by Cate Corvin
“Obviously. All higher demons do.” Melisande sat down, imitating my pose and posture. “So where are yours?”
I couldn’t stop my smile. Even Lucifer hadn’t been so forward. “I sacrificed them.”
She narrowed her eyes, searching my face like she could find a lie if she stared hard enough. She’d find nothing but the truth. “You sacrificed- for what?”
I held up my hand and let it disappear, only stars and mist remaining where my skin had been.
Melisande’s lips turned down at the corners.
“I taught humanity witchcraft, didn’t I?” I released the shadows, becoming solid again. The tenuous peace I’d achieved in her absence was gone again, the urge to touch her growing by the second. “I taught them only a fraction of what I knew, and it was still too much for them. This was… deep magic. Not the kind that most survive. I wasn’t sure I’d survive, but it accepted my offer.”
“What did?” Melisande’s voice was a bare whisper.
Nothing but the truth for my angel again. “I’m not sure. What was it the playwright said on Old Earth? ‘There are more things in Heaven and Earth’...”
“He should’ve added Hell,” she muttered.
“Whatever it was, it wasn’t from Hell.” I’d gone through a century-long insanity after catching a single glimpse of it, the entity wriggling between dimensions.
When I’d come back from being a gibbering wreck of a Watcher, I’d gone to Earth and taught the earliest ancestors of humanity my art. Scaled-down, of course. The last thing I’d wanted was the poor Neanderthals opening interdimensional gates to nightmare worlds.
Melisande just stared at me, her expression unreadable. “You might be certifiably insane.”
I chuckled. If only she knew.
“That also makes me the best teacher. There’s no genius without a touch of insanity.”
She raised an eyebrow, but she placed her hands on her knees and straightened up. I found myself wishing she’d reached out and touched mine instead.
I shoved the desire aside. It was better not to get attached. There was nothing left of me to give if she needed me to save her. I’d given up parts of me for myself, for Vyra, for Belial and Lucifer. Chipped away bit by bit until I was a shade of the former whole.
I was empty. Dust and shadows and hunger.
It didn’t stop me from wanting. Nothing ever stopped me from wanting.
Melisande reached out and stroked my hand. I resisted the urge to jerk my hand away like I’d been burned.
“Well?” Her golden gaze was expectant. “Get teaching.”
22
Melisande
I drew back from Azazel when he looked at me like he wanted to eat me, hunger flaring in his eyes.
He blinked, and the expression was gone, leaving me to wonder if I’d seen it at all or just imagined it.
Somehow, I didn’t think I had.
“You’ve already touched your magic once today.” Azazel was all silky tones again, the untouchable ghost I’d first met. “Now you do it again, over and over until it feels like it’ll burn you up from the inside out.”
I nodded, but I was already dreading the coming hours. I’d managed to cut it off before it took me over, but it had left me feeling charred on the inside, like I’d swallowed a live flame and let it lick my insides black before it was extinguished.
My eyes closed, and I reached for the coiling tendrils of dark magic, allowing them to race through me and sink thorns into my veins.
The taste of flowers bloomed in my mouth just before the raging fire burned them. They grew again from the ashes before withering away, an endless cycle as I let the magic take me over.
Once or twice I lose control of the magic racing through me, my fingertips and lips prickling, but Azazel would touch my hand, his healing touch soothing the worst of the hurt.
I licked my lips each time and tried again.
I was sure there was nothing left of me but a lump of charcoal when I finally heard him say, “That’s enough for now.”
I pried sticky eyelids open, my eyes taking a moment to readjust. Everything was fuzzy.
Azazel gave me a tiny smile when I focused on him. “Better than last time.”
“It’d better be,” I rasped. “How long was I doing that?”
“Six hours.” He reached out. I wanted to refuse his help on principle, but my legs didn’t seem to want to work on their own. I took his hands and let him pull me to my feet, pain lancing through muscles gone stiff with stillness. “You did well, Melisande.”
