The Sinner

by Emma Scott

  Tears blur the scene before me, but I blink them back. I don’t want to miss anything. I want everything. Every touch, every sigh…

  No more watching. Somehow, I will it to happen and I become her. I am

  me and he’s inside me—huge and stretching. He holds me tightly, protectively, his mouth taking mine, breathing his love into me. Sweat, sex, and the perfume in my hair hang heavy in the air. The scent of his skin, salty and spiced, fills my nose and I want to lick him and bite him, consume him completely.

  The pain of our joining is still raw, but I want that too. I want to feel where he marked me. Where he took me for the first time. I’m filled with her fearlessness, her courage. But then, those were always mine, I’d just lost them for a while. Lost myself. Now I’m restored too.

  I reach down between us, my fingertips running over his slick cock that is moving in and out of me.

  “My warrior.” I draw my finger down one cheek, then the other, my blood his war paint.

  His breath catches then releases, like a gust of wind that stokes the fire higher. His hands are exquisitely painful, digging into my hips as his thrusting cock drives deeper and harder. I ride him just as ferociously, taking him to a peak as he takes me to the edge and over. I feel the pleasure in every part of me, erasing all pain. It consumes me until I’m delirious and crying out his name. Because there is nothing but him. My world, in memory and reality, is only Casziel.

  And there is nothing for him but me. I see it in the fire burning in his eyes. I feel it in his hands that grip me and hold me tight to him. I feel it in the thunderous beat of his heart against mine, one answering the other.

  He comes in me, grunting, his release hot and thick. I’m wrapped around him so tightly, sealing us together so there is no separation. For long moments, there is only the slowing of our rocking hips and our gusting breaths. At last, we’re still. I remain impaled on him, not wanting to feel his absence.

  Never again…

  “Beloved.” His voice is ripe with concern as he brushes strands of my hair that are stuck to my cheeks by sweat and tears. “I hurt you…”

  I shake my head and bury my face against his neck. “No, I’m overcome. I love you so much.”

  He chuckles. “My Li’ili is overcome? Now I have lived to see everything.”

  I pull back to see him, hold his face in my hands. I’m changing the memory but maybe he’ll understand.

  “You are my light. My life. I will never love another as I love you.”

  His eyes darken with his own boundless love and lust that ignites at the fierce conviction in my eyes.

  “Ki-áñg ngu,” he says. “My beloved. I will love you until the end of time.”

  He kisses me. Gently. Deeply. Then his hands slide down to cup my heavy breasts, to knead and caress, then move lower. To where we’re still joined.

  “I want this again.”

  I nod, and my eyes fall shut as he strokes my aching core of pleasure. My own need to have him is rekindled too, even though I’m raw and sore. I want him again. All night. Every night…

  But we’re out of nights.

  The truth kept coming even after I gasped awake. I saw our last horrifying night in all its bloody clarity.

  Babylonians stormed the house, taking us all to the ziggurat. Casziel was already there, on his knees. Torchlight flickered, casting slices of light over his blood-spattered skin. They’d tortured him to the brink of death, but his fire still burned. They brutalized him but he was still fighting. For me. For his family. His sister, his parents, and my father, the high priest—we were all bound and gagged and forced to kneel on the stony floor. One by one, they fell with necks sliced open and blood pouring.

  And then it was my turn.

  The horrified anguish on Casziel’s face tore my heart to shreds. They hadn’t gagged him, and his screams were ragged as the dagger was laid against my neck. With my eyes, I begged him to give himself mercy. Saving me was impossible. My death was inevitable, but I’d wait for him to join me in the afterlife.

  My hand slipped to my belly, not yet rounded—we both would.

  But he didn’t understand and blamed himself. Then the blade opened my throat, and my last image was of my beloved screaming, head thrown back, neck corded, eyes bulging, every muscle taut and pulling against his bonds. His scream followed me into darkness…

  And then there was nothing.

  I shot to sitting in my bedroom, tears brimming in my eyes. The horror of what Casziel had endured wracked me while the love I had for him washed over every bloody memory. I clutched my abdomen.

