Page 12 of Camael
"You're the Key," Gabriel interjected. "Not just to opening barriers, but to restoring the original balance."
"Those priests were trying to use you to wake the Oldest Ones," Metatron confirmed. "And prevent you from fulfilling your true purpose. Lucifer knows what's coming. He knows that when light and shadow find harmony again..."
"His power over the shadows ends," Azrael finished for Metatron. "He loses his ability to corrupt the natural order."
"Because there won't be a separation to exploit," Amelia realized. The power flowing through her seemed to hum in agreement. "Light and shadow will be working together again, like they were meant to."
"Which is why he's trying to wake things that predate thatbalance," Camael growled. "Beings from before the first harmony was established."
"Precisely." Metatron's expression grew grave. "The coming battle isn't just about stopping Lucifer. It's about establishing a new order. And you, my dear," he fixed Amelia with those ancient eyes, "are the catalyst for that change."
"Just once," Amelia muttered, "I'd like to wake up and find out my destiny for the day is something simple. Like grocery shopping. Or filing taxes."
"Where would be the fun in that?" Camael's voice carried a hint of that sexy smirk she was starting to know too well.
"The question remains," Michael cut in, "how do we protect her while she learns to control this power? Lucifer won't stop coming for her."
"That's why she has me and my angels," Camael replied. His tone allowed for no argument. "The Angels of Retribution were created to handle karmic justice. Looks like we finally found one worthy of our reputation."
Metatron's knowing smile could've powered Las Vegas. "Indeed. Though I suspect your personal interest in her safety goes beyond professional duty, brother."
The temperature in the Archives dropped about twenty degrees as Camael fixed the elder archangel with a look that could've frozen hellfire. Amelia warmed all over when he didn't deny it. Life couldn't get more complicated. Having a dangerous destiny, ancient power, and complicated feelings for an archangel were no simple things. Amelia was starting to think she should've read the fine print on this whole magical heritage thing.
CHAPTER 4
The trip back from Heaven's Archives felt like getting shot through a cosmic pinball machine. Amelia's stomach did backflips as everything bent around her. One second, she was surrounded by rivers of floating knowledge and disapproving archangels. The next she was materializing in the mansion's entryway with enough force to make her stumble.
"Mother of magic," she gasped and then grabbed the nearest solid object - which happened to be an expensive-looking side table - to stay upright. "No one mentioned forced celestial travel would feel like the world's worst hangover."
"Most mortals don't survive the trip." Camael's deep voice came from behind her as he appeared with considerably more grace. His massive white wings were still out, and they filled the space with deadly beauty. "Your heritage protected you."
"Lucky me." She straightened and tried to get her bearings as the room finally stopped spinning. "Next time I get yankedinto Heaven without warning, I'm demanding frequent flyer miles."
His lips twitched in what might have been a smile, but his ice-blue eyes were serious. "We need to talk about what happened up there. About what Metatron revealed."
"You mean the part where my ancestors helped write the universe's instruction manual? Or the part where I'm some magical key to preventing reality from unraveling?" She ran a hand through her long, dark hair. The gesture betrayed her nervousness, but she couldn’t stop herself. "Because I've got questions about both."
"All of it." Camael moved closer. His presence filled her personal space like an approaching storm. "But first, you should sit down before you fall down. Dimensional travel takes a toll. Even on those built for it."
As if his words had permission to make it true, exhaustion slammed into her like a supernatural freight train. Her legs turned to jelly. The room started doing that annoying spinning thing again. Before she could face-plant into the marble floor, Camael's arm wrapped around her waist.
"I've got you," he rumbled. The words vibrated through his chest where she was pressed against him.
"My hero," she muttered with less snark in her voice than usual. She was too tired to maintain her normal attitude. Not to mention, he was too solid and warm to resist leaning into.
He guided her to the living room, where she sank into what had become her favorite armchair. It was a massive thing upholstered in butter-smooth leather that was softer than the chinchilla she had as a kid. The Angels of Retribution had excellent taste in furniture.
"You need to rest," Camael said. His wings settled and vanished as he took up position on the end of the couch. "In addition to the travel, your body's still adjusting to channeling so much energy."
"What I need is answers." Try as she might, she couldn't stop the yawn that escaped. "And maybe coffee. Scratch that. The coffee is a must."
As if summoned by the word, Rami appeared with a steaming mug that smelled like heaven's brew. "Thought you might need this," he said and handed it to her. "You look like you went ten rounds with Michael's ego."
"Close. I’m sure you guessed I was yanked into Heaven's restricted section. A little warning would have been nice," she griped and then took a grateful sip of the coffee. She sighed gratefully. It was exactly how she liked it. Strong enough to raise the dead and sweet enough to give any being diabetes.
Rami's eyebrows shot up as he looked between her and Camael. "She was in the Archives? And the other archangels didn't smite her on sight?"
"It's been an interesting day," Camael drawled. The tension she felt in his posture belied his casual tone.
