by Cate Corvin
I folded my hand and tucked it under my chin. There was one last thing I needed to know before I allowed myself to sleep.
I reached inside myself, searching for the pure, cool light of angelic magic, the internal wellspring of holiness. At first, I felt empty, but then something reached up from deep inside.
Dark, choking shadows, burning my veins and filling my mouth with the taste of ash. I choked and curled in on myself, my chest aching like a fist had punched inside me, my stomach churning with nausea.
I slammed down the barrier between myself and that corrupted magic, cold beads of sweat forming on my brow. After several long minutes the pain subsided, becoming a gnawing ache rather than the sharp, stabbing pain of knives.
My fingers had gripped the scratchy blanket as I shook through the illness. I swiped a hand across my brow, still shaking as I considered what it meant.
If my true nature was corrupt, I was corrupt. My wings were blackened, my halo annihilated, my holy mask of light burned out.
For the first time since my fall, I considered that I might not be able to make it back to Heaven. Gabriel had condemned me to this life without a true crime ever having been committed.
But that only strengthened my resolve to go home.
No matter what mark Belial put on my soul, no matter how many demons I needed to cut down- even if I had to tear the fabric of the universe apart to make the climb- I was going to claw my way back up, inch by painful inch. He hadn’t inducted me into the Choir of Righteous Fury for nothing.
He’d forged me into this creature of anger, and now he was going to deal with the ramifications of his actions. I’d make it through all seven rounds to win my freedom, scale the cosmic ladder for that oh-so-holy prick who thought he could usurp the laws of God, and rip his head clean off his shoulders.
I let my eyelids close, clinging to that last comfortingly bloody thought as I sank into a dreamless sleep.
5
Melisande
Something shook my shoulder, dragging me out of the depths of sleep. I snapped awake almost instantly, grabbing the offending object and digging my nails into it.
I felt wide awake and brand-new, energy coursing through me like I had slept for an uninterrupted century.
It was even better when I heard a gasp of pain from overhead, and the wrist I’d dug into was yanked out of my grasp.
I threw back the scratchy blanket and glared up at an Overseer. His oiled hair was pulled back in a neat plait, and mean little eyes glared at me over a boar’s snout jutting out of the lower half of his face. The odd shape of it garbled his raspy words, and a gold ring hung almost to his lips.
“Time to wake up, new meat. Your first fight’s coming up, and you stink.”
I sniffed myself. I did stink. The tang of sand and old blood clung to me in a noxious cloud. “How long was I asleep?”
He sneered at me, lips curling back over his tusks, but he was still rubbing his wrist. “Three days. Boss’s orders are to eat and get clean. Everyone wants to see his shiny new trophy.”
If that was supposed to prickle at me, it completely missed its mark. Even my joints had stopped aching, and if I could get near the open sky, I was sure I’d be able to test my wings and see how far I could fly out of Hell.
“Lovely. Where’s the food?”
Overseer Boarface waited behind me as I sat down at the table and started eating. Or rather, feasting, barely chewing my food before I’d swallowed it. I was ravenous, and there were heaping bowls of plain, filling food: roasted meat, flat rounds of bread, and buttered vegetables. I hadn’t been aware that vegetables were even capable of growing in Hell, but I’d take what I could get. I was hungry enough that just about anything sounded good right then, as long as they didn’t tell me what they grew it in.
Suzara sat across from me and I paused in the midst of shoving bread in my mouth, realizing that half the table was watching me plow through enough food to feed a titan.
“So… I take it you slept well?” she asked. I downed half a glass of watered-down wine, quenching the sandy dryness of my throat.
“Like a baby that plunged to rock bottom.”
I managed one more bite of what was really quite a juicy steak and wiped my mouth on a linen napkin.
Overseer Boarface didn’t wait for any more niceties. He jerked his head and grunted, and Suzara raised a hand in farewell. “Good luck, angel. We’ll be waiting to hear about it.”
