by S J Doran
“I have my orders,” she whispered, setting her pastry down and leaned in closer to him. “What is it?”
“What, so you can’t try to kill me at the moment, you’ll make do with watching me suffer?” He should leave. But he wasn’t armed — she would attack him the moment they were out of public view.
She couldn’t have known. He didn’t think the angel had a malicious bone in her body.
“Though I have to admit, I get a kick out of the fact the poor demon is suffering, I would like to know what I did.” She bit into a berry and the juice ran down her hand, and she followed the trail with her tongue.
He closed his eyes. He couldn’t watch that. He was completely sated from the night before with Mara; he had no excuses for craving the angel. But, curse the dark gods, he did.
He picked up his cup, took a long drink, watching her over the rim. She looked honestly confused.
“Look. Ziva.” He set his cup down and leaned onto the table. “The baby is dead, and once I find her mother, she’ll follow. Now, if it pleases you, you can rest easy knowing that the Hells will not be populated by any offspring of mine.” He tapped the table and stood. “And we’re done here.”
He stood and threw a stack of Euros on the table, making his way back into the café, stopping long enough to grab some pastries to go. The angel would have to find somewhere else to sleep tonight, he had plans.
He heard her running after him, braced for impact. Instead, she caught up and kept pace with him.
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I still want you dead, but—you said ‘her’?” Ziva was walking fast, but not having trouble keeping up with him. With a moment of awareness, he realized she was actually quite fit. With just the right amount of bounce.
Hells. No. he didn’t want her like that. Didn’t want to want her like that. His body thought otherwise.
“Yes. Her.” He kept walking, his jaw clenched. “And I’m not in the mood to die today, love.”
Had to put some distance between them, her draw was intoxicating… difficult to resist.
Mara was all he needed.
She snorted delicately. “Changed your tune since last we saw one another.”
He stopped at the door of his building. Turned and faced her head-on.
“Who are you to judge me?” He took a menacing step forward. “Coddled little girl that you are—you have no idea. Not a fucking clue.”
“You corrupt innocent mortals. People who are trying to spread love in the world, and you lead them into sin. That’s all I need to know.”
He opened the door to his building and jogged up the stairs. She followed. There was a sword in his apartment, he could just be done with this right now. Jez would get over it. Someday.
“I didn’t know you’d be like this,” she said quietly, stopping his headlong rush into his apartment.
“Because you don’t know a fucking thing about me.” He watched her flinch at his language, made a mental note to keep that up. But his eyes wandered to her bottom lip—where she had a tiny smear of strawberry juice right underneath.
His thumb came up—he watched himself doing it—he dragged it under her lip, Ziva standing still as prey snagged in a predator’s sights. He brought it to his mouth and licked. She made a small mewling noise, and he jumped back, opening the door to his apartment, watching her warily as he closed the door right in her face.
He stumbled and tripped over shoes that weren’t his. And there was her shirt, piled up on the side of the counter closest to the foyer. The entire apartment smelled faintly like char, touches of her here and there.
Mara was coming here, he had to get rid of all traces of the angel.
The pounding on the door let him know she wasn’t planning to leave.
With a snarl, he threw open his door.
Instead of the warrior who had nearly taken his head, he saw a defeated girl; her face lined with tension, her gaze darting around, hells and he could almost see her heart pounding.
He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her inside, keeping his gaze off her.
He couldn’t help his nature. He was drawn to corrupt purity. Nature of the beast. He wasn’t attracted to Jez’s sister. No one but Mara would touch him.
Her breath shuddered out, and she leaned back against the door, her wings flashing into visibility. They were no longer a blinding white. He wasn’t sure what that meant and wasn’t sure why it made his stomach knot.
“Hey.” He stepped closer, tilting up her chin with his fingertip. “Are you doing okay?” Damn it. It was like trying to stay angry at a kitten.
Her lower lip trembled just as the tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks, the rivulets meeting up at her chin and gathering on his finger.
