Wings of Darkness: Book 1 of The Immortal Sorrows Series

by Sherri A. Wingler

  "Would you like something to eat? I can have something brought up. You must be starving by now. Some fruit and cheese, perhaps?"

  "No, thank you. I'm not hungry." I wasn't about to eat anything she wanted to serve me, even if my stomach weren't tied into knots, which it was. I probably should have been hungry; I hadn’t eaten all day. I chalked it up to yet another freakish side effect of what Asher had done to me.

  Clotho smoothed the silken skirt of her royal blue gown over her knees, and wet her lips delicately. "Fine, if I must be blunt, then I will. There is something that you are going to do for me." I certainly didn’t see that coming. I just stared at her for a moment in disbelief.

  "What can I possibly do for you that you can’t do for yourself?”

  Her voice hardened, and her eyes cut into me like razor wire. “You hold Ashrael’s heart in your miserable, mortal hands. I want it crushed.”

  I stood still, not entirely sure I’d heard her right. “Seriously? That’s what this is really all about, isn't it? Asher? What did he ever do to you?” She gave me a long, heavy-lidded stare. Clearly, she wasn’t about to explain herself to a mere human.

  Understanding clicked into place. I had that “aha” moment; it was a wonder a light bulb didn’t turn on above my head. “He turned you down, didn’t he?” I sat down across from her on the over-stuffed sofa, too stunned to keep standing; my knees felt funny, like they just wouldn’t hold me up for a minute longer. “Wow that must suck. I bet nobody’s ever turned you down before.”

  Her eyes sparkle with barely controlled venom. The kind, almost motherly look she’d walked into my room with was completely gone, now. That carefully controlled mask she wore slipped. This was Fate; and she was a woman scorned. Hell hath no fury… “My reasons are my own, and no concern of yours. You just have to do as you’re told, girl.”

  “I’m sorry about your luck, but I can't help you with that.” I shook my head, trying to make her see reason, if she wasn’t too far past it. “He has no interest in me like that. Didn’t you hear him, earlier? I’m just a pain in his ass that he’s tired of babysitting. Besides isn't that against the rules? Angels mixing with humans? What will the neighbors think?”

  “Technically, you’re no longer human, are you? Contrary to whatever Ashrael may claim, you and I both know what really happened to poor Mairya, do we not?” She shook her head, as if she were really sorry about what had happened. I knew it was just an act; Fate cared only for herself. “No, you are definitely not human: not anymore. There really is no name for what you have become, but what you are, my dear, is my perfect revenge.”

  “With all due respect, you’re crazy as hell.” I said it softly, hoping not to provoke her, but it was already too late. The wheels were already in motion.

  “Am I? I could not ask for a better weapon than the one I have in you.” She scared the hell out of me. My mouth was so dry, I felt that I could choke. I clamped my trembling hands together and placed them carefully on my lap. Showing this woman weakness would be like throwing raw meat into a pool of sharks.

  She laughed, a tinkling sort of laugh; it rang pure as church bells on Sunday morning. She leaned forward, “I will let you in on a little secret. Humans were given free will, but as a species they are violent and lazy. They do far more harm than good. They are the greatest pestilence the world has ever known.” She sighed, sorrowfully. “While they may have free will to make good choices, they often do not make them. They invariably take the easiest, most gratifying way, but they make no progress like that. In order for them to progress towards the Divine, they need a little push. This is where I come in. I place obstacles into a soul’s path. Souls go through each life because they have a lesson to learn. Lessons are learned best through hardship. A life lived in misery may be a lesson in humility. A life of riches or fame may be a lesson in compassion. Some souls are greedy or heartless and do terrible things, ignoring the lesson laid before them, time and time, again. They must repeat their lesson until they have accepted it. Do you understand, Izzy?”

  I nodded. She liked to hear herself talk, and it might help me understand the mess I’d fallen into. “Uh huh, go on.”

  “After so many incarnations, when all lessons have been learned, and the soul is refined enough, then there is nothing left, except Judgment. At that point, the soul is usually very old, and often tired, and ready to move on, anyway. Whether the soul is mostly evil, or mostly good, determines its place in the greater scheme of things.”

