by Cate Corvin
Tascius’ fingers twitched and stilled, like he’d prevented them from convulsing into a fist. A tiny flicker of darkness sparked in his eyes. “To whom?”
“I don’t know.” I gripped his hand, but he blinked, and the darkness was gone. “I’ll belong to someone in Blackchapel.”
To my surprise, his knitted brow smoothed. “The Grigori live there.”
“The Watchers?” I frowned, considering that information. When the Apocalypse began in my mortal life, humanity had suddenly taken to scouring every word of both Biblical canon and apocrypha, searching for a way out.
There was no way out, but all the myths had become reality. The Watchers had been the ones responsible for teaching humanity magic, condemning them to the end times.
Tascius reached out to touch my cheek. “This is a good thing, friend. They can teach you magic. You can trust the Grigori.”
“I already have magic,” I said bitterly. “And it’s useless. Corrupted and ashen… I can’t even touch it now.”
He nodded, still looking relieved, like Belial handing me over to a stranger was a good thing. “Yes, and whoever teaches you will help you with it. It’s not gone entirely. It’s just different.”
To my surprise, anger licked at my insides. “So you think Belial was right to give me away.”
“He’s not giving you away.” Tascius flicked a bubble at my face and it popped on my nose. “He’s helping you.”
“How long have you been here that you think Belial wants to help anybody? Has he twisted your mind, too?”
Tascius just gazed back at me. “Almost my whole life.”
My words were stuck in my throat. He’d been in the Seventh Circle his entire life? I found myself floating closer, until I could reach over his shoulder and touch one of the knotted scars on his back. “Because of this.”
He nodded, still holding my fingers in a grasp I couldn’t break free of, even if I wanted to. “You trust me, friend, but I’m just like them, if not worse. There’s more to Hell than what Heaven would want you to believe. Take the scales off your eyes and see.”
“What is there to see? Belial has a captive to entertain him, and I have no say in the matter. He wants to send me to the Grigori, and I have no say. He wants me to want him, and I have no say in that, either.” I gritted my teeth, but Tascius squeezed my hand.
“Is it because he forced you to want him, or because you do? Don’t blame your fear of sinning to hide what you want.” His gaze dropped to my mouth, still swollen from Belial’s punishing kisses. “Is feeling lust for someone really a crime?”
“My choir-”
He waved a hand. “I don’t give a damn what your choir thinks. You aren’t one of them anymore. Do you, Melisande, think it’s a crime?”
I couldn’t answer honestly, because I didn’t know anymore.
When I was humming with adrenaline after a fight, I wanted Belial with every fiber of my body. Right now, I wanted to kiss Tascius and pull him in with me. It didn’t feel like a crime at all, but like what was right.
“I don’t know.”
“Fuck your choir, and fuck your strictures,” he said, still watching my mouth. His other hand had drifted to my bare shoulder, his fingertips swirling in circles over my skin. “Fuck the archangels. They don’t have a say in what you do here.”
If I gave in, I’d be spiritually polluted. There’d be no climbing back to Heaven if I embraced the darkness that tempted me.
Maybe I was already screwed. I’d been so hungry for Belial’s touch that when he touched me, I’d come almost instantly, and only the terror of knowing I’d give up my shot at destroying Gabriel kept me from going further.
“I have to be able to get back,” I said quietly. “I didn’t fall on my own, Tascius. The archangel who I thought of as a mentor pushed me, and he enjoyed it. I saw it in his eyes before I fell. If I really am this sinful inside, then maybe he was right to do it, but I won’t ever be able to rest until I’ve paid him back for all that pain.”
His fingers dipped lower, tracing my shoulder blade down to the damp feathery wings sprouting there, and tickled around my ribs. I held my breath, afraid that if I moved he’d feel the rapid beat of my heart, or how hard my nipples had become under his touch.
“You act like being pure is the only way to get your revenge.” A faint smile reached Tascius’ lips, but it wasn’t a kind one. “Sometimes you need to be filthy. There’s more than one way to slay an archangel.”
