Crimson Ties

by V L Moon

  Gently, Rhys palpitated the entire area. He swallowed a mouthful of curses upon finding the expected barb embedded beneath the scrotum. Rhys detested the Jikininki demons. They lured their victims with sex, stung them and returned to feast on the rotted corpse after the poison slowly killed the victim.

  Hypocrite. How many died at your hands during the sex act after Arial disappeared? Lucifer’s voice screamed into his thoughts. Arial ignored the bastard. His past haunted him every time he treated a sexual assault victim. Unlike most demons, he possessed a conscious and strong moral beliefs. Lucifer hated the traits he considered weaknesses in his son. Rhys rejoiced in the small bit of humanity that kept him from being a complete monster.

  “Celix, this is going to be a bit awkward, but you’ve been stung. One of your attackers was Jikininki. They are a particularly nasty breed.” Rhys straightened and poured alcohol over his hands. Nephilim, like most preternaturals were not affected by human disease, but it never hurt to be careful. The alcohol wouldn’t touch the poison on the barb, but Rhys carried the antidote with him every time he went on a call.

  “Arial and Clariel, you have to keep him still. The end sticking out is very small, but the opposite end is not.” Rhys met Arial’s hard stare. “I have to get it out. It’s slowly poisoning you, Celix. The demon that left it will use it as a calling card to find you again.”

  “I’ve got him,” Clariel spoke up. “Just get it out of him.” Arial gave a curt nod to indicate his agreement.

  Rhys dug in his bag for his smallest pair of tweezers. They also received an alcohol bath. He and Gregori swapped places. “Okay Celix, since you can’t roll over, can you lift your top leg? That’s good, you’re doing great,” Rhys encouraged him. “Now, you’re going to feel my arm against your thigh and my breath against your genitals.” Rhys moved into position slowly afraid of spooking the recently violated male.

  “Okay, we’re doing good, Celix. You can rest your leg across my shoulders. It will help steady us both.” The weight settled over Rhys’ back. He spied the deceptively small spine, and clamped the tweezers around the matchstick sized tip. “Arial, hold on to him. I’m not going to sugar coat it, Celix, this shit’s going to hurt.”

  The bed shifted. Rhys waited for them all to settle. The spur was about three inches long and faceted like a diamond. Each peak sported a razor sharp edge. At its widest, it was the thickness of two of his fingers. It was going to leave one hell of an open wound. During the rape, Celix wouldn’t have felt the insertion given the violent attack, but he sure as fuck was going to feel it coming out. Rhys took a deep breath and pulled.

  Celix’s scream of agony echoed in the chamber. The leg over his shoulder stiffened. Thigh muscles clenched as instinct took over and Celix tried to escape. Arial’s commanding voice joined Clariel’s crooning alto as they struggled to hold the male still. Blood gushed out over Rhys’ hand, when the barb slid into his waiting palm. A petri dish from his bag appeared in front of his face. Rhys dropped the offending appendage into the dish.

  “Don’t touch that for any reason,” he instructed the human Pope. “I only have enough antidote for him.” Gregori nodded and very carefully set the dish on the bedside table. “Celix, I am going to cauterize the wound to stop the bleeding, and then give you the antidote in a shot.” Rhys put action to words. He drew his index finger over the sliced skin. Courtesy of his demon heritage, smoke rose and the smell of burning flesh filled the room. Celix’s body went lax.

  “He’s passed out,” Arial reported.

  “Good. It’s best he’s not awake for the next part.” Rhys carefully moved out from under Celix’s leg and placed it gently atop the other. He stood to look over the sheet at the two males lying spooned together, facing Celix. Clariel’s smaller body fit almost perfectly against Arial’s larger frame. Rhys refused to let the sight hurt. He cleared his throat. “There’s not much I can do for his rectum. He’s torn badly, but the vampire blood will knit the tissue and muscle back together. The wounds on his chest and back are already closing. I brought a second bag, but a feeding would be much better if you can arrange it.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Arial spoke up. Rhys hid his surprise at Arial’s confidence in dealing with the vampires.

  “Malachi will help us,” Clariel agreed. “He’ll find someone.”

  “If not, let me know. I can talk to my usual donors,” Rhys offered and bent to the next part of his task.

