Page 29 of Reluctant Rebel

She had a point. That’s how it worked. The demons of the royal line were gifted guardian angels for a reason: to protect and serve. But his and Sabre’s relationship had never been typical. Their new dynamic was going to take some getting used to.

“I wish we could hit up Maliq. I know he’d tell us everything we need to know. No more chasing our arses and playing guessing games,” Sabre muttered, glaring at a particularly pretty angel.

Mikhail would give anything to talk to his father again. But even though they were literally strolling through Heaven, they couldn’t speak with the dead. Every being they passed was either an angel, demigod, or god. “I wish we could, too.”

As they turned a corner, they caught sight of a group of beings gathered around a fountain, each one more radiant than the last. They were laughing and singing, their voices blending together in perfect harmony.

Sabre choked and gagged. “I think I’m going to puke.” She turned to him, eyes wide. “I need to kill something. Right now.”

Mikhail chuckled, gripping her hand tighter and leading the way through the streets of gold towards their destination—a grand palace made entirely of shining pearls. They stared at it in silence for a moment before looking at each other. “It’s a little ostentatious,” Mikhail allowed.

Now, it was Sabre’s turn to laugh.

“And there it is, a sound once as rare as a desert rainstorm, gracing my ears like music.”

Loki, the God of mischief and chaos, stood on the grand staircase, his long black hair slicked back and a charming smirk on his face. He wore a tailored suit, perfectly fitted to his lean frame, as if he had stepped out of a fashion magazine.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Sabre shouted at the god before looking at Mikhail. “I swear, Mikhail. If he keeps talking like that, I’m going to strangle him with his own tongue.”

Mikhail ignored the threat, mainly because he was worried it was more like a promise. “Loki,” he called out. “A word?”

“A word? It just so happens I have many,” the Norse god said with a grin, turning and heading back inside.

Mikhail took a deep breath before walking up the stairs with a murderous-looking Sabre. Loki lounged on a gilded throne when they entered, twirling a goblet of shimmering pink liquid between his fingers. “We’ve come to ask for help.”

“Ask who?” Loki questioned guilelessly.

“Who do you think, cunt-muffin?!” Sabre snarled, taking a menacing step forward.

Loki laughed, tossing his drink back and swallowing it in one gulp. “Oh, I do love your insults. Cunt-muffin,” he repeated. “I can’t wait to use that on the Greeks.”

“Loki, about that help?” Mikhail prompted politely.

“Help? Now, where did I leave that?” Loki muttered, tipping his goblet upside down. “Nope. Not here.”

“Now?” Sabre asked lowly, her eyes glinting with relish.

“Not yet,” Mikhail answered. “No strangulation yet.” He focused on Loki once more. “Are you saying the gods won't intervene?”

Loki's eyes sparkled mischievously. “The gods, dear King, are like cats watching mice. They observe, they ponder, but rarely do they pounce.”

“But my brother—” Mikhail began.

“Ah, yes,” Loki interrupted, “X, the prodigal son turned psycho reaper. What an allegory.”

Mikhail clenched his fists. “This is no fable, Loki. Zagan is butchering innocents. Why?”

Loki gasped theatrically. His hand going to his throat. “How should I know?”

Sabre turned to Mikhail. “Isn’t there another god we can talk to?”

“None as fun as me,” Loki answered with a grin.

“Loki …” Mikhail said, his voice tight with frustration.

“It’s a tale as old as time, is it not?" Loki said presently. “The jealous younger brother overshadowed by his older brother, thegolden child.” He held up his hands, palms toward the ceiling. They began to shimmer, one glowed a brilliant gold whilst the other cast an ominous shadow. “One destined for greatness, and the other for chaos.”

“Zagan wasn’t destined for bad things,” Mikhail disputed, unwilling to accept it.

---