by Alisa Woods
Molly’s hands automatically went up. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The girl scoffed then relaxed. “You’re a human. You can’t hurt me.”
“Right.” Molly shrugged and slowly lowered her hands. “Like I was saying.”
The girl wiped at something on her face—she was cut. Or at least it seemed so. Blood came away on her hand.
“You okay?” Molly asked.
“I’ll be fine.” The girl said it almost angrily. But then she stared at the blood on her hand, and her face went soft. She was just a kid, no matter how fierce the black wings.
“I can take a look if you’d like.” Molly bit her lip. This was probably the most interaction she’d had with any of the kids in her whole time here.
The girl dashed a look between her, the huddle of kids further away, and the cot she’d been sitting on. She seemed uncertain whether to run or sit.
Molly edged forward. “I can’t hurt you, right? I’m just a human.”
That seemed to settle it. The girl sat. Molly eased up to the cot then slowly sat down.
She peered at the girl’s face in the low light—she had a long gash from her brow, across her temple, and down her cheek. “You’re cut. Head wounds tend to bleed more, but they’re not serious.” And that was the extent of her first-aid knowledge. “Let me see if I can clean it up.”
The girl frowned but didn’t stop Molly when she fished a packet of baby wipes out of her pocket—she’d got in the habit of carrying them when the babies came back. The girl watched intently as Molly drew a single wipe out of the packet then dabbed it at the girl’s face.
“What’s your name?” Molly asked. Maybe the girl would relax her super-rigid pose if they talked a bit.
“Ariel.” The girl stared at the blood-drenched wipe Molly dropped on the cot.
She fished out another. It was hard to tell in the low light, but now that she was cleaning some of the blood away, she could see several cuts across the girl’s face. “So, Ariel… like The Little Mermaid?”
Ariel just stared at her.
“Oh, right. You wouldn’t know about that.” Molly shut her mouth and kept cleaning.
“What’s your name?” the girl asked suddenly like she was afraid Molly wouldn’t keep talking.
Molly held in her smile. “Molly Bitter. But you can call me Moll.”
The girl nodded while Molly went for another wipe.
“So, Ariel…” Molly kept her eyes on the cleanup job. She was almost done. “How’d you get these?” The cuts were healing themselves before her eyes. It was amazing.
“Some of the boys wanted to have sex.”
Moll froze. Then she slowly pulled back and looked Ariel in her blue eyes. “But you’re… you’re just…” She had no idea how old Ariel was, but it wasn’t anywhere near old enough for sex.
Ariel lifted her chin. “I told them I’d cut them if they tried.”
Molly shut her gaping mouth. “Did they?”
“They tried.” There was triumph in Ariel’s eyes. Thank God.
Relief trickled through her. “Well, maybe I should see how bad their cuts are.”
The girl smiled.
Molly gave a final wipe across Ariel’s forehead. “You’re all cleaned up now.” She figured she didn’t have to tell Ariel she was healed—the girl knew how all this worked better than Molly. She glanced at the improvised fork-knife the girl had set on the cot. “I can get you more forks if you need them.”
The girl nodded, but it was wary again. “I can bend it for you. If you want one of your own.”
A weapon. Molly might need it if she ever found a way out of this place. “I can tell you the story of The Little Mermaid if you’d like.”
The girl’s eyes lit up.
They were engaged in a negotiation. Or possibly a friendship. One she should have tried to start long ago.
Because how do you break out of hell?
You make friends with the demons.
Chapter Three
The orgy was in full swing in Razael’s Regiment.
Asa winced as he arrived on the black crystal balcony—traveling was second-nature for angelings, but it still wrenched the physical body. And his was yet complaining of freshly-healed wounds.
“Are you okay?” Laylah’s hands were on him, bolstering him, in an instant.
“I’m fine.” But she didn’t let go, and he didn’t insist.