Against my holier nature, I rather liked her. I raised a hand, the one with Belial’s mark, and her brow knitted again at the sight.
Ishka let out a watery hiss when I passed, and I bared my teeth, snarling at her. The salamander had the good sense to back up, but there was one enemy I was leaving behind.
If we ever faced each other in the arena, I’d make sure to send her right back to the swamp she belonged in. The bitch couldn’t even share one blanket without putting up a fight.
The common room for new blood gladiators had several doors, banded with rough black iron. Overseer Boarface fumbled with a keyring, and I saw that he had porcine digits as well, three broad fingers that ended in sharp hoof-like nails.
He finally got the door unlocked, and I followed him down another obsidian hall, chiseled with gladiatorial murals. The baths were one large communal affair, the water steaming and scented with mint, but Boarface grunted when I moved towards it, already anticipating peeling off my ragged tunic.
“Too dirty. You get the basin.” He snorted and led me on to a smaller, private room. “I thought angels were supposed to look pretty and clean.”
If he’d never seen an angel, I wasn’t going to be the one to disillusion him. Pretty didn’t factor into it.
We were clean because we were untouched by the sin of evil, and covered from head to toe in plate armor that would repel the filth of demons. He was in for a surprise if he ever met a choir on the battlefield.
I gritted my teeth. They, not we. I was no longer a part of that untouched purity.
Boarface opened a door on a small chamber. A large pool was set in the floor, flower petals in shades of blush, lavender, and rose floating on the surface. The steamy air smelled mouthwateringly floral.
The Overseer grunted when I stepped inside. “Come out of this door with a single speck of filth left on you, and I’ve got orders to hold you under and scrub you clean myself.” He slammed the door, leaving me in blessed, floral-scented silence.
I completely shredded the last of my tunic as I tore it off. There was nothing sentimental about it; all angels wore the shapeless garments when they weren’t armored for war. The baggy shape was meant to obscure our physical forms from each other.
It’d been hard enough looking at myself in the mirror last night. I had an entire body to contend with now, and at some point, I was going to have to get used to it.
I took a deep breath and looked down, then winced. Full breasts, small waist flaring into hips. A pussy between my legs, an ass I could be happy with. I made myself say the words until I no longer blushed at the thought of them.
I’d always been aware of myself under the armor, but Gabriel had us focus on the inner workings- the pounding of blood, the flex of muscle, the strength of sinew- instead of the temptations of the outer shell.
The longer I looked, the easier it became to accept it. I looked… okay, at least. I could work with this.
Boarface pounded on the door. “I don’t hear splashing!”
I sneered at him through the wood and stepped into the bath, almost melting into a puddle of sheer happiness as the heat seeped through me. Just to be sure he heard the splashing, I spared no caution in dunking myself underwater, shaking all the grime loose and flapping my wings like a bird.
When I surfaced, most of the room had had a bath, too.
Whoever had prepared this for me had left rose-scented soap. I scrubbed myself top to bottom, digging for blood under my fingernails and raking my hands through my feathers, plucking any loose ones away to
be swept into one of the drains in the floor.
As I worked, I found myself unconsciously admiring the new pitch-black hue of my wings. They were once as white and snowy as a swan’s, but there was something soft and velvety about the darkness, a flash of vivid violet occasionally appearing if I turned a pinfeather the right way.
I finally climbed out of the bath, flapped my wings a few more times for good measure, and wrapped a fluffy towel around myself before rapping on the door. It cracked open and Boarface appeared, looking suspicious.
“I need new clothes. I can’t fight in a towel.”
He snorted, his nostrils flexing. The gold ring moved as he spoke. “Clothes are behind you.”
Boarface shut the door. I turned and realized I’d completely missed a dressing table with a large mirror over it, laid out with oil, a hairbrush, jewelry, and…
I held up a flimsy red scrap of silk. What was it? There were straps so tiny they’d snap if I flexed my shoulders the wrong way, and the thing on the bottom was a puny triangle with another thin string attached. If I was interpreting this garment correctly, that string was supposed to go between…
It clicked. Abso-fucking-lutely not.
