by Holly Wentz
“Does it matter? Am I not allowed to leave the city?” she thought back to the Agreement; she could leave, there was no bond holding her here.
“If you leave, you cannot return.” he stated without inflection, just stark fact.
“So?!” she replied, shoving at him to get off the car, “I may as well. I’ve failed my attempt and could not even pass the first night here without reverting to … to … debauchery!”
Overcome with her loss, she fell to her knees and sobbed into her hands. She felt him close in on her; his large hand planted itself over the top of her head. He stilled, resting heavily there, leaning in near enough for his breath to be on her cheek. Looking up through her tears she saw him there, sitting on his haunches, regarding her with a terrifying half snarl half smile. Then he gave a bark of laughter and raised himself, using her head as support then hauled her to her feet.
“You’re a strange little thing, but I think I like you. Come on now, back home….”
“Not home! That place,” she cried, pointing to the city, “is not my home.”
“Fine; back to bed.” She loudly screeched before he slapped a hand over her mouth, “Alone, woman!” But added with an assessing look “For tonight.”
Over the centuries and millennia that would follow he became her escort, confidante, and eventually her lover, at least carnally. Hellhounds are strange creatures who can pass from the Spiritual to Physical realm without sacrificing inherent knowledge or form. No other being aside from the angels themselves can do so. But it was because of their uncompromising nature that this was possible. The hounds not only guarded the Gates but also hunted down those who had slipped past them, able to move as smoothly from beast to human form as they did from spiritual to physical existence to better catch their prey. And as that nature made them perfectly fashioned for their duties, it also gave them an animal’s carnal need but with no emotional ties to connect them too heavily in either realm of Life. So, though he had a kind of loyal affinity towards Aliya and sought her out when his needs drove him to fulfill them. He did not possess the ability to love her in the way that her own essence would require. Nonetheless, they found a degree of solace in their relationship that many in this despairing city were incapable of finding.
Still, “Not tonight.” he growled, staring out the windshield.
“You’re still pouting about the car thing, aren’t you?” she asked, slightly exasperated. “Really?!”
“I’ll check on you later. Go to bed.” Then turning to stare hard at her he added, “Alone, woman.” He pulled out, forcing the door closed by the motion.
“Oh, that’s just ridiculous! It’s a car!” she exclaimed to the fast departing vehicle before turning and making her way up the rickety metal stairway along the building’s side.
Grumbling to herself as she stepped out on her landing, she began digging for her keys in her pocket as she walked to her room. “A stupid car. I mean who’s ever heard of a hellhound driving a pretty little caddy anyway?”
“Only those of us who know La’sha.” a warm rich male voice sounded right at her ear.
With a scream she jerked her head up, only for the back of it to collide with the owner of the voice’s nose.
“Son of a…” cursing foully, the stunningly handsome man stepped around her, holding his now bleeding nose with one hand and snatching her key with his other. He stomped to her door, glaring at her over his bloodied hand before unlocking the door and striding into the room.
“I’m sorry, Erech, you startled me.” she called out as she entered her room, closing and locking the door behind her. From the bathroom at the far right of the room she could hear water running. “Really, you should know better than to sneak up on people. It isn’t nice.” She flipped the light switch on at the entry for the room’s single overhead light, and then stepped into the small kitchenette to retrieve a cloth and ice.
Erech emerged from the bathroom, the blood washed from his hands and face, tissue shoved into his nostrils. She marveled at how he could still be incredibly attractive in that state.
“You know what isn’t nice?” he snapped, snatching the makeshift ice pack from her, “Not nice is breaking a person’s nose when he is trying to ensure you make it to your room safely.” Placing the pack gingerly on his nose bridge, he narrowed his eyes, growling, “Not nice is smashing the face of the only person this side of the Void who bothers to welcome you home every….”
“Not home!” she shouts, cutting him off.
“Oh, well, of course not!” he exclaims with a sigh, rolling his eyes at her before proceeding to sit on her couch, propping his feet on her low table. “Of course, this could not possibly be home. How could it be?! It’s just the place you have resided at since, oh, the beginning of the Age. Just a few thousand millennia. Why would we ever consider it your home?”
Scowling at his overt sarcasm, she pulled down a pot to boil water in and took out a package of spaghetti noodles. Turning back to her injured guest, making a pointed frown towards his dirty booted feet resting on her furniture, she asked, “Are you hungry?”
“Depends,” he says, removing the ice pack and giving her a seductive grin, “on what’s being served.” He wags his eyebrows at her and she can’t help but laugh. He gives a little pout then laughs himself before leaning his head back, “Yeah, I could eat.”
She begins to make spaghetti, occasionally glancing back at him, always finding him watching her from his reclined state, the promise clear in his eyes. She supposed her eyes offered the same promise. Like her, Erech was a lust spirit, but unlike her, he had no bones to his state of Existence. He actively pursued his nature, revealing in it to an obscenely decadent degree. But unlike the Lost, he had self-imposed limits on what and who he would do and how he would do them. That discipline alone made him a permanent resident of the Grey City.
