Page 241 of Crimson Promises
“She’s waiting,” Michael’s voice whispered into me again.
I didn’t know whoshewas, but it was as if my entire being ached at the sound of those words. More awaited me on the other side of the voice. Something that would make me whole again. Something that would be worth the agony and misery of that world. I focused on that feeling. I grasped onto it like a drowning man to a lifebuoy.
Prisms of refracted light surrounded me. I closed my eyes and hoped this would all be over soon.
The sensations intensified. It felt like molten gold was pouring into every part of me, a fiery rebirth. My very essence was being reshaped and remolded. It was agonizing, like the searing pain of a blacksmith forging a blade, but beneath the pain was a profound sense of purpose.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the torment ceased. The burning subsided, replaced by a cool, almost detached sensation.
I hesitated momentarily, gathering my bearings before slowly opening my eyes.
An expansive chamber of opulent white marble stretched before me. Soaring columns of fluted alabaster lined the hall, crowned by golden arches.
But it wasn't the room’s grandeur that took my breath away.
Memories like a stray thread unspooled in my brain.Aurora. Fawn hair and cobalt eyes. My heart constricted at the thought.
A low whistle captured my attention. It was the eyes. Countless pairs of eyes belonging to figures of radiant beauty all focused intently on me. Each pair of eyes, unique, bore into me with an intensity that was almost palpable. The air seemed to thrum with the power of their unspoken communication.
Angels. Not justanyangels—archangels. The Council.
I had grown up memorizing their names, faces, powers, abilities, and the factions they ruled over in the word of God.
I fought to keep my hands still at my side and not grip them into fists.
The beings I had spent my lifetime trying to dismantle, to expose their secrets to the world, now stood before me. Azrael wore a smug smile that would be my pleasure to wipe off with my fist. The irony was not lost on me. Their gazes held a different emotion—curiosity, disdain, apprehension. Michael’s was most familiar. He stood in the middle of the group, hand resting on his sword pommel, feet planted hip-width apart.
I took his lead and adopted his nonchalant demeanor.
We had a long, complicated history, the two of us.
But there was no time to dwell on that. I was different after thetransformation.Instinctively, I knew I needed to conceal my agreement with Michael from the other archangels. At least until I knew it could be used to my and Aurora’s advantage.
Pushing past the initial shock, I took a moment to assess my new form. My skin seemed to emit a soft glow, the hue of early dawn. A piece of hair fell past my eyes. My once-dark hair was longer now and bore streaks of silver, shimmering like moonlight on water. I rocked back and forth on my heels. My body felt lighter and more agile. I took a few steps backward, not wanting it to appear as if I was aggressively storming The Council. There was a newfound grace and fluidity to my actions. It felt as though I had been reborn into a familiar and profoundly enhanced body.
What else had changed?
The burning in my shoulders demanded release.
Having my wings back was both exquisitely overwhelming and intimately familiar.
At first, I let them be, feeling the soft shift of each feather against the other, luxuriating in their warm touch pressed to my back. But soon, the yearning to stretch them became too strong to resist. I flexed the muscles at the base of each wing. Each movement sent waves of tingling sensations through my body. I shifted them slightly, allowing the topmost feathers to lift away from my back. The movement was almost automatic, as natural as breathing. And yet there was a newness to it as if I was rediscovering a part of me that I had forgotten.
I took a deep breath, and, with a sudden burst of energy, I unfurled them fully. The sheer span of them surprised me. They seemed more prominent now.
They spread out, revealing a mesmerizing blend of blues and silvers, as ethereal and elusive as the morning fog. The room around me faded as I focused solely on my wings. I realized…they were no longer the hewn gray that marked me as a fallen angel.
What was I?
My gaze fell to my inner wrist. It seemed even death would not grant me reprieve for my once foolish bargain with Lucifer.
I blinked my eyes several times before I worked up the courage to open my mouth.
A voice, smooth as silk yet commanding, cut through the room, beating me to it.
"Bennett," one of the archangels began. The voice belonged to a golden curly-haired angel with a welcoming smile. He looked rather like Cupid. Chamuel. “You have been given a second chance. A rare gift bestowed upon those deemed worthy.”
My mind raced, searching for answers. “I mean no offense, but what have you all deemed me worthy of? For my entire existence, I was never seen as worthy. I was only ever an Ordinary.”
