Waiting

5.

Arie POV

I could not believe what I was seeing.

The extraordinary soul that had called me to Half Moon Bay stood directly before me, luminous and unmistakable—and yet completely wrong.

Orion.

The one and only.

For several moments, I could do nothing but stare.

His essence was exactly as I remembered it. Vast. Ancient. Brilliant. There was no mistaking the soul of one of the Creators.

But the body he had just abandoned looked nothing like him.

The green eyes I remembered had faded, as though mortal years had washed the color from them again and again. His once-raven hair was white as snow, his skin loose with age, his face marked by lines no immortal should ever carry. Even the strength that had once defined his physical form had disappeared beneath the frailty of a dying old man.

On the outside, he was almost unrecognizable.

His soul was not.

How in Creation could this possibly be Orion?

The last time I had seen him, he had looked every bit the Greek Olympian mortals would later spend centuries attempting to reproduce in stone—raven-black hair against olive skin, a strong body built with almost insulting perfection, and piercing green eyes the color of honeydew.

Michelangelo had come remarkably close in the early sixteenth century.

The memory made me chuckle despite myself.

I could still imagine Orion in human form, standing naked before the sculptor in what mortals so charmingly called his birthday suit, while Michelangelo studied every proportion with obsessive concentration.

How had the immortal inspiration for David allowed himself to become an old man?

As if he had heard the thought, Orion laughed.

“Hello, Arie.”

His voice carried the same ancient resonance I remembered.

“It has been a long time.”

“Orion.”

Even saying his name felt strange after so many centuries.

“Yes,” I said slowly. “Yes, it has.”

The last I had heard, Orion had abandoned nearly everything he once loved.

Creation.

The Celestial Collective.

Perhaps even the desire to participate in existence itself.

The rumors claimed he had grown weary of bringing new beings into the universe and eventually disappeared into the Nothing.

After enough time passed without word from him, I had believed it.

Most of us had.

Immortals knew no natural end, and the Nothing was perhaps the closest any of us could come to eternal slumber—a place outside the known universe where even the noise of creation could no longer reach.

Looking at the aged body lying on the hospital bed, an uncomfortable thought took hold.

Had the Nothing done this to him?

Could absence from creation somehow erode immortality?

Was this what happened when one of us tried to withdraw completely from existence?

Had Orion somehow discovered the one thing none of us believed possible?

An immortal demise?

The questions escaped before I could organize them.

“What are you doing here? When did you return from the Nothing? And how in Creation do you look like an old man?”

Orion’s smile widened.

I heard how frantic I sounded.

I did not care.

If I had somehow been summoned to collect the soul of a Creator, I had an entirely different problem.

Where was I supposed to take him?

I had collected emperors and beggars, murderers and saints, children whose lives had barely begun and creatures older than entire civilizations.

Never one of us.

Did immortals even possess a final resting place?

Would I be expected to discover it?

Would touching Orion reveal something never intended for Death to see?

Would collecting him change me?

Before I could ask another question, brilliant light swept over him.

His mortal appearance disappeared.

The Orion I remembered stood before me.

His shoulders broadened. His spine straightened. Wrinkled skin smoothed into warm olive, while white hair darkened until raven-black strands fell loosely over his forehead. His eyes brightened into that impossible honeydew green, clear and sharp and far too amused by my confusion.

There.

That was Orion.

“I was never in the Nothing,” he said.

My brows drew together.

“But I can certainly understand how everyone came to that conclusion.”

He glanced toward the hospital room where his discarded human vessel lay lifeless upon the bed.

“It appears I have quite a bit to explain.”

He gestured toward the door.

“Come.”

I remained where I was.

Orion gave me a patient look.

“I stayed here on Earth. I moved often, changed my appearance when necessary, and faded from the lives of those who knew me whenever one identity had reached its natural end.”

He sighed.

“Although I admit disappearing has become considerably more difficult now that mortals insist upon documenting every insignificant detail of their lives on social media.”

Despite everything, I laughed.

“Social media,” he continued gravely, “has been extremely inconvenient.”

Clearly.

“Come sit with me. I will answer your questions.”

Something shifted in his expression.

“And explain what happens next.”

I studied him.

“Why does that sound ominous?”

“Oh, you will like this.”

That was somehow worse.

Orion smiled.

“In fact, what I am about to tell you will affect the rest of your existence.”

I stopped.

What?

My mind returned immediately to duty.

Was I meant to deliver him somewhere?

