by Cate Corvin
It was the sixth day. Twilight.
“But I’m free,” I said, my lips suddenly numb. “You can’t take me. I earned my way out.”
Azazel’s lashes lowered and he shook his head, but his gaze was back on me within a second like he couldn’t bear to look away. “I’m not here to take you for training. That said, your training isn’t over. Lucifer wanted- we both wanted to give you time to come to terms with your new life.”
“A week was more than long enough.” I tried my hardest not to sound too eager at the idea of seeing them again.
“I’m glad to hear it.” One of his wry smiles just touched the corners of his mouth, but his eyes were still distant, his hunger focused on me. “Did you miss us?”
I hesitated. It was so hard to open up to them, knowing what they were.
But if I didn’t… that creeping loneliness would climb back inside my head, joining the void Belial had left behind.
Whatever it was about them, I wanted to be near them.
“I did.” The words barely made it out of my mouth, just a whisper.
“Honesty.” Azazel stepped closer, his shadows reaching to envelop me. I shivered pleasantly at their touch, the palpable tingle they left when they stroked my skin. “It suits you, Melisande.”
“Azazel… you knew I would win that night, didn’t you?” He was close enough now that I’d barely have to lift my arm to touch him, his clean smell filling my nose.
“Of course I did.” There was a purr to his tone, satisfaction filling his voice. “I can’t tell you how glorious it was to watch you stick it to my old enemy.”
I looked down. Staring into Azazel’s ancient violet eyes was almost too much sometimes, like the Watcher could see right through me and read every thought I’d ever had. “Is Lucifer still upset with me?”
Large hands rose and caressed my shoulders, his fingertips barely making contact with my skin, but every cell in me focused on those tiny points of contact like a fire had been lit inside me.
“No, angel. In fact, he needs to see you right now. That’s why I came.”
“Ah, so not just to see me.” I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth. They sounded almost petulant. And needy.
Two things I didn’t need to be.
Azazel chuckled, increasing the pressure of his grip. He held me like he could somehow bind us together with a touch.
I looked up, forcing myself to meet his eyes again, and almost trembled at what I saw there.
That ravenous hunger that always seemed to be hiding under his otherwise-urbane exterior, threatening to break free like a beast, was present in full force.
“There is no time I don’t want to see you,” he breathed, leaning in close. Goosebumps rose on my shoulders at the touch of his lips on my cheek. “If you let me mark you, you could call me whenever you wish. You would always feel me with you.”
I swallowed hard. It sounded a lot like the brand between Belial and myself.
And now I felt nothing at all. It was terrible.
“Would you own me?”
“No. It would be a mark freely given.” His fingertips brushed my wings, and slid over my shoulder to my collar bone, slipping down to hook into the unlaced front of my dress. “Perhaps we could negotiate a trade. A mark for a token.”
My wings quivered under his touch. “Like… a mating gift.”
His smile grew, the hunger ever more apparent. “Like a mating gift.”
I gazed into his eyes, allured by the pull of him in my chest like he held a string tied to my ribs, as an errant thought bubbled up from the depths of my mind.
It was more of a realization than a thought. An epiphany.
What sort of mark could Belial have given me that would supersede Satan’s claim?
And my stomach filled with ice as I pondered it. If Azazel considered his mark a mating gift…
“Perhaps we could,” I said, planting my hands on his chest before he drew any closer. The warmth of him was impossible to resist. “But why does Lucifer want to see me?”
But Azazel’s mind was clearly elsewhere, the void inside him taking over his rational thoughts. He nipped my earlobe, pushing me back towards the bed. “Don’t change the subject, angel.”
His grip was nearly painful, fully possessive. My nipples tightened when his chest brushed against mine, his tongue licking a line along the side of my neck.
Like Tascius’s Nephilim darkness, the hunger was consuming Azazel completely. His teeth grazed my throat, leaving a line of fire everywhere he kissed.
