Chapter Five

 

Michael had long ago realized his Creator always had a reason for the things he did. Even if Michael did not always understand those reasons in the beginning, he did by the end.

This was the case with most angels in heaven. They trusted their Creator to do what was right for them, to love them, and to see to their needs. In return for that love, all that was ever asked for was their trust.

Jophiel had been one of the few angels to challenge that.

Oh, he was never loud or angry with his inquiries. He was a young, curious angel, and his questions—most of them—were not considered threatening. They were of the innocent kind. Mostly.

Why do angels have wings and mortals do not?

Why can demons not be forgiven?

Why does man have free will and angels do not?

That last one had been Jophiel's most dangerous question. Of course, man had free will so they might choose not to believe. Choose not to serve. For an angel to ask such a thing meant he too wanted the choice not to believe. It had been the question Lucifer himself had once asked before causing all his havoc and being cast out.

But Michael knew Jophiel, was fond of him and the songs he sang. He knew the question was only the expression of a childish wonderment. Still, he warned Jophiel not to ask such things again lest someone else overhear and begin to speculate. He should not have forced Jo to keep his thoughts to himself. Perhaps, if he had allowed his brother to be more open, this entire situation would have been avoided.

Soon after their discussion, Lucifer sent his demons to heaven, and all chaos had erupted both here and on Earth. The demons were diseased and sickly, some with black boils for eyes, and, as they attacked in heaven and fought with the angels, their plague spread to Earth as they were struck down.

The battle had been fierce and lasted years. Zadkiel and Jophiel were at Michael's side when he struck the winning blow with his flaming sword, finally beheading their pus-and-boil-encrusted general. But a stray demon had sent one last blast of fire and energy toward him. Jophiel had pushed Michael out of the way, risking his very existence.

The blast did not kill Jophiel, but, like the disease, he had fallen to the Earth.

Angels could not appear on Earth without Divine permission, and yet Jophiel had fallen. Worse still, he had been found by a vampire. The bottom feeders of all demons, human in appearance, and yet without souls. They were so low on the list of demons requiring attention they were mostly left to the mortals to deal with. That this vampire was descended from Belial and still held half a soul was of no consequence to Michael. They all killed eventually, as was proven by Grimm's attack on a mortal village.

Michael had wanted to go down and fetch Jophiel. He could not stand the sight of Jo, helpless in that thing's house, being nursed back to health. Yet, again and again, his request was denied.

At first, Michael thought 'twas meant to be a test, though for whom, he could not say for certain. Jophiel was hidden away by the vampire and treated with something akin to care until his wings healed. Yet, even then, when the wings were strong enough to hold him aloft, Jo did not come home, again and again fighting the pull that should have taken him away and back to Heaven.

Then, to Michael's horror, he discovered the reason for Jophiel reluctance to return when he saw Jo allow the vampire to kiss him for the first time. After that, he could watch no more.

Later, he discovered Jophiel had cut off his wings. 'Twas as ridiculous and saddening as a fish without fins or a man without his legs. Though it had been rude of him to point it out, Zadkiel had been correct. Jo was lame without them. With Jo's wings gone, all contact with him had been severed completely until three days ago.

Michael had been brought before his Creator and told of what the vampire had done to the village. He and Zadkiel were ordered to go to Earth, find Jophiel, who had been living alone as a mortal these last five years, and have him redeem himself by taking the head of the vampire who had betrayed him. Only then would Jophiel be allowed to return.

He and Zadkiel had done as instructed, given Jophiel Gideon's Chain, and transported him to the vampire's location, but Jophiel had not returned. He and Zad waited all into the night and even until the dawn had turned the sky a cool gray. Yet, still, Jophiel did not come.

Which meant he had yet to kill the vampire.

