Angel Kin (12 page)

“The healer is here!” Dex shouted from the entryway.

Cross frowned. “It’s a bit late. I thought he wasn’t coming. He  said he’d be here at six.”

“It’s nearly nine now.” Madigan tensed. He was beginning to

dread the idea of late-night guests or any guests for that matter.

Maybe he was paranoid from all the people trying to kill him recently, but it typically didn’t bode well when someone knocked on his door or strange angels swooped in from out of nowhere.

Yuri was out of his chair in an instant, circling the island and rubbing Madigan’s back in slow circles. “This is a safe place,  Madigan. Sanctuary can’t be violated. Remember? The hunters couldn’t even get to us at your mom’s house.”

“But, they could outside of it.” Madigan started trembling.

“This entire town is sanctuary. In or out of it, no one can wage war here. No one can hurt you.” Yuri’s words were reassuring, and  Madigan forced himself to take a deep breath.

He jumped as the healer and Dex came sweeping into the room.  As per usual, Dex took up a good amount of space, towering over all of them as he followed diligently behind the shorter, red-haired man carrying a black backpack. The healer looked young. Madigan did a double take at the slight build and almost waifish appearance. The healer looked
 
really
 
young, like he was fourteen or something.

“Hello, lovelies!” the healer greeted, his eyes going from one person to the next in the room. Michel and Bren trailed in from the den, taking up positions on either of the exit doors in a casual stance that wasn’t overtly threatening, but they made their presence known all the same. “An unusual bunch to be sure.” His voice had that airy quality that Madigan always associated with fortune tellers. “A flock of angels to one little lost lamb.” That youthful face turned toward  Madigan, and the nephilim felt it down to his toes. While his body was young, the healer’s eyes were ancient pools of knowledge, so sharp and experienced that it bled from their copper depths.

“Fallen, you’re making our Madigan nervous.” Dex growled from behind the healer. “I would suggest you stop doing that.”

“I’m fine,” Madigan said automatically. The healer looked at him for another long stretch of time. The seconds ticked by, and  Madigan’s skin started to itch.

“Yes, you are. Or you soon will be, Son of Raphael.” The healer’s  oracle voice washed over him almost like a physical touch. It wasn’t  unpleasant, but it wasn’t entirely comfortable, either. It was more like  intimate hug from a stranger, the feeling wrong against his skin.  Madigan took a step back, and every angel in the room growled.

The healer held up his hands in surrender. “Be easy, guardians. I  am not a hunter nor do I disapprove of your joining. I am simply  aware that this nephilim is privileged to have a lineage that will make  him into a fine hero one day.” He bowed, but it looked more like a  curtsey than anything. “I am Scepta, healer of the sanctuary state of  Urun.”

“I thought this town was Titanvelle?” Madigan asked.

Scepta smiled, the look turning his face impish. “That is the

human name. Locals call it Urun as do the celestials. It was

established a hundred years ago by the Archseraphim Daisis and his  lovers Unu and Runa. Since he is still a celestial being, he made a city  for his two nephilim loves where they could be safe and live  prosperously. It’s all rather romantic, actually. Most of the Fallen,  older nephilim, and their kin live in and around the area. One of the  many reasons why people choose this city is for its calm. Unu and  Runa are the unofficial rulers here during Daisis’s many and long  absences, but I suppose that is irrelevant to you and yours.”

“There is no archseraphim who rules over a city of Fallen and  nephilim!” Michel protested. “Archseraphim are of the highest order.  They’re above such banal and base concerns.”

Scepta laughed at that, the sound like chimes in the wind. “You  think that do you, Michel, son of Michaela? The upper realms are just  as susceptible to humanity as the rest of the angelic choirs given  enough exposure to them. Runa and Unu were sent before judgment  after the hunters failed to throw them into the realm of banishment.

Daisis was meant to be their judge. Instead, he fell in love with the pair and built this city as symbol. As usual, your choir displays

nothing but a stubborn adherence to your ways. Cast aside your  notions of heavenly discipline, Michel. You’re in Urun now.”

“And you, Fallen? How do you fit into this?” Cross asked, much  more cautiously than Michel.

“I am Daisis’s son. The Creator blessed my fathers with the ability  to create life between them. I am the product of Unu, Runa, and  Daisis’s combined spirits. As such I am…” He paused searching for a  word. “Different,” he decided on at last. “I am neither Fallen nor

nephilim nor angel. I’m somewhere in between. My healing skills are  as potent as Raphael’s, though he was my teacher.” His eyes zeroed in  on Yuri. “You have a darkness in your aura that tells me that the  magic worked upon you is a vicious, spiteful kind usually only cast by  demons.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Every day, Azrael  grows bolder in his attempts to eradicate you. The fates will get even  with him for his viciousness yet.” He cracked his knuckles. “No  matter. That will be a task for another time. For now, let me have a

look at Yuriel.”

“He needs to be comfortable. Can we do this in our room?”

Madigan cut in, a strange energy filling his body as if he felt the room slowly filling up with an invisible gas of some kind.

Scepta inclined his head, his long, red hair falling over his eye.  “As you wish.”

“You have the coloring of My Lord Raphael,” Cross said as they all moved en masse toward the bedroom.

“I can change the shape and color at will. I can be as large as  Dexirus over there or as small as I am now. I prefer this form. It  makes me look helpless, and I enjoy the thrill of power games. I use  this coloring as a tribute to Raphael,” Scepta explained. “I need you  all to surround the bed, please. He will not enjoy this next bit in the  least, and as much as I do not wish to cause him pain, he will most  likely experience it. Yuriel, lay down at the center on your stomach.  Son of Raphael, why don’t you sit beside him? He will be calmer with  your presence near him.”