“I’m assuming that’s high praise coming from you,” I muttered, allowing him to lead me into Blackchapel.
“It is.” He glanced at me, the misty light catching his sharp features. “I’ve had thousands of students. I was expecting you to take much longer than you have, but it seems you’ll be a case much like Lucifer. He took to it like he’d never been an angel at all.”
We passed through the high-ceilinged dining room, where the fireplace was quiet and cold, and into a smaller, more intimate parlor. Azazel stopped me in front of a plush velvet chair, and I sank gratefully into its depths.
He disappeared briefly and came back with a pitcher of water and a glass. I drank the first one like I was dying of thirst, and he handed me the second with reservations. “Slowly. You’re not really burned, and you’ll just make yourself sick.”
I stared him in the eye and chugged it. Not burned, my ass. My insides had been reduced to cinders.
Azazel rolled his eyes and knelt in front of me. Not for the first time, I was struck by how ancient his eyes were compared to the rest of him, the lithe, built body of a man in his prime, and I was a little pleased that I could make even a millennia-old immortal who’d trafficked with interdimensional entities roll his eyes.
“How long do you think it’ll take me to control it like I used to?” I traced the rim of the glass with my pinky, letting a hollow ringing fill the air.
Azazel took my glass and didn’t refill it. He put it on the table and nudged it out of my reach. “That’s entirely up to you.”
I slumped into the pillows, uncaring that my wings were folded uncomfortably behind my back. It was the sort of tiredness that went down to the bone, almost worse than the morning I’d fallen.
My eyelids felt like someone had hung bricks from them.
“I’d like it to be tomorrow,” I said, my words coming out a little thicker than usual.
Azazel’s lips twitched, but he schooled his expression into neutrality. “Unlikely.”
Why was he watching me so intently?
He rested a hand on my knee, almost hesitant, like he expected me to push it away. Despite the sensation of having been burned alive inside, my skin was chilly and prickled with goosebumps, and the heat of his palm felt good against me.
“Oh my god,” I breathed, sitting straight up as my eyelids drooped. “You drugged the water.”
Then I flinched, waiting for a bolt of holy fire. I’m sorry I took your name in vain, I can’t promise I won’t do it again, but I’ll try not to. Sometimes.
I breathed a little easier when nothing happened.
“I didn’t drug your water,” Azazel said in exasperation. “It’s called exhaustion, Melisande. You’ve fought a Prince of Hell, almost got your brains fucked out, then spent six hours playing with corrupted magic. You’re bound to fall asleep sometime.”
I glared at him but didn’t shrug his hand off. “Yeah. Almost is the keyword. Thanks for interrupting.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiled for real, his eyes lighting up. My lungs forgot how to breathe for five whole seconds at that look. “I can’t help but notice how… enthusiastic you are about the idea. What happened to never sinning?”
I didn’t have the energy to hold myself upright for long. I slumped back into the couch, shifting my leg so his hand was covering more of my knee.
“You’re warm and it feels nice,” I said when he looked at me oddly. “I’ve already
sinned, Azazel. There’s no going back now, and I don’t want to. I like sinning. It’s fun. And I like fun, too, so I’m going to make the best of what I have.”
I was vaguely aware that I was blathering, but too tired to care.
“Who was the lucky demon?” he muttered, but a moment later I was sure I’d imagined it.
He slid both hands over my legs, and arms slid under my back and knees. He picked me up, the rocking sensation of being carried lulling me into sleep, and I closed my eyes as the dark halls of Blackchapel passed.
I fell asleep cradled against him.
I opened my eyes to total darkness.
My face was buried in the pillow, and the heaping pile of blankets had been pulled up over my shoulders, enshrouding me in a warm cocoon.
“Azazel?” My whisper filled the room, but no one answered.
I stretched, no longer feeling as exhausted as earlier, but totally unwilling to leave the warmth of my nest. It was impossible to tell how long I’d been asleep.