He made a low sound that had all the muscles in my stomach clenching in anticipation.
“Azazel…” I gripped his wrist with one hand and held up my dress with the other, even though I was no match for his strength. I couldn’t let go and just feel good, not when my insides were writhing in horror over my suspicion at what I might’ve done. “Lucifer needs me. Why?”
He looked down at my hands as I pushed at him, blinking hard and straightening up.
“I forgot myself,” he said, his voice thicker. “He needs your magic. This is part of your training, Melisande.”
Azazel pulled his hands away, releasing me like he’d been burned. The ice in my stomach immediately washed over the rest of me, erasing his warmth like he’d never been there.
Shivering, I pulled a black velvet cloak from my wardrobe and pulled it over myself. “I need a little more than that to go on.”
When I turned to look at him, waiting by the window, Azazel’s cool, unfazed mask was back in place. If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I never would’ve had any idea that there was a creature of endless craving living just beneath his skin.
“He’s been hurt. This is your next trial of magic.” Even his clipped tones were back in place. I realized this cold man was the one he wanted everyone to see. His warmer side- the luxuriously sensual side- was the part he kept hidden. “I want to know if you can heal a prince with your power.”
I froze in place. “How- how could I possibly heal now? It’s holy magic, and mine is still- will always be corrupted.”
Azazel smiled, but it was tight and strained. “If you could heal while you were holy, you can heal now. You don’t have a choice in this. If you want to survive our more… treacherous plans,” he whispered, “We need to know you can do this. The Prince of Hell needs you.”
“You could heal him with a touch,” I said suspiciously.
What in the Hell, literally, could hurt Lucifer badly enough that he needed another’s magic to heal?
The answer was nothing good.
“This isn’t about me.” Azazel swept forward, raising his chin as he grabbed me, cloak and all, and shifted us into shadows. “It’s about you. And what you can do.”
We spilled onto the balmy air of the Nightside, leaving the arena behind. I wrapped my arms around his neck and rested my head on his chest. Being snuggled against Azazel felt so good after a week alone.
But I couldn’t shake my apprehension. Not after what I saw moments after we swooped out the window, a plant pushing its way through the earth in my garden like an intruder, a blight nestled among the glowing lilies.
A black rose, its petals crawling with insects.
4
Melisande
I could’ve flown myself, but Azazel kept his arms wrapped around me in a death grip.
We shimmered between brightly-lit high rises, the drooping crowns of dark willows, and past other flying demons as he made his way to the edge of the Fields of Asphodel.
Blackchapel loomed before us, a more welcome sight than I ever would’ve believed it would become. The thousand stained glass windows, all in shades of gray, glittered in the half-light like beacons, beckoning us inside.
I released a sigh when Azazel placed me in the stone courtyard. “Where is he?”
We strode through the broad doors of the cathedral. Azazel’s hand was tangled in mine, but he made no move to pull himself free. “He has his own room here. Quickly.”
&nb
sp; His jaw was set, nostrils white at the edges.
I gritted my own teeth as I followed him. If I’d just pushed him away when he’d first come to my arena instead of wrapping myself around him, we could’ve been here much sooner.
We passed the corridors I knew, flew through the parlor, and went through a hall lined with windows. Several doors of dark wood lined the walls, but I knew which one was Lucifer’s even before Azazel pointed it out.
It was the one with splashes of fresh blood drying on the floor and smeared on the wall beside it.
“What happened to him, Azazel?”
He pushed the door open, revealing a chamber of pitch darkness. “That’s immaterial right now. We need to see if you can heal him.”
I scowled, but no more answers were forthcoming. Azazel lit a candle, just illuminating the room beyond.
A large bed took up most of the space, draped with black sheets like an altar. The form sprawled across it sent my heart racing into my throat.
I immediately regretted our last sharp words of parting. Whatever had done this to Lucifer had been only moments away from finishing the job.
