by M. D. Grimm
The three angels reached the crowd of demons a second before Asagoroth burst inside, eyes hot with rage. The demons quaked in their fear, clearly recognizing their folly. They threw themselves upon the ground, faces down in complete submission. They said nothing, but a few groaned and whimpered, clearly wanting mercy but not expecting it.
Asagoroth growled at them, showing teeth. The three angels crowded around Bethor, clutching each other, eyes wide with terror. Roland was simply frozen, hands still over his ears, not knowing what to expect. Then he was slammed with that ferocious glare and thought throwing himself on the ground wasn’t such a bad idea.
“You did this,” Asagoroth growled.
Roland instantly protested. “N-no, I—”
“Do not lie!”
Roland flinched and pressed against the wall, dearly wanting to close his eyes so he wouldn’t see what happened next.
“You distracted my demons so my hostages could make their escape.” He sounded infuriated, his words barely recognizable. His voice boomed and bounced all around them, sounding louder, angrier. Deadlier.
“I did not,” he said.
Asagoroth took a step closer, carefully avoiding the cowering demons. He towered over Roland and snorted, hot air washing over Roland and flames sparking over his head.
“What did you say?”
Roland looked up and didn’t like the tone of Asagoroth’s voice, as if he’d betrayed him somehow.
“I did not distract your demons. I was making them happy.”
“Happy.” Asagoroth said the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.
Roland lowered his arms and stood straight, letting his own anger push back his fear. “I drew portraits of your demons. They liked them, so I was handing them out. And yes, making them happy. It isn’t a bad word, Asagoroth, even if you don’t know what it means.”
Asagoroth narrowed his eyes. “My hostages tried to escape—”
“Of course they did!” Roland abruptly shouted, flinging his arms out. “Why wouldn’t they try to escape at every possible opportunity? You kidnapped us! You’re holding us hostage! Is it so hard to believe they want to escape? Do you think we like being here in these caves, not knowing what you plan to do with us? You want to conquer our homes and force our leaders to trade their freedom for our lives. Why would we want to stay and help you accomplish that?”
He was literally screaming and realized he’d taken steps forward. It also struck him just then that Asagoroth had taken several steps back.
Roland took a deep breath and calmed his voice. “It was not my intent to give them an opportunity to escape, but can you really blame them for taking it?”
Growls burbled out of Asagoroth, his teeth still bared, but he did nothing. He just stared, eyes bright, stance tense and strained. Then he did the most surprising thing of all.
He turned and left.
Roland stood there, dazed, arms hanging loosely at his sides. He swayed slightly, dizzy, and stumbled against the wall. He slid to the ground and panted, heart racing so fast it was about to jump out of his chest.
He’d just screamed at a dragon.
He’d just screamed at a dragon.
And wasn’t dead.
The demons stirred a long moment later, eyes downcast, looking so miserable and upset. Roland felt bad for them. He felt at fault for that. None of them looked at him, shame hunching their shoulders. They took up positions near the entryway, no words spoken.
Roland turned to find his companions staring at him in wonder and horror. He looked away, now at a loss for words.
What had just happened? And what did it mean?
Chapter Six
Needing a distraction, Roland sketched the remaining demons. He ignored the other angels, ignored his quaking heart. He focused on art, and it soothed him. He made a few errors, but that was the great thing about charcoal. He simply smudged them, shading darker, and it added depth to the shadowy eyes and strong jaws of the demons. It took time, and he didn’t rush.
His companions spoke in hushed tones, every now and then glancing at him. He kept his attention fixed on the parchment or the demon subject. Once he finished the remaining portraits, he stood, wincing at his stiff muscles. He walked over to the first demon, who resolutely did not look at him. Roland felt somewhat deflated but strove past it.
“I’m sorry he’s angry at you,” he said softly in Low Enochian. “That was not my intent. I enjoyed speaking with all of you. Here.”
He held out the portrait. The demon’s gaze flickered but remained focused on the opposite wall.
