Page 25 of Wicked Angel
“It’ll be trial and error,” I replied. “But this is the best shot we have.”
Ezekiel shifted his weight, looking suddenly nervous. “I should head back before anyone notices I'm gone.”
I caught his arm before he could turn away. “Ezekiel, wait.” His eyes met mine, questioning. “My sister, my mother … You’re keeping an eye on them, right?”
“Always.”
“If anything seems wrong, if you think they're in danger, or things are escalating, get them out of there. Hide them if you have to.”
“I will,” he promised, his voice solemn. “I care about them too, Ariella.”
The sincerity in his eyes made my throat tighten. “I know.”
He stared at me, his jaw set with determination. “I'll be back with the lilies as soon as I can.”
As he turned to leave, I called after him, “Be careful, Zeke.”
He glanced back at me, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Always am.”
We watched him go, slipping out through the warehouse doors and into the sunlight beyond. For a long moment, neither of us spoke, the weight of what was to come settling heavily between us.
“So,” Levi finally said, breaking the silence. “Looks like we're going to Elysium after all.”
I nodded, my mind already racing with plans and possibilities. “We need to call Abbie, Lacey, and the others. If Ezekiel comes through with the lilies, we need to be ready.”
Levi's hand found mine, his grip steady and warm. “Why call when we can visit?” He flipped one of the coins in his other hand.
I smiled at him. “Even better.”
12
Three days crawledby like eternity. Each morning, I woke up expecting news, a message, something—anything to break the endless cycle of waiting. But Ezekiel remained silent, the angels stayed hidden, and the rest of the supernatural world seemed to be holding its breath.
To keep from losing my mind, I threw myself into training. Levi and I spent hours at the warehouse, working with my magic, making sure it was truly stable. Day by day, my confidence grew. My light bolts flew true, my shields held strong, and for the first time in months, I felt like myself again—an angel with purpose and power.
“Your aim's getting better,” Levi observed one afternoon as I hit the center of a target for the fifth time in a row. A thin sheen of sweat covered his skin, his shirt discarded hours ago. Even after endless rounds of sparring, he barely looked winded—just one of the many perks of being a higher demon, I supposed.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead, grinning despite my exhaustion. “Was that a compliment? From the great Leviathan himself? I'm honored.”
He rolled his eyes, but I caught the small smile tugging at his lips. “Don't let it go to your head, sweetheart.”
I summoned another light bolt, letting it dance across my fingertips before hurling it at a moving target Levi had rigged up. The bolt struck with perfect precision, sending the target spinning wildly.
“Too late,” I called over my shoulder as I headed for the water bottles we'd set aside. “I'm already planning to put that on my résumé. 'Ariella: Kicker of ass, so impressive even Leviathan noticed.'“
Levi laughed, the sound echoing through the warehouse. “You're impossible.”
“And yet, here you are.” I tossed him a water bottle, which he caught with ease.
Our eyes met, and for a moment, everything else faded away—Rhodes, the dagger, the looming threat of war. All that remained was the two of us, breathing hard in the dim light of the warehouse, connected by something deeper than magic or fate.
“Here I am,” he agreed softly.
We didn't always train with magic. Some days, we traded energy bolts for blades, sparring with the practiced ease of two warriors who had spent their lives in battle. Other days, when even the warehouse felt too confined, we ventured out to a nearby park, running for miles along winding trails that cut through the heart of Houston.
Those were the moments I treasured most—the sun on my face, the rhythm of our footsteps matching as we pushed ourselves harder, faster. Sometimes, I could almost pretend we were normal. Just two people, living ordinary lives, without the weight of realms resting on our shoulders.
But we weren't normal, and the constant absence of news was a reminder that our brief interlude of peace wouldn't last.
