“Wow, is this your room?” I asked. “Complete with its own entrance?”

“Yeah. My parents had this place built with the idea of housing me through college.”

“It’s fabulous.”

He shrugged. “I like it.”

My legs were a little wobbly, so I placed the pizza on a side table and perched on the couch. “Do your parents know what you are?”

“No. It’s safer that way, for all of us,” he answered and walked to his bedroom. “I’m going to shower.” He pulled open a dresser drawer and grabbed some clothes and a towel. “Help yourself to a slice. I won’t be long.”

I couldn’t eat. My stomach was queasy from flying and other things, like being attacked by a demon. “What do your parents think?”

“Nothing’s changed. They think I’m the son they’ve always had.” Holding his clean clothes in one hand, he grabbed a slice of pizza with the other, raising it in a toast. “Cheers.” He put it in his mouth, swallowed a large bite, and left the room.

While I waited, I wandered over to a bookshelf. Unlike his music collection, his books were more what I’d expect from an angel. There were copies of Dante’s Divine Comedy, Milton’s Paradise Lost—which we’d be covering in English later this year—several versions of the Bible, the Talmud, and the Qu’ran. I also saw an old leather-bound book on demonology, and one called Demon Lore.

On the table was a smaller book called TheBook of Enoch. Curious, I opened it and noticed that one of the pages had been folded down. I read:

1. And it came to pass when the children of men had multiplied that in those days were born unto them beautiful and comely daughters.

2. And the angels, the children of the heaven, saw and lusted after them, and said to one another: ‘Come, let us choose us wives from among the children of men and beget us children.’

It was the story of the Watchers and how they fell, which was what happened to Michael. The book went on about the children of the Grigori and human women. It explained that they were giants, called Nephilim, and they were led by a demon called Azazel.

Azazel! My mind darted back to the horrific creature we had seen earlier that night. This demon was a leader of giants? What about the half-human, half-angelic beings? What did they look like?

Images flickered in my mind, dark images where I was screaming, sweat pouring down my face, my hand gripping Michael’s with waning strength. The shards of memory were hazy and weak, but I could tell I was giving birth. I was in a dark, cavernous room with stone walls lit only by firelight. I had an old woman helping me. Her eyes were blue and cloudy with cataracts but her hands were deft, experienced. She touched my forehead with a cool cloth, encouraged me to breathe.

I was halfway out of the memory when Michael came into the room. His feet were bare, his hair wet, and his gray T-shirt was slightly damp at the hollow of his chest. The smell of steam and soap wafted behind him.

“We had a child?” I asked. I had no breath. The recollection came upon me fast, too, like vertigo. My stomach lurched, and I was suddenly glad I hadn’t eaten. “A giant. Like Azazel.”

Michael removed the book from my shaking hand and placed it on the table. “We did.”

“I gave birth to a demon!” I all but shrieked.

“We didn’t know what it would be,” he said.

My legs wouldn’t support me anymore, so I collapsed on the couch. “W–what was Azazel doing here? Was he—it—my…” I couldn’t bring myself to say the word “son.”

Michael shook his head, his face blanching. “That creature was destroyed a long time ago.”

“What happened?”

“It developed a taste for human flesh,” he said. “I couldn’t let it loose on the world. Not after what it did to you.” Then, as though the horror of what had happened had resurfaced, he raked both his hands through his wet hair. “I killed it. I had to.”

I couldn’t remember the pain, but the memory of it showed on his face. I didn’t have to ask what it had done to me. He had been there the whole time, watching, and in spite of all the power he’d once had, he could do nothing to stop it. I saw him holding my hand, his tortured expression, his helplessness. I remembered a heat ripping through me, as though the baby would tear itself out with its claws if it had to. Apparently it did, and Michael had killed his own son because it was a monster.

As if we were both seeing the same memory, he added, “What we did. What I did. It killed you.”

The memory was painful, but it wasn’t his fault. Women had died in childbirth throughout history. Granted, these were different circumstances and it was me he was talking about, but it was a long, long time ago.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” I said. “We don’t have to have…offspring.”

“It’s not that simple,” he snapped. “I broke laws of a very high order, and that was an abomination in itself. My offspring, as you put it, was simply its manifestation.”

“Why would you be punished for love? You told me to feel love earlier and it kept the demon away.”

“It does. Love does. But not lust, not enthrallment. There’s something wrong with me. Angels are supposed to be impartial. You were in our care. We weren’t supposed to desire you—let alone be blinded by it. We were supposed to watch over you, guide you, protect you from temptation—not lead you into it. God, Mia, I was so easily tempted to want more, to cross that line… Now, it’s how I’m tested. How the demons get in.”

So he was being tested. That was why he pushed me away. Even though we came from different worlds, we were drawn to each other so intensely it could hurt both of us. Just kissing me appeared to weaken his defenses, leaving him open to being attacked like we were tonight. Could things be any more impossible between us?

“Was Azazel a test?” I asked, still confused by it.

“Yes. No. He took advantage of the moment. It’s what demons do. They’ll exploit any weakness.”

“He mentioned Damiel.”

“Azazel wasn’t acting alone, that’s for sure. He was delivering a message. Damiel will be back soon.” He leaned against the fireplace and folded his arms across his chest. “From the looks of it, he’s bringing backup.”

What he said had to be true, but that didn’t stop me from wishing it weren’t. For the last day or so, I’d put the idea of Damiel’s return aside, hoping it wouldn’t happen, but now it was something I couldn’t run away from. When I’d last seen him, Damiel had been in human form. Michael’s battle with him may have been quicker, less gory, but I knew from the way he had been protecting me that Damiel was a much bigger threat than Azazel ever was.

“What do you mean by backup?” I asked, but on some level I already knew the answer. The demon had given us Damiel’s regards.

I pulled my knees into my chest and hugged them for support. Michael didn’t move closer to comfort me. Instead he flipped a switch on the wall and with a hiss of gas a fire ignited in the fireplace. “When I fought him that night, I knew he went too easily. All I did was dispatch him, temporarily freeing the body he’d been possessing, but I did him no real damage.” I noticed how talking about Damiel agitated him, tightening his shoulders and hands, making the tendons pop. “What Azazel said tipped me off. Damiel’s up to more than I suspected.”

“What is he up to?” I asked.

He reached between his shoulder blades and pulled out a long silver handle that curved to fit perfectly in his grip. “He’s building an army.”

“Why? What is he going to do?”

“I don’t know his plans, but it’s a very old grudge between him and me.” He examined the handle. Carved with ornate scrollwork and ancient lettering, it was beautiful. “I don’t think it’s just me he’s after. I think he wants you, too.”