Had he chosen to abandon his mortal vessel permanently?

Was this some ancient transition that even Death had never been told existed?

I followed him into the hallway, trying to make sense of what he had said.

The hospital seemed unnaturally loud despite everyone speaking in whispers. Machines hummed beyond closed doors. Shoes squeaked against polished floors. Families gathered together in small groups beneath unforgiving fluorescent lights, each cluster wrapped tightly around its own private fear.

Orion led me into the waiting room.

Only a handful of people occupied it. They spoke quietly and kept close to those they knew.

He chose the far end of the room.

No one acknowledged us.

Of course they did not.

We remained behind the veil.

I sat across from him.

“What do you mean your human existence affects the rest of mine?”

Orion leaned back.

“Arie, I am not going to sugarcoat this.”

I already disliked where this was going.

“After many years on Earth, I found a remarkable woman.”

I waited.

“She became my mate.”

My surprise must have shown.

“You?”

His mouth twitched.

“Yes, me.”

I narrowed my eyes.

He ignored me.

“I loved her with all that I am, and she loved me more deeply than I ever deserved.”

Something softened in his voice.

Something unfamiliar.

Not celestial.

Human.

Tender.

“We had a child together.”

I stared at him.

“A child?”

“A daughter.”

My thoughts stalled.

Creators could produce offspring with mortals, certainly. That was not impossible.

What was nearly impossible was survival.

The Nephilim had never flourished. The children born from mortal and immortal unions rarely lived long enough to carry their bloodlines forward.

Yet Orion spoke as though his daughter had done exactly that.

“In time,” he continued, “my daughter had a child of her own.”

He looked directly at me.

“And that is where you come into this.”

Every instinct sharpened.

“Me?”

“The Creators have been working toward something for a very long time.”

I said nothing.

“Across generations, divine bloodlines were introduced carefully and deliberately. One after another. Each carried forward through mortal descendants.”

His expression grew serious.

“I was the final contribution.”

Something tightened inside my chest.

“Our children’s bloodlines eventually converged. Generation after generation, each carried a portion of what was needed forward until, finally, the perfect vessel was born.”

The room seemed to fade around me.

I heard his words.

Understood them individually.

Yet my mind refused to assemble them.

Orion leaned toward me.

“Arie.”

The way he said my name made something inside me go still.

“Your perfect match exists.”

My heart stopped.

Not literally.

But close enough.

“Your equal.”

I stared at him.

“Your mate.”

Everything inside me went silent.

Mate.

The word echoed through every unfinished part of me.

Someone for me.

Someone who might remain.

Someone whose soul had somehow been moving toward mine across generations while I had spent eternity believing I had been forgotten.

“What?”

The question barely escaped me.

Orion’s expression softened.

My heart began pounding hard enough that I could hear it.

No.

This could not be true.

Not today.

Not after all this time.

I had waited through the birth and death of civilizations. Watched mountains rise, oceans retreat, kingdoms become dust. I had spent billions upon billions of years longing for someone I had never met until eventually I forced myself to stop believing she existed.

Hope had become more painful than loneliness.

And now Orion expected me to believe she was simply—

Here?

No.

I would not do this to myself.

“I do not understand.”

Orion opened his mouth.

I continued before he could speak.

“You know I do not have a mate. You Celestials never gave me one.”

“Arie—”

“I stopped waiting.”

The lie came out harsher than I intended.

“I stopped believing that promise a very long time ago.”

My voice tightened.

“So if this is some elaborate attempt at humor, stop f*****g around and tell me why you looked like an old man and why you called me here.”

Orion stared at me.

My own emotions were becoming unbearable.

I rarely allowed them such freedom.

I could stand inside wars without losing control.

Could carry thousands of souls without allowing their lives to fracture me.

Yet now anger was rising simply because hope had found me again.

And I hated it.

Because buried beneath the anger were all the questions I refused to ask.

Who was she?

Where was she?

Had I seen her before?

When would I meet her?

Would she want me?

The last question terrified me most.

“Seriously, Orion.”

My throat tightened.

“Do not f*****g play with me.”

His expression changed.

“I—I would not be able to handle it.”

For once, all amusement disappeared from his face.

“Arie, I am shocked you would even think that. You know I am not a trickster.”

I did.

Orion could be arrogant, frustrating, secretive, and intolerably pleased with himself.

But cruel?

No.

Not like this.

“As a matter of fact…”

His gaze moved beyond me.

