Page 232 of Crimson Promises
As I turned, my gaze caught a leaf suspended mid-air as if frozen in time. It was neither falling nor rising, just... still. I touched it, and it remained immobile beneath my fingers. My heart raced as I turned my attention to the flowerbeds. Dewdrops, which should have been trickling down petals, were now caught in a delicate stasis, glistening like diamonds against the morning light. Time hadn’t just slowed; it had stopped entirely.
Before, I hadn’t registered the golden bubble surrounding us. I was too worried about being attacked by a psycho. I needed to stop watching true crime shows. I took a tentative step, half-expecting the ground to feel different under my foot, but it was solid, real. Swallowing hard, I met Michael’s gaze, searching for an explanation.
“Now, do you believe I do not need psychiatric assistance?”
“Truthfully, no.” My legs began to tremble. I moved to sit back on the bench. He didn’t seem like he was trying to murder meyet. “Okay, you have my attention, Michael.”
He unclipped his cloak and laid it on the bench beside me. I didn’t expect such a formidable figure to be so careful with an article of clothing.
With the cloak gone, I took in his imposing, armored figure. All I could think of was that he looked like he could easily fight alongside Russell Crowe inThe Gladiator.
I frowned.
“I can see you still aren’t getting it.” Wings, brighter and bigger than I had ever seen, rolled out from behind his back. The wings were close in size to Lucifer’s but dwarfed Ben’s.
“Holy crap. You’re an angel.”
“I am. Anything we say within this ward is protected. Our presence here is undetectable.” He nodded. I could have sworn I saw the hint of a smirk.
My mind spun. I pushed myself to my feet, pacing around and around. Michael. An angel. The wings on his armor. His immaculate white wings. The uniform wasn’t a costume. He was dressed for battle.
“Archangel, Michael.” Heaven’s mightiest defender and an Original. He held one of the coveted seats on The Council.
I was going to throw up.
“The very one,” he stated, his voice laced with pride.
Did the Originals find out I was working alongside Ben now? Did they come to take me? Or did they, too, want to covet my powers?
The momentary relief I had felt at not being attacked or dragged away evaporated.
“Why are you here? What do you want with me?” Chills erupted all over my body despite the amount of layers I had on.
“Nothing. I want nothing but your safety.”
My eyes narrowed in response. “Why would you want that? You are an archangel of Heaven. From what I’ve read, you’re one of thebigones. Why would you possibly care about a mortal’s safety? I’m sure you have demons to slay and people to judge and all that.” It was imperative to keep my angelical heritage and connection to Ben concealed.
Michael arched an elegant eyebrow in response.
He knows something. Fuck. There goes the mental loophole of denial.
“Okay,” I blew out a breath. “You know who I am. I think it’s an appropriate amount of time into this conversation for you to start explaining yourself and why you’re here.”
He bit down on his lip. All at once, it felt like an eerily familiar gesture. Weird.
“Aurora,” he began, his voice carrying a weight of ages. “There is so much I need to tell you, so much I've kept from you. I’m not quite sure where to begin.”
I leaned my hip against the tree. “Normally, at the start—it is as good a place as any.”
Michael ran a brusque hand through his curls. They bounced in response. His stance remained hip-width apart—a habit if I had to guess.
"Centuries ago," he began, "not only were humans given ten commandments to live by but we, angels—including archangels—were also bestowed with a set of rules." He hesitated, taking a deep breath as if preparing for the following words. His fingers twitched at his side.
A subtle sign of his unease.
One of his wings shifted, the feathers rustling softly. "One of those rules strictly forbade intimate relations between an archangel and a human."
I watched him closely, noting the tension in his jaw and the slight downturn of his lips. Every fiber of his being seemed to be bracing itself for a reaction. I dipped my chin, letting him know I was listening and following along.
