Page 72 of Heavensent & Hellbent

His face paled, though he attempted to hide the shock by clearing his throat. “Our child would be…” It was like he couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

“That’s why they killed us, isn’t it?” I said. “Because our baby was both a jinn and an angel.” An abomination. Powered in light and dark magic. “But that doesn’t mean our baby was bad, right? He had equal chance of being good. He could have used his powers to help people—” The thought was lost with one glance at Zain’s face.

He shook his head. “I don’t think our child was good, Roxana. The kinds of powers you could have if you were both an angel and a jinn could ruin the entire world.”

“But times are different. Maybe they won’t hurt us now. We’re only eighteen—we’re not having kids anytime soon.” Or maybe ever? I didn’t know. We were too young to even be having this conversation.

“Do you think a centuries-old Jinn King cares about societal changes? They’re probably killing us in every lifetime to stop even the prospect of something with those kinds of powers from being created again. Even if it seems unlikely now.”

“I’d like to think he was innocent,” I said in a small voice,mainly to myself. I don’t know where this emotion—this protectiveness—over this child came from. With the exception of Ehsan, I didn’t even really like kids.

The expression Zain gave me was pitying, eyebrows drawn together. He lifted my chin so I could meet his eyes. I shivered at his touch.

“And that’s how I knowyou’regood, Roxana. You have hope.”

I wasn’t sure I agreed, but I nodded anyway, and let his lips brush over mine to quell Rabiya’s simmering rage burning inside me.

31

“What is this?” Castiel said, eyes narrowed in on me with distaste. I appeared to be thethis.

Zain’s mentor was a Latino man in his forties, with bright blue eyes and short dark hair. He wore dark jeans, combat boots, and a Carhartt T-shirt, looking like he belonged at some millennial hipster brewery, and not like he was the conduit between Zain and the elders.

His apartment was in Central Park, an affluent area a fifteen-minute drive from my house. The ceilings were high, the living room devoid of personality, all the furniture neutral and minimalist, like it was a show apartment. Sage lingered in the air. I wrinkled my nose; I’d always hated the smell. It was particularly strong now, irritating my senses.

Castiel crossed his arms, a good distance away from us on the other side of the living room.

“I need your help,” Zain said, his voice careful. He angledhis body slightly in front of me, like he needed to protect me from his mentor. Objectively, it made no sense—this man was meant to be on Zain’s side—but he looked at me like he hated me.

I kept my chin lifted. I hated it here. I didn’t know why, but I did. The energy was off.

“Why would you bring one ofthemhere, Zain?” Castiel asked, eyes still on me like I was a wild animal preparing to pounce at a moment’s notice.

I couldn’t see Zain’s facial expression but noticed the slackening of his shoulders. He edged forward, just an inch, blocking me from his mentor’s path. “Weneed your help,” Zain amended this time. “Roxana isn’t what you think—”

“Even if I am, I’d appreciate it if you both didn’t talk about me like I’m not standing right here.” I stepped out from behind Zain so we were shoulder to shoulder.

Zain’s eyes flickered to mine, and he sighed.

Distantly, I heard movement in another room, banging and grunting, metal clanging. I turned my head in the direction of the sound.

“There’s a training room here,” Zain explained, and I bristled. There were other angels here? Remembering the ease with which Zain had snapped the neck of jinn stuck with me. I wasn’t safe here; no wonder Zain had been trying to step between Castiel and me. As though sensing my panic, Zain wrapped his hands around mine and murmured, “No one will hurt you here.”

“Debatable,” Castiel practically barked. I thoroughly disliked this man. “What are you doing, Zain? You didn’t bringthe jinn here for us to kill, and you seem…close with her.” He raised an eyebrow at our joined hands.

“What do you know of Zal and Rabiya?” Zain asked.

Castiel’s eyes jumped from our faces back to our hands, and the words hung in the air. His mentor appeared as though he wanted to both cry and laugh, eyes tight, lips quirked upward. “Jesus fucking Christ.” He flicked his wrist, and I heard doors being locked. “Sit,” he ordered.

We perched on the end of one of the cream sofas, with Castiel opposite on a bouclé armchair. The air between us was thick, the sound of clanging metal in the other room far away now. “Zal and Rabiya,” Castiel mused. “You’re them?”

“It would appear so,” Zain said. “What do you know?”

“They’re perceived as an urban legend, though we all know they exist, that their souls are passed into new bodies every half a century or so. The elders are secretive about when they land in new bodies, for obvious reasons, though I would have thought if my charge was one, I would have been informed.” He looked closely at Zain, his eyes tight with something akin to sadness. Then his gaze shot to me with nothing but pure hatred. I narrowed my own at him.

“Why would the elders be secretive about us?” I asked; it wasn’t obvious to me.

“You both really know nothing? You especially,” he said, pointing at me.