Free Sins of the Lost by Linda Poitevin

something else, or was that the only insult you wanted to deliver?”
    “It wasn’t an insult. It was a statement of fact. You’re a liability, and I’ll be watching you. We have enough to worry about in this bloody war without having one of our own screw things up for us. One misstep, one hint that you’ve lost control . . .” Raphael made a
snick
sound as he drew a finger across his throat. “Am I clear?”
    Seeming satisfied his message had been delivered, he started down the hill. Aramael held back a
fuck you
and waited until the other had taken several steps. Then he cleared his throat. Raphael slowed, stopped, and looked over his shoulder.
    “The decision was Mika’el’s,” Aramael reminded him. He was all for keeping the peace, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t respond to whatever Raphael wanted to start. “The One sanctioned it. Like it or not, I’m one of you now, and—”
    The other Archangel’s blade pressed against his throat before he could finish. Aramael froze, staring into the vicious golden eyes inches from his own.
    “You are
not
one of us,” Raphael hissed. “We have passed through Hellfire itself, and we bear the scars on our souls to prove it. You might wear the armor and carry the sword of our kind, but you will never be one of us.
Ever
. Do you understand?”
    Even if he’d wanted to nod assent, the finely honed metal nestled below Aramael’s jaw discouraged him from doing so. Wordlessly, he held Raphael’s glare until the Archangel sheathed his sword. Stalking down the hillside once more, Raphael flicked a last glower over his shoulder.
    “Remember what I said,
Power
. I’m watching.”

Chapter 16
    “All quiet?” Mika’el asked as he topped the rubble knoll where Aramael stood.
    Aramael shrugged. He adjusted the armor chafing under his arms. “One flare-up that settled down,” he said. “And one visit from Raphael. The latter was by far more exciting.”
    Mika’el settled a foot on a boulder and leaned forward, bracing his forearms across his armor-clad thigh. His lips quirked. “He’s a little gruff, but to coin a human phrase, his bark is worse than his bite.”
    Aramael shot the Archangel a sidelong look, remembering the edge of steel against his throat. “I somehow doubt that.” He returned his attention to the distant strip of Hellfire. “Can I ask you something?”
    “Of course.”
    “When you chose me to take Samael’s place among you, did you consult the others?”
    “The decision was mine to make.” Mika’el’s words held no arrogance, only a statement of fact. “There was no need for consultation.”
    “Did you know they would”—Aramael sought the right word—“object quite so strongly?”
    “I figured you were a big enough boy to handle it. You aren’t the only one in Heaven to lose a brother to Lucifer’s allure, Aramael. Raphael would have had a difficult time with anyone replacing Samael. You just raised more issues for him than another might have. As for the others, they’re understandably protective of one of their own. Give them time. They’ll come around.”
    Raphael—and Samael? Aramael turned his attention back to the band of Hellfire. He hadn’t expected that. A grudging sympathy edged out the memory of Raphael’s sword. His presence would have hauled a lot of unwanted memories back to the surface for the other Archangel—along with an accompanying sense of betrayal with which he himself was all too familiar.
    “I don’t suppose you could have thought to mention this to me at the time,” he said.
    “My job is to protect Heaven and the One, not your feelings.”
    “Seems to me you’d do a better job of it if you weren’t pitting your own warriors against one another.”
    Mika’el went silent for a moment. “No Archangel would turn against another,” he said finally, “but your point is taken. I’ll speak to Raphael.”
    More silence. Aramael’s gaze narrowed on the other Archangel, who still stared into