Michael and Zadkiel had returned home immediately, and Michael had gone to his Creator to ask what had happened, fearful Grimm had killed his brother as well as those villagers. The truth was far worse. Jophiel was keeping the vampire alive. The rage that swelled within him was a hot, boiling emotion he rarely ever felt. He wanted to go down and kill the vampire himself at the very thought of Jophiel being used again. But he had again been denied. He and Zadkiel were to wait.

His Creator loved them and always knew what was best. Michael had to continuously remind himself of this as the hours crawled by and his helplessness grew. Soon, another morning would come.

Whatever his plan, his Creator knew best.

"We cannot merely sit here." Zadkiel complained, having already done so numerous times already.

"We have been given our orders." Michael stated from the soft cloud he used as a cushion. If he kept his eyes shut, he could concentrate on keeping his patience rather than on Zadkiel's rigorous complaining.

"Jo was ordered to kill that vampire, and yet he did not!" Zadkiel stomped in a circle around Michael. Panic seemed to be building within him.

"There is a chance He did not know of the vampire's . . . persuasive abilities over Jophiel," Zadkiel said. "Our brother is a heartfelt creature. He would have offered mercy even to a being who does not deserve it."

Michael thought for a moment. "Perhaps He knew this would happen."

Zad spun on him, panicked rage coursing through his veins. "He would not know!"

"Be calm."

"We must go down there and kill him ourselves!"

Michael's eyes snapped open. His wings spread, and he flew up to his feet, drawing himself to his full height. Zadkiel's eyes widened, and he stepped back— fortunately for him, for otherwise he might have been in range of Michael's itching fist.

"We will do no such thing," Michael said. "We have our commands. They are to be obeyed."

That Zadkiel spoke of returning to Earth without permission could mean only one thing, and Michael would not have it. Ever.

Zadkiel scowled, but then turned his back and released his own wings. He walked to the edge of the cloud they had been sitting on, as though he meant to leap off. He stopped and turned his head at the last moment. "Always the good son, ye are Michael, even when a brother may be in danger of facing damnation."

Zadkiel jumped before Michael could reply and flew away.

Michael did not follow his angry brother, nor become anymore enraged over his words.

Those words had . . . saddened him. Were they true? He would do anything to keep his brothers safe, but . . . .

Best not to dwell on such things, especially now he was alone. He would ask his Creator one more time for leave for Earth. Just once more.

*****

Frederik and Jo travelled until the sun went down for the night. Frederik was now a whole day's journey further away from his sister. Frederik hated realizing that, yet he was grateful for the darkness. Though he enjoyed putting his face into the light the first few minutes, after walking in it for so long, he had begun to sweat in ways and in places he had never experienced before.

On those rare occasions when he was outside during the daytime, he was always in his wolf form, and then his gray coat protected him from the heat. While walking in the sun in his gentleman's form, he'd been forced to loosen his garments and completely discard his cloak.

To make matters worse, several times throughout the day, Jo had stopped, tied him to another tree—the current one being a young willow—and wandered off into the woods for whatever mysterious reason. Each time, he was gone for no more than five minutes. Perhaps it was all to give the horse a rest, though why a Heavenly Creature would require rest was beyond Frederik.

But at least the sun was down now. Jo had been gone for an hour—the longest time yet. The white stallion beside him whickered impatiently.

"I shall give him a good hard thrashing as well." Frederik answered.

"The chain would not allow it."

A tiny muscle under his eye twitched fiercely at the sound of Jo's voice. "Where have you been? This is the third time we have stopped so you can prance off—"

"Shut up." Jo unwound the chain from around the tree, and Frederik allowed himself to be led as Jo pulled himself back on his horse and they returned to their weary trail.

Frederik waited, but Jo offered no explanations. "What were you doing out there, then?"

Jo's hesitation was barely noticeable, but Frederik still caught it. "Praying."

"Praying? What would an angel pray for?"

"I have been praying that Michael, or even another of my brothers, will come to retrieve us. 'Tis becoming obvious they will do no such thing until ye're dead."

Frederik said nothing to that.