“What would you know about being filthy, gentle giant?” It was just a goad, but my voice came out thick. Heat pounded between my legs, my clit aching for him to touch me more, and harder.
“A lot more than you, little friend.” I saw the decision solidify in his expression before he moved, but his hand snaked through my hair, twining through my braids, and he pulled me against the rim of the bath with a slosh of water.
Whether I believed it was a sin or not, I couldn’t stop myself. I wrapped my arms around his neck, uncaring of the water I splashed all over him and the floor, and tilted my head to kiss him.
His lips were only a feather’s-breadth away when the sound of voices in my bedroom nearly stopped my heart. Tascius felt me freeze, a low growl rumbling out of him when I jerked back.
“It’s Vyra,” I whispered, my heart still pounding in my throat.
“She won’t care.” He still gripped my hair, poised half-way over the rim. “She'll leave.”
I heard the succubus call my name, and as much as I wanted to taste Tascius, I couldn’t bear knowing she’d hear me giving up on the strictures I’d held so dear for so long. Not yet.
“I can’t.”
His gaze darkened and shuttered, and he slowly released my hair, his fingers lingering against my jaw.
“Next time, I won’t stop. Don’t invite me in unless you mean it, friend.”
I felt like I’d been stricken in the heart when he stood up and walked out, leaving a flurry of giggling female voices behind him. The bedroom door slammed shut.
Vyra poked her head into the bathroom. “Oh, there you are.” I looked up at her from my mess of bubbles, a tight, painful emotion twisting in my chest.
One of her handmaiden shades brought out a fluffy white towel. I climbed out of the bath and let her wrap me in it, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
I couldn’t go one day in Hell without ruining someone’s day, it seemed. And Tascius was the last person whose day I wanted to destroy.
The shades unraveled my braids and combed my hair while Vyra directed her seamstress to take my measurements, all the way down to the circumference of my wrists and ankles.
I pulled on a simple white tank top and panties that had been left for me, since there was no sign of my comfortingly baggy rags, but before Vyra shooed her handmaidens out, she held up a bottle of wine and a wax-sealed letter.
“This is for you,” she said, raising her eyebrows suggestively. “Compliments of the house.”
I bid her good night and shut the door.
The seal imprinted in the red wax was Belial’s sigil. I cracked it open and found only one line written in harsh black strokes.
Good night, my angry angel.
I scowled at the letter and moved to crumple it, but stopped at the last second. For reasons I couldn’t fathom, I refolded the letter and tucked it in my dresser drawer under a scrap of lacy clothes I refused to otherwise touch.
Then I uncorked the wine and poured it in the glass Vyra had left.
It was so deep a scarlet it was nearly black, glittering like a dark ruby. The oaky, copper-tinged scent filled the air, and my mouth watered. I carried it over to my bed and climbed between the sheets, trying not to dwell on the fact that he’d sold me to a Grigori.
Tascius thought I should take the scales from my eyes.
Belial hadn’t hurt me. He hadn’t chained me to his throne or paraded me in front of them to humiliate me. I thought hard, staring into the wine.
That was a kind eno
ugh list for now. I wasn’t that forgiving.
“Good night, Prince of Wrath,” I whispered, and downed the wine. It tasted like the kind of summer Old Earth would never see again.
When I closed my eyes, I still felt the imprint of his hands on me.
13
Melisande
Vyra woke me late the next day by tugging a long slip of a dress over my head, the lavender straps deepening to pitch black at the hem and the back dipping low to expose my spine. I even let her create an elaborate braid of hair without snarling about it once.
She was extremely pleased with my compliance. Too pleased. “Amethyst or onyx?” She held up two pairs of earrings.
I pointed to the amethyst drops.
“Everyone’s excited for tonight’s match. It’s Tascius’s sixth, but all bets are off on whether he’ll win this time or not. Since you have a name now, you’re allowed to spectate. That means I need you to look gorgeous, or everyone will think I’ve lost my touch.”
