by Alisa Woods
Angels of light lived together in harmony, training and working for humanity. But shadow angels? The idea brought forth an image of a bloodbath, a brutal game of dominance as the Sin of Pride took hold. Or maybe there would be an orgy of Sin, a venting of their Lust with one another. She’d heard tell that shadow angels could touch one another in a way that angels of the light could not—that fallen angels and angelings engaged in sexual acts of every kind, lost in their Sin. The other Sins could consume them just as easily. The Sin of Envy could lead to Wrath, again bringing bloodshed among them as they took each other with their dark blades. Gluttony, Greed, and Sloth would simply make them unpleasant, soiling the gift of their angel nature, and for the angelings, their human half. Erelah supposed those Sins were the least among them, although they were no less deadly for angelkind.
She should not even consider seeking such a lot.
And yet… what else was there for her?
Then a thought struck her so hard it nearly knocked her from her perch. Her father was shadow. Of course. Not that she knew any more than his name—Razael, whispered only in the halls as each angeling speculated on the one who made them. It was rumored that he was a powerful angel of light before he fell and made her. Often angelings weren’t the direct product of a Fall—after all, shadow angels had no compunction against Lusting with humans. Had she not almost committed the act herself? Most angelings were born of shadow, yet still innocent as any human child… and the angels still rescued them, hoping to keep them in the light. She’d heard the rumors that she was born of light, that her conception directly brought her father’s Fall, but she’d never considered seeking him out. Yet… of all the fallen, perhaps he would want to kill her the least. After all, he had once loved her mother enough to take the monstrous risk of creating a child with her. He must have some residual soft feelings, some that might spare him from taking Erelah’s life on sight.
And maybe, just maybe, he could tell her what she should do.
If he even lived.
It was a glimmer—the tiniest glimmer—of hope. But she was no fool. If she sought out shadow angels, she must be prepared to face them.
And for that, she would need a blade.
Erelah arose from her crouch, spreading her wings and holding her hands in front of her. She could form a blade from her magic, but it wouldn’t have the power of her other, angel-blessed blade. However, it mattered not. Angel blade was angel blade. It was the weapon of her kind, even if it varied in strength by those who wrought it. She focused her thoughts and began the ancient forging song, a soaring triumph of music that shook the snow from the granite behind her. As she sang and summoned and worked her hands in the motions which would call the blade into being, she watched… and waited…
And was not surprised when it glittered as black as the moonless night.
Leksander’s head felt like it was floating above his body.
It wasn’t, of course. It was firmly attached as he stared dully at the water of the pool. He’d intended to go in, but he’d never made it that far. He just collapsed into a heap at the edge, and he’d been sitting and staring and not moving for… he didn’t know how long. He’d left Tajael at the weigh station and flown back to the keep in the dark. It was late. He’d stumbled his way blindly down the darkened corridors, his mind nothing but static and an endless loop of one thought…
He’d broken her.
Erelah, beautiful angeling of the light, star of his dreams, woman of his heart… and he’d broken her. Even now, his body flinched at the thought, but the reflection of his face in the pool’s glassy surface was still vacant. Haunted. All this time, all the many years he’d been in love with her, he’d only thought of his endless pining for her. His desire for her. Had he ever truly thought of her? Of what she needed? Of what her life was truly like? Because if he had, maybe he wouldn’t have been such a fool as to tempt an angeling into the one thing she apparently could never do. Not without losing her soul.
Or something. He still wasn’t clear exactly what the Fall entailed. He knew for certain that it turned her wings black and tore out her heart.
He twitched again. Her screams of horror and agony still echoed in his mind.
He’d known of the Fall, of course—there was always talk of the fallen as some kind of disgraced angels. He’d thought it must include banishment because he’d never met one himself. Not that he’d seen many of angelkind—just Erelah and Markos and a brief visit to their Dominion where he met several more angelings. And, more recently, Tajael. They all were angels of the light, and somehow, Leksander had assumed all of angelkind looked like them.
