by Alisa Woods
Leonidas nodded and gave him a hand up. “She’s… complicated. Nyssa, I mean.”
“Yeah.” He winced as he brushed debris from his shirt. “And I’m a fucking idiot.”
Leonidas tipped his head in acknowledgment, which just made Leksander shake his head.
“I’m done with immortals,” he said bitterly. “Starting tomorrow, it’s nothing but human women for me.”
“Now you’re talking,” his brother said with a fervent nod.
Leksander tried to feel his brother’s enthusiasm, but there was nothing left inside him. Just an emptiness that would never be filled. He needed to find a way to cope with that, to move on… before it kept him from doing his duty.
In spite of Erelah.
Leksander dragged his ass back to his own lair.
Erelah’s cell was made of magic and light.
It was beautiful in its barrenness. Tall and narrow, the room had only a rolled mat for a bed, now tucked in a drawer, undecorated walls to ease the mind toward the light, and a perch near the ceiling from which one could hang and stretch one’s wings on occasion.
Which was where she had been for the last hour.
The blood had rushed to her head, and the pressure had dulled her mind. Her heart also slowed to an almost reluctant thudding presence that made itself known in her temples and helped to clear her mind. To think of nothingness.
Definitely not think about Leksander.
Not about a friend she’d known for nearly all her life, but apparently, didn’t know at all.
The ache in her chest still remembered, however, and it was that which finally made her give up the perch and drop back down to the floor. Eschewing her mat, she simply sat on the cool crystal flooring, legs crossed, enjoying the momentary relief as blood dropped back down into her body and made her head light. It was almost as euphoric as receiving a blessing or slaying a demon, but this one was empty of the glory of those actual feats. And soon enough, it subsided and left her mind crowded with thoughts once again.
She’d been sequestered in her cell for a day, at least. There was no sense of time here, and the Dominion itself existed in a strange way separate from the human world of time, in any event. It was telling how long she’d been in the human world—how attached she’d become—that she wondered about things like whether it was day or night. Whether Leksander had returned safely to his lair. How much time had passed for him and how quickly he would move on to finally finding a mate who could give him the True Love he needed.
The pain in her chest was ever-present, like a giant glacier had cracked down the middle and gaped with an open and irreparable wound… but it occasionally cracked just a little more. The fissure grew wider and tore at her soul just an inch more. And each time, it was like breaking her heart anew. For it did not escape her notice that he had told her. His single word of affirmation haunted her now.
Have you ever loved someone?
Yes.
He had carried this secret for some time, and Sins upon her, she couldn’t help the craving to know precisely, to the minute, how long that had been. When did it happen? When was the moment at which Leksander decided he loved her, and yet, also decided that knowledge must be a burden he alone carried? Months? Years? Was the entire time she’d known him premised on a lie?
A lie of omission still wounded.
She was very familiar with all the Sins, and of course, strove for Virtue in all things, but somehow she knew this lie was not Leksander’s. The lie was hers in not seeing what was plain to Tajael in mere moments with them together. Lying to oneself about the nature of things is just the first step of many rapid ones along a descent into Sin.
So she would have the truth, and only the truth, no matter the pain, from now on. That was the vow she made to herself the moment she entered her cell for contemplation.
But it was not so easy a task.
The practical matters were simpler, and Tajael had done her a favor here, as she’d finally come round to seeing. Leksander needed to fulfill his duty, and as his friend, Erelah’s greatest joy would come in helping him do that. But in reality, because he had somehow fallen in love with her when she was busy ignoring the danger signs, she was, in actuality, standing in the way of Leksander fulfilling his duty. Tajael had taken it upon himself to act—Kindness and Charity were his strongest Virtues, after his vow to Chastity of course—so this didn’t surprise her, once she thought it through. Tajael had perceived the problem in an instant, and he sacrificed himself to take action to right it. He was blameless in all of this. Moreover, he spared her from having to take such an action herself, if she could even bring herself to do it.
