Angel of Darkness Books 1-5

by Mackenzie Morris

  "Of course. I am bonded to you. You word is my command."

  Doran set down his tin cup and placed his rough calloused hand on Zeriel's uninjured cheek. He leaned in, the whiskey strong on his breath. "I have an order for you."

  "Anything, Master."

  "Kiss me."

  Zeriel stared into the unfeeling cobalt blue eyes that harbored so much anger. There was no part of him that wanted to start something like this. Not only did he not have any attraction to Doran, but he knew the consequences that faced an angel when they became involved intimately with a human. He attempted to protest, but his voice escaped him.

  "I gave you an order, angel."

  "But Master . . . it's against the will of Sola. The Angelic Court will find out and-"

  Doran pulled him close and forcefully kissed him.

  Zeriel jumped as his Master's hands wandered up the legs of his pants. "Please don't."

  "You would tell me what to do?"

  "Master, you have a woman and a young child."

  "My son?" Doran laughed dryly. "I couldn't care less about Jaylen. Do you know what the boy did last night when I was at home? He yelled at me. He was shouting at me and saying I was being too rough with his mother. So you know what I did? I hit him as hard as I could and knocked him out. There was blood all over the floor. Corina sent for a healer who said that Jaylen's jaw was fractured. What do they know? The boy will be fine. My father was rough with me and look how I turned out."

  Zeriel thought back to the tiny boy he had only seen on occasion recently, but who he had helped tend to as a newborn. "Jaylen is eight years old."

  "And if things go right, his injury will bother him for years as a constant reminder to never backtalk me. Now, you don't want me to hurt you too, do you?"

  "No, Master."

  "Then get those clothes off and we'll go into my tent. It's too cold to sleep alone."

  Zeriel's breathing grew rapid. Did he actually want him to undress?

  "That's an order, Zeriel. You don't want me to tell the clergy that you are disobeying me, do you?"

  He closed his eyes and stripped down to nothing before stepping into the tent with Doran. When the cold metal was tightened around his wrists, Zeriel's eyes flashed open. He pulled against the golden shackles that were attached to a wooden stake driven into the ground. "What is this?"

  "Enchanted shackles that I stole from an angel. How does your light magic feel now?"

  "It's . . . it's gone. These are the shackles they use for angels and unruly paladins. They make my magic and most of my strength dormant as long as I wear them."

  "Exactly."

  "Why?" Zeriel asked as he felt his Master's eyes on him. "Why are you doing this?"

  "So you won't try to stop me. I know what I want, and I will get it."

  "Master, you're drunk. You don't realize what you're doing. You can't chain up your angel. Please let me go. I don't want this."

  Doran unbuckled his belt and pushed Zeriel down on the blanket. "Let me do what I want and you won't get hurt. Struggle and I'll have to be rough."

  Zeriel had no choice but to grit his teeth and lie there.

  "That's my good angel."

  * * *

  "Get up. I know angels don't sleep, so you need to work instead." Doran kicked Zeriel's side and unlocked the shackles from around his wrists. "Pack everything in the bags and take them to the horse. We have a long way to go today."

  Zeriel began to pull on his pants, but stopped when Doran slapped his back.

  "Did I tell you to get dressed?" Doran asked.

  "No."

  "Then don't. Get moving, Zeriel."

  Zeriel became extremely self-conscious. "The other angels and paladins will see me. I'm naked."

  "So?"

  He peeked out through the tent flaps at the darkness and blowing snow. "It's snowing. Master, please. Think about what you are doing. You have never treated me like this. We've been working together for ten years and you haven't been this cruel. What have I done to upset you? Tell me so I can fix it and be sure to not transgress again."

  "Get out there and pack everything up."

  "No."

  "Insolent slave." Doran lunged at Zeriel and swung his blade at him.

  The sword cleaved into his head above his temple, sending blood splattering on the walls of the tent. Zeriel dropped to his knees and screamed as the blood poured from the wound and over his face. Doran actually cut him . . . deeply. With trembling fingers, he gingerly touched the jagged gash that had cut through his skull. His vision began to blur as a high-pitched ringing screeched in his ears and he braced himself on his hands.