Not like this. Not like demon.
He shook his head, violently and jerkily, and his reflection agreed. He would not think of Erelah that way. This change that had happened… it had been almost instant. One moment, she was kissing him and begging for him to touch her, to satisfy her, and the next, an inky smoke had oozed out between her feathers, as if she were literally burning up from the inside. Then the smoke spread and charred and left her wings a glistening black that horrified Erelah when she saw it.
He broke her.
He sucked in a shuddering breath and held it. If he could give his own life to take it all back, to reverse time and restore her to the lovely, pristine purity she was before he tempted her… before he made her break her solemn vow…
“My brother.” The voice was gentle, but it jolted Leksander like ten thousand volts of electricity.
He whipped around, half rising to his knees and shifting to talons, ready to slice to ribbons whoever had invaded his exile.
Leonidas threw up his hands and stepped back. “I called you three times, my brother. You were lost.”
I am lost. His brother’s words were more right than he knew. “Yes,” was all Leksander could manage. He shifted his claws back into hands and lumbered up to standing. How long had he been sitting? Every muscle in his body screamed as if it had been hours. The windows of the pool room showed the dawn just breaking in the distance. So… he’d been there all night. And no closer to knowing what to do next.
“What happened, my brother?” Leonidas asked, peering at him. “You just disappeared. The summer queen could show up any time now—your two days are almost up. I thought you were seducing Erelah—” He cut off at the look on Leksander’s face. Leonidas scowled. “I take it that didn’t go well.”
“She’s turned shadow.” He could barely get the words out.
“What?” Leonidas’s confusion was understandable. Leksander barely understood it himself.
“I ruined her,” he growled, hating the words.
Leonidas’s expression turned wary. “My brother, you can’t have—”
“Can’t I?” Leksander hissed, getting in his face. “When have I ever done anything that didn’t serve myself first?” The full horror of it was apparently still descending on his mind, even after a full night of grappling with it.
Leonidas held up a hand. “All right, now you’re just talking crazy. Tell me what’s happened. The short version. Because the queen—”
“The queen isn’t coming.” At least, she wasn’t coming to the House of Smoke. Kalen, her lover, may have her coming in his bed. The fae were probably busy fucking while everything Leksander cared about was falling apart. Leonidas looked impatient, so he explained because his brother had no idea what had transpired. “The queen kidnapped Erelah and tortured her.”
“Holy fuck—”
“I thought it was Zephan.” Leksander grimaced. “Tajael said she was snatched by fae. But when Zephan denied it, I knew it was Nyssa. I went to her and got Erelah set free.”
“In exchange for what?” Leonidas’s skepticism had made a return. “More of our warriors in her bed?”
“No. I told her Kalen loved her.”
Leonidas just blinked. “Okay, then.”
“She was surprised as well.” Leksander balled up his fists. “What matters is that I got Erelah free only to lose her t
o…” He struggled for the right words. “She can’t love me, Leonidas. She’s made this vow of Chastity, and when I tempted her to break it, she…”
Leonidas’s eyes were wide. “What happened?”
“Her wings turned black. She screamed. It was like she had turned… demon. It was horrible.”
“Holy…” Leonidas grimaced. “Leksander, I’m sorry.”
He dropped his gaze to the slate tiles of the pool room. “I’ve fucked this up so badly. I have to…” He swallowed. He didn’t know what he could possibly do. But he had to do something. He looked up. “I have to fix this.”
Leonidas looked at him carefully. “Fix what, exactly?”
“Erelah. Have you not heard what I’m saying?” Leksander growled.
Leonidas put up his hands to calm him. “Okay. Fine. We fix Erelah. I’m not even sure what this shadow thing is, but she’s helped the House of Smoke any number of ways. We’ll do what we can for her.”