If she were truthful—and she had vowed to be—she knew her weakness was there. She probably would have fled. Then, on further consideration, she would likely have taken her life to remove herself from Leksander’s fixation. The way must be cleared for the next princess of the House of Smoke, and if Erelah’s own life could be given for that cause, she would not hesitate. Not even now, if it would help. Humanity was at stake, and one angeling’s life was of no consequence by comparison.
That act… she could envision it happening. It would have spared her honor, but what effect would it have had on Leksander? This… this was where her mind kept stalling out, and the crack inside her kept growing wider. Because she claimed to be Leksander’s friend, and yet, in all the time she’d known him, had she ever really thought of how he felt? The answer was obviously and painfully no.
And now she was reaping the wages of that Sin of thoughtlessness—a mix of greed and sloth that would never have happened had she even a reasonable amount of Charity or Kindness within her wretched angeling soul.
Suddenly, the walls of her cell felt too barren, too bleak. She surged up to her feet and released her wings. They crashed against the walls—the cell was hardly wide enough for the full span of them. She could never be a True Angel, never fully righteous, but an angeling’s calling was to strive for that perfection as much as possible. It was difficult for someone tarnished by their very nature. She was fallen by birth, conceived by an angel who succumbed to the beauty of humanity and lost their light because of it. Only being rescued by Markos and brought to his Dominion gave her any hope of overcoming the deep conflict bred into her very soul.
And she had been so fixated on her own redemption she forgot her true purpose in the world—safeguarding humanity from the fae and demons and horrors that lay just past their seeing, just at the edges of their awareness. An eternal battle that must be fought or lost, daily.
What she needed was more of that.
A good demon hunt would clear her mind, center her in righteousness, and then she could see what her path forward might be. Maybe she needed to make apologies to Leksander. Maybe she needed to leave Markos’s dominion and start over somewhere else. She could join Halo in the Patience faction—a suitable Penance might be to live under a commitment to her least favorite of the Virtues. Now that Tajael had tarnished her in Leksander’s eyes, she need not worry about removing herself from the turmoil in the House of Smoke. That was done. Now she needed to pay for her Sin and move back to saving humanity again.
It was literally what she was made for.
With that focus in her mind and a twist through time and space, Erelah left her cloister cell and dropped into the warm morning air above Seattle. Time had passed—it was nighttime when she was last here—but whether it was a day or three, she was uncertain. No matter. She would hunt, cloaked from the sight of humans, and then center herself in righteousness while she contemplated her fate.
It didn’t take long to find a demon—it was disturbing how prevalent they had become. She knew Zephan, the fae prince of the Winter Court, was still actively recruiting the vampires to infect humans with these demon essences, and it seemed like the Angels should take issue with this—they should fight to stop it, if nothing else!—but she understood the fixation on the House of Smoke at the moment. Without them, the fae would be
free to raise demons capriciously and not merely the possession kind which might give a false sense of power or purpose to the humans they infected. Without the treaty, the fae would overrun the world, and humanity would fall into a terrorized war zone or perhaps an abject poverty as demons rampantly destroyed peace once and for all. If that happened, she would see about training for Warrior class. It wasn’t often that angelings could switch classes, and Protector class was the most useful during normal times, but if war broke out, Erelah would take the chance of falling to Wrath to be on the front lines.
Spurred by that thought, she dove down on the hapless demon-infected man whose scent she had caught three blocks away. Scooping him off the street in broad daylight was a trick, so she waited for that fraction of a second when all eyes were turned away then snatched him up and carried him to the roof of a nearby building. Cloaking them both, she muffled his cry as she slipped her blade into his side, forcing the demon to tear itself from his soul or face extinction. The glory and righteousness that surged through her as the demon fled filled her with certainty—Warrior class was where she belonged. If there was no war, then she could stand guard with the others, training and waiting for the day. She was a young angeling with many hundreds of years of purpose still stretching ahead of her.