They stood outside the central palace which housed Razael and his angelings. The balcony was crowded with those engaged in sex acts. Above and below, in the cavernous black-crystal silo that comprised the Regiment—all of it made of magic—angelings were having sex mid-air, hanging from the walls, and dangling from all manner of ropes and restraints that looked borrowed from a light-angel’s Penance room. Before Asa Fell, he’d spent plenty of time paying for the slightest infraction, prayerfully hoping to avoid the Temptations that might lead him straight here. On the other hand, shadowkind played with pleasure and pain as if they were intertwined.
Pain…that Asa understood. It was the pleasure which made him flinch.
The sounds of it—moans and growls and cries of ecstasy—crowded in on him.
Laylah was guiding him through the crowd, past thrusting male members and bouncing female bodies. Normally, he withdrew to his cell when the orgies commenced. And, for the love of magic, why was the Regiment having an orgy when they were fighting battles yet on the streets, and Elyon’s forces were no doubt rallying for retaliation?
Laylah tugged him through the doorway to the palace, and impossibly, the noise was even more deafening inside. One female came as they passed, shaking and screaming as the two males working her body groaned their pleasures. Her cries aroused Asa from the waist down, his cock responding to the sights and sounds and smells—which was both horrifying and dizzying, as the little blood he had left in his body pooled where he needed it least. They passed another female paired with two males, this one being fucked from behind while she took the other’s cock in her mouth—they just pounded on as Laylah drew him away from the main room. Out in the passageways, the scent of sex was less, as was the sound. They passed only three couplings as they wound through the hallways—two males aggressively fucking against the wall, a male with two females, one riding his face and the other his cock, and a male pounding a female face-down on the smooth black glass of the floor.
Asa’s own cock pulsed as they passed each one, making his light-headedness even worse. He shut his eyes and focused on getting blood back to the head he used for thinking, letting Laylah lead him blindly down the twists and turns of the palace. When the sounds of sex dimmed, and she pulled him to a stop, he expected she had brought him to the throne room where he could deliver his report to their dark lord, but when he opened his eyes…
They were in her cell.
“Laylah,” he rasped out, backing away, but the door was already closed behind him. “This is not the time for—”
“You never think it’s time for that.” Her voice was cool, but she was unabashedly eyeing the bulge in his pants. The rough leather constrained him, but it was verging on painful. “Although part of you definitely thinks it’s time.”
“I can’t help that.” He was gripping the door for support, just to stay upright.
Laylah frowned. “You’ve lost too much blood.” She came toward him, so he threw up a hand to ward her off. She gave him a withering look. “I’m not trying to fuck you, Asa. I’m trying to help.”
Simply holding up his hand was taxing his energy, so he dropped it and nodded, wearily. She slipped an arm underneath his, wrapping it around his back and helping him to the small platform for repose along the wall. It couldn’t rightly be called a bed—angelings had little need for sleep and spent half of that hanging from a perch—but it was probably where she’d had sex a hundred times with other angelings.
He groaned as he laid down on it. His cock strained against his pants still.
She scowled. “You k
now, I could help you out with that.”
He pressed a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. “If you were to try, I think it might kill me.”
She laughed, a quick chirp. “I doubt that.” Then he sensed her coming closer. He forced his eyes open—in Truth, if she assaulted him now, he wasn’t sure he could, or would, put up a fight. But instead, she just knelt by his side, concern etched on her face. “I should give you another life kiss.”
“You’ve already given too much.” But he smiled through the discomfort. It was easing a little.
She scowled again. “Which matters little if it’s not enough.” She looked over his battle armor. “Let me see. Make sure you’re healing properly.”
“You simply want to remove my clothes.” He would have laughed, but he was still too light-headed to risk it.
“Yessss.” She drew the word out, exaggerated. “But I don’t want pity sex from you, Asa.”
“No?” He huffed a small laugh even though it made him dizzy, but his head was clearing just with lying down. It must be bringing the blood back. He fumbled at the buckles that held his leather jacket strapped firmly to his body, but his hands were useless, so he quickly gave up.
