Oriel

by Alisa Woods

  “Angels of the light do not engage in sex. Obviously.” He kept his voice light as if he were just musing and not probing for information. “Do all the dark angels fuck their angelings or just Elyon?”

  “Hmmm,” she said, relaxing out of her stretch. “Not really sure. I was born in Elyon’s Regiment, so, you know…”

  “Serving another angel would mean death?” he guessed.

  “Pretty much.” She rolled onto her side to face him, her fingers dancing along the muscles of his arm. “But I figure one dark angel’s probably the same as any other. Might as well work it here.”

  “And how do you work it, exactly?” he asked, peering at her. “For the time when he returns. I want to make sure I’m in his good graces.”

  She laughed lightly. “You learn fast, kid. Which is good because I like you.” Her hand drifted to his cock again. He worked hard to keep it from responding. “I want to keep you around for a while.”

  “Should I ask the average lifespan of your lovers? Or would that simply ruin the mood?” He found humor was something she enjoyed almost as much as sex. It was a good weapon to have.

  She grinned at him and bent forward to kiss him lightly on the lips. “Definitely ruin the mood.”

  “That long, huh?” He played with her hair, just to keep the conversation light. “So what are your tricks, mighty Magis of Elyon? I need to know how to stay alive.”

  “Well.” She pretended to sober, peering deep into his eyes. “First, you acquire a powerful patron and pleasure her mercilessly.”

  “Acquired.” He dipped his head to give her a seductive look. He’d discovered she liked those as well. “And pleasured.”

  She grinned. “Keep that up, and you’ll be fine.”

  He worked his hand into her hair and brought her in for a kiss. A real one—passionate, or at least the simulation of it. They didn’t kiss much, so her eyes were wide when he pulled back. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For taking me in.”

  Her smile was more tentative now. Almost shy. That surprised him. He’d meant to express gratitude so she would open up more to him about Elyon. He hadn’t expected it to affect her.

  But he went with it. “And in gratitude, I shall repay you by endeavoring to keep you purring with pleasure.”

  She tipped her head, acknowledging that was his prime purpose here, and it seemed to steady her some.

  “But all I really know of the shadow realm,” he continued, “is contained in these walls. What will be expected of me outside of them when Elyon returns?”

  She patted his cheek gently. “You let me worry about that, sweet thing.” Then her hand slid down his chest, heading further south.

  “I would like to at least be prepared,” he protested, but her hand had reached his cock. Her firm grasp brought a groan out of him—not of pleasure, but frustration. His body was already responding. Any more talk must wait until the next time. Her stroke became more insistent. Then with a wicked grin, she wiggled down the bed, clearly aiming to suck his cock for a while. She took pleasure from it, apparently, and it was the kind of pleasure that was very easy on him. He could close his eyes and imagine Lizza in her place…

  Just as Terah took him into her mouth, the air popped.

  His body jolted from surprise, but he was sluggish in reacting—Terah moved before him, springing up to standing, naked, on her bed. She’d procured a blade from somewhere and stood to challenge the intruder. It was a male, no blade in his empty hands, which were up.

  “What do you want, Micah?” Terah hissed.

  “Thought you might want some warning.” He barely glanced at Oriel, but Oriel felt his nakedness keenly for the first time since Terah had magicked away his clothes. He quickly conjured something to cover his raging hard-on.

  This new angeling—Micah—was brown-haired and blue-eyed, with Elyon’s Regiment tattoo on his chest as well as a Magis tattoo, what Oriel could see of them. He was dressed for combat with gauntlets covering his arms and ribbed in metal, a short, hooded jacket strapped with leather across his chest, and dark, low-slung pants. It was the most clothing Oriel had seen on a shadow angeling.

  “Elyon’s back,” Micah intoned. “And he’ll hear tales of your pet.”

  Terah growled. “Dammit. I wasn’t even close to… fine. Thanks.”

  Micah tipped his head then twisted to travel away from Terah’s cell.

  Oriel quickly stood. “Why does it matter if Elyon hears of me?” Dread trickled down his back. Had he misjudged all this? It wouldn’t be hard—he knew next to nothing about the workings of this realm.