  "Feel that, slave? That's what happens when you disobey me. Now stop pretending to be hurt and come here. I have ways of making the pain go away."

  Never. Zeriel was never going to be used again like he was the previous night. Despite the centuries of bondings, there had never been a single known case of a paladin forcing himself on his angel. Now Zeriel knew the pain of being the first victim.

  "Now!"

  With blood dripping onto the floor of the tent, Zeriel slowly crawled on his hands and knees over to the blanket where Doran waited for him with a devilish grin on his face. Zeriel spotted a length of rope attached to one of the tent stakes that had partially come untied and trailed inside. An emergency plan formed in his mind. He would only use it if he had to. What would happen next was entirely up to Doran.

  Doran's large hand pushed Zeriel down onto the blanket. "You know the drill."

  Zeriel waited and listened for Doran's belt being unbuckled. He took his chance. Rolling to the side, he kicked Doran in the stomach and grabbed the rope. He pulled it free and leapt onto his attacker. With a spin, he knocked Doran down with his wings then wrapped the rope around his wrists. He cinched the ropes down tightly and added the golden shackles. There was no way Doran was going to squirm out of those bindings. As Doran bucked and kicked at him, Zeriel slammed him down on his back and pinned him there under his renewed strength.

  "Zeriel, stop. You're hurting me."

  "Good."

  Zeriel wrapped the rope around Doran's neck and stood back up, pulling the rope taut to ensure that he wasn't going to work his way out of it or fight back. He found his pants and dressed as he held onto the makeshift leash, drawing out panicked gurgling noises from Doran. Now that he was gaining his will to live back and the ringing in his ears calmed down, Zeriel was finally beginning to feel like himself again . . . not some lowly slave to a drunken madman. And he swore he wouldn't be one again.

  "What are you doing? You're a Holy Angel. You can't kill me. It was a joke. We were just playing around."

  "What you did to me was not playing. None of this was a game." Zeriel grabbed the extra ropes from the backpack as well as the ropes binding Doran and dragged him out of the tent into the snow. As he reached the tree line, he glanced back over his shoulder to make sure none of the other paladins or angels were watching. They were already gone, their fires long ago buried in snow. He tossed the ends of the long ropes over the high branches of the bare oak tree and secured them around Doran's legs and chest. He flew up in the air and hoisted the blubbering man up, tethering him securely to the tree.

  Once the man's arms were bound above his head and stretched out tightly, Zeriel looked around for a weapon. He flew back to the camp then pried one of the wooden tent stakes out of the frozen ground and returned to size up his victim. That would have to do. With one powerful thrust, Zeriel sent the wooden stake all the way through Doran's stomach. The crying man screamed in agony as the stake buried deep into the tree behind him.

  Doran writhed against the ropes. "Please help me. I'm dying."

  "Good."

  "Zeriel . . . I was wrong."

  Zeriel's anger boiled over. "I have done nothing but serve you loyally. I cared for you. I loved you like a brother. I would have died for you. I slaved away to gain your approval and followed your orders like a dog. I gave up everything I
had in Heaven for you. For ten years, you called me names, you yelled at me, and you made me sleep outside in the snow. But not once did you hit me. Not once did you abuse me physically. Now you get some whiskey and you turn into a monster? But I won't suffer under you anymore. It's my turn to watch you slowly die."

  After hours dragged by and the mage-glow grew light orange in the atmosphere, Doran weakly whispered through coughing up blood. "Jaylen."

  "What about Jaylen?" Zeriel asked with his back turned, unable to watch the gruesome sight anymore.

  "Protect him. Tell him . . . I'm . . . sorry."

  Chapter 2

  What a horrible nightmare. Zeriel woke up and stretched out his pitch black wings. He didn't feel rested at all. Instead, his mind was weary with the painful memories. He quickly dressed and fastened the ruby buttons on his ankle-length black coat before picking up the bouquet of white lilies. He made his way through the cavernous tunnels of the vampire coven he had taken refuge in with Oviel, Gavin, and Liaxa. From across the main hall filled with black obsidian and red mage-glow, he spotted the wooden door in the side of the cavern with the half sun painted on with white paint. Jaylen's room. Zeriel did his best to completely avoid it altogether.

