Page 86 of Destined for Dreams
Bartol glared at his friend. “I wouldn’t call it managing. I killed over a dozen innocent humans before you stopped me, and even then it was only because you found a strong enough fae willing to put me to sleep.”
Every month after that, they’d woken Bartol to see if he had regained sanity. Each time he had lashed out in a killing rage, and they’d been forced to put him back under. Only after six months had passed was he able to control himself. He stood and moved toward the window, turning his back on them. “I can’t do that again,” he continued, staring out at the night sky, “…especially now that I have a mate to consider.”
The battle with the demon so many centuries ago was the real reason Bartol had stopped fighting and turned to seducing women instead. It had been the safer option. It was one thing to fight in a war against soldiers who expected they might die. At least they had weapons and a chance to strike back. What Bartol had done that fateful day against unarmed innocents—it had been a massacre. He’d been no better than the demon he executed when he tore through those humans like they were helpless sheep.
Bartol swung around. “Not to mention I’ve never faced anything as powerful as the demon we are dealing with now. What that might do to me, assuming I could survive the battle with him, is not worth it.”
“It’s been nearly a thousand years,” Remiel said, rising to his feet and moving closer to Bartol. “You are stronger than ever—or will be once you’ve recovered from your ordeal. And you have other advantages that you did not have back then.”
Bartol frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Where do you think you get your demon killing abilities?”
He’d always had his suspicions. “I assume from my father.”
“Indeed, and Raguel could be of assistance now. He was once a powerful archangel who led a legion of warriors to fight and kill demons during the war with Hell. Most were decommissioned or repurposed after the treaty, but your father retained all of his particular abilities and powers.”
“Wouldn’t he have been banished to Hell after I was born?” Bartol asked, both confused and surprised by a lineage he hadn’t known about until now. “There is no way Raguel could or would help us.”
A slight smile formed on Remiel’s lips. “If the archangel were anyone else, you would be correct, but we could not afford to lose him—even if he did produce a nephilim offspring. He has been held in stasis in Purgatory your entire life. We kept him because he is the only remaining angel with the ability to kill the most powerful demons.”
His father hadn’t fallen? And he’d been in Purgatory while Bartol was there? “This cannot be real. You must be joking.”
“When have you known me to make light of any serious matter?”
Never, though the archangel could exhibit dry sarcasm at times.
“You said he’s in stasis, but what does that mean?” Bartol asked.
“He has not been awake since we discovered you after you were born. Consider it to be something similar to “The Sleep,” using similar magic to what the fae use to put nephilim and vampires under.” Remiel straightened his shoulders. “If you agree to fight, we will wake your father, and you will battle alongside the greatest warrior the archangels have ever had.”
Bartol stood there in stunned silence for a whole minute. No nephilim ever expected to meet their father, aside from Lucas and Micah, who were exceptions to the rule due to an experiment that went badly. “I assume my sire has more control than I do.”
“Considerably, and he can help you.”
“Why can’t he fight alone if he’s that good?” It made more sense than sending Bartol out there when he could end up being a liability.
“We drained him of his powers in order to put him in stasis. There won’t be time for him to fully regenerate before the demon has to be stopped,” Remiel explained.
Bartol ran a hand through his hair. “This will still be dangerous even with two of us, and I have Cori to consider. I don’t want to risk leaving her alone, or using my ability to such a degree that it’s no longer safe to be near her.”
“There are risks, of course,” the archangel said, leveling his gaze. “But if we do not stop the demon now—before his attack on London—it may not be possible to stop him at all in the future. The planet will become a far more dangerous and chaotic place than it is now. Do you want your mate to live in such a world?”
Bartol crossed his arms. “You want me to be a hero, but I’m far from one. I’m broken—if you haven’t noticed—and I can’t stand the touch of others. The world would be better off with someone else saving it.”
“True heroes are usually the most reluctant of us all, and they often have their own inner demons to face.” Remiel gave him a look of confidence. “We will provide you with whatever you need to accomplish the task, as well as a reward.”
“Why reward me when you know there’s a chance I’ll do it anyway?” Bartol asked, cocking his head.
“We are asking you to take on an archangel’s job despite it not being your duty.”
Once more, they were paying him when they never did such a thing for the rest of his kind. “I need to think about this.” He rubbed his face, exhaustion settling into his body. “But while I’m doing that, I want you to look into the situation with the nerou compound in Russia. It is underfunded, lacks the right trainers for important skills such as cooking, and the living conditions are a mere step or two above Purgatory.”
Remiel was quiet for a moment. “That compound is not under my jurisdiction, but I will do everything I can to resolve the situation.”
“Don’t fail them. They deserve better than that,” Bartol said, tone brooking no argument.
“Of course. In the meantime, I suggest you call your mate and speak to her if it will aid in your decision.” The archangel stood tall, gathering his power. “I will return tomorrow.”
He flashed away, leaving Bartol with a lot to consider.
