Page 35 of Angel's Smoke

“No. Everyone ultimately wants what they can’t have.” Iron raised the relic higher. “Thisis what Cyro can’t access. The power of the Empyrean. He’s hardwired to be repelled by the stuff. That’s why he’s been working overtime trying to find a way to circumvent its power. He’s trying to mutate it with dark magic so its innate properties won’t be so toxic to him that he’ll risk his own destruction. But at its core, this puppy is pure Empyrean light and life. Blessed by the celestial mages and imbued with our Sealing powers that we impressed upon the gates when we were cast out. It’s the literal antithesis to Cyro’s being, but we’ve been looking at things all wrong.”

Chrome pulled out a square of peppermint gum from his back pocket and popped the thing in his mouth. “How do you figure?”

“Because this thing is a toddler’s dose, when we need fire hose quantities.” Iron uncorked the test tube, grabbed the shard, and walked it over to a clear patch of concrete that was the only area concealed by the meager bits of building still standing. Then he retreated several steps back. “I want us to hit it with our angel fire.”

Seven heads with identical question marks floating above them all whipped around at the same time.

“No, hear me out. It’s been gnawing at me for days, why Cyro’s been spending all this time trying to manipulate Empyrean magic. The asshole’s risked exposure, capture, and finite resources trying to corrupt it and bend it to his will. Why? Because he’s fucking terrified of it and of what would happen if we suped that little thing up to not only full strength but nuclear levels.”

All through Iron’s explanation, Chrome was nodding with what Iron hoped was understanding, though with Chrome, it was hard to tell. “So, we fire at that thing and then what?”

“Then we wait, see what happens, and go from there.”

“What if we destroy it?” Brass replied.

It was Tung who fielded that one. “Impossible. It’s of the Empyrean, as are we. Our power is symbiotic. It flows between all beings and things born of the prime mages. If it truly is a piece of the gates, it would recognize our fire and respond accordingly.”

“The thing’s already been following me around,” Iron added, “firing up like a damn compass whenever it wanted to make the soul bond known to me.”

Titan lifted a brow at that. “Thesoul bond? Notyoursoul bond? Does she not have a name?”

“I’m not talking about that right now,” Iron gritted out.

“ThatorAnna?”

Bronze swept his hand out, palm up. “Dude, you brought her up. Titan has a point.”

The needling wasn’t just an act of love from well-intentioned brothers who wanted the best for him while teasing him about his worst. It was the kind of perpetual prodding that had followed Iron around with a weight that held as much significance for him as it did for his family.

“Just get in position. Spread out in a circle around the shard. I don’t need this to take all night. I’d rather my theories fail earlier than later.”

With his gianthold your tongue or I’ll cut it outmessage being received loud and clear on every stony jaw within kicking distance, Iron went to take a stance on the far side opposite from where he’d been facing the shard.

He wouldnotthink about Anna or the betraying thoughts that would creep into his mind about what would happen if his plan didn’t work.

If hedidn’tfind a way to unleash the relic’s power, make it back home, and stop Cyro.

If hecouldimagine a few more Scrabble games and soft kisses while he made sure she and her baby were fed and cared for.

Iron didn’t wait for a three-count. Didn’t give a shit about making sure everyone was in line or in sync. His fire punched out of his fists in a blaze of blue so pummeling, he didn’t care if the damn shard atomized on contact.

He wanted an out, and he wanted answers. And as more streams of electric flames joined his, lighting up the sad demolition site like fiery wheel spokes, he finally got what he asked for.

Chapter18

Brass’s tense expression was what finally had Iron wrenching his power away from the shard, extinguishing his flames, and doubling over onto his knees. Around him, his brothers had all adopted the same stance, with a few rolling out their necks or cracking their jaws to soothe whatever the hell they had all just lived through. Once the thrum of his power had passed, Iron shook off the rest of his fatigue and forced his legs into the jog that carried him toward the relic’s shard. The thing was glowing brighter, its curved stem pulsing with the ethereal light of their combined angel fire. But when Iron went to pick it up, the thing shivered out of his grip, dancing and spinning along the flat slab of concrete, until it finally puttered out and seemed to power down.

Titan joined him at his elbow, crouching down to examine the lifeless relic. “Huh. Not sure what I was expecting exactly, but I was hoping for something . . .”

“Exciting? Productive? Something along the lines of a fireworks show that could pump out enough magic to power up one or two galaxies, instead of the alarm clock’s worth of wattage this thing gave off?” Chrome picked up the lone dingy arm of a mannequin that was getting far too handsy near his foot and drop-kicked it into a not-so-nearby junk pile.

More of the angels joined Iron as he lifted the shard and snuck it back into its test tube. He wasn’t usually one for letting his emotions show, but certain levels of disappointment were impossible to hide, even for him. Iron’s shoulders fell. “It was barely warm. I can’t believe that didn’t do anything. We’re all almost back to full power. And the thing was clearly resonating with that! Shit, I was hoping?—”

“Itdiddo something.”

Brass stepped forward, his stature having mostly recovered from whatever effects dispelling his fire had on him. His long black trench coat painted his form in its usual quiet lethality, except something in his posture belied the casualness of his composure. A lingering tension, the one Iron had noticed a moment ago, still held sway over his brother, and that shit had bad news written all over it.

Iron tucked the shard into his flannel pocket and bobbed his chin at Brass. “Talk to me.”

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