  A baby…

  Joy flooded me and just as quickly curdled to anguish. My bed was empty.

  “No. No, no, no. Not yet. Please…” I drew a breath. “Casziel.”

  Nothing.

  “Casziel.”

  Only the rain striking the windowpane—closed tight—answered.

  Tears of frustration and fear pricked my eyes, but I wiped them away angrily. “No. Not when I just got you back…”

  My gaze fell on a piece of paper sitting on my bedside table. I grabbed it, devoured it, even as it tore me to shreds, word by word.

  My beloved,

  Now the truth is wholly yours. But somewhere in your deepest self, you’ve always been Li’ili. Brave and fierce and so beautiful, my heart weeps with joy that you were once mine. Forgive me for concealing us, but there is no hope for me. I cannot cross the Veil and into the light. It’s too bright and pure for a sinner like me.

  You’ll be safe. When I’m truly gone, Ashtaroth will be powerless, and you’ll have others more powerful than me watching over you—loving you. That’s the lesson it’s taken me four millennia to learn: love is stronger than hate. You taught me that. You called my love forth—summoned it—and it rose up through the murky, bloody depths of me and broke the surface. I regret that it took so long; I’d have loved to spend an eternity of lifetimes searching and then finding you, loving you again and again. But I can’t, and you must not let your light go out for me. You’re too bright for one man. There is nothing small or silly about you and never has been. As the poet said, you contain multitudes.

  And I’d like to think that even in Oblivion, there will be a part of me that remembers loving you, and I’ll know peace at last.

  I release you, Lucy Dennings. May my eternal sleep sever the chains that bind you to my damnation. You are free.

  All my love is yours,

  Casziel

  Twenty-Three

  I soar over the city in my anicorpus, riding the currents of air. The rain beats at my wings—little weighted drops that want to drive me to the ground. The wind gusts against my face, pushing me back toward Lucy.

  But there’s nowhere else for me to go. Part of me wondered if I’d wake up to a new life that morning, having been granted a second chance. But everything is the same. All doors closed to me except for one. So I left Lucy with what she asked for—the rest of our too-brief story.

  And then I kissed her goodbye.

  The old anger and rage flares in me as I land and transform into my demonic form in front of Idle Hands.

  What did you expect? Redemption? You haven’t repented. You awakened Lucy’s memory, fucked her, and then left her.

  I snarl at the unwanted thoughts and shove past the bouncer at the door.

  The tavern is nearly empty, only a half-dozen tables occupied. Eistibus is in his usual spot behind the bar. Ba-Maguje, too, is at his post—head resting in a pool of his own fluids, inciting his humans to drink.

  But I stop short to see Ambri sitting at the bar looking unlike himself—unsettled and anxious, like a peacock with its feathers ruffled. Indeed, his wings look less than immaculate. A faint smile—an echo of his usual cockiness—touches his lips.

  “Casziel, my lord and friend, please join me.”

  “I have business here,” I warn in a low voice. “You know this.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” he says, flapping a hand. “Bu
t the old man isn’t going anywhere. We have time for a drink.”

  “Ambri…”

  “Oh, come now. Let’s have a round of shots and pretend like we can get drunk.” Ambri signals to Eistibus. “Tequila, my good man. Ha! Has the absurdity occurred to anyone else that our meeting place on This Side is a pub? How peculiar. All of us sitting around, drinking like twits, nary a buzz to be had.”

  Ambri’s stalling, but I give in and sit with him. He can’t deter me, but his efforts touch me more than I want to admit.

  I’m going to miss him too.

  The djinn lines up two shot glasses and pours the liquor.

  “Tip one for yourself, Eistibus,” Ambri says, and we all lift our glasses. “To Lord Casziel. A bloody fine fellow.”

  “Hear, hear,” Eistibus says, and the finality of it all weighs heavier.

  We start to drink, but Ambri’s jovial demeanor slips off like a mask, his voice taking a sharp edge. He holds his glass higher, his black eyes hard on mine.

  “To my friend Casziel, the fool. A right bloody wanker.” Ambri crosses himself with is free hand. “Forgive the daft arsehole, for he knows not what he does.”