“Do you need me to go get Jez?” He moved even closer, he couldn’t help it, her silent tears were making his stomach hurt.
She shook her head, her eyes squeezed tight. “Please don’t tell him.”
“Tell him what?” He moved to step back, confusion shaking some sense into him, but she collapsed against him, twisting her hands up into his shirt, sobs shaking her shoulders.
He wrapped one arm around her, took a deep breath, then the other, holding her tight to his chest while she sobbed.
“I can’t go home.” Her voice was muffled, between her face being pressed into his chest and her sobs, he barely understood. “They’ve taken my wings. I’m as good as fallen.”
“What about your wings?” He gave them a closer study, aside from the color being dull, there were patches missing. “Is this because they’re turning grey?”
Her body tightened, her fist coming up to pound on his chest, right over where Mara had been stroking him so lovingly mere hours before.
“It’s your fault,” she growled, speaking through clenched teeth.
He stepped back, grabbing her shoulders. He couldn’t retaliate, she was Jez’s sister. And he was… important to him.
“It’s because I didn’t kill you when I had the chance.” Her eyes were narrowed as she scrubbed away tears with the sides of her hands like a small child would.
He just shrugged, trying to appear unaffected, even while his gut churned.
“I would have let you,” he whispered the admittance, then flinched back as he realized what he’d admitted to.
She flinched too, her mouth snapping shut.
After a breath of silence, she spoke, her voice hushed. “Now they’re going to kill me.”
It wasn’t his fault, the collective ‘for the greater good’ hive mind she worked for had condemned her when they assigned her an impossible task. Really — a single angel, not even of the highest caste, sent to execute the King of the Hells, with all the power of that realm backing him? They’d sent her to die, and he wasn’t sure she realized that. Wasn’t his fault, but would he still be held accountable? She blamed him. Jez might too.
“I have an idea.” He swiped away the tears gathering under her eyes. “Don’t jump on me here… but, how about I bring you to Jez? If you’re cut off from your people, you should be okay to enter the Nessus. I can offer you protection and you can be with your brother.”
“You want me to go to Hell?” She laughed even as she choked on a sob, then dropped to her knees and turned her face to the skies—or his apartment ceiling, either way, she was pleading to some higher power for salvation that wouldn’t be coming.
“I don’t have much for choices do I?” she whispered, blinking and dropping her face into her hands.
With a sigh, he locked his door, tucked the box of pastries under his arm and pulled her to her feet, dragging her back into the smaller bedroom where he hid away the inactive portal to the Malsheem.
Not so much a harem
The portal from the mortal realm was a permanent fixture, unlike his hellgates, so there was no way of sneaking the angel in. They came out right in the middle of his great hall, which was currently full of demon ambassadors and one vexed Herald who looked like he was going to smite down t
he lot of them. Ziva perked up and tried to wrench her arm free as soon as she laid eyes on Jez, but there was no way he could let her go running through the hall, any demon in there would love to have her wings as a trophy, and her body… for less decorative purposes.
“Keep walking, love. Like you belong here.”
She stopped fighting to run to her brother and took a wary look around.
“Jez is on the Throne,” she whispered, looking up at Cass.
“Yeah,” he chuffed. “He’s really not supposed to sit on mine, he’s got his own, but I think it makes him feel important.”
“My King.” The Archduke Belial himself was there, shouting through the crowd.
Fucking hells.
He pulled Ziva behind him, keeping her out of sight as best as he could.
“Lord Belial.” He held Ziva’s hand, trying to keep her behind him as he walked through the parting crowd, straight for his throne. If he could pass her off to Jez, he could fend off questions.
He stared down every lesser demon, making way straight for his Spark Hunters, whose sole purpose was to protect him and his. He made it up to the bottom of the dais and stopped short at the sight of two of Mara’s Dominae, warlock delegates, with no scheduled meeting. They were either brave or brazen showing up here like this. Noting the look on Berith’s face he decided it was the latter.