  “So what has that got to do with me?”

  She smiled. “I’m so glad you asked. You, my darling, should have moved on long ago. I did that. Ages upon ages, I saved you for just the perfect, golden moment, and when I finally placed you in Ashrael’s path, he did not disappoint me. You are perfection: beautiful…deadly… and the soul inside the flesh? Aged to perfection. Oh, my darling, you are going to break his heart, whether you want to or not.”

  I sat stunned, and speechless. She was insane: completely and utterly insane, and controlled every living thing on the planet, including me. She terrified me.

  “Why me?” I cleared my throat. “I mean, why would you pick me?”

  She simply shrugged. “Why not, you?” It was random? She’d just grabbed a soul at random, and twisted it till she could use it as a weapon. Use me. I thought I might be sick.

  From a tiny, embroidered pouch hanging at her waist, Clotho drew out a tangle of silken threads. “I hold in my hands the fate of everyone you have ever loved.” She drew the threads lazily through her long, slender fingers. “Your father, your friends, everyone.” She held the threads up in front of me; taunting me with them. I wanted to throw up. Clotho picked among the threads in her lap and separated a golden thread. "Now, this one...this one is your thread." She touched it lovingly before laying it across her lap, and smoothing it down. Next, she pulled a royal purple thread from the bunch, and lay it next to the golden one. "And this one is your father’s." Fear uncoiled and snaked through my gut. Tied to his thread was a short, frayed thread that was a buttery, yellow color. I knew without being told whose thread it was. Fate gave a little tug on the frayed one, displaying it for me. "And this one was your mother’s. Shame about her, but sometimes it's like pruning a rose bush; a snip here, a snip there. All to create one perfect bloom. And you are perfect, my dear." I pulled away as she reached to stroke my cheek, fondly. It was almost a motherly gesture.

  "You killed my mother?"

  "Don't be silly. Of course I did. I kill everyone's mother…father…nation. You have to break a few eggs if you wish to make an omelet, darling.” She sighed delicately at the look of horror that must have been on my face. “I took your mother from you at such a young age to foster a sense of independence in you. And just look at yourself; so young, yet so strong. You are mature beyond your years. There is no need to thank me."

  A dull roar filled my ears as my blood pressure shot up. Thank her? If I could, I would have killed her. Slowly. “You’re a monster.”

  “No, dearest, I am not. I am Fate, and I am not to be denied.”

  She straightened the handful of threads up as she put them away. Somewhere in those strands, there would be thread for Gwen and her family, too. Everyone I had ever loved, she’d said. They were all under threat. “Do this for me, and I let your family live out their natural life spans.”

  “You’ve gone to all this trouble, just for petty revenge?” That was just a whole new level of crazy.

  Fate looked down her perfect nose at me. “There's nothing petty about revenge, child. It is simply divine, if properly executed. It is the most marvelous feeling in the world. I highly recommend it.”

  My mind was working a mile a minute, trying to find a way out of this mess, but I was drawing a blank; there was no escape. Yet, somehow I had to keep everyone safe from her. Had to. “What if it doesn’t work? What if you’re wrong, and he doesn’t feel that way about me?” I was grasping at straws, but who could blame me? There was no way I could
do what she wanted me to do.

  “Of course it will work,” she patted my hand, “and the best part is, you do not have to do anything extra. All you have to do is be yourself; your flawed human self. He is already so deeply within the trap, and yet he does not see it.” She smiled languidly. “The mighty Ashrael, is about to be brought low, and it is marvelous to behold. Oh, I have waited so long for this.”

  She did this? She put me in his path? My mind spun out of control. I was the one who was trapped, not Asher. What she wanted was impossible. I couldn’t pull it off, could I? Could I really do it? Could I betray Asher to save my family? I went cold from head to toe. I raised my eyes to meet hers, carefully. She was like a snake; ready to strike. “What if I choose to tell him?”

  She laughed that tinkling, musical laugh of hers, “That is the best part; it will not matter. Even knowing the trap is set, he is helpless to stop it from snapping shut. Oh, I am enjoying this very much.” She clapped her hands and stood up. “Now, we just need to clean you up a bit.”