He was also her other constant lover; and during her waiting periods, he became a near continuous presence in her room, for good or for bad. Aliya believed it was primarily because she was a sure bet for food and shelter. She had never been to Erech’s home, and suspected he didn’t have one. Instead she assumed he flitted from one lover’s bed and table to another while she was gone, and settled in with her when she was here.
Again, like La’sha, their relationship was not one of romantic love. Though Erech was just as capable of love and emotions as she was, they had never formed that kind of care for each other. For her, her heart already belonged to another; as for Erech, who knew with him. Unfortunately, he made no press to have even a pretended relationship of that sort with her, instead prowling almost nightly for lovers or hosting wild parties at her place, resplendent with the most perverse displays of sexual acts and games. In truth, she should refuse to have anything to do with him. But for all his faults, which tended to bring out all her faults, he was a comfort to her.
While waiting for her next opportunity, she was never alone in her room, left to the possibility of forced entry or the whims of strangers in her space. For all the insanity he sometimes brought into her abode and for all his male model flighty flirty ways he was still a nephilim, the forbidden child of a Fallen Angel and a human woman. And when pushed a little too hard in the wrong way, he could become a powerful and violent enforcer. Supposedly she also possessed that power, as she was also nephilim, but she had never felt that protective imposing violence stir in her; and rarely did it stir in him. As Erech says they are all lover with no fighter, which is fine by her.
But this world was violent, and the lack of protection and safety left a strain on her, one that had only been fully relieved for the briefest time. Staring into space over the heating pot of water, she thought back to that time long ago when she had felt safe, when she had felt love, when she had met him.
CHAPTER FOUR
Aliya paused in the middle of the moonlit garden, breathed deeply the warm fragrant air, and tried to lose herself in this quiet moment. Sounds of revelry drifted out from the main palace to
her back, sounds of the engagement party she had slipped away from, her engagement party. At twelve years old, she was tall for a human and already taking on a womanly figure, the fact of her demigod birth revealing itself in her stature. At full growth, she would crest at around ten feet in height, making her diminutive compared to others of her bloodline but still a giant among the humans. And like others of her royal birth, she was officially engaged to her older twin brothers. The twins were nearly a decade older than her and their height had soared to nearly fifteen feet. Only her own divine nature would allow for their marriage to be consummated, the very thought of it terrified her as much as tantalized.
The fact that she was engaged to her blood brothers did not cause even a moment’s hesitation in her mind. All demigods married their blood kin, as their large bodies and aggressive, sometimes predatorial, natures made marriage to mere humans impossible. She had been betrothed to the twins at birth; again the idea of a ménage marriage was also of no concern to her moral understanding. It was regularly practiced throughout the royal and common families alike. Multiple pairings to both genders and the taking of lovers from all genders as well as beast were common happenstance in her world. If there was anything wrong in these matings, it was not something taught by the priests and priestesses. Within the gleaming temples where the god-king, her father, was worshipped, such acts were celebrated and Communal Revelries of Pleasure were practiced at every holiday.
No, Aliya was not hiding from her upcoming engagement to her twin brothers; instead she was standing in the night garden holding on to the last moments of innocence she still processed. Unlike most females of this Age, human and demigod alike, Aliya’s birth bed betrothal declared her Untouched. From her first day to her wedding eve on the New Moon, her skin is powered with a mixture of pulverized gold and platinum. A single touch would be declared to all who saw the marring on her skin. For this reason, her innocence made her an oddity, and the lack of affectionate touch growing up created a need bordering on insanity for any physical contact. Therefore, though filled with trepidation, she was actually looking forward to her wedding night, or more pointedly, she was looking forward to never dusting her skin again.
But something quiet within her whispered that the act itself was something greater than it appeared. Something deep within her heart wailed silently as the wedding eve approached and that nothing, nothing in this future marriage or continued life was right. So here she stood, hidden from the revelers of her engagement party, out in the soft garden standing beside the night jasmine and lightly running her finger over the velvety petals.
Here is where Ezi finds her. Repulsed, and frankly staggered, at the sheer enormity of sin and perversion his fallen brothers have wrecked on this Earth, Ezi is loath to stay anywhere near any of the inhabitants of this travesty of Existence. Though not one of the Seven Holy Watchers, the Lord has made His Judgment for this Age of the Fallen, and the Time of Punishment is quickly approaching. To carry out all that it will entail, other angels have been called in to assist in the Punishment’s implementation.
Ezi cannot understand how his brothers could have become so twisted and to have fallen so far from even a modicum of virtue. Though the act of the Betrayal itself was nearly unfathomable for a good and true servant like himself, it still did not explain how grotesque the level of immorality in this world had progressed. He could only assume it has to do with this world’s located in Lucifer’s prison. That the obscenely wretched state it had been reduced to was assisted along by the Old Dragon and his minions.
While never one to question the Lord’s Will, he could not understand why God had banished Man into the Devil’s Wilderness. All the same, humanity’s current state of Evil was most directly related to the Fallen in their unholy quest for power and lust.