I tossed it in the pool behind me and grabbed the hairbrush, dragging it through a bird’s nest of tangles.
Boarface looked a little more pleased at the sight of my tamed hair the next time I knocked, but his nostrils immediately went wide again, quivering at the edges. I was discovering they were a very reliable barometer for his emotional climate.
“You’re still wearing a towel.”
I shrugged, stepping aside so he could see the red thing slowly drowning in the bath, and gave him my most innocent smile. “I dropped it. It was an accident. May I please have some pants and a shirt?”
For a moment I almost pitied him as he massaged the bridge of his nose with his stubby little hoof-fingers, then he shut the door again.
I had time to neatly braid my hair and tie it off while he fetched something more reasonable. He shoved a pair of scavenged clothes through the door, a pair of soft, worn black pants that needed the ankles rolled up, and a shirt that was shapeless enough to hide my form, but not so loose it would hinder my movements.
He glared at me when I stepped out in my new uniform and beamed up at him. “It’s perfect, I love it.”
“I’m too old for this shit,” he muttered, steam snorting out of his nostrils.
“Too old for what, Tabor?”
My wings fluttered at the sound of that smooth, deep voice. Belial strode through the steam of the baths, his hands shoved in his pockets. He’d shed his thorny polished armor for simple black clothes, but he wasn’t diminished without it. If anything, he looked even bigger, just because all the impressive physique under it was on display.
I jerked my eyes away from the tantalizing dip of his chest above his collar, taking in the dark curls and arched eyebrows instead.
“I’m not too old for anything, my Prince,” Boarface snorted. “The angel is being… difficult.”
Belial took in my shapeless, baggy clothes. “Is she?” He waved a hand. Boarface bowed and slunk away, his ears pressed flat against his skull.
I stood my ground as the Prince of Wrath approached, his lips curved in a mocking smile. “What’s this, Melisande? I left you a perfectly good costume. The arena appreciates a good show.”
“It was made of strings, and I don’t give a damn about your show.”
Belial clicked his tongue. “No one’s going to cheer for you if you look like a slob.”
I scowled and crossed my arms over my chest, feeling undressed under that star-speckled gaze even though I was covered from neck to ankle. Why couldn’t he have a pig snout instead of those full, pillowy lips?
Lead me not into temptation, because it’s already found me and I’ve cried mercy.
“It’s not the costume, is it, Melisande?” His gaze dipped from my face, and an odd feeling plucked at me. It was the same shimmering heat I felt when I saw the pale-haired giant fighting, a pull that started in my chest and plummeted through me like a falling star. “You’re ashamed.”
“What do I have to be ashamed about?” I asked hotly, but my cheekbones were burning.
It’d been hard just to look at my own body without cringing. I hated that he looked right through me and dragged the answer out.
“You could be ashamed of your shame, to start with.”
I stared up at Belial. He was so close I had to crane my neck to do it. “That makes absolutely no sense.”
“Or does it make total sense?” He ran a finger down my arm, and goosebumps rose on my skin where he touched.
I jerked away from his touch. “No. It doesn’t.”
“What do they teach you in Heaven? That your flesh is a crime? That beauty is a sin? You can’t love and admire the shape of the vessel without being damned?” He touched my lower lip. I hadn’t even noticed that he’d stepped closer. “No wonder you fell. It sounds like a terrible drag up there.”
A smile tugged my mouth against my will and I forced it away, horrified at myself. “It’s none of your business why I fell. I have no interest in your temptation, demon.”
Belial leaned down, only inches away. All I had to do was rise on my toes and I’d be kissing him. “That’s because you haven’t tried it yet, angel.”
“And I never will,” I promised.
“No?” He paused, like he was waiting for me to make the first move. I was perfectly caught in his trap, hungry to examine every inch of that perfect face, from the dark lashes to the thin scars slashing his jaw.