I laid there limply as the minutes ticked past, closing my eyes again.
Something touched my ankle.
My eyes popped wide open and I sat bolt-upright, willing my eyes to adjust to the blackness. The tickling touch became the warmth of a hand… a whole palm and fingers, circling my ankle and sliding upwards to my calf.
Rather abruptly, I realized I was naked again. Someone, likely Azazel, had stripped off my training clothes.
I felt, rather than saw, the blankets shift into a hump as a physical shape took form beneath them. Another hand gripped my left leg, and I shivered when lips pressed against my ankle, slowly roving upwards.
My skin burned everywhere those lips touched, leaving trails of fire behind.
“Azazel,” I breathed, but he didn’t respond, his teeth nipping the inside of my knee. I fell back on my elbows and he pushed my legs apart, his mouth kissing his way up my thigh.
My heart started galloping in my chest. If I didn’t want him, all I had to do was push him away, whisper no…
But that was the last thing I wanted to do. The universe had ceased to exist outside this room, everything narrowed down to the comforting darkness and the pressure of Azazel’s hands on my skin.
I fell back to my pillows, drawing in a ragged breath as the unseen mouth passed the midpoint of my thighs, pushing them still further apart.
I slipped my hands under the blankets, reaching down to find his long fingers and the tickling brush of his curls. Warm breath touched my leg when he sighed, waiting for my rejection.
I ran my fingers through his hair and then gripped a handful, my back arched in anticipation.
His wet tongue plunged into me, making me gasp. Fingers dimpled my thighs and clamped down, mixing a hint of pain with the pleasure of his tongue driving into me and sweeping upwards, teasing my clit with rough lashes.
The heated pressure that was becoming not just familiar, but coveted, flared to life deep in my stomach and pussy. I arched my hips towards his mouth, the muscles in my legs trembling.
Forgive me, God, but I’ve sworn, I’ve lied, I’ve coveted like no other, and I’m not going to stop while there’s a demon between my legs.
It was better than the best Heaven could offer.
For the first time, I considered climbing up to Heaven just to thank Gabriel for pushing me. I’d rather be in Blackchapel with Azazel’s tongue sliding into my pussy like he was going to devour me alive.
He sucked my clit between his lips and my hips almost rose off the bed. Only the firm pressure of his hands kept me in place. My grip on his hair had to be painful, but Azazel ate me like a man possessed.
The Grigori found a spot that made me cry out loud. I slammed my other hand against my mouth, even though no one could hear outside these thick stone walls, muffling every noise he dragged out of me.
I couldn’t stop my hips from rolling against him and he slid his tongue over me in long strokes. The pressure became unbearable, and Azazel finally released me from the torment, swirling his tongue over the hyper-sensitive nub until I came.
Every muscle in my body locked up tight, limbs shaking as I gripped his hair tight enough to hurt him. My gasps were rough. Stars flickered in front of my eyes as he slowed his work, gently kissing me when my legs struggled to close again. It was almost too much.
Azazel’s needy growl vibrated against my thigh. I stroked his hair, feeling full and satisfied the way Tascius had left me before.
But… I wanted more. To kiss him, touch him, give him the feelings he gave me.
I pulled back the blanket, intending to pull him up over me. “Azazel, I want-”
His weight vanished from the mattress, his touch just a ghost on my skin. I stared at the empty space between my legs.
Only a few quickly-fading stars left any sign he’d been there at all.
I didn’t remember falling back asleep, but when I woke again, I was sure only a few more hours had passed.
Vyra woke me with a knock on the door and a bright greeting. I dragged myself out of bed, glancing back at the divot I’d left in the mattress.
Maybe I’d finally lost my mind and hallucinated the entire thing.
“Morning,” I said roughly, and had to clear my throat and down a few more glasses of water. At least I felt completely refreshed, my muscles aching to do something.
Vyra gave me a squinty look. “You look like you had an exciting night. Anything you want to talk about?”