  Eistibus holds his glass uncertainly. “Cheers?”

  “That’s enough, Ambri,” I say and down my shot. The tequila burns a path down my gullet, and then it’s gone.

  Ambri tosses back his drink then slams the glass on the bar hard enough to shatter it. “Apologies, Eistibus,” he mutters. “Hand slipped.”

  “Not at all, mate,” the djinn says, still glancing between us. But he knows better than to meddle in the affairs of archdukes. When he goes to retrieve something to clean up the mess, I shoot Ambri a glance.

  “Something on your mind?”

  “Bloody hell, man, it’s Oblivion,” he hisses, leaning into me. “There’s no coming back. Perhaps you haven’t considered that as deeply as you ought. Because I have.”

  “I’ve considered everything.”

  “And your wife? I can’t imagine she’s happy with your choice.”

  “Her safety is all that matters. If it were just my soul on the line, I might seek a different way out. But now she’s in real danger.” I lower my voice. “Ashtaroth wants her, Ambri. If I’m gone, there is no reason for her to be tempted by his promises. And she’ll be free to love again.”

  Ambri snorts as Eistibus returns with fresh glasses of tequila.

  “You don’t approve?” I ask and nod gratefully at the djinn.

  “I prefer making decisions about the course of my own existence,” Ambri says with a smirk. “But that’s just me.”

  I scoff. “And risk condemning her to Ashtaroth’s depravities? Because she would, for my sake.”

  “A horrid fate to be sure, and I’m no expert on such matters, but…” Ambri turns his black eyes on me. “It’s her life.”

  He’s right. The Li’ili I know would despise being a pawn in this game, even if every action I take is to protect her. Always to protect her.

  I shake my head. “She cannot fathom what lies on the Other Side, and apparently, you’ve spent too much time on This Side and have forgotten. No, I won’t risk it. I won’t condemn her to endless suffering. Not when I can save her.”

  “While you simply cease to be.”

  “Is there an alternative?”

  “Maybe there is,” Ambri says with scorn. “I’m just spit balling—as the American humans like to say—but did you ever consider that the forgiveness you need is your own?”

  For a long moment, I stare, then toss back the second shot of tequila. “Ah, Ambri. You’ve always been able to make me laugh.” I lay my hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, my friend. I will miss you.”

  His lip curls, and he turns his gaze away, muttering to himself.

  I wave Eistibus over and clasp his wrist. The djinn’s expression is confused and fearful at the same time.

  “My lord?”

  “Farewell, Eistibus. And my apologies. It’s about to get messy in here.”

  “Farewell?” Eistibus shoots a glance at Ambri who hunches deeper over his drink, still pouting.

  I turn away from them both before I let Ambri talk me out of it. I stride for the door to the back room, unsheathing the greatsword from between my wings as I go. Other demons watch me with wide eyes, apprehension thickening the room like smoke. I struggle for a moment to get my blood up, to let the anger and rage for Ashtaroth flow through me. For the demon whose lies had coaxed me into this existence. But the truth is ruthless—he had no power except that which I gave him.

  And I gave him everything.

  The rage comes then, not at Ashtaroth but at myself. That I’ve been so foolish and weak. I failed to protect my wife and then had taken the worst possible way out of the agony, ruining us forever.

  With a snarl I kick the door in, shattering it to kindling. I step inside. The darkness is lifted by the light spilling in from the common room, adding to the flame of the single black candle on its little table. The stench is ungodly.

  Ashtaroth lounges on the settee, waiting for me, petting the head of the giant serpent coiled on the floor. The white python emanates its own ghostly light, its black eyes watching me.

  “Such a dramatic entrance,” Ashtaroth drawls lazily and then makes a face. “You stink of her.” He cocks his head, smirking. “Been saying your goodbyes?”

  My fist tightens on my sword handle.

  “It doesn’t have to be goodbye,” he continues. “It will be easy to draw sweet Lucy into our realm. I’m quite willing to share her—”

  I let out an inhuman bellow and swing the sword into the small antique table. The table’s legs are reduced to splinters and the black candle hits the ground and rolls toward me, its flame never wavering.