“Do you see that young woman over there?”

I frowned.

What?

“The one with the long cocoa-colored hair, honeydew eyes, and tanned skin.”

I followed his gaze.

A young woman sat across the waiting room beside an older woman.

I had noticed her the moment I entered.

Not consciously.

Her soul had simply demanded attention.

There was something unusual woven through its light. Something brighter than ordinary mortal energy, though not enough for me to understand what I was seeing.

Now I looked at her properly.

Her dark hair fell in long waves down her back. Her skin carried a warm golden tone, and even from where I sat, I could see the remarkable green of her eyes.

Honeydew.

The same rare color Orion’s had once been in his mortal form.

The resemblance between her and the woman seated near her was unmistakable.

Mother and daughter.

“She is beautiful, isn’t she?” Orion asked.

I looked back at him.

We had been discussing my mate, and now he was asking me to admire some random mortal girl.

“Sure.”

My patience thinned.

“Yes, Orion. She is beautiful.”

He smiled.

I returned my attention to her.

Her soul told me she had recently turned seventeen.

Young.

Not yet fully awakened.

Human.

That fact alone made whatever point Orion intended impossible.

Humans were not paired with immortals.

Not successfully.

Mortals had inhabited Earth for hundreds of thousands of years, yet no lasting immortal race had ever come from unions between humans and beings like us.

The Nephilim never flourished.

Their children were born, but few survived.

Not even the Celestials fully understood why.

“What does she have to do with this?” I asked.

Orion’s smile disappeared.

“She is my granddaughter.”

My attention snapped back to her.

“What?”

“You cannot see what she truly carries because her soul is still young. It has not yet come of age.”

I stared at her.

“When it does,” Orion continued, “she will be offered the same choice you once were.”

I looked at him.

“Embrace her destiny or continue living the life she has already been given.”

My stomach tightened.

“If she chooses her purpose, her eternal light will awaken.”

His gaze returned to her.

“And then she will have another decision to make.”

A pause.

“Whether she chooses to love you.”

Everything inside me froze.

I looked at Orion.

Then at her.

Then back again.

“What do you mean, whether she chooses to love me?”

Fear tightened around my throat.

“Wasn’t she made for me?”

Orion’s expression changed immediately.

“No.”

The answer landed harder than expected.

“She was not made.”

He leaned forward.

“She was born.”

There was a distinction in those words I could not ignore.

“It has taken more than a dozen centuries for the Celestials to weave our bloodlines together. Generation by generation, our powers were carried forward until they converged in her.”

I looked at the young woman again.

“She has her own soul, Arie. Her own purpose. Her own will.”

Something in me went still.

“If she chooses her destiny, she will become capable of standing beside you as your equal.”

Equal.

The word settled deep.

Not beneath me.

Not behind me.

Beside me.

“And together,” Orion continued, “you, she, and the children who may come from you will be part of what allows the universe to become what it is meant to become.”

Children.

My thoughts stalled again.

But Orion kept speaking.

“You need to understand something before you ever approach her.”

I dragged my attention back to him.

“Her purpose may make the two of you perfectly matched.”

His eyes hardened.

“It does not remove her free will.”

My chest tightened.

“She must choose you.”

“What happens if she does not?”

“That will be her decision.”

I disliked the answer immediately.

“What does that mean?”

“It means exactly what it sounds like.”

Orion’s expression became entirely too amused again.

“You will have to woo her.”

I blinked.

“Woo her?”

“Yes.”

He smiled.

“Court her. Get to know her. Give her a reason to fall in love with you.”

I stared at him.

“With the real you,” he added.

My stomach rolled.

I stood so quickly the movement surprised even me.

The nearest wall became the only thing I trusted to remain stationary, so I crossed the room and leaned against it.

The cool surface pressed against my back.

Good.

I needed something solid.

“Oh, heavens.”

I closed my eyes.

“I think I am going to be sick.”

Orion laughed.

Actually laughed.

“Oh, my goodness.”

I opened my eyes.

The bastard was smirking.

“I never thought I would see this.”

His grin widened.

“I believe I have frightened Death.”

“f**k you.”

That only made him laugh harder.

I looked across the room again.

At her.

My mate.

The thought alone seemed too enormous to hold.

How in Creation was I supposed to make someone fall in love with me?

I understood death.

Souls.

War.

Judgment.

I knew how to walk through burning realms without hesitation and stand before monsters without fear.

Love?

The greatest source of energy in the cosmos?