“You stand behind the throne when we get up there,” he said, hoping his voice wouldn’t carry past Ziva’s ears. “Don’t draw any attention to yourself.”
He pushed her in front of him and walked up the stairs behind her, Jez jumping to his feet.
“What did you do?” Jez said, his voice carrying. “My sister…” he shut his mouth, but it was too late. Some of them had heard.
Cass bared his teeth with a shake of his head and shoved Ziva toward Jez and turned to face the crowd.
“Quick rundown, Jez?” He leaned back, whispering to his Herald. So much for a sick day.
“Consorting with warlocks. These two brought proof that you and Amara are trying to merge the two realms, has to do with resurrecting the previous Queen of the Hells. Some of them are just here for their usual griping session, I had that much handled. Not sure what to do with the warlocks.”
“Kill them?” He whispered to Jez, but smiled brightly to the crowd, his gaze settling on Berith and Ravanna, with a none-too-subtle glare.
“Though the Warlock Queen and I have not entered discussions as to what will happen with our realms when she becomes my consort,” he pitched his voice to reach every demon crowded in the large room, ignoring Jez’s soft cussing and his sister’s gasp.
“The fact remains that our races are dependent on one another. Without the power the Demons offer, Asurim would crumble.” Okay, so he was being a touch dramatic. “And without worship of the warlocks, our race, well, we wouldn’t have it as good as we do. Mortal souls alone aren’t enough to keep the Hells thriving.”
But with the Rod, that might be different.
“You brought another Celestial here.” Mammon’s loud-mouthed Herald shouted. “Is she here to help your rule as well?” He gestured to Jez.
“How do we know you aren’t working with Celestials to tip the balance?” Baalzebal’s Herald shouted, the crowd grunting their assent.
“I’m born of the Hells, its true heir. And you question my loyalty?” Cass snarled, noting Berith’s gloating smirk.
Where were his allies? Mephistopheles was missing, he could have used his voice about now, with both Levistus and Azadiel gone. It occurred to him that the warlocks would have known his two more vocal supporters were in Asurim. They picked this moment intentionally.
“Your herald is so recently fallen he still has celestial abilities and now you’ve brought another, one with the glow of the Heavens still clinging to her,” Belial spoke.
Et tu, Belial? He’d always been firmly on Cass’s side.
“She’s none of any of your concern and will never be.” He called up his power, and it was quick to heed, as well-fed as he currently was.
“The offer to take my daughter as consort is still open. That would make all of this,” Belial waved his hand over the crowd, “go away.”
“I’m not marrying anyone else.” Especially not Belial’s spoiled daughter Feirna. He had been involved with her in the past and found her as cold in bed as her realm was hot- and that was where the fiery pits of Hell were located. Rumors since suggested she preferred females in her bed, and he chose to believe that to assuage his own pride.
“And this meeting is concluded for today. Assemble like this again without my leave and I will start making arrests for treason.”
They started filing out, all still grumbling, the warlocks and Belial lingering.
He walked down the dais, anger building with each step, Jez and Ziva following.
“Cassius. My King,” Belial said jovially as if he hadn’t just called out Cass in front of the crowd. “I didn’t come as part of this gathering, as you know I support you on our throne, but to ask you if this order is official?”
He shoved a piece of paper at him, he recognized the broken crest as Levistus’s. An official request for an audience with the Archduchess Glasya. He was still irritated about the marriage mention, reading through the missive just upped his frustration into anger.
“Yeah, it’s official. But he’s going to have to wait until I have time to be in attendance.” He shoved the parchment back and motioned for Vesarius.
The Warlord had cleared out the room with unrivaled efficiency, making his way to Cass with a respectful nod of his head. Vesarius was massive. Same height as Cass, far more bulk, with small horns above his temples, much like Belial’s. He was a created demon, rising up in the ranks by his own might, and a powerful ally to have in his corner, political clout aside.
“Vesarius, can I leave you to see Ziva to the rooms off my father’s?”