She deftly undid the buckles for him. “Well, okay, maybe I do want pity sex.” She smirked. “But not when you’re half dead. If I get a chance to have you in my bed for real, I want the full ride. All your stamina. We won’t come out until you’ve passed out from exhaustion. At least once.”
He grinned as she worked the wrappings free from his chest and spread them wide. “You’ve given this some thought.”
She peered at his chest, checking his still-healing wounds. “Oh, you don’t even want to know. The others are starting to complain.”
“Complain?” He didn’t know what she meant.
She spread her hands across his chest and tipped her head back, closing her eyes and feigning ecstasy. “Oh, Asa! Asa! Harder, Asa! I’m going to come, Asa!”
A restrained laugh was sending convulsions through him. “You don’t.”
She snapped her gaze to his. “Oh, hell yeah, I do.” She withdrew her hands. “You wounds are healed, you big complainer. A life kiss won’t help with the blood loss, but I’m down for trying if you want.”
“No.” His smile tamed. “You saved my life, Laylah.”
She shrugged one shoulder but dipped her head to look away.
He reached a hand to her cheek to bring her back. “My thanks before was… inadequate.”
Her eyes went a little wide.
He lifted up a little, just onto his elbow, but it was enough to bring him to her level. Then he pulled her closer. He had every intent of kissing her, finally. Pity sex or no, he shouldn’t let her languish, forever wondering if there might be something between them. He should show her—and himself—one way or the other. But when he brought her in for the kiss, something lurched inside him—something deep and dark and broken.
He pressed his lips to her cheek instead and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
The pain in her eyes when he drew back was hard to see—but not as sharp as the clawing beast inside him. The Wrath. It had broken him during his Fall, and every time he came close to any soft feeling—any love, any tenderness, even the stimulation of the orgies—it all came crashing back. The soaring, blinding anger. Ellie ravished by a shadow angeling—an angeling from Elyon’s Regiment. The baby that came from that violence growing in her womb. Asa had vowed to love them both, but he couldn’t touch her after that. She was too…broken…by it. And then one day, he found her swimming in a bath of her own blood. She’d taken her life, but Asa knew who was truly responsible. Elyon. And everything inside Asa lived to see that angel die.
Laylah rose up. She was looking off to the side, composing her face.
“I cannot be your lover,” he said softly, peering up at her. “And I’m an even worse friend.”
“Yeah, you suck.” She was blinking away tears.
Damn him and his broken, worthless self. He pulled in a breath and forced himself to rise from her bed. She made to turn away, but he grasped her by the shoulders. “Laylah.” It was asking for forgiveness he didn’t deserve, so he quickly followed it with, “I’m a worthless, broken soul. But you… if you shine with any more Virtues, you’ll lose those shadow wings.” Which was nonsense—once in shadow, always in shadow—but if it were possible, Laylah would be the one to do it. “Go find someone worthy of you. Enjoy them. I’ll be gone before you return.”
She wrenched out of his grasp and stalked from the room.
He sighed. But he was restored enough to venture to Razael’s throne room on his own now. If Laylah hated him—and she had every right—maybe it would help her move on to someone else. No more fantasies about him being something he never could. Not that love pairings happened much in the shadow realm. Love rarely survived the constant assault of Sin. But she was the kind who could make it happen. At least, he hoped so. She deserved it.
He took his time along the hallways, holding the wall and making sure the faintness didn’t return and claim him. He passed only two couples on the way to the throne room, but the guilt and turmoil over Laylah kept his cock from responding, giving him half a chance of staying upright to give his report to Razael.
When Asa swung into the throne room, he found it empty except for the dark angel sitting on his massive black-crystal chair, alone, tapping an angel blade against his knee, deep in thought. That Razael wasn’t indulging in the orgy didn’t surprise him—he’d never seen the angel do so—but the look of concern on his face did.
“Ah, Asa. Tajael sent word that you’d lost your blade.” Razael rose from his seat.
