She’d fallen into a trancelike state while drafting these images. Then she’d pieced them all together on the floor as though assembling a puzzle only her mind had understood. Except I’d followed along with every step, aware of where each piece went before she’d placed them.
Did she realize what she’d created?
Or had she fallen under some sort of spell as a result of our link?
“Tell me what this is,” I repeated, needing to hear her interpretation of it.
“Maps,” she whispered, her expression taking on an unease that reminded me of the old Kayla. The inexperienced, innocent one I’d so easily manipulated.
“Obviously,” I replied. “What are they maps of?”
If she saidrealms, I’d snap.
Instead, she bit her lower lip and considered them all, her eyes seeming to clear as she took in her masterpiece.
“The power shifts.” She uttered the words softly, but they held a hint of steel beneath them. As though she expected me to deny her claim.
When I remained silent, she glanced up at me and studied my features intently.
I said nothing.
Which only resulted in her saying, “You feel it.”
“Of course I do. I’m the Archangel of Justice. Protecting the balance is my job, Kayla.”
“Then you understand why Prince Alastor and my father need Lucía and Johanna.”
My jaw ticked at the reminder of the two pieces of the Divinity having been taken down into the underworld. That alone caused a disturbance in the energy flow among our worlds, but I understood the purpose. “I imagine it’s related to why your father tried to kidnap Johanna four decades ago—to use her as an outlet for his overabundance of power.”
“If you knew that, why did you stop him, then? Why trade my life for hers?”
I winced. It wasn’therlife I’d traded, but my own. Something she’d remarked on just yesterday when she’d asked about my aging. However, she clearly didn’t comprehend the impact this mating link had on me or how her residing in Hell while I remained here deteriorated my inner spirit.
Rather than correct her lack of knowledge, I focused on her initial question regarding why I originally stopped Bael. “Because it wasn’t time yet and he knew it. He only wanted her as a power play, a way to prove his status to the other Archdemons in the underworld. It had nothing to do with grounding his abilities and everything to do with waving his title around.”
“And now?” she prompted, arching a brow.
Her tone told me she was merely testing how much I knew. As she’d essentially just shown me how much she already understood regarding the situation, I supposed I could give her a little insight into my mind in response.
“And now, he’s proven he is, in fact, superior.” I’d felt it shifting over the last decade, his energy growing substantially heavy in the aura of the underworld. Alastor’s power signature had reacted similarly, as had Ashmedai’s, Ishkur’s, and Morax’s. I’d been monitoring them all over the years, aware that they would eventually show promise.
Pushing off my desk, I moved forward to review the maps again. She had pinpointed all eleven Archdemons, noting their auras in a variety of color shades. The darker the red, the stronger their powers. The five Archdemons that I knew were growing were all a ruby shade. She had a few in a standard red and others in a pink.
She’d done the same thing with various Archangels, only using blue.
And then she’d marked several gray and black areas on Earth. “Demons?” I guessed, gesturing to the sprinkle of darker dots in the United States.
“And Nephilim,” she replied.
My eyebrows lifted.Thathad been unexpected. “You can sense Nephilim powers?”
She shook her head. “No. Prince Ashmedai acquired the information from Evangeline.”
I blinked at her, uncertain of which part of that statement alarmed me more. The fact that Evangeline had willingly given information about Dark Provenance members to an Archdemon, or the implication that she’d been working with said Archdemon.
“Ashmedai?” I prompted. Kayla’s connection to the Archdemon concerned me slightly more than the other aspect of her comment.
“Yeah.” She pulled the tie out of her hair and ran her fingers through the wavy strands, the texture having crinkled from being scrunched up while wet.