The way he was saying it… as if there was no possibility… “We will fix her.” A tide of red anger was welling up inside him. Because he knew exactly what his brother meant. They would fix the little angeling who had helped the House of Smoke, but that was it.
She would never be his mate.
“If at all possible.” Leonidas was nodding. “In the meantime—”
“There’s no meantime,” Leksander spat at him. “I have to do this right now. Magic only knows what she’s doing… what she’s going through…”
“Okay. All right.” His placating hands were up again. “But you don’t have all the time in the world, my brother.”
“I’m not giving up on her.”
Leonidas’s eyes narrowed. “You said she can’t love you. Can’t, Leksander. That she turned demon when she tried. Or did I misunderstand?”
Leksander couldn’t answer him. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He dropped his gaze to the floor again. He could say nothing because that was the sum of it. The bare fact was that she never would be his mate. “I can’t give up,” he muttered, as much to himself as anything.
“My brother.” Leonidas’s voice had that gentle quality, the one you use with someone in mourning. As if the person they loved had died. “You’ve done everything you can. And as awful as this is right now… you have your proof that this… this just isn’t meant to be.”
Leksander’s dragon surged inside him, wild and resentful. Everything about his brother’s words felt wrong. Everything inside Leksander fought against them. He dragged a glare up to meet his brother’s concerned expression. “Did you give up on your mate? Did you abandon her? She was literally growing a demon in her belly! Yet you never gave up.”
Leonidas’s expression twisted through five different emotions—anger, grief, and horror among them—then he settled on a glare. “Rosalyn was my mate—”
“She was demon before you mated with her!” Leksander threw back.
Leonidas growled. “There were no other options.”
“There are no options here!”
“Yes, there are! Leksander, think—”
“No!” he growled then turned away because his anger was welling up as dragonfire. He vented it over the pool, churning the water into steam, and his entire body shook with the power. The wildness. There was too much, and he knew what that meant. His wyvern was readying to break free. To go after the woman he’d bonded with. He didn’t want to think. He wanted to react. Rage, spit dragonfire, charge after and claim his mate. Only his wyvern would do it mindlessly, with force if necessary, and while that might threaten any normal woman, with Erelah, she would simply dispatch him with her blade. Even more easily now in her own wild, shadow state. He had to keep control, not to protect her, but to preserve any chance he had of saving them both.
But he was foolish to even think that was possible.
He didn’t want to face the truth. That Erelah had never loved him and never would and even trying had turned her to a dark side, and he had no idea if she could come back. He didn’t want to face it because he couldn’t accept it. Refused to accept it.
“Leksander.” His brother’s voice was calm again. “Rosalyn loved me. Her love saved me. I had to take the chance with her. But you don’t. You can’t. Even if you go after Erelah, even if you can find a way to fix whatever’s gone wrong, you’ve said it yourself—she can’t love you. Which means she can’t fulfill the treaty. And without that…”
He didn’t have to say the rest. Leksander knew—the treaty would break; humanity would be at the mercy of the fae; and Leksander would be out of time. His five hundred years were up, and if he didn’t find a mate soon—very soon—his wyvern would end all of it.
And yet… even with all of that true… he couldn’t let her go.
He slowly turned to face his brother. “There was a point at which I told you it was impossible with Rosalyn.”
Leonidas winced.
“I was wrong,” Leksander said. “I was wrong about that, and you’re wrong about this. Going after Erelah is the only chance I have. If I don’t, I’ll be useless for anything else. Do you understand?”
A smile tugged at the corner of his brother’s mouth. “More than you probably know.”
“So help me.” Leksander’s shoulders slumped. “Because I can’t think straight enough to even begin.”
“All right.” Leonidas rubbed his chin, thinking. “This is angel business, and frankly, I’ve never understood their kind. I hate to call on Markos, but he must know something about how to bring Erelah back from this… demon state, or whatever.”
“She’s fallen,” Leksander corrected him, but his mind was already leaping ahead. “No, not Markos. Tajael.”