Ezi was musing on these thoughts and on the Destruction to come while maintaining a close distance to the Fallen whose nation he would assist in destroying. He was currently strolling the gardens of the Fallen god-king’s summer palace where some kind of celebration was currently unraveling into chaotic debauchery when he came upon her.
Now please understand, Ezi was a steward Angel, true to the Lord and obedient in all His decrees. He had always wondered how his fallen brothers could be so easily seduced by a human woman, but he found himself a little more understanding to them as he observed her from the shadows of the sprawling oak’s leaves.
She stood out in a cleared pathway, gently caressing the night blooming blossom and humming softly. Her skin seemed to shimmer in the moonlight, appearing otherworldly on her exposed arms and face and tiny bare feet. Her discarded shoes lay haphazardly a little ways near the path’s entrance, as if she purposely discarded them so as to feel the cool grass beneath her feet. While he was not a good judge of mortal age, her height and figure declared to him that she was a full-grown woman and tall as well. And when she began to dance to the distant music with an invisible partner, he found himself moving to take that partner’s place in her arms before he could think better of it.
Aliya’s eyes flew open as she gasped at the feel of a large warm hand enveloping her own and her other hand now suddenly rested atop a strong shoulder. The pressure and heat from his other hand pressed against the side of her waist as her impromptu lonely dance had taken a sudden and terrifying change.
“No!” she cried, wrenching herself from his hold, silently lamenting the loss of it, and stared down at her hand in terror and resignation of the marks she would surely find there. But her hand showed no marks at all, the dust was completely undisturbed. She raised her shocked gaze to the stranger who had made to dance with her, unknowingly inviting a gruesome and public execution.
The stranger was watching her with an odd look of bemusement and concern, his arms still out so that all she need do was step back into his embrace and they could continue their dance.
“Where are the marks?” she asked in astonishment, turning her hand out and palm down.
She wanted to look back down at it, to ensure what she had seen was true, but was afraid he’d be gone when she looked back up. And even though he was a stranger who had nearly seen her killed, excruciatingly by her fiancée-brothers, she didn’t want him to go.
He stood for a moment in confused silence before lifting one shoulder in a graceful shrug to answer, “You mean the dusting on your skin? I found it lovely and as you meant it to be there, I did not wish to disturb its placement.” He smiled serenely at her and reached out his hand, “I did not mean to startle you. The music was playing and you were dancing alone. Such a lovely woman should not have to imagine a dance partner. Shall we continue? I assure you I will not disturb your skin’s dusting.”
Now she did look down again at her hand, completely unmarred where he had touched her. When she raised her eyes back to him she asked, “Are you a god?” For surely, only a god could touch the dusting without marking her. It was said that the mixture was made of a magic binding so that none of the other god-kings could touch her, but perhaps it had been a ruse, something to keep her more lecherous uncles at bay until she was wed.
The stranger narrowed his eyes at the question and crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze now over her head towards the house. Shaking his head angrily he gritted out, “There is only one God, and your king is not He.”
She gasped at his blasphemy and stepped towards him, making shushing gestures with her hands.
“Do not say that! If they hear you, if he hears you, you will be killed long after you have begged for death!”
Tentatively placing her hand back on his shoulder, she gave him a nervous smile, “I’ve only ever had imaginary dance partners before, and I’ve only had a brief moment to dance with you. Do not make it my only one.”
Ezi laughed and set his hands back to her to dance, “Have no fear, my shining garden blossom, I do not intend to be ‘killed’ tonight or any other for that matter.” And he began to lead her about the clearing in a sweeping, swaying waltz.
; As she reveled in the feel of actually holding someone, of being held—he was holding her!—she took time to look over her marvelous, nonimaginary dance partner. He was taller than she, probably seven and a half feet, though if he were a god, which she guessed he was to say what he had about her father, one never what his real height. Still this height was perfect for her. He had sharp features, high cheekbones and a long straight nose. His hair was dark, and though moonlight made guessing color difficult, she would hazard it was black. His eyes were bright and light and his skin appeared darker than hers, closer to her father’s bronzed tone. He was well built, warrior brawn with a fighter’s mien, that how the women of the palace would describe him. He was looking over her head off in the distance and appeared to be both enjoying the dance and greatly disturbed by it.
Afraid he would end it, she rushed out, “What is your name?” just as he looked down to her, asking the same.
They shared a laugh and then their names, and the dance lasted to dawn as they spoke. And oh, of all that they spoke about! All her life she had been the Untouched in a world that was always touching. Her companions were few and female who always maintained a good two arms’ length from her. She would not be the only one to die horribly if her dusting was found marked. And while she watched, listened, and wondered at the world’s marvels and intrigues, she could never participate or experience them. Even the simple sharing of a whispered secret had been denied her.
But that night Ezi had told her so many things. Of all the world’s great nations, and of worlds circling the distant stars and of a Paradise and of the one true God. He told her what he was and what the god-kings had done, and it was here that she erred.
In hearing his venom directed to those such as her father and his disgust towards all they had done, she did not tell him her own nature or her true age. Over the course of that moon cycle, they spent their evenings and late nights in the garden, where they would walk and dance, talk and laugh, and slowly fall in love.