My gaze flicked up to the beautiful vaulted ceiling, the ornate bony carvings.
I was going to do everything I could to seduce Samael and to make him weak. I was here as a soldier of Albia, and a little rejection didn’t matter.
Going into battle meant you risked getting hurt, taking the blows. But in this battle, instead of armor, I’d be marching wearing nothing at all.
I could do this. I could seduce the Angel of Death.
Goosebumps rose over my arms as we walked under the impossibly high arches of the hallway.
Samael opened the door to his room and marched inside, cowl still shielding his face.
I’d have to give him the tease, the slow unveiling—the excruciating interplay between the hidden and exposed.
Samael pulled off his cloak. When he looked at me, the air left my lungs. It still struck me—a beauty so exquisite, it was like a knife in my heart. Why make a death angel look like that?
He pulled off his shirt. “You should sleep.”
Now, I could no longer remember my battle plan, or how words worked, or much of anything. Corded with muscle, he displayed the sculpted chest and abs of an angelic warrior. Dripping with the cold of the river, I stared at him, wide-eyed.
Completely unfair that he should look that way when I was trying to mentally prepare for battle. This was not a fair fight.
He was crossing over to a wardrobe, and I stared at his muscled back.
I closed my eyes, thinking of Alice, of the murdered women. Stay focused, Lila. This is all-out combat. This is war.
I bit my lip. "I wouldn’t mind a bath.”
The old bath trick, naked in his room.
His ice-cold gaze slid to me. “Fine, then bathe." A low, velvety voice with steel underneath. “I’m going to dress, and then interrogate my soldiers about the attempt on your life.”
I tried not to gape at him as he dressed himself in dry clothes.
I crossed to the bath, turning the tap to fill it with hot water. “Do you have any whiskey?”
He pulled on his cloak. “I don't drink alcohol.”
Of course not. He loathed fun of all kinds. And to my disappointment, he stalked out of his room.
Bollocks.
The war was not over yet, though. When he returned, I’d be ready. Finn had told me that Samael killed the servants. And if I learned for certain that he’d killed Alice, I’d kill him myself. And that meant I had to make sure he was properly vulnerable. Seduced.
Steam curled from the bath, and I pulled off my dress. Naked and cold, I crossed to the wardrobe where my clothes were kept. Which underwear had made Finn blush crimson? The red knickers and bra, wasn’t it? The lace would just barely show off my nipples, so that seemed perfect. I took the underwear with me, and went back to the bath.
I stepped in, sinking into the warm water. In the heat, my muscles started to relax. Candles washed the room in ruddy light, and cast long shadows over the flagstones.
I still didn’t know why the Clovian soldiers had come for me, or how they’d known my real name. If they knew I’d killed two of their kind, why not take it up with Samael?
I slipped under the water, holding my breath. If Samael hadn’t come to find me, I’d be shattered at the bottom of the river now.
Images of Alice flitted through my mind—sinking beneath the dark water. She was always scared of the river, wouldn’t learn to swim. In my worst nightmares, she was floating in the water, headless.
I rose from under the surface of the bath, gasping for breath.
This was all temporary. The bath, the luxury. I couldn’t get used to it. Because before I knew it, I’d be trapped in a gilded cage, a slave to the evil angels. A complete traitor to my kind.
Once more, I slid under the surface, then held myself under the water as long as I could, until my lungs started to burn. This would be a reminder that death was all around me. That any day now, I could follow Alice. Feel the pain. Feel your lungs exploding.
Bubbles floated up from my nose, and my throat was tight, squeezing. My chest screamed.
Only when panic started to rip my mind open did I let myself come up for air.
I gasped, deep and loud, arms gripping the edge of the copper bath. Air filled my lungs, glorious air.
And then I realized I wasn’t alone. No, there was an angel in here. Leaning against the doorframe, Sourial was frowning at me. The candlelight danced over his bare chest—he wore his low-slung leather trousers, a cape, and nothing else.