  “It’ll be fine.” But she looked more worried than he’d seen in all his time with her. She dropped down from the bed and conjured a leather-wrapped training toga and boots—the outfit she’d been wearing when she captured him.

  “What will he want from me?” His heart was hammering. Gathering information to help the angels of light would be useless if he inadvertently angered Elyon. Angels were far more powerful than angelings. Oriel couldn’t help the war effort if he were dead. And then all his Sin would be for naught.

  “He’ll probably want your head.” She scowled as she conjured a sheath for her blade and holstered it there.

  “That’s reassuring.” He strongly considered just twisting away—Elyon might catch up to him, and any angeling of light or shadow would kill him on sight, but he was probably heading there anyway.

  She gave him a softer look. “Don’t panic, fresh meat. Trust me, all right? I’m not done with you, yet. I want you back here, pleasuring me, not tossed into Elyon’s pit of horrors.”

  He swallowed. “Should I ask—”

  “No.” Her humor had evaporated. “And for fuck’s sake, put on something that doesn’t scream I’m a dirty little light angeling.” She fluttered her fingers at his toga. He magicked it away and replaced it with clothing similar to Micah’s. It felt good to have such armor, even if he knew it would be useless against an angel.

  “Better,” she said. Then she grimaced. “All right. Let’s get this over with.”

  Before he could open his mouth, she laid a hand on his shoulder and twisted them both away from her cell. In the next instant, they were standing on a wide, black glass platform. The crystal palace towered above them. Elyon was holding court at one end of the platform, a cluster of shadow angelings around him as he was seated on a black crystal throne. Dozens more circulated in the air or stood nearby, all watching as others tended to the angel. The rise and fall of their fawning noises filled the air.

  Oriel squinted. It took a moment, with all the movement and black feathers and writhing bodies to realize… Elyon was having sex. With several angelings at once. The ones nearby seemed eagerly waiting their turn.

  “Well, at least, he’ll be in a good mood,” Terah whispered to him. She stood next to him with her arms crossed, watching as the angeling riding Elyon’s cock came with a shuddering cry. She was quickly shoved aside by another who took her place, lowering herself down on the angel’s enormous member.

  Oriel could barely hide his disgust. Angels could take any form they wished, and the light angels he’d known had similarly taken oversized forms—human in appearance, but too large to be mistaken for one. Apparently, that size extended to sexual parts, which again, were a choice made by the angel in manifesting in physical form. Elyon liked being overly endowed.

  Apparently, his angelings enjoyed it as well.

  But he wasn’t simply having sex with the one actively riding him. Every angeling he touched seemed to be convulsing or moaning, coming up to climax or just having reached it. This went on for some time, the moans dropping into a monotonous thrumming… until finally, Elyon reached his fill. Or became bored. Or something.

  But he rose from his throne, a set of leathery body armor suddenly materializing to cover his naked body. His long white hair flew back in a magical wind, and his dark eyes rested on the crowd.

  “Ah, yes, my loyal subjects.” His voice boomed just below ange
lsong, but it was also lazy and thick. “Your pleasure renews me. But now, there must be an accounting.”

  A rustle of feathers shushed the air as the angelings drew back.

  Oriel stayed by Terah’s side, only because she didn’t move a hair amidst the general panic that seemed to light up the many dozens of faces around him.

  Elyon spread his hands and dark wings wide, dominating the platform on which they stood. “I have been in contemplation, taking my pleasure in other Regiments, growing stronger and recruiting others to our cause. And while I have been gathering the power we need to finally bring the light angels to their knees, what have you done in my absence?”

  Silence, except for the whisper of wings against air.

  “Taking orders from the Winter Court?” Elyon demanded. His gaze swept through the crowd like a search beam. He had not yet noticed Oriel, but Oriel felt the palpable fear coursing the air just the same. “Their kind are weak and foolish, as their craven prince showed so readily. I used him to get at the abomination—the angeling mixed with fae and born of light—but the fae do not send us like dogs on their errands. You are supposed to be fighting the light angels’ forces in the streets, winnowing their number. Were my orders unclear?” The vibration of Elyon’s Wrath shook the air, and every angeling couldn’t help but tremble with it.