“That angeling who came to visit?” Leonidas lifted an eyebrow.
“He was distraught. He cares for her.” Leksander still wasn’t sure exactly how much, or in what way, but there was no room for petty jealousy in any of this. “He’ll help.” And now that he’d decided, it was like a fog lifting. He hadn’t slept all night, just slumped into stupor and misery, but he could sleep later. He and Tajael would go after Erelah. They would bring her back. Together, they could make this happen.
“All right.” Leonidas nodded. “Let me know if you need backup.”
Leksander gave him a quick nod and strode from the pool room, full of renewed purpose. He would have to drop the wards to make contact with the angels, but he would leave the keep regardless, so he might as well call them from the weigh station. Then they could go straight from there to wherever Erelah had fled. Whether she could love him or not didn’t matter.
What mattered was fixing her.
After that, he could make his peace with the fact that she could never be his.
Erelah rested until sunrise.
Not that angelings often needed rest—she could go days without sleep thanks to her angel nature—but the last twenty-four hours had been, well, fraught with magic-draining events. And the end of everything she held dear. Her status as an angel of light. Her friendship with Leksander. Her vow. Plus she’d been attacked and captured and tortured by fae. The healing at Leksander’s hands renewed her, but the light-pink new skin still branded her body, and his magic blood still warred with hers. Then there was the Fall itself and the aftermath. Finally, creating a black-magic blade suitable to her new shadow status had drained her more than she had expected. It had been so long since she created her own angel blade… back when she left Markos’s Dominion to do her walkabout… back when she met Leksander…
Erelah shook her head and rubbed her eyes fully awake. She couldn’t dwell on flittering dreams of long ago. Or that she’d wronged a man who was nothing but good and decent… and who loved her. She shook that off because she couldn’t afford such thoughts. She was shadow now. She hadn’t truly slept, not deeply, because who knew what dangers were headed her way, but it was enough to renew her. And she’d need her energy and her wits in this new world… and to seek her father.
An angel of shado
w.
Erelah rose up from her perch on the rocky ledge, dusted her bare legs, and checked the sheathing of her blade. Her wings flexed behind her, glistening black in the early morning sun, strong and capable, but her clothes were a mess. Not only were they bloody tatters, unpresentable even without the new modesty she’d acquired since realizing the potency of exposed skin—for those fallen from their Chastity vows or, like Leksander, those who never made such a vow—but the remnants of her toga were white. The color of the light, not shadow. She magicked them away and replaced them with a skintight training outfit like she wore for sparring. Only she made this one the color of soot. It covered her torso in tightly-wrapped fabric, leaving her arms and legs bare for maximum mobility. But too much exposed skin remained, so she magicked fingerless gloves from her wrists to her elbows and leggings from her ankles up to mid-thigh, where her blade was strapped. Her sheath was conspicuously white, so she turned it flat black to match the rest. Her feet and hands were bare, but all that could be reasonably covered had been, while still retaining the ability to move and fight.
She felt sure she would have need for that.
If she misjudged all this, and her father wished her dead, no amount of warrior skills would save her. He was pure angel with powers far stronger than hers. She’d seen Markos’s power up close, and other angels in other Dominions, but a true angel gone shadow? Unleashed from the restraint the angels of the light practiced as part of their constant pursuit and perfection of the Virtues? She could only imagine.
She would know soon enough.
She’d already sensed the dark energy of the shadow world as she formed her blade. It was a world that truly lived in shadow, unfelt by her in the world of light and Virtue. There, the demons and their essences blared out to her with their concentrated flavors of Sin, but the shadow angels were more subtle, more hidden. Or perhaps she’d never gone looking before. But as she fashioned her blade, she could feel its ripples extending out into magical space, like a constant pinging of sonar underwater. She was no doubt drawing interest with that, which was why she hurried to finish and then quell that constant drawing upon the world of dark magical energy surrounding her.