  While the Nephilim remained unconscious, Rhys inspected his wings carefully and set the broken bones, wrapping them tightly in gauze. Resetting the dislocation was not so easy. “You two are going to have to let go of him. I need him on his stomach.”

  Clariel started to object, but Arial rolled the smaller male away from Celix and onto his broad chest. Another crack zigzagged its way through Rhys composure. His possessive nature threatened to override his doctor’s equanimity. The Pope’s hand on his arm drew his attention. Sympathy shadowed the human’s expression. And didn’t’ that just piss him off. Firming his lips and his resolve, Rhys returned to his patient.

  With Gregori’s help, he settled the Nephilim face down on the bed. Kicking off his boots, he climbed up onto the mattress and stood straddle of Celix’s hips. Very gently, he grasped the injured left wing and lifted. He rotated the mass of feather and bone until a loud pop sounded. Celix groaned, but didn’t wake up. Rhys repeated the process with the other side.

  As soon as Rhys’s feet hit the floor, Clariel lunged out of Arial’s embrace and wrapped himself around Celix. It was painfully clear, the wingless Nephilim loved Celix, and based on Celix’s need for the male to be close, the feelings were returned. But, how did Arial fit into the picture? Both Nephilim seemed to gravitate to Arial for comfort. Rhys well understood their fascination. He’d succumbed to the angel’s allure, and no one since had ever measured up to Arial.

  “One more thing and he’s all yours, Clariel,” Rhys said and received a nod in response. After the injection of the antidote, Rhys stepped back and turned his attention to Arial. Bloody gashes marred his chest and shoulders, but none were deep or life threatening. The deeper wounds were in his back around his wing mounts. Whatever demon or demons had attack him had gone for an angel’s power source. His wings.

  “I need to look at you now,” he said. Arial’s light blue eyes went panicky.

  “I’m fine. Just a few cuts and bruises,” he replied. “I refuse treatment.”

  The rejection sliced into Rhys, but he hid it with a smirk. “Are you so afraid of my touch, you would bleed to death, angel? You collapsed earlier. Who do you think caught you?”

  “I’m not afraid of you,” Arial growled.

  “Then quit squawking like a chicken and let me check you out. I know you were attacked by demons, I smell them on you. You could have a nasty little surprise like Celix did. And, in case you didn’t notice, they shredded your wings. That has to hurt. You always hated it when I plucked a feather, and now they’re almost all gone.” Rhys persisted.

  He wanted a reason to touch Arial. Although it was obvious Arial didn’t want anything to do with him, Rhys’ fingers twitched with the need; his palms itched to feel Arial’s smooth skin. The injuries gave him valid cause. “Come on, angel. Surely, a vaunted Warrior of Heaven can handle one measly demon doctor touching him.”

  When Arial averted his gaze, Rhys fell silent. He was missing something vital. It wasn’t merely aversion to his touch that had Arial reluctant. Rhys rounded the bed. His Arial had never been tentative. Rhys rested a hand against Arial’s shoulder. A shiver of awareness rippled through both of them.

  “Ari, let me help you,” he said low. “I promise no funny stuff.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Arial insisted. “I’ve had worse injuries, and likely will again. Just hook up the IV and give me a shot of vamp juice.”

  Frustrated, Rhys leaned over Arial’s shoulder until the angel had no choice but to meet his gaze. “The blood will heal the lacerations and other wounds, b
ut I need to check your wings. You have to be in pain. Denali called me because I’m good at what I do, Arial. I’m not the same demon you knew before.”

  “And, I’m not the same, Rye. The damage is permanent,” Arial replied, voice thick with emotion. “No matter how good you are, you can’t fix them.”

  The words knocked Rhys on his heels. He stumbled away from the bed and collided with Gregori. He’d forgotten the human was in the room. Hell’s fire, he’d forgotten anyone was in the room except Arial. Sickness churned in his stomach. Arial had become what he feared most. He was Fallen. The silence stretched. His thoughts dipped and climbed like a roller coaster.

  Gregori cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, if you no longer require my services, I do have Mass to attend,” Gregori stepped between them. “I need to change my robes and I’m sure my staff will be quite frantic by now.” He grasped Rhys’ hand. “Thank you for coming so quickly. I hope to talk to you more. Please come back and visit anytime.” He placed his free hand on Arial’s shoulder.