  Including Oriel.

  But his heart beat faster with excitement, not fear. There was chaos here. Dissension of some kind. This could be used to weaken Elyon, Oriel was sure of it.

  All were silent, awaiting the angel’s judgment.

  Oriel understood their obedience—he might question Markos’s decisions in his own mind and even grumble aloud, but it would not occur to him to go against any angel of the light, especially not one actively defending humanity as Markos was. Not because he thought Markos would strike him down, but because angels of the light were wise beyond the reaches of most angelings. No punishments awaited disobedience. At worst, an angeling might seek Penance of their own accord. But a Protector Class Angel could no more strike out in Wrath than an angeling—such an act would merely cause their Fall.

  But here… Oriel could see that fear ruled everything. And just as Elyon embraced the Sin of Lust, his Wrath was the stuff of legends—he was part of the original Fall, the first one when the angels rebelled against Heaven and God’s love of humanity. Elyon’s loathing for humans and fae was only eclipsed by his hatred of the angels of light who did not Fall from grace with him. This was ancient knowledge. Primal stories. But now, with the Fallen Angel himself standing before him, Oriel felt the same fear that must course through every angeling present. Even Terah seemed affected, fingers nervously tapping her armor under her folded arms, although her stoic face betrayed none of it.

  Elyon was still scanning his Regiment. “Who among you has sullied my name by lapping up the orders of the Winter Court? Micah!”

  Oriel jolted with recognition—that was the same angeling who warned them of Elyon’s return.

  Micah stepped forward, but his face was as outwardly calm as Terah’s. “Yes, father?”

  Father?

  It shouldn’t surprise him that Elyon had sired an angeling directly—but why would a son of Elyon warn Terah of his return?

  “Who are the betrayers?” Elyon boomed. “Name them.”

  Micah grimaced and slowly scanned the crowd.

  Oriel shot a look to Terah… but it made no sense that Micah would name her, not after warning her of his father’s return. And Micah himself seemed above reproach, at least in this. Was Terah a daughter of Elyon as well as a Magis? None of his angelings would refuse to carry his child, and no human could resist him. Oriel knew Elyon had built his army by exactly this method, as well as breeding his shadow angelings—Oriel himself was the product of some hapless human woman and a shadow angeling from some dark angel’s Regiment. He knew not his parentage because Markos had saved him from being born into this army.

  He blinked and glanced at Terah again.

  She said she was born to the Regiment. A sweep of sympathy caught him unexpectedly—she did not choose this path. Sure, she made maximum use of it, but being shadow was fore-ordained from her birth. Whereas Oriel had been given every chance at the light and still threw it all away. It mattered not that he sacrificed his chance at redemption so Lizza might truly live again—such things were expected of an angel of light.

  But Terah had never been offered the choice.

  Finally, Micah began naming names. “Rullil. Gadio. Socil. Jaeol. Nahaaz.” One by one, as he called them out, a magical force gripped them, plucking them out of the air or off the platform, suspending them and drawing them toward Elyon. Apparently, only five were involved in the attacks on Charlotte and Lizza. Oriel was guessing both assaults were orchestrated by the Winter Court, which seemed to be what incensed Elyon. But Oriel had also heard Tajael tell of the first attack, and Oriel was there for the second, albeit he didn’t see all who were involved. But there were definitely more than five. Notably, the shadow angeling who nearly snatched Lizza from his side was not among those haplessly suspended in the air now.

  Oriel threw a pinched look at Micah. Either Elyon’s son was offering up innocent angelings—if such a term could be used in the shadow realm—or he was only naming a few of those involved. And if so, for what purpose? Oriel could only guess, but it would appear that Elyon trusted Micah more than was warranted. And that was valuable information. So valuable that Oriel was instantly determined to make it out of Elyon’s Regiment in some way—he must pass this information along to Markos.

  The five angelings had looks of terror on their faces. They squirmed, but Elyon’s magical hold on them was absolute. Oriel’s righteous Wrath was growing, and he worked hard to keep it off his face, but it must have shown because Terah was giving him a death glare.