Once the demon was gone, the man slumped in her arms, exhausted. His life essence was ebbing. It was then that she truly looked at him. He was young—perhaps mid-twenties in human years—and strong in body with broad shoulders and muscular arms. But the demon had laid waste to him, probably driving him to self-destructive indulgences that depleted the man of strength even as his relative youth carried him forward with a sense of immortality. Still, he was beautiful in the way all humans were—shining with the potential that God blessed them with.
She grabbed hold of his face to better deliver the life kiss, then she pressed her mouth to his and breathed. The thrill of delivering a restorative energy to him washed pleasure through her body. His body stiffened against hers, as they normally did, humming with the same pleasure of life that she felt.
Then he grabbed onto her.
This occasionally happened, but not often.
Usually, humans rapt in the throes of a life kiss were rendered insensate—unable to do much in response, just absorb the pleasure and perhaps have a few involuntary bodily reactions. That was much the case when Tajael delivered his shameful life kiss to her. She was surprised, yes, but once the flood of angelic energy pulsed into her, all she could do was absorb it, take it in, and attempt not to swoon from the sensations. Tajael had made a show of kissing her as well—for Leksander’s benefit, as she now knew—but it was just a wet slapping of his lips against hers. The true kiss came from the breath of life itself, and that was what she reacted to.
Humans were normally the same, but occasionally, they fight through the overwhelming sensation and react as lovers do—by kissing back.
This man was attempting such a thing, although his mortal strength was nothing next to her given angel powers. Yet he was grabbing onto her face and moving his lips against hers and trying to pull her body into some grappling match in which the full length of his body was pressed against hers… including a fully erect penis, the usual side effect of a life kiss in men.
It was annoying, and she struggled not to end the life kiss prematurely, before she had fully restored all the health the demon had drained from him. In that extra five seconds of fully-grappling kiss on the rooftop, Erelah couldn’t help but wonder what Leksander would see—and feel—if he happened upon them now. Surely he knew what she was truly doing—she had told him often enough—but how would it look to a man who had slipped into the unfortunate and dangerous position of loving a creature of angelkind?
You didn’t see his face, Erelah, Tajael had said. He would never have let you go.
Erelah released the man from her life kiss. He clung to her, as they often did, so as gently as she could, she pulsed power to repel him. He stumbled back on the rooftop, but thankfully far from the edge.
“Peace be with you,” Erelah said, waving him toward a rooftop door where he could exit.
“But I…” The man stepped toward her. “Please don’t leave. You’re so beautiful.”
His words were a strike against her heart. How often had she put on this display in front of Leksander, heedless of the effect it had on him? How fervent had she been, how full of her own pleasure and righteousness, while he quietly suffered by her side? What sort of wretch was she truly for these things? Tears threatened again, stinging the backs of her eyes.
“Go in peace,” she forced out, then unfurled her wings and lifted from the rooftop.
She flew hard over the city, beating back the tears and renewing her purpose—the hunt. She would seek demons until exhaustion took her, then she would flee back to her cell and contemplate anew the proper Penance for the crimes of heartlessness she had committed against one of her best and oldest friends. And the danger she’d put the world in because of it.
It didn’t take long to find another demon, and this one drew her like a magnet.
A child.
What vile beast would infect a child with demon? Especially one so young—she couldn’t be more than ten—and now vulnerable as her demon caused her to wander the alleys in a section of Seattle long abandoned by the righteous businesses of the city, leaving only the drug dealers and thieves and petty criminals.
Erelah swooped down and wrapped her wings and her cloaking around the child before the base nature of the humans around her could surge up and attempt harm. The girl squeaked in surprise, but her demon was already lashing out at Erelah. She quickly drew her blade and slipped it into the girl. The thrashing of her young body against the cleaving of demon from her soul brought a heart-wrenching concern to Erelah as much as a sense of victory.
