Grace and Glory (The Harbinger 3)

“I told you what you can call me,” he snarled, sending a chill across my skin.

“What? Death? Fallen? That’s not your name. It’s Zayne,” I stated, forcing everything I felt into the words. All of my love and fear for him, all my hope and my pain. “Do you remember his name? The Warden? He’s like a brother to you—”

“Stop.” He twisted his neck from side to side, eyes closing briefly. “This is irrelevant. Who I was doesn’t matter—”

“How can it not matter?” I argued. “You can’t just be anger and hatred. That can’t be all that you are. You didn’t just start existing the moment you landed in the park. You had an entire life. You are kind and good and fair. You love. You grieve. You—”

“I am none of those things!” he roared, wings snapping out and spreading wide. The luminous glow intensified, pulsing so brightly that pain shot through my eyes. Golden-white light sparked from his arms, from both arms—

Several things happened at once.

I knew he was summoning his grace, and while I was curious to see what kind of weapon it would produce, I wasn’t stupid enough to find out. Dez shouted his name, shouted something else, and Zayne spun around. The edges of his wings glanced over my cheek in the softest caress as they rose high above me. I filed that away to obsess over later, surprised he hadn’t whacked me over the head with them. Focused on Dez, his back was to me, and this was the moment. He was distracted, and I couldn’t let him reach Dez. This was my chance to either bring him back or...

Or give him peace.

He stepped away from me, and I called on my grace. Finally unleashed, it powered through me, turning the corners of my vision white. Grace powered down my right arm as I popped to my feet—

Zayne whirled so quickly it was almost unbelievable. He caught my right arm before my grace could even reach my wrist. Spinning me around, he clamped his other arm around my waist, drawing me back against him. The contact of his cold skin was a shock as he trapped my left arm to my side. “I don’t think so.”

The Sword of Michael flamed brightly, spitting and crackling heavenly fire, but his grip was like a vise. I could barely move my wrist. He’d known I was summoning the grace. I’d gone beyond stunned and straight into what the Hell territory. “How did you know?”

“I could feel it coming alive. I can feel it now, inside you. Calling to me,” he answered, pressing his cool cheek to mine. “It’s a fire in my blood and my bone. How could I not know?”

“That’s a nifty and inconvenient ability,” I snapped, barely resisting the urge to shriek. The Throne had insinuated such a thing, but he could’ve been way more clear about what he meant by Zayne being able to sense my grace.

“Isn’t it?” His hand splayed across my hip. “You were going to attack me while my back was to you. Thought you loved me?”

Heart thumping against my ribs, I was acutely aware of how close his hand was to the hilt of my dagger and the grip he had on my wrist. It wasn’t a painful hold. That seemed important to remember. “I do love you. I love you more than anything—”

“Doesn’t seem like a very loving thing to do.” His chin dragged along my cheek as his head shifted just the slightest. “Perhaps you don’t value your life, because I would swear you just moved after I warned you not to. Maybe you value her life more? Keep moving, and I will kill her and then you.”

The Warden froze, but a low, rumbling growl radiated from him.

Zayne chuckled, and the sound was so icy I shivered. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

“Yes.” Dez clawed hands closed into fists. “It should.”

“It doesn’t.”

I pulled at his grip, but I got nowhere with the sword. It jutted out into empty space. “You’re not going to kill me.”

“I’m not?”

“If you were, you would’ve done it already,” I gritted out, still struggling.

“Perhaps I like playing with you.” He moved his head again, gliding his cheek along mine in a way that was shockingly familiar and wholly different. “Maybe I will grow bored. Maybe I won’t? But what I do know is you’re going to burn yourself out the longer you pull on your grace, little nephilim.”

“Of course you would remember that over everything else.” Using everything in me, which was a lot, I pulled against his arm and his hold. A scream of frustration burst from me. I hadn’t even moved an inch.

“You sound angry, little nephilim.”

“It’s not nephilim! It’s Trueborn!”

Lifting my foot, I slammed it down on his bare one. Zayne yelped, more out of surprise than pain, but his hold on my waist loosened just enough. I ripped free, swinging my left arm down on the one that held mine. His fingers slipped an inch as I spun under his arm, twisting it. Edges of soft feathers tickled my cheek as a dark shape landed next to me. Dez reached for Zayne’s arm, teeth bared.