He was facedown, revealing a shredded back and twisted arms. One of his wings hung at a strange angle that made my stomach twist, its dark rainbow hues obscured by the blood soaked through his feathers.
“How?” I whispered, turning to glare at Azazel.
He just shook his head, his violet eyes as cold as ice.
Despite my concern for Lucifer, a flame of anger sprung to life inside me. He wanted me to submit to my magic, wanted me to train, wanted me to come when he called… but he didn’t trust me enough to tell me what had done this.
I turned my back on him and let my cloak slither to the floor in a puddle as I approached the bed, as cautious as someone approaching a wild animal, climbing up and settling on my knees.
A vivid memory of an injured Tascius rose to the surface. Lucifer looked like he was barely clinging to life, but if there was one thing these princes could claim, it was the ability to be downright deadly even when they were knocking on death’s door.
He laid on his stomach, face turned towards me and drawn tight with pain. Blood crusted the edge of one of his swollen lips, and a purple bruise had risen around his left eye.
“Lucifer.” I reached out and touched an uninjured stretch of skin on his thigh. His muscles twitched under my fingertips, but he didn’t move.
I traced the edge of one of his swirling tattoos, steeling myself for what came next.
If I could still heal, he might trust me more than Azazel did.
If I couldn’t… well, that’d make two graves Azazel would need to dig.
He needed me. Swallowing my trepidation, I pushed my skirts to the side so I could crawl closer, delicately moving one of his wings out of the way.
Lucifer let out a low groan, his fingers reflexively tightening their grip on the sheets.
That’s when I saw where most of the blood came from. Its flow had slowed to a crawl, but the delicate feathers near his shoulders were in disarray. I reached out to smooth one back into place, wanting to make one small thing right before I potentially burned us both alive from the inside out, but jerked my hand back in horror.
His wing was almost completely ripped away, showing wet red flesh and the ivory gleam of bone.
“Oh, God.” I swallowed again, this time to keep myself from throwing up.
How had he even managed to get as far as Blackchapel like this? Losing a body part as essential as wings could shock the system so badly all inherent healing would be slowed to a deathly crawl, even for an archangel.
No wonder he was still bruised and bleeding.
My hands fluttered uselessly in the air, looking for somewhere, anywhere I could touch him without causing him further harm.
A cool breath touched my cheek and Azazel was suddenly behind me, taking my hands and pressing them firmly against Lucifer’s back. My palm slipped against fresh blood and Lucifer drew in a raspy breath of agony, but Azazel pinned my hands there, covering mine with his.
“What are you doing?” I hissed, but Azazel’s lips were set in a firm line.
His presence at my back was a solid shield against the horror of it. I was able to take a breath without shaking at the sight of a prince’s wings almost ripped away. “Teaching you.”
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, reaching for my magic, letting it spiral through my limbs. The taste of salt and jasmine filled my mouth, just barely tinged with the bitterness of ash.
“You’re not here to make war,” he whispered in my ear, hands pressed against mine hard enough to hurt. “Find the part of you that is drawn to him. Be gentle, coax it out.”
My magic was thorns, lashes, blades. It wanted to bite and tear and rend everything in my path.
Underneath it, a small coil of magic so small I might’ve overlooked it peered back at me, almost hopefully.
I let the thorns and blades slide away and reached out to it, beckoning gently. Against the dark fire, it seemed as wispy and pale as a phantom, but it brightened as I drew closer, allowing it to slide through my fingers.
“There it is,” Azazel breathed.
I opened my eyes. My hands were lit with bright white fire, but it didn’t burn like the darkness.
The wounds on Lucifer knit and scarred under the blood, his wing twitching as muscles bound themselves back together.
I couldn’t let my concentration waver for a single second. The white fire leaped gleefully from the fingertips into Lucifer’s battered body, but the dark fire was only a step behind, raring to be unleashed.
Lucifer’s ragged, gurgling breaths slowly eased into a steadier rhythm.
