Page 1 of Camael
CHAPTER 1
The cotton shirt was giving Camael holy hell. The shirt was tight across his chest in all the wrong ways. It made him jones for his white toga, like a junkie needing a fix. And wasn't that just perfect? He’d been through multiple millennia of celestial warfare. Here he was, getting punked by some designer label that Rami swore was ‘essential for blending in’.
Truth? The archangel was supposed to be all about that live-and-let-live lifestyle. No judgment, open mind, and welcoming all perspectives. You know, the whole kumbaya package. At least that's what he kept telling himself while staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror like it might offer up some divine wisdom.
His ice-blue eyes stared back at him. The familiar sight of his hard-as-diamonds and twice-as-sharp peepers was reassuring. Not everything was unfamiliar. There was a reason for his current get-up. The new threads might be a pain in his ass, but even he had to admit they worked with his build. All six-feet-four-inches of warrior muscle. Contrary to whatmany might believe, he’d earned his physique through endless centuries of celestial throwdowns.
His jaw was strong enough to cut glass, and his face... well, humans tended to stare. Apparently, being carved from divine light had that effect on the ladies. True story. This was the second time in his endless existence that he was questioning his own damn sanity.
With a curse that would've made a lesser immortal blush, he yanked at the offending fabric. Like his wardrobe crisis meant jack when Lucifer was strutting topside doing God knew what. That was the only thing that mattered in this clusterfuck of a situation.
The bathroom counter cracked under his grip. With a grimace, he forced himself to ease up. Breaking shit wasn't going to help anyone, especially since their new HQ was already racking up a maintenance tab that would make Jeff Bezos wince. "You break it, you buy it," Rami called from the hallway. His second-in-command had radar for his emotions lately. He was certain the male was worried about Camael’s mental state, but he didn’t need to be. He was right as rain.
"Like we ain't already bought it," Camael fired back as he ran a hand through his short hair. The gesture was human. He'd learned it from centuries of observation. Oddly enough, it helped center him. Somewhat.
"True that. But maybe ease up on the remodeling until we've been here more than forty-eight hours?" Rami countered.
Camael stalked out of the bathroom. Their new digs were a straight-up mansion in the heart of NOLA. It screamed old money and older secrets. Michael and Raphael had thrown down the location. Everyone was hoping Lucifer was tethered to the city thanks to the Rowan sisters and their powerful spell work. The logic was solid. As solid asanything could be when dealing with the Prince of Lies and his poster child for daddy issues.
The witches - all three Rowan sisters plus Amelia and Ceilia - had confirmed the magical chains were still locked down tight. Their theory? That bitch Crocell had pulled some next-level tactics and created interference that let Lucifer slip through a tear in reality before the spell could bitch-slap him back to Hell. It was a smart move. Too smart for an archdemon who used to be an Angel of Salvation upstairs. She and her sister hadn't been built for that kind of deviousness.
Just thinking about Crocell made his wings itch to manifest. Back in the day, she'd been something else. She was all righteous purpose and divine light. Now? She was Hell's favorite problem child. She served up chaos with a side of crazy.
"You got that look again," Rami observed as he fell into step beside him. "The one that says you're thinking about ripping someone's wings off."
"Crocell," Camael confirmed. His voice dropped to a growl that made the air vibrate. "Can't wrap my head around how far she's fallen."
"She chose her path," Rami reminded him. "Just like her sister. Just like Lucifer. Our job isn't to understand it. It's to stop them. You taught me that."
And now Camael was left holding the supernatural bag of flaming shit. He could've bounced this mission to Michael and played backup instead of point. But leaving Amelia's safety to anyone else? Not happening. And that compulsion? That obsession? It rode him hard and put him away wet. From first sight, that sexy-as-sin witch had him locked down tight. He'd even wondered if she'd worked some mojo on him.
"About the witch," Rami ventured. Apparently mindreading was now part of his skill set. "She's due over later to reinforce the wards."
Camael's body tightened at the mere mention of her. She was five-foot-seven, full of curves and attitude. She also had power that made the air around her crackle. And her eyes saw straight through his celestial bullshit. "Good. The place needs it."
"Uh-huh." Rami's knowing look could've stripped paint. "That's why you're already flexing."
"I don't flex," Camael growled as he loosened his fists.
"Right. And Lucifer's just misunderstood," Rami countered.
Their steps echoed through the mansion's entryway, where a chandelier that probably cost more than most humans made in a decade threw light across marble floors. Fresh flowers perfumed the air from a massive vase. It was his favorite touch in the place, not that he'd admit that shit to anyone. Some things a warrior angel had to keep to himself.
The living room looked like Architectural Digest had a baby with Supernatural Weekly. Along with the high ceilings and crown molding, were enough wards to make a demon's eyes bleed. Irritation flowed through him when he hit the space. Malachi was sparring with Zach and acting like teenagers instead of ancient celestial warriors.
"Your left side's wide open," Malachi taunted, dodging Zach's grab with supernatural grace.
"Your mouth's wide open," Zach fired back, feinting right before going low.
"Ladies," Camael drawled, "if you're done with the foreplay, we’ve got actual work to do." Sometimes, leading these angels was like herding cats.
Both warriors straightened immediately. His eyes rolled when he noted how their grins stayed in place. That was thething about his Angels of Retribution. They might be Heaven's most feared fighting force but they were family first.
"Just keeping our skills sharp, boss," Malachi defended as he straightened his designer shirt. It cost more than some cars.
"Yeah?" Camael raised an eyebrow. "Sharp enough to finish organizing those glasses you abandoned an hour ago?"
Zach had the grace to look sheepish. "We were getting to that."