“Do you mind?” I hugged my legs to my chest.
He shrugged, then took a sip from his bottle of whiskey. “Well I didn’t know you were in there before I came in. How did you stay in the water that long? Were you trying to drown yourself?”
“Do you just randomly barge into Samael’s room?”
“He’s executing soldiers, and I thought you might know why. He was wearing his true face, which meant he wasn’t able to speak. Just slaughter.”
Just a mention of that face sent a flutter of nerves through me.
I frowned. “Some of them tried to kill me. I guess he does not approve.”
He crossed closer to me, then slid down against the bath, his back to the copper tub. He was close to me, but facing the doorway. Giving me some semblance of privacy.
He sighed. “Perhaps the soldiers were angry that you murdered their compatriots.”
My heart skipped a beat. They knew about that?
I reached over and grabbed the whiskey bottle from him. I drank deeply, then let the spirits roll over my tongue before I swallowed. “If you think I killed Clovian soldiers, why am I not in prison? Or being executed?”
“What would be the point of that?” he murmured. “You’ll be dead soon no matter what.”
36
Lila
Each one of my muscles went tense in the hot bath. “What did you say?”
“You’ll be dead soon.”
“Why do you say that?”
He raised his hand and snapped. “A human life is gone in a moment. To us it’s just the beat of a butterfly’s wings, then poof …”
I stared at him. “So you’re just talking about mortality. The fragility of human existence. Like, I’ll die when I’m eighty, and in angel terms it’s the blink of an eye.”
“Something like that.”
“That was a very unnerving way to phrase that point.”
A slow shrug. “Eighty, or much sooner. If you’d seen the things I saw in the Great War, and the wars before that, I wouldn’t fancy your chances of living long among mankind. You’ll live as long as Samael keeps you safe. That’s it. When you leave here, your fellow man will probably tear you to pieces.”
I pushed the disturbing idea out of my head. One thing at time. “Okay. What did you see during the Great War?”
“All the wars were bad, but that was the worst. Great arcs of fire searing the skies and the fields, clouds of toxic poisons in the air. Pits full of rotting bodies. Men staggering around, burning. Your kind can be very inventive, very creative when it comes to thinking of ways to hurt and destroy each other.”
I slid down farther in the bath. “Well, maybe the Clovians shouldn’t have threatened to invade Albia.”
He huffed a laugh. “Is that how they teach it here? Interesting.”
“It’s what happened, wasn’t it?”
“No. Your former king staged an invasion all on his own. He left this island and crossed to Clovia, hoping to reclaim ancestral homes that belonged to his forefathers—a thousand years earlier. We believe he had designs on the whole continent. But it started with Clovia. I doubt the soldiers even knew why they were fighting. Because their king told them to, and that was enough.”
Steam curled around me. I wasn’t sure what to believe at this point. Unable to do research on my own, I had to rely on what other people said. “Why are angels fighting in human wars to begin with?”
He turned, not quite looking at me, and draped one of his arms over the side
of the tub. Dipping his fingers into the water by my feet, he started to trace circles in the water with his fingers. The sound was gentle, hypnotic. “I have been told that long ago, we were known as the Watchers. It was our divine task to act as guardians of mankind. We were meant to bring order to the chaos of man, to rein in the cruelty. But when we fell, our purpose stopped being clear. Sometimes, it was hard to know what was what … what was right, what was wrong.”
“Samael told me why he fell. Why did you fall?”
“Most of us lusted after mortal women, and women lusted after us. That was forbidden. But mortal women are so beautiful, so entrancing. The way you smell, the way you move. The softness of your skin, the ecstasy in your eyes when we touch you. Hard to resist.” The gentle sound of his fingers moving in the water filled the room. “Why instill us with that desire if we’re not supposed to act on it?”