Asa strode forward, although the weakness of his legs must have betrayed him, for Razael frowned as he turned over the freshly-made blade. It hummed with power.
“A strong blessing for my strongest warrior.” Razael peered at him. “Come—let me bless you as well.”
“That would be much appreciated, my lord.” Asa held his head high as he approached.
Razael placed the flat of his palm on Asa’s forehead, and the flush of power and energy that vibrated through him… Asa had only felt it once before when he joined Razael’s Regiment. He was even closer to death then, having foolishly taken on Elyon’s entire Regiment in his blind rage and need for vengeance for Ellie’s death. Razael snatched him from oblivion then—now, the power of the angel’s dark blessing enlivened every cell in Asa’s body with new life.
When Razael released him, he felt he could more easily stand.
“Tajael says we almost lost you.” Razael’s voice had grown in volume, not quite angelsong, but he was definitely displeased by this.
Asa grimaced and stepped back to sheath his new blade. “Tajael is not wrong. The fae nearly had me. They’re working in concert with Elyon’s angelings now, using glamour to pose as humans. It was an ambush. You should alert all our forces in Seattle.”
Razael tipped his head. “Tajael said as much. It is already done. But it will be difficult if they are mixing with the human population.”
Asa ran his hand through his hair. They’d discussed this before, but it was time to resurrect his objections. “Which is why we need to not fight this in the streets. We should take the battle to Elyon. In his Regiment. Now… before he has time to rebuild his forces with reinforcements.” Oriel had secreted out knowledge of Elyon’s plans from his time held captive by the dark angel. They knew Elyon was seeking more shadow angelings, volunteers from the other dark angels, even though his was already the largest Regiment in the realm. His son, Micah, was gathering the recruits—and was a possible weakness in Elyon’s armor.
“We don’t have the forces, Asa,” Razael said with a sigh, then took a seat on his throne. “You know this.”
“I know that Elyon grows stronger as we speak.” But he found his hand rubbing his head again—Razael’s blessing buoyed him, but the dizziness was still there.
Razael frowned. “You are
in need of rest.”
“I am fine.” He wasn’t, but that was irrelevant to their plans.
Razael’s expression turned hard. “We may be shadow, but I expect Truth from all my angelings.”
His rebuke hit harder with the angel’s blessing still freshly coursing his body. “In Truth, I am weakened but determined that Elyon not claim any more of our own. And that he be denied his ambitions.”
Razael nodded, and he had to know the Truth of that. “The pulse sent out through magical space by the success of the human’s machine must have enraged the Winter Court even more. The humans have traveled, Asa—sent one of their own. I fear we’re on an inexorable path toward war.”
War between light and dark—the full-scale deployment of both sides was assured to awaken the Warrior Angels. And they would smite every last being in shadow until it was done. The End of Times had been long foretold, and both sides—both light angels and dark—had an interest in keeping it from happening.
“Elyon is insane,” Asa agreed. “Trust me, I understand his Sin of Wrath and the damage it wreaks all too well. He will not stop until we stop him.”
“Yes, but how? With the Winter Court involved? It only escalates from here.”
“What about the humans?” Asa dared to step closer to the throne where Razael perched. “They are the wild card in this. The ones driving this conflict with their infernal machine. Why not use that?”
“In what way?” But Razael’s interest was roused.
“Send something straight into the heart of Elyon’s Regiment. A bomb. A weapon. Something non-magical to get past their defenses. Destroy them… Utterly. Before they can destroy us all.”
Razael winced. “Many angelings serve him. Most are not Fallen but born into his Regiment.”
“They know who they serve.” It was a terrible price—Asa had to agree—but it was either that or slaying them on the streets of Seattle. And there, the forces arrayed against Elyon were truly no match for him and his greater numbers.
“Let me summon Tajael.” Razael closed his eyes, and Asa stepped back to a respectable distance. Within a moment, the light angeling and his blazing white wings appeared in Razael’s courtroom.