  “I leave you both with the words of the apostle Paul. Love bears all things and endures all things. It doesn’t end. In this life, we have faith, hope and love and the greatest is always love.” The pontiff walked out, leaving them both silent.

  “When?” Rhys demanded. Dread filled his gut.

  “Not your business, demon. It stopped being your business a long fucking time ago.” Arial’s harsh answer fed the guilt threatening to choke Rhys. Even if Arial refused to say the words, Rhys knew. The Creator had punished Arial because Rhys loved him. How many times had Arial tried to tell him, but he’d been stubborn, cock sure of himself.

  “Arial, I’m…,”

  “Don’t even go there, Rhys. Just do what you have to do for Celix and leave me the fuck alone,” Arial interrupted.

  Rhys stared at the floor, a hollow feeling in his chest. Arial’s wings had been stunning. Even in the pits of Hell, they had maintained their glossy shine. Rhys had spent many nights perched on the Gates of Hell Arial guarded and admired the beautiful angel and his magnificent show of feathers. At first, he’d been sent by his father to seduce the Guardian. Lucifer wanted an easy out for his minions. But, Arial never wavered in his duties. Rhys had come to respect him, and the vicious taunts and overt sexual advances had slowly evolved into admiration, and then love. He couldn’t say when he realized he loved Arial, or when his quest to seduce had morphed from his father’s orders to a soul deep need to earn the love of the steadfast and regal angel.

  Rhys still had the feathers he’d stolen, plucked or bribed from the male. On his worst days, he pulled them from their hiding place and trailed them over his skin remembering the male he’d loved. Still loved. Rhys narrowed his eyes. He’d won the male’s affection before, he’d do so again. Somehow. The Creator couldn’t stand between them if Arial was Fallen.

  He crossed the room without looking at Arial and collected what he needed for an IV. At Arial’s side, he still didn’t speak. Quickly and efficiently, he slid the needle into Arial’s arm. The drip was set up and running within a few minutes and with a minimum of skin on skin contact. Finished with the first task, he inspected each wound thoroughly. There were no more nasty surprises, just ragged and ripped flesh.

  Despite Arial’s earlier protests, Rhys focused on the wings and wing mounts. The few feathers still attached to the fragmented and twisted structures were dull and brittle. It devastated Rhys to see Arial so broken.

  “You finished gawking?” Arial snapped, obviously uncomfortable with Rhys at his back, viewing what he considered his shame. Rhys straightened; his expression hard.

  “They call my father the Master of all that is Evil, and there is no doubt, he bears the title with pride,” Rhys said, voice vibrating with anger. “But, for your Creator to allow the destruction of something as truly beautiful as you are—that is my definition of evil.” He backed away from the bed and gathered his supplies and the poisoned barb. His gaze tracked over the three males wrapped around each other in the bed. “I’ll come back later to check on Celix. You should rest and let the blood do its work."

  Rhys stared into the face he'd longed to see for so many centuries. The heart demons weren't supposed to have throbbed painfully. Before he could change his mind, he snapped his fingers and one of his prized feathers appeared in his open palm. He crossed the room and laid it very gently against Arial's shoulder. "You may have moved on, but I never forgot you." With a shrug, Rhys turned and left the room before he went totally insane and snatched the male from the bed and carried him back to Hell, kicking and screaming if need be.

  ~*~*~*~

  “It's beautiful,” Clariel's words trembled from his lips as Arial’s fingers brushed lightly over the feather’s flame colored edge. “Is it yours?” The question brought a hot rush of tears to Arial’s eyes. He remembered the beauty and splendor of his celestial heritage, remembered the pride in his father’s eyes on seeing his son’s wings held out at full span.

  “You hold the radiance of a phoenix, my son. Never have I witnessed such divine awe in a celestial’s wings as I have in yours.” His father’s words stayed with him, even after the pride had turned to disgust. At full mount, Arial’s wings easily spanned over fifteen feet. They shimmered like a clear night sky laced with stars and were edged with a stunningly vibrant mix of burnt orange and flame red, hence his father’s adoration and reference to the phoenix.

