meaning?” she prompted.

“Meaning… There must be an end to my line.”

“But, I have sons?” Adalaide’s gaze darted to Gabriel. “Gabriel. What does she mean?”

Jophiel rushed on. “The women of our line will all die at the same age you do.”

Adalaide processed her words, her hand flying to her mouth. “No.”

Jophiel moved behind Gabriel, and his eyes narrowed on his sibling as she said, “It was the only way to stop her.”

Adalaide stepped forward, baring her teeth. “I gave up everything for you, and you ask more of me?”

Gabriel spun around, grabbing her shoulders, a feral rage dancing in his eyes that she'd never seen before. “Do you think we ask this of you lightly? The fate of humanity rests with you. We ask a lot. Too much. If you weren’t so selfless, it would have been simpler.”

She scoffed, wrenching free of his hold. “If I were more wicked, my kin would suffer less?”

Gabriel stepped back, his wings stretching behind him as his words came out sharp and accusing. “I did not ask you to agree to this. You made the sacrifice, and I cannot help you now.”

The words cut deep and her shoulders slumped as she dropped her gaze to the floor. “It’s my family,” she whispered.

“Only the women. This much I could do for you.” He leaned forward some of his anger banking as he wiped a tear from her cheek. “Human lives are brief. You will see that much awaits you once yours has ended.”

She batted his hand away, stepping back.

“You’ve all but ensured that, have you not? I will not see my boys grow up. I will not see the men they will become.”

“You will see them again.”

Another tear slid down her cheek. Gabriel reached for her, but she continued backward until she was at the pearly gates, and then she was falling.

She landed hard on the roof of her building, a sharp pain piercing through her, making her gag. She dropped to her knees and retched, the contents of her dinner spilling over the rooftop. She rubbed her chest, taking short, gasping breaths.

It was the bond, rebelling against her departure. Was that how he felt every time he left? It was agony. And he had left so many times.

A piercing screech rent the air, and even through layers of brick, she could hear Henry’s cry. Taking a running jump, she leapt off the edge, palms facing down, and, using air magic, navigated into her bedroom window.

In the babies’ room, she let out a sigh when she found them wrestling each other in their bassinet. She picked them up, nestling one in each arm, and hummed softly to them as she swallowed around the slowly receding pain in her heart.

Her chest gave a warm spasm as the ember glowed in recognition of its twin’s arrival. It was sweet relief from the pain of leaving him, but she squeezed her eyes shut, drawing up those mental shields Jophiel had taught her to erect, and took a few calming breaths.

She didn’t have time to fight with him—or any of them. She was a mother now, and two precious beings relied on her. How had she been so short-sighted?

Sacrificing herself for the angels when it meant her line would pay the price forever?

“I never wanted this for you,” his deep rumbling voice said from the doorway, making her toes curl.

---