“Why would you wear a tribute to Raphael? He may have been  your teacher, but I imagine you had several of those since your father  is an archseraphim.” Cross sounded suspicious as he made the  inquiry. Yuri hopped onto the bed and stripped off his shirt, the slight  shaking of his hands the only indication that he was nervous. Madigan  put a hand on his lower back, just below his glyphs, and stroked the  hot skin he found there. Madigan didn’t understand why Cross was  being hostile towards the healer. Yes, Scepta was a little creepy. But,  drilling him about his choice of hair color seemed a little much.

Madigan’s eyes widened as Scepta blushed lightly and pulled on a  length of his hair. “Lord Raphael assisted me through my transition. I  am ever grateful to him for that wonderful journey into manhood.”

Madigan frowned. Was he saying what Madigan thought he was  saying?

“You did
 
not
 
sleep with Lord Raphael!” Cross thundered.  Madigan jumped. He was pretty sure he’d never heard Cross yell like  that.

Scepta’s lips thinned, and he got the same smart-ass look that  Bren got on his face before he said something stupid. “We didn’t do much sleeping to be honest with you.” It was the wrong thing to say.

Cross exploded, taking two menacing strides in an unflinching  Scepta’s direction. “You little arrogant—”

“Can you not yell and insult the healer that is about to fix me?”  Yuri snapped, interrupting the oral word vomit that was about to come spewing out of Cross like a geyser of “fuck you.”

Madigan put a hand on Cross’s back. “Agreed, Cross. Who cares what my father did with the twerp? So long as he fixes Yuri and we get our house, who gives a fuck?”

It took Cross a long minute to stand down. He was obviously fuming, the look on his face evidence enough of that. It took Dex stepping in behind him and whispering something too low for  Madigan to hear in his ear before he took a deep breath and backed off.

Satisfied that Cross wasn’t going to jump him when his back was turned, Scepta climbed onto the queen bed beside Yuri and sat directly opposite of Madigan who was on Yuri’s other side.

“You have healed him before?” Scepta asked.

Madigan shrugged. “Somewhat, I guess. I helped a little.”

“A lot,” Yuri added.

Scepta nodded like he made sense. “You have your father’s talent.  It’s easy to see. Will you study with him when you reach maturity?”

Madigan frowned. He’d never really considered a time when he was past this insane craving for his men or that he could think of more than survival and getting to the next safe place. “I’m a baker.”

“Healing skills are never for nothing, Madigan. Even if you didn’t make a profession out of healing, your men are warriors. Wouldn’t you like to heal them when they got injured?”

“I don’t know. I’d have to consider it. I’ve never even met my father.” Madigan’s hands were moving over Yuri’s back, massaging the tight muscles and smoothing over the flesh found there. Both Yuri and Madigan jumped as Scepta’s hands joined his, working as a counter movement for the relaxing touches that Madigan was delivering.

“You have great potential. It’s just something for you to consider.” Scepta smiled, his youthful face once again disconcerting  Madigan’s sense of age. “Shall we begin?” Without waiting, the healer’s hands began to glow softly and almost as if they’d been shoved inside a box, Yuri’s broken wings unfurled from his back.  Madigan sucked in a breath as they came lamely into view. The disjointed pieces formed odd angles, and the smell of open wounds and infection nearly made him wretch. Yuri screamed into a pillow, and every muscle in his body tensed as if in excruciating pain.

Tears sprang to Madigan’s eyes. He wanted Yuri better so badly.  The pain his lover was feeling was almost unbearable to witness.

Scepta whistled low. “A rot spell that works even in incorporeal form. Impressive and nasty. All right, I’m going to touch your wings,  Yuriel. It’s going to hurt.”

“
No
!” Yuri shouted. “Please, don’t!”

Scepta ignored him. Instead, he gripped the right wing under the joint which connected into Yuri’s back and smoothed his hand along the edge, chanting softly as he did so. Yuri thrashed but seemed unable to do more than kick his legs and toss his head against the pillow. Scepta followed the line of the wing, straightening it as he went. Madigan watched in morbid fascination as the wounds on the wings seemed to disappear as the tendons and bones realigned in time with Scepta’s touch.

When he finished the first wing, he gave the same treatment to the second until two perfectly champagne wings spread out behind him.  Madigan filled with relief as they stretched out and Yuri gave a sigh of utter liberation.

“We’re not done yet. That was the easy part,” Scepta warned.  “The magic didn’t just attach itself to his body but to his mind. This is  a bit trickier. I’m going to put his soul in your hands for a moment.  Don’t drop it. You won’t like what happens if you do.”

“Perhaps I should hold it,” Cross suggested, stepping closer to the  two of them.

“No, Cross. Madigan is the link that binds. He must carry the  burden.” Scepta seemed calm but absolutely firm in that.

“It will hurt him,” Cross protested.

Scepta turned annoyed eyes on Cross. All Madigan could see  through the feathers were the twin set of copper eyes glaring in  Cross’s direction. “He is half angel, and all of you seem to be  forgetting that. He is not a human who is easily broken by sights and  sensations mortals are not meant to see. You all are chaining him  down when you should be setting him free. He has to be strong in  order to make it in this world. Protecting him from his own powers  accomplishes nothing and only serves to embolden his enemies.”

That seemed to shut Cross up, which surprised Madigan. Cross and Bren were the two least likely people to back down when faced with a stubborn opponent.

“Madigan, I am going to place this soul in your chest. It’s going to burn you because you’re part mortal, but it will not harm you. You have to remember that. Embrace the pain and think only positive things, and it will be over quickly. The comfort you give Yuriel during this moment will make it less painful for him. You are bearing his burdens in this moment. Do you understand?”