Page 38 of Forged in Twilight: The Complete Series

CHAPTER1

Samael leaned back in his brother’s molded leather chair, feet up on Raze’s desk, wondering how long he was expected to stick around before he could go out on an evening flight.

Though his wings were currently contained, tucked inside of his seemingly human appearance, they itched. Unlike his brothers, Sam preferred to leave his wings loose whenever he could, even though their pristine white color was a lot harder to shield than Raze and Micah’s inky black wings.

Then again, it didn’t matter. Their power might be waning, but some celestial skills were so ingrained in the angels that it took no effort at all. Camouflaging against the night’s sky during another flight, pulling his wings back inside when he was done, even following the tug of a psychic trail… he’d been able to do all that for millennia, and despite how things had slowly started to change these last few years—a blip in time to one of the Fallen—Sam planned on doing that for millennia more.

After all, as a former angel of death, he had a lot to make up for.

Which was precisely why he’d rather be soaring over the City of Sin, looking for souls in trouble, in need, rather than sitting with his legs up, contemplating how to get out of casino duty.

Raze was the boss, so he was pretty much a lost cause. Micah, sitting at his own desk, was fiddling with some handheld electronic, casting Sam amused looks out of the corner of his eye while Raze paced.

The scowling elder prince had a tendency to do that quite a lot.

Maybe if Sam had his own desk in the office, he’d be sitting at it while Raze sat straight-backed and proud in his insanely expensive chair. But because he insisted that he’d never use it, Sam didn’t—so he claimed Raze’s whenever his older brother demanded his presence at the hotel.

To Sam, it seemed like a waste of time. The ne’er-do-well brother, the black sheep with the white wings, he knew that Raze couldn’t understand why Sam preferred to make amends for his past over lurking in the shadows of their casino, watching souls—faction and human both—pour money into their coffers.

They were fallen angels, the strongest of their kind that lingered in Purgatory, and Raze was sure that none of them had anything to be sorry for.

He wouldn’t, though, would he?

Raze only worshipped money and power.

Micah was dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge.

And Sam… he just wanted to keep his dark urges at bay.

Tonight, he was in an affable mood. A couple of evenings ago, Sam stopped an unlucky gambler from stepping out in front of a bus. Using the power of suggestion, he told the human male that everything would be okay, that he could get help for his addiction, that this was his second chance at life. Before answering Raze’s call earlier, he’d followed up on the male and discovered he had checked himself into a rehab for treatment.

Another life saved instead of being cut down by the former angel of death. That was enough to make him content, though his work would never be done. There would always be another soul in need of saving, and with nothing but the casino and his brothers to occupy him, he could—and would—devote the rest of forever to making up for his former life as an angel of death in the celestial cities.

His brothers might not understand his motives, but they usually let him get away with it. Raze was very hands-on with House of Sin, their casino, and Micah… well, he had his own shit to deal with, didn’t he? So long as he came when he was called, and he took his turn with the casino’s myriad responsibilities, Raze looked the other way when Sam spent all night, every night as the City of Sin’s resident guardian angel.

He’d already been sitting in the office for twenty minutes. At this hour, Raze should be prowling the casino floor, getting his fix from the gamblers’ souls and their every-flowing money—but he wasn’t.

Sam bit back a frown. That meant only one thing: his brother wanted to talk about their waning powers again.

There were whispers that Lucifer was at it once more. The lord of Hell had a tendency to curse the factions, causing them trouble, and it wouldn’t surprise Sam in the least if he had something to do with the state of their powers. As much as Lucifer hated all of the paranormal factions that made up their world, he especially loathed the royal angels.

Of course he did. If he hadn’t fallen all the way to Hell, he might’ve been one of them.

Suddenly, a spark crackled through the tension in the quiet office. It was a quick, short sound, followed by a muttered oath as Micah dropped his electronic, shaking out his hand.

Raze shot his head over to his youngest brother. “Really? You’re still messing with that shit? Just get that thing warded and move on.”

Micah jutted his chin enough to show that he didn’t appreciate Raze snapping at him. “It worked all last night. I think my Switch is just reacting to your crappy mood.”

So Sam wasn’t the only one to notice it.

A dark look flashed over Raze’s face. “I’m in a fine fucking mood.”

“Obviously,” drawled Sam.

“Don’t you start. I finally get you to make an appearance and—”

Whatever Raze was going to say next was immediately forgotten when a knock sounded at their front door. Their office was set off the back of the casino on the third floor of the Twilight Sphere hotel, and it was the brothers’ sanctuary. Only the three of them were allowed inside with one exception: Cael, another fallen angel, and the floor manager for House of Sin.

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