“You’re installing a celestial in your harem?” Belial, the big mouth said, Jez jumping in right away.
“Cass, what the fuck…” Jez shouted and Cass held up his hand.
“Does our Sarratum know of this?” Berith elbowed his way past Belial to get right in Cass’s face.
“Why would she? It has no bearing on her.” Cass answered, but was distracted by Jez yanking his sister from Vesarius’s polite grip.
“Of course,” Berith said with a smarmy bow.
Cass nodded and ran off after Vesarius and Jez, before they came to blows.
Aftertaste
With shaking hands, she shoved the stopper back into the latest vial. Nothing would wash away the taste of Berith’s gloating face as he gave her the news that Cassius had installed an angel in his harem. The very same angel that had nearly taken his head.
“Which one of these was for complexion again?” she called to Agate, getting no response. Her attendant was likely off fetching the additional tinctures she’d asked for.
She needed blush, pale didn’t hold the same appeal as rosy flesh. “And which one for form?” she mumbled the question to herself as she cursed under her breath. She’d mixed up all the vials somehow.
It didn’t really matter, the form tinctures never really took, anyway. But that’s why she had tripled the dosage, hoping to at least fill out her own breasts a little more. According to her memory, the celestial Ziva had been toned and shapely. She hadn’t ever suffered malnourishment, that was clear. Golden hair had sprayed down her perfect head in a fountain of curls as she’d bent over Cass to caress his lips, strong legs, and round hips barely concealed beneath a laughably short tunic. Pure and wholesome angels, my ass. Even with a sword lodged in his neck, her demon had lusted for Ziva.
When going solely on facts rather than emotion, it was little wonder he’d moved the murderous creature into his harem. First, she proved a challenge, which he naturally enjoyed. She was also unearthly beautiful, and innocent, without so much as a drop of corruption clinging to her. Cassius wanted the angelic Ziva, and he could
have her, unlike Mara.
She glanced at herself in the silver mirror, scowling at the visage of her overdone form perched on the floor in the center of her chamber. Alone. Rather than improving her appearance and adding beauty to her features, the excess of tinctures succeeded only in making her look more a caricature version of herself.
The black kohl she’d applied didn’t just highlight her eyes, it sharpened them somehow, their strange coloring a stark contrast against red lips and dark hair. She’d always look more the part of evil queen, rather than the youthful and pure fairytale princess she’d hoped to emulate. Hells who was she kidding? Defeat was bitter to choke on. She wasn’t an innocent, couldn’t even pull off looking like one. In the past she’d been described as alluring by some, terrifying by others, but no one had ever called her pretty. And she wanted to be, for him.
Her palm covered her breast, still too small. They ached, her stomach hurt, and she had nothing to show for it. Draining a month’s worth of beauty tinctures had been a dumb risk.
All she afforded Agate’s carefully selected attire was dispassionate glance; a pretty crimson blouse and soft leather pants, to blend in with the fashion style of the mortal realm. Then she looked down at her own clothes. She was still wearing her simple black robes, lacking any adornment except for the occasional cobweb she’d accidentally disturbed while working in her laboratory.
At Dominus Malachi’s request, she had been going over the confiscated research notes from the academy, while dissecting what by all accounts would be considered a healthy and viable womb. Countless times they’d gone over these notes, gaining no further insight on the mystery as to why warlock females were unable to conceive. All, except for Maleficus’s mother, who couldn’t be studied because her narrow-minded family had seen the bodies of both mother and father publicly destroyed out of misplaced shame. Idiots.
Her frustration had been high. Already she’d been missing him. Her impatience for the hours to pass rendering her an impulsive mess by the time Berith and Ravanna had thought to disturb her with their breaking news. She hadn’t thought at the time to ask them why they’d been in the Nessus; it hadn’t been by her orders. Really, she should be focusing her anger on that, but she couldn’t move past the news they’d dropped on her, and the feeling that was reminiscent of being locked away in the dark once more.