The eve came, and a sliver of a moon lit their way. They were becoming lost. How would they find Jo's meeting place with Michael when the little fool himself did not know where it was?

"We shall stop for directions."

Jo turned his head to glare down at him. "And where do ye propose we get these directions?"

Frederik sighed and shrugged. He hadn't the faintest clue where the nearest town could be. "I don't know." He clenched his fists tightly. "Perhaps you should kill me. At any rate, it will get you back to your brothers quickly enough, and then you could retrieve my sister, and all of this will be done with."

It had been what he originally asked for. The only difference would be that, this way, he himself would not be the one to kill MacNiel. But too much time was being wasted on this journey, and he was losing hope of escaping.

Jo chose to ignore him, it seemed. "I am still against it, but when a village comes into view, perhaps I shall tie ye again to one of these helpful trees and ask how far away from"—he cut himself off—"I shall ask the way."

Frederik snorted and crossed his arms. If he was tied to another tree he was going to kill . . . something.

"Are ye thirsty?"

Frederik blinked out of his violent thoughts. Jo was again looking down on him as he rode. Seeing to the needs of his prisoner, he was.

Frederik had enough blood in him to last a small lifetime, and his belly did not crave food either. "No, I am full—" He shuddered.

Jo turned away from him.

He had to speak. "You must believe I did not wish them any harm."

Jo still would not look at him. "What I do or do not believe does not matter."

Frederik winced. "I will no longer pretend the only reason for your hate is that village" —that village of at least two hundred simple farmers— "I am . . . sincerely regretful for the way we parted."

"Frederik—"

"But with the plague, so many people dead and dying, I could not risk—"

Anael stopped abruptly, and Frederik was yanked by the neck of his chain to where Jo sat. The angel grabbed him by his collar. Frederik's head barely reached over the top of that massive animal which Jo sat upon. His jaw was practically in Jo's lap.

No, it was in his lap. Frederik's chin rested just on the tight muscle of Jo's thigh. Though it was the worst time for it, he wanted to bury his face there, sink his teeth in to taste even though he was not thirsty. He missed the taste of Jo, the flavor of his skin . . . .

Before today, Frederik had never experienced sunlight the way it was meant to be experienced, but, whenever he licked Jo's angelic skin, he always thought of the warmth of the sun.

Jo did not appear to notice. His face was a mask of rage. "Stop. Speaking. Of. That. 'Twas my decision, not yers. If I chose to become mortal, with or without yer blessing, it gave ye no leave to treat me as such."

Frederik sighed and tried to nod, managing only to scratch the stubble of his chin along Jo's smooth flesh. "You are right. I apologize."

Jo's flesh suddenly heated under Frederik's chin. Their closeness snuffed out the anger he had kindled with his talk. Boldly, Frederik reached his hands up to caress Jo's thigh, the flesh pimpled in pleasure, and he pressed his lips there, his eyes never leaving Jo's face.

"Frederik." Jo's voice wavered. "Ye should not—"

"If I mean you any harm, the chain will punish me," Frederik said.

Frederik reached up, but he could only touch Jo's arm, not his face and hair as he would have liked.

The touch lasted but the barest moment before Jo shrugged him away, kicking Anael back into an easy pace.

"I'll not be yer whore again."

Frederik's anger felt like a spike inside him. "Is that what you think?"

"'Tis what I know. Ye used me for yer release, and, when I wanted to be with ye indefinitely, ye threw me away."

"Idiot!" Frederik raged. "I already told you of my reasons. There was a damned plague. Did you really think I would allow you to kill yourself for me?"

"I survived it."

"Only because you are an angel. You could not catch the disease any more than I could. But as a man, a feeble man, it would have taken you."

Jo sputtered.

"I will speak of this no more with you," Frederik said finally. "When we reach Michael, he can take my head so long as Amelia is brought to safety. Otherwise, I shall have nothing more to do with you."