  “You will never touch her,” I snarl between gritted teeth. “You’ll have nothing to do with her.”

  Ashtaroth looks amused, my threats utterly inconsequential to him. “It’s not entirely up to you now, is it? That irks you the most—that you’ve completely lost control. Your lies and selfishness have brought her to the brink. It’ll be nothing for me to tip her over—”

  Another roar and I bring my sword up with both hands and bring it back down in an executioner’s blow; I cleave the serpent’s head off. The body writhes and then goes still before evaporating into a pungent stink, back to the Other Side.

  Ashtaroth’s wings bring him to his feet, wrath snarling his features. “You go too far, boy,” he seethes, drawing his own sword.

  I ready myself for battle—my final battle—and suddenly Ambri is there, tugging at my shoulder.

  “My esteemed lord, Ashtaroth,” he says with a short bow. “Forgive Casziel, he’s in a bad mood. Long night, no sleep. You know how it is. I know how it is with those humans.” He chuckles. “They really can wear you out in the bedroom. But he’s better now, aren’t you, Cas?”

  I swivel my head to him incredulously. He shoots me an urgent look, then quickly turns his smile back to Ashtaroth.

  “Awfully sorry about your snake, my lord, but Cas didn’t mean it. Slip of the hand. Dreadful shame too, but it’s back on the Other Side alive and well…er, perhaps not well. Or alive either, come to think of it.”

  “Silence,” Ashtaroth roars. “Begone, Ambri.” He turns his gaze to me. “It’s obvious Casziel has unfinished business with me.”

  Unfinished business…

  A twinge of a memory—a whiff of pipe smoke infiltrates the red haze of my rage but is quickly swallowed in the room’s overpowering vapors.

  Ambri bows again. “Yes, yes of course. I merely thought—”

  I whirl on him. “Go,” I snarl and give him a shove, afraid his wagging tongue will bring him Ashtaroth’s wrath. He falls to his hands and knees, though I hadn’t been as rough as that.

  “My apologies,” he says, rising and brushing off his red coat and backing to the shattered door. “I see where I’m not welcome. Shame to miss the fun, though. I’m sure it’ll be a lovely sword fi
ght. Not my favorite kind of sword fight, mind you…” He gives a little salute. “Right, then. Cheers.”

  When he’s gone, I whirl back on Ashtaroth.

  “Your time is running out,” the demon lord muses, hefting his blade. “You will return to the Other Side and resume your servitude. If it means doing so on the end of my sword, so be it.”

  “So be it,” I say and lunge fast, a beat of my wings giving me speed. My sword cleaves the air and he parries the blow, then pushes me back.

  “Fool,” he says, shocked—and pleased—by my ferocity. “But if this folly rekindles the fire you’ve been missing, then I welcome it.”

  And I’ll welcome the look on his face when he delivers the killing blow and realizes it isn’t sending me to the Other Side but to Oblivion.

  With a cry, I attack again and the battle rages. He meets my every sword thrust, our blades singing. The curtains, the furniture…everything in the room suffers our fury and yet I come on.

  We spill out into the tavern’s common room, and I let my rage flow through me as it had the night I lost my wife. It gives me strength. Power. Ashtaroth begins to falter under my onslaught, but his arrogant smirk never wavers. For that I’m glad. He has no idea he’s about to grant me my freedom.

  Pain squeezes my heart with an iron fist.

  Forgive me, my love. It’s the only way.

  “Yes, this is what I’ve been waiting for,” Ashtaroth cries at our crossed swords. “My beautiful prince. The King of the South. Perhaps you’ll reclaim your rightful place on your throne of blood…”

  I shove him back while the other demons cower behind furniture or flee altogether. Eistibus watches from behind the bar as the storm of our battle destroys his pub.

  Ashtaroth wards off another bone rattling blow from my sword, but I reverse my blade and it finally bites flesh on his shoulder. His eyes flare with rage. He thrusts a hand to me, speaks a word, and I’m blown backward to slam heavily against the wall.