  He left the coven and flew through the darkness until he reached the forest outside of Ilyan. It had been too long since he came here. One year to the day. Zeriel's boots crunched in the snow and dead brown oak leaves that covered the roots of the tree. With a heavy heart, he placed his hand against the trunk of the tree and set the lilies down as an offering of peace.

  Soft footsteps approached him from behind and a white-haired angel in a purple wool coat came up to his side. "Are you all right?"

  "Hello, Oviel."

  "Is this the tree?"

  "It's the tree. I buried Doran down by the roots. It's hard to believe that it has been seven years. Everything still hurts like it was yesterday. I had a nightmare last night."

  "You're going to have those just like humans do now that you are Fallen. Are you getting used to having to sleep?" Oviel asked.

  "No. It's strange and terrifying."

  "What was your nightmare about?"

  Zeriel rubbed his blood-shot eyes. "Memories . . . memories about what happened between me and Doran. It was like I was reliving it all. I just can't come to terms with it. No wonder my father calls me a failure."

  "You never told the Angelic Court why you killed Doran."

  "Because it doesn't matter."

  "It does matter." Oviel said. "I've known you since the day you were born from Sola herself. I was there when Carvael emerged with you bundled tightly in his arms. He was so happy. You had the tiniest little white wings and the biggest smile on your face. What happened to that Zeriel? You weren't always like this. Tell me what happened between you and Doran. He did something to you, didn't he?"

  Zeriel wrapped his wings defensively around his body. "He raped me. I was chained inside his tent with those enchanted shackles that control angels. I couldn't get away."

  "Zeriel . . ."

  "You remember that I had a deep cut on my head?" Zeriel asked. "It wasn't from fighting against an elven assassin. Doran did it to me. He was trying to kill me because I didn't want to have an intimate relationship with him."

  "You should have told the court that. They could have reduced your punishment. You would have gotten a lighter sentence."

  "No. Self defense isn't applicable. Doran was my Master and I killed him. There was no excuse for my actions."

  "Are you saying you should have stayed there and let him continue to abuse you?"

  "Yes. I should have followed orders."

  "That's insane."

  "It's life."

  Oviel stepped forward towards the tree. "Lilies?"

  "Funeral flowers. I never gave Doran funeral rites. I come here once a year to put lilies on his grave."

  "All of this could have been avoided."

  "What do you mean by that?" Zeriel asked.

  "You could have told someone. You could have asked for help. There were other angels around with their paladins. You could have told one of them what was going on."

  "And betray my paladin? No. That simply wasn't a choice for me. You have to remember that I was new to all of this. Doran was my first paladin. I took those vows of bonding seriously. There wasn't a force in the entire world that was going to make me break those. I only did what I did because I was out of options. It was me or him. I still feel like I made the wrong decision. I should have let him hurt me and not retaliated."

  Oviel was silent for a few minutes as the cold wind rustled his turquoise wings. When he started to shiver and pulled his cloak tighter around his body, he spoke. "Let me ask you something. What kind of example is that way of thinking going to set for Jaylen? That if someone is abusing you, you need to lie down and take it? That standing up for yourself is wrong? That feeling worthless is better than fighting back? You are his angel, Zeriel. Yes, you are Fallen, but you still have to protect him. Guide him to do things the right way. You aren't evil inside. I know you are still able to do the right thing. You haven't been fully corrupted. You care too much for that."

  "You just don't understand."

  "But I do." Oviel said. "I haven't gone through what you have. My four past paladins have all been wonderfully kind to me, but I do know that if one of them tried to do things like that to me, that I would have done the exact same thing you did. If things went that far and got to that desperate point, I would have killed my paladin."

  "So you understand my guilt."

  "That's not what I'm saying. Your primary focus is Jaylen. Think about it this way. Put Jaylen in your position."

