Gabriel’s battered face remained as lifeless and bruised as it had been before her rescue. Lucifer did not need to raise her dead weight to know her body refused to heal. The water’s rejuvenating quality was gone, taken away. The proof was undeniable as Lucifer’s minor old and new wounds from hunting down the hellions then the hybrids, and having to escape the returned monsters of Hell refused to heal despite being submerged in the dirty water. Old bruises remained, as did cuts and scrapes. The raised red scar that tracked down from his sternum to his navel remained the same, and no new feathers sprouted from his wings that had been plucked by the hellions in Hell. Lucifer was forsaken, and he’d failed her.

The love of his life.

The only thing that had ever mattered to him.

Lucifer had failed her in the beginning—and every step along the way. His love—and his need for vengeance—had killed her. Her blood was on his hands, on his soul. He would never be rid of the stain, and he never wanted to be. Without Gabriel, Lucifer was empty. A shell of a man. A being with nothing to live on for.

Releasing Gabriel’s legs, they fell lower beneath the murky surface, sliding down Lucifer’s folded knees and jostling something at his side. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. Keeping his other arm around her, Lucifer grasped the hilt of his sword. The blade came out of the water as he slid it free of its scabbard. Now cleansed of all the death it had delivered, blood-painted drops fell from the reflective blade. Lucifer held the length up, poising it right under his chin so that it kissed his jugular.

If his minor wounds wouldn’t heal, neither would a fatal one.

“I love you with all that I ever was and all that we could have been.” With a gulp and a bucket-load more silent tears, Lucifer’s voice cracked as he leaned down on the sharp edge. Without Gabriel, he was broken. He would not live without her. “Forgive me…”

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