Something sizzled over my skin, like the bath water was heating where Sourial was stroking his fingers. I felt entranced, watching his hand lazily moving in circles. “Oh. I see.”
“Samael fell for a different reason. I suppose he told you. Which is strange, to me. He normally doesn’t tell anyone anything.”
I reached for his whiskey and took a sip. “It was forbidden to teach mortals angelic knowledge.”
“Yes. That might have been the greater sin. We taught mortals the celestial secrets, when you were supposed to remain in ignorance. We taught magic, metalwork, how to read. I taught mankind about the cycles of the moon. But the biggest mistake we made was teaching the art of war, because mankind truly took that to disturbing new depths. So after the Great War, when we saw the cruelty mankind had wrought, we tried to fix that. We slaughtered those who started it. We began to impose order. And that’s why we are here.”
He was mesmerizing me with the seductive sound of water moving back and forth, and somehow, what he was saying started to make sense. I wondered if this was some sort of hypnotic propaganda. I took another sip of his whiskey.
“Well, the public executions are not a good way to bring peace.”
“Samael wants complete conquest.” He turned to me, his hazel eyes large. “I keep telling you more than I should, considering you’re not trustworthy. It seems to be a weakness I have. It occurs to me that I should not risk spending much time with you if I can’t keep my mouth shut.”
And with that, he rose. Without looking back at me again, he crossed through the archway, and I heard his footfalls echo off the high ceiling of the library. With a little smile, I realized he’d left the bottle of whiskey in the bath with me.
This should get me ready for the battle still to come. One more sip.
I stood in the bath, the water dripping down my body in rivulets. I dried myself off, then dressed in the little red underwear that had made Finn blush. I pulled on a short, white dress over it, the material so delicate and sheer that my crimson underwear shone through. My wet hair cascaded over the dress, dampening it, making it more transparent.
Then I draped myself on the sofa and waited.
And waited.
When a half hour had passed, I pulled out my little children’s books and started practicing reading, saying the letter sounds out loud. I lay back on the sofa, working through the small words one after another, until I could read cat and bat. Until my eyes started to drift closed.
As I slept, my mind offered up erotic images of Samael coming into the room, stroking my breasts, licking and kissing my skin. Pulling my clothes off and laying me down on his bed, spreading my thighs open. I dreamt of him touching me, toying with me until I lost my mind. I dreamt of him pinning me down, claiming me.
What in the world?
I woke to find my dress riding up, my fingers at the apex of my thighs, muscles clenching. A hot ache burned in me. And to my horror, Samael was back in the room—staring at me.
Oh God.
I felt my cheeks burning hot. His pale eyes swept over my hard nipples, straining against the dress, my bare thighs. With a flash of horror, I pulled my hand from my knickers, then tugged down the hem of my dress.
And yet even as my chest flushed, I thought perhaps this wasn’t a terrible start.
I had his attention. He stood before me, staring, his chest bare under his cloak, eyes bright with flames.
“Hi,” I said, breathless. I tugged the hem of my dress down farther. “I was having a dream.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw, and he turned away from me. He took off his cloak, hanging it up near his bed, then pulled a book from a shelf and sat in the chair by the fireplace.
He seemed positively determined not to look at me. And yet the rigidity of his muscles suggested he was still thinking about me.
The war drums begin their rhythmic beat.
Despite the burning in my cheeks, I rose from the sofa, standing before him. He kept his eyes fixed on the book, and his refusal to acknowledge me only made me more determined.
He wasn’t really reading, though, was he? He was strangely still, not turning the pages. His eyes weren’t moving. Immobile as a statue, he was only pretending to read.
I’d only been living with him two days, and yet I was starting to notice things. He tried to hide from the world, like he was trying to hide from me now. He hoped I’d stop looking at him.
Know your enemy. Knowledge is power.
And I knew a little about him—that my focus on him was deeply unnerving him, making him tense. That he liked it when I touched him. That he was gripping the book so hard it suggested a personal vendetta against paper.