  "I don't have to do that. He was there in his own way. Doran was molesting him."

  "And you're going to stand here and say that you wouldn't want Jaylen to fight back?" Oviel asked. "There's no telling what Doran would have done to Jaylen if you hadn't killed him. Your pure little paladin could have been broken and had his most prized quality ripped away from him. You are the one who must preserve Jaylen's virginity and innocence from anyone who would try to take that away. That includes his own father. You did the right thing."

  "Then why do I feel like a murderer?"

  Oviel sighed. "And you haven't told Jaylen any of this?"

  "That's not a conversation I want to have."

  "You need to."

  "How can I tell a kid that his father raped an angel?" Zeriel asked.

  "Normally, I would agree with you, but under the current circumstances . . . you should tell Jaylen everything. He won't accept you as the murderer of his father, but he will as a victim of his father. As awful as it sounds, you two can bond over that. You need each other to move past it. You can help him."

  "He doesn't want me anywhere near him. He hasn't spoken a word to me in three months. I don't know why I stay around where I'm obviously not wanted. I should just go to Hell and stay there where I won't hurt anyone else."

  "Listen to me for a minute." Oviel placed his hand on Zeriel's left wing. "I've spoken to Jaylen about you. That boy is hurting. He is still in the recovery process from being tortured and beaten nearly to death. You were there. You know how it took him over a month to stay conscious for more than a few hours at a time. Everything he knew about the clergy is wrong. Imagine how hard that is for him to come to terms with. The same priests he regarded as being holy were the ones who were beating him in front of the entire city. Jaylen's faith and religion are deeply set in him. To find out that he has been labeled a heretic by the clergy was soul-crushing. He is a lost boy who desperately needs someone to hold his hand, to comfort him, assure him that everything will work out in the end. That person is you. Yes, you are a fallen angel now, but you have the ability to care. You have the ability to help Jaylen. He needs you."

  "He hates me."

  "Talk to him. Being distant won't heal these wounds. You have to be the bigger person here. He's fifteen, Zeriel. He's a kid who doesn't unde
rstand things yet. Life is daunting and confusing at that age. Take this opportunity to help him. I know you love Jaylen. And he loves you too. Deep down, he loves you more than anything in the world. You can't give up on him."

  * * *

  With a cup of peppermint tea in one hand, Zeriel knocked on the wooden door in the cavern wall. "Jaylen? It's me, Zeriel. I brought you some tea. Can I come in?"

  "Go away."

  "But I made it just for you. It's your favorite."

  "Go to Hell." Jaylen snapped angrily from inside the room.

  This was so much harder than Oviel made it out to be. Teenagers. Zeriel took a deep breath to keep his temper in check. "Please don't be like this. You haven't talked to me in three months."

  "Yeah, since you told me you murdered my father!" Jaylen yelled from behind the door. "How did you think I would react? I want nothing to do with you."

  "Doran raped me."

  Jaylen was silent for a minute then the door slowly opened and he looked around the corner. "Come in." He went over to the messy bed that looked like it hadn't been made all this time. Wrinkled tunics and pants were draped casually over the backs of the chairs and balls of crumpled paper littered the floor. "My room is a mess."

  Zeriel stared at the bandages concealing the inch-wide holes in the palms of Jaylen's hands from where the thick nails had been driven through his hands during the public torture of the soul purge exorcism. The white bandages where soaked in medicine and traces of blood. Those would take a while to heal.

  Jaylen noticed him staring, so he hid his bandaged hands in the pockets of his coat. "I still can't really hold anything."

  "Then let me help you." Zeriel held the teacup to Jaylen's lips and smiled as he sipped from it. "How is it?"

  "Fine."

  "I should have told you the truth long ago."

  Jaylen sat back down on the bed and leaned against the headboard. He moved his head to the side in order to flip his unruly blond bangs out of his eyes. "I need a haircut."

  Zeriel couldn't help but laugh a bit. "I can do it for you, if you'd like. It's good to see you. I've missed you, Jay. I mean Master. I don't deserve to address you informally."