“Why would they think he’d lose?” I asked, sliding the earrings through my lobes. “I saw him destroy Lady Savage and Blind Luck by himself in about five seconds.”
Vyra dabbed black paint on my eyelids. “He only wins the sixth every other round. It’s practically a tradition at this point.”
I frowned as she finished painting me. He’d lived here his whole life and he belonged to Belial, but I was absolutely sure that if Tascius really wanted to, he could annihilate Yraceli in a heartbeat.
Which meant he was here on purpose.
Exile.
It was right there in his name. I wondered if Acheron was the place Tascius was exiled from. “What is Acheron?”
Vyra stepped back to look at her handiwork. “It’s the city of Nephilim. After the Apocalypse they were crawling all over Hell and destroying the Circles, and Satan banished them across the Styx. Nobody is supposed to be able to get in or out, but they found weaknesses. Really, Melisande-” She smiled at me in the mirror. “It’s not somewhere you want to go.”
I stood up and shook out the skirt, letting the pieces click into place. If he was exiled from Acheron, he was of the same kin as Yraceli.
Nephilim, the giants of the earth.
Perhaps he didn’t want to murder one of his own kind.
I shivered when I thought of the darkness behind his eyes. Without his wings, it was impossible to tell if he was descended from angels, demons, or both, but no matter the bloodline, he was dangerous.
I stood up straight as we stepped into the common room. Lady Savage was sitting in front of the fire, sharpening several wickedly-curved blades.
Her eyes flashed as she took me in. “Oh, look. The angel finally deigns to grace us with her presence.”
Vyra saluted her with a middle finger and Lady Savage sneered, but she made no move against the succubus.
Blind Luck was there too, melting out of the shadows. “Shall we go watch him throw the match?”
Their presumption grated on my nerves. They were nothing next to him.
“Fuck these guys,” Vyra muttered, and I was in steadfast agreement. She offered her arm and I looped mine through hers.
Blind Luck and Lady Savage followed us down to the arena, which was steadily filling. I saw several heads turn our way, but the spectator box for other gladiators was walled-off next to Belial’s dais, and no one drifted too close to me.
I really hoped that Tascius wasn’t going to throw the fight. There was something insulting about the concept, going to a fight without being prepared to bring your absolute best. I had complete faith that he could take anything Belial could throw at him.
When the arena doors closed, the stands were packed, and hundreds of them were holding up the pale blue signs. I saw the word Exile written on them in silver paint, flashing to catch the lights.
Warm fingers trailed across my lower back, but by the time I whipped around, Belial had already passed and was climbing the stairs to his throne.
He settled on the bones and glanced down at me, his aquamarine eyes shaded with dark lashes.
I felt magnanimous in adding ‘gorgeous’ to the list of nice things I was thinking about him. The word barely did him justice.
And I still had goosebumps where he’d touched me.
I raised my chin and looked directly at him. Thank you, I mouthed.
For what? Wine or orgasm? His lips quirked but he couldn’t quite hide the smile.
Tempting was on the list, just above gorgeous. Heat pooled low in my stomach at the reminder.
I decided to play with fire. Both.
His eyes darkened with lust. More where that came from.
Sometimes getting burned by the flames felt so good. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him, envisioning ripping his clothes right off that muscular form and seeing what he was hiding under there.
He gripped the arm of the chair, and just the flex of the muscles in his forearm sent my mind straight to dark, dirty places.
I was a very, very bad angel.
I was just about to mouth something back I was sure I’d regret later, but the arena doors creaked and bowed inwards, slamming shut with a boom of finality. The banner-waving demons cheered.
Belial reluctantly tore his gaze away from me, standing up to greet his Circle.
I sat down and Vyra fanned herself. “You could cut the sexual tension in here with a knife.”
She didn’t look at me, but she smirked when she felt me glaring at her.
Belial’s voice rang out, announcing the first pair of fighters, who would whet their blood-appetite. I knotted my fingers in my lap, counting the minutes to Tascius’s entry as a goblin-like demon skipped out, whirling a pair of rusty axes.