  Oriel schooled his expression to be neutral.

  “Let me be clear,” Elyon said to the rapt and relieved angelings who were not singled out. Oriel could see a Lust for violence in their eyes that was beyond unsettling. “It is not that humans and their technology are not a threat—they are. And it is not that we cannot use the Winter Court and their simpering king and craven princess. It is merely that you do so at my bidding. And only my bidding. At all times. Any who take it upon themselves to act will know the full measure of my Wrath.” And without lifting a finger or batting an eye, the five angelings imploded.

  Oriel’s mouth hung open in horrified astonishment.

  There was nothing left but a bloody soup that dripped from the air and fell into the darkness below.

  Oriel shut his gaping mouth. The turmoil in his chest made keeping a stoic expression difficult. Horror. A righteous Wrath. He wished for a blade to plunge into Elyon’s chest, even though that would be utter folly, and besides, he had no blade. But fear also tangled with that anger, a potent mix he barely contained.

  Then Elyon turned and looked directly at Terah. “Not all have failed me while I was away.”

  The words were not threatening, but Oriel’s heart still lurched.

  Terah had a smirk on her face. “Always looking out for you, my Lord.”

  Elyon smiled, and the expression was like a demon’s before devouring the innocent. “And you brought me a present. An angeling of light.”

  Oriel felt the magic grip him before his heart could even stutter in reaction. Holy angels of light… he tried to keep the terror inside. Probably unsuccessfully, given how much glee there was on Elyon’s face as his magic drew Oriel slowly, relentlessly through the air toward him.

  “He’s not one of Markos’s,” Terah was saying, her voice light and trailing behind him. “Pretty sure he was just on loan. And he’d already Fallen when we picked him up. But I figured he needed a few more lessons in all the fun we have here in the shadow realm.”

  A twitter went through the crowd.

  Elyon was sizing him up.

  Oriel’s boots dangled a dozen feet above the platform. Elyon’s magic
held him in place. Even if he wanted to twist away, he would be prevented. And if he tried… he didn’t try.

  Don’t panic, fresh meat. Terah’s words bolstered him. He prayed he could trust her, after all.

  “He’s still of the light, Terah.” Elyon glowered at him. “I can taste it on him.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s only so much a girl can do in two day’s time.” Terah sauntered up to Elyon. “But he’s super hot. I’d like to keep him. Train him up a bit more. You’d like to stay, wouldn’t you, Oriel?” She directed the words up to him, dangling in the air.

  He just nodded, not daring to speak, lest his voice betray him.

  Terah held up her hands as if to say, See?

  Elyon shook his head. “You lost the other one, Terah. I have not forgotten.”

  She frowned, and Oriel could see a quick twitch in her shoulders. “That was a long time ago. I’m better at it now.”

  Elyon floated him closer. “They are no doubt missing this one, the angels of light. Perhaps I could send his body back in pieces. Break their hearts a little.”

  Oriel’s heart was thrumming with fear, but he managed to keep it off his face. “They’ve already mourned me. It wouldn’t matter.”

  Elyon laughed, low and deep. “It speaks.”

  “He’s an idiot.” Terah stepped between them. “But he’s hot in bed. I’m begging you, Elyon. You know how hard it is to get fresh meat like this? I mean, none of those light boys are Falling anymore. They’re all determined to win the fight.”

  He turned to her. “Precisely why we should break their will. I have the dark angels behind me, but they still wish to keep our alliance quiet, so as not to awaken the Warriors.”

  Oriel’s heart quickened, and not from fear. The Warrior Angels would come out of retirement if Elyon allied with the rest of the dark angels and engaged the war. As long as it was just skirmishing in Seattle between light and shadow, just a feud between Markos and Elyon, the Warriors would stay in their slumber. But summoning them meant the End of Times for everyone… which was death for any angeling of shadow, unless the war was won by the shadow realm. Which was by no means certain. Oriel almost wished for it, just to see Elyon handed the righteous end he deserved. But playing with the End of Times was dangerous business… not to mention he was shadow himself.