  Chapter 18…Asher

  The sleeveless gown was a deep, eggplant purple; tight in the bodice, then it flowed freely to the floor in a straight line that darkened to nearly black just above the toe of her silver sandals. The girl turned sideways, and her back was exposed all the way to her slender waist. No wing scars marred that delicate flesh. My breath caught. Isabel.

  Heat crept slowly into my face. I had not seen her for two long days. I was nearly out of my mind with worry for her. Only Cronus’ reassurance that all was well with the girl had prevented me from taking her and fleeing the Aerie. But where could one go to escape from Fate? Isabel would be hunted mercilessly, till the end of her days. My only hope was that the Elders would see that she was no threat, and that would be an end to it. Two days of silence had not reassured me, however. I was met with resistance at every turn, and it infuriated me. The sanctuary had proved to be no help to me at all.

  I had never known fear in my entire existence, until now. A dozen different scenarios played through my mind, hour after endless hour, torturing me with the possibilities. All of my worries for Isabel had been unfounded, apparently. For here she was, dancing and laughing, in the arms of a demi-demon. I had missed her, and now that I had found her, I had a primitive urge to strangle her. Or him...I was not particular which one it was, at that point.

  The demon reminded me of a snake, in the way he watched her. His gaze never wavered from her cleavage; he was single-minded in his attentions. The evil bastard was handsome in his way; that must have come from the angelic side of his lineage. That brimstone odor gave away his other side, however. He offended me, greatly.

  I came upon them just as he leaned in to sniff Isabel’s neck like he might like a taste, which was not completely unlikely. She ducked away from his advances, shoved him back a little, till they were arms-length apart. “What are you, you ravishing creature?” His voice was dry, but silky: his tone, almost urgent.

  “She’s mine.” I mouthed the words as I walked softly up behind her. The demon saw, and his eyes grew large. He straightened, suddenly, and excused himself. She did not turn to watch him go. I would be seeing him later, for a long, painful talk.

  The girl stiffened as I touched her bare shoulder. “Asher.” My name fell from her lips with a sigh. Something inside of me loosened, and expanded. Was it happiness? She turned slowly, almost unwillingly, towards me. Why so hesitant? Had she wanted that creature’s attentions?

  "Shall we dance, Isabel?" I held my hand out for her to take. Her eyes grew wide, and I thought she might run from me. “I will not bite, you know.” Was she afraid of me now? She did not seem like my Isabel. What had Clotho done to her, to bring this change about?

  She came into my arms reluctantly. "I don't dance very well, Asher."

  "You seemed to be dancing very well a few minutes ago.” She smiled wryly.

  “That wasn't dancing, so much is swaying in place while I tried to keep that guy from grabbing my ass.” Ah, now that sounded more like my Isabel.

  “You should take more care in the company you keep. You do realize that was a demi-demon that you were dancing with? They are not known for their good manners. His mother may be an angel, but his father is from the City of Sorrows. He is a nasty bit of work.”

  “He was obviously afraid of you, so what does that say about you?” Her words had bite to them. Was she angry with me for sending the demon away? Did I care? I felt possessive towards her; she was beautiful, and she was mine.

  I pulled her close. “Many people are afraid of me now,” I murmured against her ear. “Look around us.” She tilted her chin, scanning the crowd without seeming to. Her eyes grew huge as I released her to twirl her smoothly in my arms. We were being watched, by nearly everyone. “There. You see? It is considered poor taste to come to the wake of the person you kill, and yet here we are.” She shivered, involuntarily, but did not speak. Her fear was palpable. I smiled at her, hoping to offer encouragement. “Relax, girl. We are not beaten, yet. Dance.” My hand fell to her hip, and I heard her gasp. Her eyes grew large; she did not, however, remove my hand. “You look very grown up this evening, Isabel.”

  “Thank you, Asher, but I feel half naked.” She chanced a glance at me, from under her lashes, then quickly looked away. “You look very nice, too,” she said, primly. Like most of the men present, I was in formal wear, as was required for functions such as this one. It reminded one of a tuxedo, in that it was silken and black, but it was also sleeveless and cut to provide for the wings, should they be needed.