Azazel didn’t release me until the white healing fire had stopped racing through the fallen angel, rushing back into my hands when its job was done.
The pressure left my hands and I exhaled, suddenly dizzy, and slumped against Azazel. He slid an arm around my waist, holding me upright.
Tears of relief and exhaustion pricked the backs of my eyes. I stroked Lucifer’s side with my fingertips, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath, the warmth of a body no longer threatening to go cold.
Before Azazel picked me up and carried me from the room, I leaned forward and rested my face against the small of Lucifer’s back, giving praise to any deity who would listen.
He was still alive.
Azazel closed the door behind us quietly, the lines of tension gone from his face. I reached up and touched the corner of his mouth as he carried me through Blackchapel, smoothing away one of the remaining lines.
“You could’ve healed him,” I said quietly. “Don’t tell me you don’t have that power.”
“I do, and I did.” Azazel turned his head a fraction so his lips touched my fingers. They were still bloody, but he either didn’t care or didn’t notice. “I kept him from breathing his last before I fetched you.”
“Before you almost lost control.” I swallowed back my anger before I could spit any more vitriol.
Azazel’s eyes were shadowed. He brought me out to a balcony, the clean air washing away the copper scent that still lingered in my nose. “Yes.”
His soft agreement wiped away my anger. “But Lucifer was dying,” I whispered.
The Watcher settled me on the balustrade, his hands on my hips, still standing between my parted knees. His brow was furrowed. “There is a void inside me,” he said.
“Vyra told me. You gave part of your soul to keep her safe.”
Azazel nodded slowly. “It wasn’t without consequence. There are times… times when it becomes hungry. For sex, blood, fighting… and it’s almost impossible to fight it. It wants something to fill it, but it can never be filled. And it doesn’t matter who it hurts. My own sister- or my oldest friend- could lay dying in front of me, but when the hunger takes over… it doesn’t matter. It brings every primal instinct to the surface, and takes every drop of willpower I have to push them back down.”
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“Like a Nephilim.”
“Somewhat,” he said, tucking a bloodied strand of hair behind my ear. “The Nephilim have an inherent rage. They’re nearly unstoppable when they’re taken over by their inner monster. What I have is just an endless hunger that’s always bent on consuming what it wants. It’s a weakness, not a strength.”
I couldn’t be angry with him even for delaying our arrival to Lucifer. Azazel had given a part of himself to keep someone he loved from harm. “Does this mean… I should stay away from you?”
“Perhaps that wouldn’t be a terrible idea,” he mused. His eyes were as distant as the stars when he gazed out at the misty fields. “If I were no longer around you, nobody would lay dying while I fought my own baser desires.”
Hearing an affirmation spoken aloud hurt more than I’d expected. I toyed with a silver button on his shirt, not looking up to meet his eyes. “But if you were no longer around me, you’d still have the hunger regardless, wouldn’t you?”
Azazel’s fingers slid under my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “I would. So there’s really no point in staying away from me, is there, Melisande?”
It was impossible to tell if it was Azazel or the seduction of the void speaking… or maybe they were one and the same. “No point at all.”
He blinked, and jerked his eyes away. They’d taken on an almost hypnotic quality, holding me in his thrall like a snake-charmer.
“Which is why you must understand your magic. I never believed I would be the weak link in the chain.” He scoffed bitterly. “Yet here we are. I’m subject to the whims of a hole in my heart that would allow my best friend to die. If I’m… incapable of doing what needs to be done, then you must be the one.”
“Azazel.” I grabbed his hand from under my chin, lacing my fingers through his. “Have you ever tried filling the hole?”
It was a ridiculous question, true. Most of the scholars on Old Earth believed the soul was a finite thing. If you tore a soul into pieces, was it multiple souls? Could each of them grow into a new one? Or was it only ever a single shredded remnant of what once was?
It was the only hope I could think of.