Roland sighed. “Please take it as an apology.” He carefully touched the demon’s wrist. Except for a tic in the demon’s jaw, he didn’t move an inch.
Roland rolled the parchment and pressed it to the demon’s palm, then closed his fingers around it. He stepped away and went to the next demon. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the demon, Cimejes, lifted his hand and pressed the rolled parchment to his chest. Roland smiled slightly and repeated the process with every demon left. The last demon, a female named Shamal, met his gaze and gave a regal nod as she clutched the rolled parchment.
Roland glanced at his companions to find them asleep in a huddle. He wasn’t sure if it was fake or not. At that moment he had never felt so isolated. He didn’t seem to be with angels or demons. Then where did he belong?
The thought made his gut roil. Was that what the unchosen felt like? Angel but still outcast? He walked up to Bune, who glanced at him before looking away.
“I feel a little sick,” he said in Low Enochian, enunciating each word carefully. “Could you escort me to the entrance to this cave so I can have some fresh air?”
Bune let out a slight groan and glanced at him again, this time with a troubled expression.
“I know. I don’t want to anger him either. But I really need fresh air. I can’t fly, so I can’t escape. My wing is still damaged from when I bounced off his gigantic tail.”
Bune met his gaze, his own shrewd, looking for lies. Roland stood still and resolute, hoping he looked honest. Bune gave a nod before speaking to the other guards in Middle Dimoori. Then he gestured for Roland to precede him. Roland fingered his scarred ribs, wishing he had another robe. He hated feeling so vulnerable. Yet it hadn’t stopped him from basically scolding Asagoroth, had it?
By the Light, had he really done that?
Once they reached the gigantic chamber where he’d awakened in Asagoroth’s palm, Bune stepped beside him, took his arm gently, and led him across the stony floor to another entryway. It wasn’t long before light greeted them and a cool wind washed over their bodies. Roland took a deep breath and sighed in relief. The light was bright but not searing, and the moon hung full in the sky, a few stars twinkling in the inky black. Feeling more at ease than he had in a long time, Roland sat on the small shelf that jutted from the entryway. Bune stood by his side, also taking deep breaths, enjoying the moment as well.
Roland leaned back on his hands and tilted his head back.
Barely a week they’d been held captive, and so much had happened. It felt more like a year—no, ten years—since he was standing in his studio, talking with Gabryl or mentoring his students. Longing pierced his heart. He missed Gabby. He missed his other friends, his family, his home. The familiar. The comfort of knowing what to expect.
He missed not being afraid of every stray shadow.
And yet you stood up to him.
Roland shook his head. A fluke. Driven by desperation and need.
Like you believe that.
He scowled at his inner voice and firmly told it to shut up.
The telltale thudding of heavy feet made his muscles lock. He felt Bune stiffen and was ready to defend the poor demon if Asagoroth decided to rage again. His shadow fell over them, and Roland heard a short, grumbling command. Bune’s posture relaxed and Roland glanced up. Bune met his eyes for a split second, somehow expressing sympathy and relief at the same time. Then he was
gone, striding into the chamber. Leaving him. Alone.
With Asagoroth.
Roland stayed sitting, perfectly still, feeling Asagoroth’s warm breaths washing over his neck and back. The silence stretched, becoming awkward once again. He blew out a breath and once more gathered all the courage and fortitude he possessed.
“I’m an artist,” he said quietly in Middle Enochian, still facing the moon, the stars, the tops of shadowy trees. “I have to create beautiful things. Your demons are beautiful, in their own way. I enjoyed talking with them. I enjoyed their enthusiasm and passion for my skills. I don’t always receive such acclaim, especially given so freely and without any motivation behind it. They made me proud about my work, and I enjoyed making them happy.”
When no comment came from his use of that word, he continued. “I love art. Looking at it, creating it, and even inspiring it at times. So I suppose the seer was right about what my profession should be. But that’s not who I am. I’m an angel, but that’s not who I am either. I don’t know who I am. And since being here, with you, I wonder even more.”
Still no words from Asagoroth, only steady breathing.
