The memory faded away, and as my eyes adjusted to the real world, I realized I was standing in front of an open doorway. The weapons of heaven and hell lay inside the small room, just as I remembered them.

“How…”

“It’s an old magic. A magic to make you go through the motions of your memory, like you’re in it,” Osiris explained, setting his hand on my shoulder.

I tried to take a step toward the relics, but my body didn’t move. I tried to push against the spell holding me in place, but my mind slammed against a wall it couldn’t break.

Frozen, helpless, I watched Osiris and his companions go to the relics at the same time. Magic flashed, steel clashed, and then the two men hit the ground.

The rocky wall barring the way to the Gateway exploded, and Nero rushed through, a storm of magic swirling around him. A dozen armored men were hot on his heels, but they weren’t from the Legion. They looked like they belonged with the two men now lying at Osiris’s feet. The angel turned to Nero, his eyes sparking with the first hint of impatience I’d seen from him.

“It’s about time,” he declared. “You’re late. I thought you’d be through that last layer of rock five minutes ago. What took you so long?”

“You’re working together?” I asked Nero, shocked. I only realized after I’d said the words that I had control of my body again.

“No,” Nero said.

Osiris slid his face across his face, peeling back the glamour. The illusion faded away to reveal an angel I recognized from the picture of the original twelve hanging in Nero’s office.

Nero blinked back surprise. “Father.”

18

Dragonsire

The armored men, who must have also been working with the angel, paused in surprise when they saw his face. I was pretty surprised myself. This was Damiel Dragonsire, Nero’s father. This was the angel Nero’s mother had tracked down and killed because he went rogue. His mother had died too, wounded in that angelic battle. It had all played out centuries ago, and yet here Damiel was.

“How can you be alive?” Nero said slowly, cautiously, as though he couldn’t believe what his eyes were telling him.

“Not now. We have more important problems.”

Damiel indicated the armored men, who were moving toward the angels, surrounded them. Where had they all come from?

One of the men stepped to the front, looking between Nero and this angel who looked a lot like Nero. He had the same hair as Nero, if not a tad darker, and his eyes were blue instead of green, but other than that, they might have been twins.

“Where is Wardbreaker?” the man demanded.

“Still buried where I left him, I presume,” Damiel said darkly.

“You took his place.”

Damiel met the man’s angry eyes were indifference. “There’s no need to feel all torn up about his death. You never even met him.”

The man’s hand waved the others forward. “You played us. Angel or not, you will come to regret that.”

“Take care of these men,” Damiel ordered Nero, moving toward the relics.

Nero moved into his path. “If it was you the whole time, then Osiris Wardbreaker never turned rogue?”

“We’ll discuss this later, after the battle.”

Nero gave his hand wrist a sharp flick, and a psychic blast cut through the room, slamming the twelve men against the wall, knocking them out.

“Battle’s over,” he said as the men slid to the ground behind him. “We’ll talk about this now. Did Osiris Wardbreaker go rogue?”

“Yes,” Damiel said in a tone that showed he was only humoring his son. His eyes passed over the men on the ground, and he looked mildly impressed. “I caught up with him about a week after his defection.” His gaze slid to me. “He was kidnapping young supernatural children and feasting on their blood. He enjoyed hearing their screams. And watching them die.

I choked on the image. Acid rose in my throat, and I barely kept it down. Damiel wasn’t even looking at his son. He was looking only at me.

“So trust me, I was doing the world a favor,” he finished.

He was probably right. Killing children, feeding on their blood and pain, was a crime I could not forgive. The world was better off without monsters like that in it.

“Trust you?” Nero shot his father a look of pure, undiluted loathing. “I don’t trust you. Not your words and definitely not with objects of power. I will not allow you to have them.”

“Insubordination does not suit you, soldier.”

“Insubordination? You’re the one who turned dark and betrayed the Legion,” Nero said. “I am not your soldier. You don’t give orders anymore.”

Damiel looked at me. “Make him see reason.”

“Don’t talk to her like you’re old friends.” Nero’s words bit like a whip. “You tortured her.”

“A means to an end.”

“Everything is always just a means to an end with you.”

Anger flashed in Nero’s eyes, splitting the final strands of his self-control. He rushed forward in a flash of supernatural speed, hammering his fist into his father’s jaw. He followed that up with another punch. Flames burst to life across his entire body. He’d lost it, truly and completely lost it.

Damiel struck back, throwing Nero across the room. Solid rock split and fissures where Nero’s back hit the wall, but he rolled himself around and kept going like he hadn’t felt a thing. He wasn’t feeling anything but his own anger. The angels fought without mercy or pause, their terrible, beautiful battle threatening to bring down the whole room.