Then a flapping of wings behind her grabbed her attention.
What in heaven—a clear slash of pain cut off any thought.
Erelah dropped the girl and screeched as she rose into the air and twisted to see… a shadow angel! She scuttled back through the air, her wings grabbing at it to haul her aloft, but the angel of shadow, with his midnight wings and bared teeth, had looped high from his first pass and was bearing down on her fast. He shot past her again, striking her with his obsidian blade, and pain sliced through her wing, leaving feathers falling to the ground.
She surged up, powered by magic alone, and ignored the screaming pain in order to chase after her attacker. He banked sharply again, flying to the top of the narrow alley, then diving down again… after the child.
Erelah shrieked her anger and charged after him, only realizing the trap when the dark angel braked mid-air, not touching the child, but turning to face her blade first.
His dark weapon sunk deep in her belly as she crashed into him, knocking him free of the child but leaving herself vulnerable to his attack. She kept hold of him then flung him away, and his infernal blade went with him, but the pain was blinding and hot and liquid. It was like the weapon had pierced her soul, and it was leaking out. The shadow angel crashed into the wall of the alley, which stunned and dropped him to the ground next to a dumpster.
Erelah didn’t hesitate. She dashed back to the child, and wrapping her in wings marred with blood, she twisted through space and time to return to the safety of her cell. The child cried out in fear and surprise, but her demon was gone, so she could survive in Markos’s Dominion.
“You are safe,” Erelah gasped out, but the pain struck her like a lightning bolt, and she struggled to stay upright. She looked down to see blood soaking her training garb, the same tightly-wrapped clothes she wore to fight Tajael an eon ago in the training room. A gash of scarlet red likewise tarnished the white of her wings. The wounds were colored with ashen gray as well—a result of the shadow nature of the angel’s blade.
A shadow angel in Seattle.
No matter what Markos might think of her, no matter the state of things with the House of S
moke or her dishonor, this was something her faction leader needed to know.
“Come with me, child,” Erelah said, holding her wound to keep more of the boiling-hot blood from leaking out. “There’s an angel we must see.”
The jazz club was lit by her presence the moment she walked in.
Her white-fringed, straight-lined flapper dress couldn’t hide those curves, but it was the way she moved that captivated Leksander. Careful, like every step mattered, yet boldly moving through the room without a care for the lascivious gazes that followed. Sultry with that sway in her hips, yet innocent of that as well. As if every doll walked the way she did. Bold. Confident. Like her dress was heavy battle armor, but she carried the burden well.
She was a study in contrasts.
Leksander couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Then he reached out to taste her with his fae senses and found… angeling! Even more intrigued, he openly watched as she stepped past tables full of bruisers, a card game in action, and the stage where soulful music soothed Leksander’s ache for home. He hadn’t been long from France, but he would trade a good bottle of wine for all this whiskey, and his soul cried for some refinement in the rough-and-tumble town of Seattle, just getting started in this new world. Truthfully, he’d only come to the club tonight to convince his brother Lucian to leave the keep, while Leonidas was here for the same reason he always was—a female companion or two.
Leksander was just looking, not tasting, since Lucian had refused to come, but now, with this angeling… she caught Leonidas’s eye as well. Leksander lifted his chin and gave his brother a nod to let him know he would watch over the creature. Leonidas could continue his pursuits. So Leksander finished his foul shot of whiskey and edged toward the far side of the club, where the girl—she looked barely twenty, although for angelings there was no telling—had been stopped in her sauntering by a group of men by the back door. They had the stench of ill-intent on them, but they were only human, not the vampires he’d routed from the city earlier in the week, nor the wolf shifters he’d chanced upon at the speakeasy. Leksander pretended to watch the horn player in his solo, but she never left the corner of his eye. So when she moved to the back door, surrounded by the pack of men, he was drawn as though a rope were leashed to his neck.