I knew almost nothing about it.

What did one do?

Show her my adoration?

Make certain she understood she was my equal?

Cherish her through eternity?

Protect her without ever making her feel imprisoned by my protection?

Would she want a family?

Children?

The thought hit so suddenly I nearly forgot to breathe.

Children.

Mine.

Ours.

Generations born from the joining of our powers.

New souls to love.

To guide.

To teach.

To protect.

Something warm and unfamiliar spread through me.

Then fear crushed it.

What if I ruined everything?

“Orion.”

He looked at me.

“How do I do this?”

His amusement softened.

“I mean it.”

I gestured toward her.

“I know nothing about this. What if I make some mistake and cause her to reject her destiny? What if she refuses me?”

Orion remained silent.

“What happens to her then?”

The answer formed before he could speak.

She would remain mortal.

She would live the life already given to her.

Perhaps she would choose another.

Love him.

Build a family.

Grow old.

And eventually—

Die.

The thought struck something primal inside me.

When that day came, I might be the one called to her.

I might have to place my hands around the soul I had spent eternity waiting for and collect her like every other mortal entrusted to me.

Carry her away from the life she had chosen.

Away from me.

My stomach twisted.

No.

I could not think about that.

Not yet.

“Well, Arie,” Orion finally said, “that is something you will have to figure out for yourself.”

I glared at him.

He smiled.

“I suggest you begin by getting to know her.”

Light erupted around him.

My eyes widened.

“Orion—”

He vanished.

“f**k, Orion! WAIT!”

Nothing.

I stared at the empty space where he had been.

Wonderful.

Absolutely f*****g wonderful.

He had returned after centuries of absence, informed me that the being I had waited eternity for was sitting across the room, explained that she might reject me, and then disappeared before offering a single useful suggestion about how I was supposed to prevent that.

I looked down at my hands.

They were perfectly steady.

Everything inside me was not.

I had fought monsters without fear.

I had stood against Lucian while entire realms burned around us.

I had carried screaming souls into judgment.

And somehow, the young woman across a hospital waiting room had managed to terrify me without ever speaking a word.

I had no idea where to begin.

So I did the only thing I could think of.

I looked at her.

To my surprise, she was already staring at me.

For several moments, neither of us looked away.

She was beautiful.

Not merely because Orion had told me she was.

Not because fate had woven our paths together.

Because she simply was.

Her cocoa-colored hair fell in long waves over her shoulders and down her back. Her honeydew eyes held an extraordinary spark of life despite the grief that reddened them.

She had been crying.

Of course she had.

Orion.

Her grandfather.

The realization pierced through the wonder of everything he had just told me.

She was grieving the man I had come here to collect.

I wanted to cross the room.

I wanted to comfort her.

To tell her Orion had not vanished from existence.

That one day she would understand.

That he loved her.

That she had not truly lost everything she believed she had.

But she did not know me.

And approaching a grieving young woman to announce that her supposedly dead grandfather was actually an immortal Celestial Creator who had just informed Death that she might someday become his mate seemed like an exceptionally poor introduction.

So I remained where I was.

Her eyes continued studying me.

Then I realized she was not simply looking.

She was trying not to be obvious about looking.

The realization nearly made me smile.

Color slowly deepened across her cheeks.

Her nose was already rosy from crying, and somehow the added embarrassment only made her appear more endearing.

Still, she did not look away.

Neither did I.

Then she caught her lower lip briefly between her teeth, clearly flustered by the fact that I had noticed her staring.

Something warm tightened unexpectedly in my chest.

Good Creation.

This was going to be difficult.

I needed somewhere quiet.

I needed time to think.

More importantly, I needed a plan before my first actual conversation with her became another catastrophe.

Reluctantly, I forced myself to break eye contact.

Unfortunately, whatever expression crossed my face must have looked much harsher than I intended.

Her expression changed.

Confusion.

Then something almost wounded.

Crap.

I had glared at her.

I had somehow managed to glare at my mate during our first silent interaction.

Excellent, Arie.

Billions of years waiting.

Less than a minute of knowing who she was.

Already making a mess of it.

Embarrassment drove me toward the hallway.

I pushed away from the wall and walked out before I could make matters worse.

Her attention followed me.

I could feel it.

And as I stepped into the corridor, one miserable realization settled over me.

I was going to have to make that up to her.

One step forward.

Three steps back.

I exhaled and ran a hand over my face.

Good Creation.

I definitely had my work cut out for me.