I toyed with the hem of my dress, raising it up a little higher over my thighs. Inching it up, a little at a time.
I bit my lip. “You know, I was having the most wild dream about you when you came in.”
37
Lila
His gray eyes swept up to me. “I know you’re up to something, and I’m far too tired to care what it is. I have expended a great deal of energy executing people this evening. I have none left to be drawn into whatever intrigues or schemes you have in mind.” His voice was low, controlled.
But despite his words, his eyes were on my thighs. Intently.
I handed him the bottle of whiskey. “You need to relax.”
He stared at the bottle for a long moment before his gaze met mine again. “Whatever you’re plotting, you should stop.”
He pulled the whiskey from my hand anyway.
Entranced, I watched as he took a sip. A little line formed between his straight, black eyebrows. Then, he took another sip. “It burns,” he murmured, eyes gleaming, staring at it with wonder.
There was something completely intoxicating about watching an angel drink alcohol for the first time. Here I was, corrupting the Angel of Death. And the night was still young.
I stared as he took a third sip.
He handed it back to me, and when I met his eyes, I saw something unexpected. Despite his ruthlessness, he had a certain innocence in his pale eyes. He didn’t fully understand this world, did he?
He frowned at me. “Others may not see it in you, Zahra,” he said quietly. “But there is something particularly ferocious in you. And deceit comes as easily to you as breathing. If you haven’t yet betrayed me, I am sure that you will. I can feel it. Even now I think of punishing you for whatever you are scheming.”
A little bit of nervousness skimmed up my spine. “But your dream says I’m important,” I reminded him. “So you have to keep me around.”
His gaze slid down my body again, and I tugged the hem of my dress up a little higher, nearly showing off the red kickers. The tiniest lick of flames lit up his eyes.
So I fancied the Angel of Death. It wasn’t my fault he was hot.
“My dreams also say you are dangerous.” His voice sounded husky, flames wavering brighter.
My attack was advancing. I let one shoulder of the dress fall down, exposing the top of my breast, the red lace of my bra. I moved in closer to him, only inches from where he sat.
My heart was beating so hard I was sure he could hear it. “I don’t see how it’s possible that I’m the dangerous one. You’re the Angel of Death.”
And yet the way his body tensed, the way his eyes glowed with flames—he looked like he sensed a threat. I was the threat.
“You’ve never had whiskey before tonight,” I said, handing it back to him. “But what about a woman?”
His entire body shuddered. His grip tightened on the bottle until he was at risk of breaking it.
“I have never before had interest in mortal women.”
“Never before?”
His penetrating gaze was taking me apart, one piece at a time. “What did I tell you about curiosity?”
The memory of our kiss on the boat was burning in my mind, and the way my body had felt against his. The way his hands had gripped me, possessively, making me ache for him.
Even if he was evil, I wanted him. Maybe it was something about the way he looked at me sometimes, like now. Like he was looking for answers from me, intently trying to read me.
Just like I’d seen the dancers do at the music hall, I slid into his lap, straddling him. Our faces were close now, and heat poured off him. My thighs were wrapped around his waist, my dress riding up to my hips.
His entire body went tense, jaw clenching.
“That’s not a good idea,” he said, his voice husky. “You don’t know what I’m capable of. And when it comes to you, neither do I.”
Something compelled me to touch the side of his face. As my hand pressed against his skin, warmth rushed into my palm, “Why isn’t it a good idea?”
He closed his eyes. “I am Death Incarnate. And when my true face emerges, something terrible usually follows.”
In war, you had to take your chances. So I ran my hand down his chest. He hissed in a sharp breath. I felt his abs straining.
He kept his eyes closed. “I warned you to be careful.” His deep, sensual voice seemed to heat the air around me. But he wasn’t completely stopping me. Just warning me.
The Fallen (Hades Castle Trilogy Book 1) Page 18