I wasn’t tempted to kiss him at all.
I think the angel doth protest too much, an acidic voice whispered in my mind.
I told myself it was because I was curious why archangels and archdemons were both beautiful, but that would be a lie. Even Gabriel up close, unshielded by holy light, wasn’t nearly this compelling.
The aqua color of Belial’s eyes was like the ocean on Old Earth, perfect crystal water. One of the scars on his jaw just touched the edge of his lower lip, marring the otherwise-flawless curve of it.
I realized my lips were parted and my breath had stopped.
“No.” I shook my head slowly, unraveling the spell he’d been weaving around me. “There’s nothing about you that tempts me at all.”
“I think you’re a filthy little liar,” Belial purred. His hand shot out and gripped my jaw while the rest of him pushed me against the wall. My wings splayed against the obsidian murals while the nerve-searing contact of his entire body against mine exploded through my mind. The bottom of my stomach had dropped out, an inferno taking its place.
“I’m not a liar,” I snarled, but he squeezed my jaw tighter.
“Lying is a sin, Melisande. Do you know what we do to sinners around here?”
He shoved his thigh between my legs, pushing upward with gentle but relentless pressure. I clawed at the wall with my nails, trying to escape this feeling, this awful, muscle-clenching torment that made the rest of me want to crush myself against him.
“We spoil them,” he whispered, and bit my lip. I gasped as his teeth sank into my flesh, but he released me, his eyes glittering. “We give them every filthy fucking thing they want, and then we give them more.”
He kissed me hard, his tongue plunging into my mouth. I moaned and kissed him back harder, digging my nails into the dense muscle of his shoulders.
I had no idea if I wanted to kiss him or kill him. Maybe both.
Belial sucked my lip until the flesh stung. I’d arched my hips against him, drawn blood with my nails. He laughed, the sound a little breathless, and before I understood what he was doing, his hand had slipped inside the front of my baggy pants.
His fingers slid between my legs. When he grazed my clit, my eyes rolled back in my head. I would’ve collapsed if not for him holding me up. Belial held up his hand, showing me his wet fingers, and sucked them clean.
“Liar.” He kisse
d me hard, bruising my lips.
I braced my hands on his chest and pushed. “Demonspawn.”
Belial released me, still laughing. His thick cock was clearly limned in his pants, already hard, and I forced my eyes back up, trying to shut down the torrent of sensation inside me.
He smiled. “Sinner.”
I couldn’t even deny it.
6
Melisande
The iron gates to the arena slowly rose, and the cheers of the awaiting spectators filled the dark tunnel. I took a deep breath, preparing myself to go in and kick ass as quickly as possible. If Belial wanted a show, he could get it from someone else.
“Good luck with your first fight, angel.” Belial grabbed my hand and kissed my fingertips, still smirking.
I itched to smack that maddening look off his face. “I’ve already had my first fight. This should be my second.”
Not that one fight was going to put a crimp in my plans, but it was one extra round between myself and Gabriel. The sooner I got back to Heaven, the better. Payback was going to be a bitch.
“That was to determine whether you had the motivation to live. You still owe seven rounds if you want your freedom.”
I do. I didn’t realize I’d spoken my most fervent wish aloud until Belial made a noise.
“So desperate to get away from me.” He grinned, but there was a cruel bent to it.
The gate finally clanged to a halt, the iron spikes high enough to admit the seven-foot-tall greater demon without touching him.
I tugged my loose clothes, my palms suddenly sweaty. Shut them down fast and hard. No time for playing games.
“I never wanted to be around you in the first place.” I kept my voice stiff. No matter what Belial made my physical body feel, he was still anathema to me.
He lifted one broad shoulder in a shrug, completely unperturbed. “As always, you’ll change your mind, Melisande. And in case you hadn’t noticed…” He wound a lock of violet hair around one finger and tugged gently. “You haven’t told me to fuck myself or eat shit once today. I’m very disappointed in you.”