I caught sight of myself in the mirror and tried to drag a hand through my tangled hair. It was bed hair. Genuine, bonafide I-just-came-all-over-a-demon’s-mouth hair.
“Oh, stop,” she said, tugging my hands away, but she didn’t sound irritated. “Someday you’ll totally want to talk about it. You’re not going to get over your sexual repression overnight.”
“I just… I slept hard.” The excuse sounded lame even to me, but there was no way in Hell I’d ever be ready to tell her that I wanted to fuck her brother.
“Mmhmm. Right.” Vyra untangled my hair and gave me an outfit that I actually liked: a black chiffon dress that hugged my shoulders and breasts, with long slits that showed the tight pants I wore underneath. “Well, when you are ready to talk between us ladies, I’ll be all ears. Besides, I’ve got a story I want to tell you about a minotaur- it’s true what they say about them being hung like stallions.”
I stared at her, appalled, then realized what a hypocrite I was.
All the male demons in my general vicinity were hung like stallions, and I’d given up my only hope of redemption to try them out.
I fled the bedroom, leaving Vyra laughing under her breath.
The dining room was still empty, but a tray of food had been left on a table on the parlor. I was about to pull out the chair when a pair of glimmering hands materialized and did it for me.
My blush crept up over my neck and ears. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at Azazel as I stepped in front of it and allowed him to push it in behind me.
A shade walked through the wall, face hidden under a cowl as it began dishing food on my plate.
“How did you sleep, Melisande?” There was a teasing lilt in Azazel’s voice. A pair of hands I couldn’t see tightened on the back of my chair. I felt the tension in the wood.
I picked up a fork and speared a bit of plum like it’d personally offended me. “I slept like the dead.”
That at least was the truth. If today had been my fifth match in the Circle, I would’ve stomped the opposition’s ass. I was ready to carpe this fucking diem.
“Glad to hear it.” He still sounded amused.
It occurred to me that I’d dreamed the entire thing. There hadn’t been a trace of him when I’d woken.
My blush mounted higher. Azazel was a Watcher, and he had ears all over Blackchapel. What if it’d all just been an extremely vivid dream, and he’d had to spend the entire time listening to me moan his name while I rolled around alone in bed?
I would die of mor
tification. No- I’d fall on my own sword to save face.
A ghostly hand brushed over my hair, and he coiled a stray lock through his fingers. He leaned down, and I shivered when I felt his lips against my ear.
“Now you can’t tell me you were almost fucked. My tongue would be happy to do the work anytime you like, and just as enthusiastically as Belial.”
I froze in place, searching for something biting to say, because I didn’t want to admit to my own weakness and ask him to get on his knees under the table.
Shadows swirled in the corner of my eye as he kissed my cheek. I turned my head to- I wasn’t sure, catch him? Kiss him? - but once again I was too late.
Only stars remained.
On a whim, I held out my tongue and caught one before it died. The taste of him filled my mouth, a flavor reminiscent of herbs and something silvery, the tang of ancient magic.
“Caught you,” he whispered in my other ear, startling me enough to make me jump.
I snatched at him, intending to get a fistful of his shirt and hold him fast, but he melted through my hands, and was gone.
23
Melisande
I ate in peaceful silence, stewing over Azazel the entire time.
Every time they opened up to me or treated me kindly, the rip in my worldview tore a little wider. It was an uncomfortable sensation.
It also made me wonder how much Gabriel had lied to us. Rationally, I knew Hell was the abyss, the root of all evil, but… there seemed to be some good here, too. Erisvyra was proof of that, if nothing else. Gabriel had painted her kin, the succubi, as depraved creatures of lust.
She just wanted to paint my nails and braid my hair. No matter how I tried to twist it, I couldn’t find anything inherently wrong with that.
Maybe she was chained by the sin of vanity- but no. Not even that made her deserving of death, no matter what the Choir of Righteous Fury had been taught.
My thoughts inevitably swung the other way. If a succubus was good, then what was I?