The fresh air revived him, and Roland stood and faced that bright blue gaze again. Asagoroth stared at him steadily, intently.
“I screamed at you,” Roland said softly. “The first time we met, I hurt you. I’m not an heir, so I can’t be part of your plans. I’m nobody. I don’t matter. Yet I’m still alive. You need to tell me why.”
Asagoroth stared for a long, significant pause before he closed his eyes and exhaled softly. Roland gripped part of the wall to keep from being pushed off the shelf.
“I am starting to wonder,” Asagoroth said, also in Middle Enochian, his words thick with emotion, “if you might be all that matters.”
Roland couldn’t have heard him right. Yet when he said nothing more, Roland realized he had heard him right. Impulse had him reaching out and touching Asagoroth’s snout. Asagoroth’s eyes stayed shut as Roland slid his hand along the smooth scales, the heat caressing his palm. He lifted his other hand and kept his touch gentle and soothing as he slipped it along the massive snout, intrigued by the considerable nostrils that could spark fire.
Entranced by the moment and lulled by the lack of searing gaze since Asagoroth still had his eyes shut, Roland leaned forward and pressed his lips right to the tip of the snout.
Asagoroth popped his eyes open.
Roland jerked back, and his foot slipped off the edge. He flailed for an endless moment, a scream locked in his throat. Asagoroth reached out and scooped him up in his palm with minimal effort. Instead of dumping him back on the landing, he tilted his foot the other way, causing Roland to fall backward along his palm. Roland pushed up on his elbows, adrenaline making him shake.
“Sorry!” he said. “I don’t know why I—sorry!”
Asagoroth narrowed his eyes. “Why did you kiss me?”
Roland blushed. It was hard not to imagine kissing Asagoroth in his demonic form. His fanciful imagination made his body try to stir, and he sat up swiftly, squeezing his legs together. There was no doubt in his mind Asagoroth would be able to smell his arousal, and then he’d have to dive off the cliff voluntarily.
Roland swallowed despite his dry throat and closed his eyes. He couldn’t answer while looking at his face.
“I think you’re the most magnificent creation of the Light Bringer. And right now I fear you might eat me or something. Please don’t eat me.”
Asagoroth grunted before he spoke, his voice was a deep rumble Roland felt more than heard. “If I did eat you, it would be pleasurable for both of us.”
Roland tensed and cracked open his eyes, knowing his expression was incredulous. “What?” he squeaked.
Asagoroth tilted his snout down, pushing his eyes unnervingly close to Roland’s face. Soon all he could see were those two shining stars. He thought he might catch on fire, they were so bright and hot.
“I believe you heard me. Roland.”
Roland’s jaw hit the ground, and his entire body shuddered. That was the first time Asagoroth had ever said his name, and oh Light, it did things. Did it ever do things.
Squeezing his legs together wasn’t going to cut it anymore, and he fisted his hands against his lap. Apparently it didn’t work, because Asagoroth’s nostrils flared, and he narrowed his eyes, the light in them darkening.
Roland shoved off Asagoroth’s palm, overwhelmed, his adrenaline spiking. He barely gained his feet when Asagoroth nudged him firmly with that same foot and sent him sprawling on his back. That didn’t help his predicament at all, and he struggled to yank down his robe over his legs. Unfortunately when he did that, he heard something tear on his pitiful robe. Undone, he curled up in a ball and closed his eyes, arms over his head.
What in the Light’s name was happening?
“You are afraid of me.” Was it his imagination, or did Asagoroth sound, well, upset? Annoyed? “You should not be,” he said softly. “I will never harm you. My angel.”
Roland looked up between his arms to see Asagoroth towering over him, head slanted in a quizzical manner.
Roland fortified himself before speaking. “I saw you.”
Asagoroth blinked.
“With your demons. You... you can change your form. Can’t you?”
Asagoroth purred deeply and nodded. “Yes. You watched me?” He sounded pleased by the notion.
Roland swallowed hard. “I couldn’t help it. It was too dark to see much, but your eyes gave you away.”
“You should have joined us.”
“I—I thought you would be mad.”