  It was supposed to be a celebration of Mairya’s long life, but it was, in fact, the wake after her funeral. I would have felt much better with a weapon. There were too many enemies, here; too many unknown elements. Even though this was supposed to be neutral ground, I knew that Halo had received little more than a reprimand for her attack on Isabel. It should have meant banishment for her, but it had not. Allowances were made, according to Cronus, because of her recent bereavement. She would not be held responsible for her actions during her time of mourning.

  How does one celebrate the passing of an immortal? With a party, of course. It was odd, to say the least, but I was forced to play nice, so long as Fate held Isabel. I did not expect to find the girl dancing among the angels, yet here she was. Impeccably dressed, and finally in my arms, where she belonged.

  And yet, there was something terribly wrong with the girl. I could see it in the way she avoided my eyes, and in the stiff way she held herself away from me. She studiously looked over my shoulder through most of our dance. Every time I tried to catch her eyes, she blushed and looked away quickly. Was she embarrassed, afraid, or hiding something? I wanted no secrets between us.

  We stopped dancing as the music faded gently away. “Are you well, Isabel? Have you been treated badly, here?” She nodded slowly, and still she would not look at me. That was no answer, at all. It frustrated me, greatly. Gently, I tilted her chin up with the tip of my finger so that she had no choice but to look at me.

  “I want to go home, Asher. That’s all I want.” Her green eyes were too bright, and glistened suspiciously. My throat tightened. Someone had harmed her. Someone would pay.

  “Of course. Tonight. Now, if you wish.”

  She sniffed delicately, and looked around, searching for someone, it seemed. “I can't leave, and we shouldn't be having this conversation, here.” She was right, of course. Far too many eyes followed our every move. I placed my hand at the small of her back, and was gratified to feel her shiver. She was not indifferent to me. There was a garden area just beyond the great hall. It would afford us some small privacy.

  I took her trembling hand and started to lead her away to the garden, but too late; the sound of sharp little heels fell, hard and fast, right behind us. I stopped in my tracks, reluctantly. I would know that overwhelming perfume anywhere. Clotho. Isabel dropped her eyes and took a step back, but I kept her hand firmly in my own. Her submissive attitude was complete
ly unlike her. What had Fate done to her?

  “Ashrael, it is wonderful to see that you take your duty as Isabel's babysitter so seriously.” She had that musical lilt to her voice that always grated on my last nerve.

  Clotho was dressed in some shimmering silver material that shifted like water as she moved, yet always seemed to cling to her in the most obscene way possible. Diamonds formed a heavy choker at her slender throat. She was a vision of loveliness, but all I saw when I looked at her was corruption, and decay.

  She held a champagne flute out to Isabel. “Here, my darling, drink this, and be merry. It is a party, after all, and you look like you’re at a funeral.” She tittered at her own poor joke. “Oh, my, I suppose it is a funeral of sorts. Drink, my darling, to Mairya.” Liquid sloshed the sides of the crystal, thick and crimson. It smelled of old blood, and death.

  Isabel paled noticeably as she eyed the drink, suspiciously. “What is it?”

  “Spiced wine: a rare vintage, and very old. It is delicious, and I insist that you try it.” Clotho sipped delicately at her own drink, and waited with expectant eyes.

  Isabel started to take the drink, but I knocked it from her hand. She jumped back with a startled yelp, and barely avoided the splash that would have ruined her lovely gown. The glass shattered, and blood spilled across the marble floor.

  “How dare you?” Clotho’s eyes flashed.

  My hand shot out to stop the hand that was meant to strike my jaw. Her fingers curled into claws, as she jerked against my grip on her wrist. “No, Clotho, how dare you? How dare you feed your poisonous blood to this girl?” I had to force myself to drop her hand, instead of crushing it. “How dare you keep her here, against her will? How dare you question me?”

  Clotho bared her teeth in a nasty sneer. “Careful, Reaper, you’re making a rather public spectacle of yourself,” she warned.