  Arial’s reply stuck in his throat. His thick meaty fist curled tight around the treasured possession he’d once given to Rhys. His tears quickly turned to anguish and remorse. He’d lost everything because of Rhys, only to have it thrown back in his face. Rhys’s words made his blood boil. "You may have moved on, but I never forgot you." Moved on? Arial would have sold his soul to Lucifer himself if it meant being with Rhys. He’d fallen from the sky, lighting up the Heavens with the last burning remnants of his once glorious wings. The phoenix was dead, and any hope of finding the flame of Rhys’s love had died along with it.

  Between one heartbeat and the next, Arial leaped from the bed, leaving a stunned and fearful Clariel grasping at Celix in a bid to keep the injured Nephilim safe. The IV ripped free. Arial couldn’t think straight, never could where Rhys was concerned. The sound of his own footsteps thundered through the room as he stormed out in hot pursuit of the very demon that insisted on haunting every dammed moment of his dismal existence. Many times, he’d wished Rhys dead. He hated himself for being so drawn to the vengeful son of Satan. Nevertheless, however hard Arial tried to dismiss the depths of his feelings for Rhys; he couldn’t bear to see the male walk away. Not again. Maybe too much time had passed between them, maybe all Arial had been a passing fancy, a play toy for Rhys to practice on while pleasing his daddy and seducing one of the Creator’s celestial souls.

  Rhys’s appearance stirred the fire in Arial’s veins, turning the oily putrid crud running through them into liquid heat. Centuries may have passed, but Arial remembered each touch, every heated caress and spine melting kiss as though it were yesterday. He wanted that again, only—Arial stumbled. Rhys stood directly before him, Hell fire eyes burning with the same lust he remembered.

  Faced with the ferocious appetite of his mother’s curse, he couldn’t bring himself to take another step. How he’d held back before, Arial couldn’t say, but with barley an inch between them and the intoxicating aroma of demonic flesh assailing the air, the full potency of his mother’s fucking affliction slammed into Arial like a freight train.

  Lost in a haze of hunger induced euphoria, Arial attacked. He hit Rhys hard. The force of the impact took both of them crashing to the floor. Only, there were no punches thrown or flesh being flayed. This time, when his prey chose to react, it was to fist his long thick fingers through the strands of Arial’s hair and pull him down into a blistering kiss that stole his breath. Ah fuck. How could he forget? The demon preferred it rough. He moaned into Rhys’ mouth.

  Locked against the powerhouse of Rhys’ frame, time and the
ir surroundings simply ceased to exist. Unable to summon the strength to deny himself such a sought after indulgence, Arial momentarily caved under the ravenous assault of Rhys’ lips and tongue. Subservient to no one, Arial yielded under the scorching attempt to dominate his mouth.

  Opening up to Rhys, he permitted the deep heated exploration of his mouth and growled wantonly as his own tongue reciprocated, clashing ferociously against the tantalizing taste of Rhys. The kiss deepened. Teeth and lips nipped and sucked. A maelstrom of desire roused within him as Arial ground the full length of his body hard against Rhys. The male bucked and rolled beneath him, igniting Arial’s dormant appetite for the devilishly, handsome forked tongue demon.

  A quick flip and Rhys loomed on top of him. Flame colored eyes burned with passion and heat and made Arial’s heart leap. Only Rhys affected him so blatantly. Even in the unfamiliar human form, Arial coveted Rhys with his jet black hair, warm brown eyes that resembled liquid pools of melted chocolate and café au lait skin that made Arial’s fingers itch for a touch. Given his heritage, Rhys could entice and beguile the lascivious want in anyone, whatever shape or form he chose. But for Arial, Rhys in all his demonic glory was the epitome of sin and salvation. And, Hell would literally freeze over before Arial let him go again.

  Light wisps of smoke signified Rhys’ demonic nature desired its release. Arial could only envision the glorious relief of being spread wide and filled deeply by Rhys. In demon form, the male was undeniably a force to be reckoned with. Arial expected nothing less from the son of the devil.

  Time and time again, Arial gave himself freely, losing himself and his mind to the raw, unadulterated sexual appetite of Hell’s most fiery spawn. Arial trembled with the want of Rhys’ touch; his cock ached with the intensity of what was to come. Like a human crack addict, he knew all it would take was one touch from Rhys in full demon form, and he’d be helpless to pull away.