“No. I was with my demons because I wanted you. And I thought I couldn’t have you.”
Roland closed his eyes again and lowered his arms, though his knees were still curled to his chest. The revelation that Asagoroth had the same thoughts and desires that he did staggered him.
Asagoroth lowered his face, and with tenderness Roland was constantly surprised by, he rubbed the tip of his nose against Roland’s back. Then lower. It was a strange, intimate nuzzle that nearly had Roland giggling with nerves. His body flushed hot as that nose really got familiar with his ass. His cock was fully erect now and ready to get busy, but his brain was still rattling with all the new revelations and the speed of events.
He managed to push out the words, “Why me, Asa? You never answered my question.”
A purr vibrated in Asagoroth’s chest as Roland realized he’d given the dragon a nickname, an intimate name only he used. When had he done that? Certainly not consciously. He’d used it before, hadn’t he? During the dragon battle.
Encouraged by the purr, it being similar to the noise he made when the demons cleaned his scales, Roland reached out and touched his face. Asagoroth finally stopped nuzzling him and seemed to lean into the touch.
“You ask ‘why you’ as if you believe it impossible that I could desire you.”
“Well… yes.”
Asagoroth grunted. He scooped Roland into his palm and sat his rump on the stone. He held Roland level with his eyes, and the scrutiny only made Roland’s condition more uncomfortable. It was difficult to hide his erection, even though, if he believed the dragon, there was no reason to hide.
“You have bravery beyond many I have known. You are not a soldier, yet you fight to protect and defend those you care for. You risked your life to attack me, and it has been a long time since something other than another dragon has hurt me.”
Roland couldn’t hide his grimace. Then a light rumbling chuckle enveloped Roland like a warm blanket, and he managed a smile. He supposed having the dragon amused by his attack was better than angered or insulted.
“You are kind to my demons when all other angels I have observed have been angered by the sight of them. Your kindness is genuine.”
Roland felt his face heating, the compliments hardening his cock to a painful degree. “I—”
“You are intelligent and talented,” Asagoroth sa
id, his voice easily rolling over Roland’s. “You made me think, Roland. You made me question myself. That is not an easy thing to make a dragon do.”
Roland grinned, his laughter rather shaky.
“And you ask me why I desire you.”
Roland took a deep breath, held it, then slowly exhaled. His heart still raced, his body still trembled, and his cock still raged.
“Well, you answered me.”
“You also smell delicious.”
He knew his face turned bright red, and he covered it with his hand. “Oh Light.”
A rumbling laughter came from the colossal ass, and Roland shook his head, partly amused, partly embarrassed.
“May I see your wings?”
The odd request threw Roland for a loop, and he lifted his head. “What?”
“Your wings.”
“I—one of them is hurt. I sprained it when I, um, hit your tail.”
“I am sorry.”
Roland shrugged, grinning slightly. “I’m the one who bounced off your eye, so. My own fault, really.”
Asagoroth regarded him in silence for a moment. “I can heal your wing.”
Roland blinked. “Oh.”
He swallowed hard and stood. His erection tented his robe, and though he blushed, he never flinched from Asagoroth’s gaze. Another purr came from him, and then Roland did flinch when Asagoroth pressed the tip of his snout right between Roland’s legs, taking a deep breath.
“By the Light! What are you—? Stop that!” Roland shoved, and Asagoroth pulled away, rumbling with amusement. The desire to see Asagoroth in his smaller, demonic form was growing more urgent by the moment.
With a shaky breath, Roland shimmered his wings tangible and spread the black feathers as far as he could. His injured wing stung, and he gripped his shoulder with a wince.
“Stand still.”
Roland lowered his hand and nodded.
Asagoroth opened his mouth slightly, and a small, thin dart of white-hot flame shot out, its brightness momentarily blinding Roland. The flame flew over his shoulder and slammed into his wing. For a moment there was a flare of heat, and then the pain was simply gone. He gasped and craned his neck to the side, gripping his shoulder and poking his wing. He fluttered them, and they were merely achy from disuse.