The floor was streaked with blood by the time a turtle-shelled demon with snapping jaws was done mopping the floor with him. Literally.
I sat up as they cleared out, expecting to see my friend, but the next fight was another pair of harpies. These two had intact wings, and the arena was showered with gray and brown feathers by the time one of them managed to behead the other.
Belial clapped at the end of that round. “Congratulations on winning your fifth round, Razorclaw.” The harpy bowed, serrated swords crossed over her chest, beak open as she panted.
“We’ve got a new roommate,” Blind Luck muttered, and Lady Savage clicked her tongue.
I had little doubt that the harpy most definitely wasn’t going to be another friend of mine.
Then Belial stood up. “Who have you all been waiting for?”
He seemed oddly subdued tonight, his manic energy not quite as electric. The fans didn’t seem to care, waving their Exile banners so hard that some of them were knocked over.
I didn’t realize I’d gotten to my feet until my nails dug into the stone wall, pain shooting through my fingers from how hard I gripped it.
One of the gates slid open, and Tascius strode out with the calm confidence only a giant could possess, nude to the waist and already sparkling with sweat. He must’ve been training up until he was called.
His silver hair was loose, draped around the contours of his shoulders and sprinkled with thin braids. I bit my lip, unable to stop myself from admiring him.
I should’ve told Vyra to come back later last night. Or not at all.
“EXILE!”
The demons’ screaming echoed in my ears, but I felt like it was muffled behind an invisible wall. All of me was torn between Belial and Tascius, confusion and even mild concern at Belial’s detachment, and the desire to repair the tiny rift between Tascius and myself.
Like a magnet drawn to an iron filing, his eyes found me across the arena. I leaned forward, almost like I could touch him from this far away.
“Who wants to see Exile tear apart a chimera?” Belial was shouting, but his gaze flickered towards the ceiling every so often.
The demons shrieked that yes, yes they did want to see Exile tear something up, and I found myself infected by their enthusiasm and joined them in ch
anting his name. I slammed my fists on the wall, adding to the reverberation of their stomping feet.
One of the gates started creaking open, but Tascius was still staring back at me. He strode across the arena, stopping right in front of the wall.
He was tall enough that he barely needed to reach up to cup my face and pull me down, kissing me in front of a thousand demons and my master.
My breath left my lungs in a surprised burst, but Tascius didn’t let go, his tongue slipping into my mouth. He tasted like mint and sunlight, brightness filling me as he devoured my mouth.
I was flushed when he broke away, my nipples hardened to obvious points under my dress and breathing hard.
“Give him a token!” someone shouted. The demons in the stands behind the spectator box let out a loud, lascivious whoop.
I ignored the redness rising in my face, still staring into Tascius’ midnight eyes. I reached behind myself and plucked one long, black pinion. A sharp jolt of pain traveled through my wing, and it rustled as I held it out to Tascius.
“Fuck it up, friend,” I breathed. “I invite you in.”
Tascius hesitated, then took the feather, his fingers brushing over mine.
He ran his thumb over my lips, expression unreadable. Then he slid the barbed end of the feather through on his braids and turned away, grabbing a sword from the weapon rack.
I couldn’t sit down. The gate stopped, clanking as it came to a halt, and the Overseer manning the crank dove for cover.
The chimera came roaring out of the tunnel, its lion head roaring above the bleating of the goat head. An emerald-green snake head spitting venom focused on Tascius, weaving over the monster’s back.
“Let’s see if Exile can outlast the beast!”
Belial’s voice was hard and cold, a dire turn from the indifference of a few moments ago. I spared a glance for him, but he didn’t look back at me, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
With the fury that he focused on Tascius, I was surprised my friend didn’t drop dead on the spot.
I was reminded that Belial was the Prince of Wrath. This was what he looked like when he was riding down his enemies. His eyes were so cold and remote that even without him looking at me, I shivered.