Page 34 of Uriel
I feel a gentle squeeze on my hand and turn to see Uriel watching me, a small smile playing at his lips. “You okay with that?” he whispers.
I consider for a moment, then nod. “Yes,” I say softly. “We happily accept the offer.” My smile widens, and I lean my head against his shoulder.
The fate of the world hangs in the balance, teetering on the edge of destruction. But here, in this moment, surrounded by laughter and love and the spark of hope, I allow myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, we can tip the scales in our favor.
CHAPTER 17
Emilia
The guest roomdoor clicks shut behind us, the sound final and somehow ominous in the sudden quiet. I stand just inside the threshold, acutely aware of Uriel’s presence beside, the heat radiating from his body a stark contrast to the cool air conditioning.
The room is bathed in the soft glow of a bedside lamp, casting long shadows across the plush carpet. It’s tastefully decorated in muted greys and soft blues, with abstract paintings adorning the walls. A large window dominates one wall, offering a dizzying view of the city lights spread out below us like a glittering carpet of stars.
But it’s the centerpiece of the room that draws my gaze and sends a jolt of nervous energy through me: a single, king-sized bed.
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. The events of the day swirl in my mind like a surreal kaleidoscope—apocalyptic horsemen, angelic brothers, half-demon girlfriends, and plansinvolving celestial speed dating. My mind reels, struggling to absorb it all, when reality throws another curveball.
Before I can comment on our sleeping arrangements, a soft knock breaks the silence. Raphael appears in the doorway, a pile of bedding in his arms and a mischievous glint in his eye that I recognize all too well from our days working together at the hospital.
“Here you go,” he says, his voice laden with barely suppressed glee as he deposits the linens on a nearby chair. “I’m afraid there’s only one bed.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, clearly enjoying our discomfort.
My face grows hot, the warmth seeping downward to flush my neck with embarrassment. Instinctively, my hand reaches up to twirl a strand of hair, a nervous habit I thought I’d broken years ago. “Dr. Angel—I mean, Raphael, surely you have a couch or?—”
“Sorry, no can do,” he interrupts, grinning. “This’ll have to do. I’m sure you two can... figure something out.”
“Raphael!” Helena’s voice calls from down the hall, a lilting laugh coloring her tone. “Stop teasing them and come to bed!”
Raphael winks at us, his eyes dancing with mirth. “Duty calls. Sweet dreams, you two. Try not to let the impending apocalypse keep you up all night.”
With that, he’s gone, leaving Uriel and me in a silence so thick I could cut it with a knife. The soft click of the door echoes in the quiet room, seeming to emphasize our sudden solitude.
I sneak a glance at Uriel from the corner of my eye. His jaw is clenched, a muscle ticking rhythmically. A faint blush colors his cheeks, visible even in the dim light. His hands are balled into fists at his sides, knuckles white with tension. He looks as uncomfortable as I feel, which is oddly reassuring.
The silence stretches between us, growing more awkward with each passing second. I open my mouth to speak, desperate to break the tension, but Uriel beats me to it.
“Emilia, I…” he begins, just as I blurt out, “So, this is…”
We both stop abruptly. A nervous chuckle escapes me, the sound too loud in the quiet room. “You first,” I offer, gesturing vaguely with one hand.
Uriel clears his throat, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere over my left shoulder. “I was going to say, I’m happy to sleep on the floor. You should take the bed. It’s only proper.”
The formal tone of his voice, so at odds with the intimate setting, sends an unexpected pang through my chest. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I reply, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounds. “We’re both adults here. The bed is plenty big enough to share.”
Uriel’s eyes widen slightly, finally meeting mine. The intensity of his gaze sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the room’s temperature. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice low. “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. The scent of him fills my senses—ozone intertwined with something uniquely Uriel—making it hard to concentrate. “Look, Uriel,” I say, proud of how calm I sound despite the butterflies in my stomach, “we’re in the middle of trying to prevent the end of the world. I think we can handle sharing a bed for one night.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, softening his features. “When you put it that way, it does seem rather trivial in comparison.”
I nod, feeling some of the tension dissipate. “Exactly. Now, which side do you prefer?”
As we move about the room, preparing for bed with an awkward dance of politeness and averted gazes, my mindwanders to Helena’s plan. If it works—if we can stop War and prevent the apocalypse without fulfilling the prophecy—it means I’m no longer bound to Uriel. No forced marriage, no divine mandate to be together.
I should feel relieved. Ecstatic, even. It’s what I’ve wanted since this whole crazy situation began—a way out, a chance to reclaim my normal life.
So why does the thought fill me with a sadness so profound it takes my breath away?
I glance at Uriel as he meticulously folds his clothes, his movements precise and controlled. The lamp casts a soft glow on his features, highlighting the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his neck. A lump forms in my throat as I realize that without the prophecy, without this cosmic push forcing us together, I might never have gotten to know this side of him. The Uriel beneath the stern exterior, the one with a dry sense of humor and a heart capable of so much love.
