She looked so much like Raziel, with the same shade of red to her hair, the same roundness of the eyes, the same ivory skin.
But then—she also looked like Him—
A powerful cramp hit Israfel, like a hundred knives slicing at his insides.
“By the Fath—”
Israfel gasped, overcome by a second of intense pain. His fingers contracted, spasming, the needle he’d brought for her contentment wobbling between them. Then the plunger slipped from his hand, and the needle dropped to the floor, its glass vial shattering into hundreds of fragments. Precious blue liquid seeped deeply into a patch of carpeting, wetting the curve of Israfel’s knees.
The peace and pleasure of the drug soon softened any disappointment.
“Israfel,” Angela said. She sat up groggily, her shirt sliding down to expose her shoulder while he rested beside her, pressing her back down. “What are you doing?”
“So sorry,” he said, whispering in her ear, “but I dropped my little gift for you.”
He brushed the glass shards aside. Waves of relaxation were already rocking Israfel’s mind into a gentle kind of acceptance. It was a pity, but this bare shell of a room had become a sty, and he’d completely given up on trying to keep it clean. A temporary nest like this one wasn’t worth the time or energy when he had more important things to do, and tasting this fascinating soul currently topped that list. Israfel slumped deeper against the floor, laughing inside at the rainbow dots floating through his vision, the heightened sensations racing into his wing bones. The drug’s fire throbbed with his heartbeat, rushing up the curve of his spine into each nerve of his pinions.
This was the only delight he could find in being sick, forced to medicate himself like an animal.
“It’s so strange . . .” Still intoxicated from the nectar, Angela sat up and embraced his slim body, keeping her hands where he demanded, always on his chest, his neck, his face, never lower. She could marvel at his shape, but it was best she not think about it too much. “It doesn’t seem real. How I’ve wanted you,” she murmured, almost crying.
“Wanted me?”
She was like an echo of her brother, but so much less ingratiating and arrogant.
His lower wings brushed her thighs, and she collapsed against his chest, sighing.
“You’re as beautiful,” Angela whispered, “as a woman. The most beautiful woman. The most beautiful man. You’re everything. Everything . . .”
He forced her down again and beat his wings gently, fanning the curtain of hair from her face with a cooling breeze, ever eager to examine her more. Too careless to hide herself once the nectar took effect, Angela had accidentally revealed portions of a body covered head to toe in scars, some of the most hideous gathered around her legs and arms. But Israfel had seen much different and much worse many times before. What troubled him most was how different she was on the inside. That obnoxious half-breed priest had become obsessed with her, spilling out all his innermost desires like she would actually take the time to listen. If this lovely one was the Archon, Israfel would see to it that she joined him where they belonged, far from Hell, which by then would be little more than a memory anyway.
Why sit on an old throne when you could start over completely?
Oh, he should have killed the priest when he had the chance. The cut on his neck ached, and his beautiful clothes had been permanently stained.
“You’re a child, Israfel,” Sophia said softly.
The candle flickered, revealing the silvery shine of her slippers. She’d entered shortly after the girl had fallen asleep and had decided to stay ever since, probably satisfied knowing Angela and Israfel wouldn’t share too many kisses with another person in the room. But she knew, of course, that they’d share enough before that, and he couldn’t help enjoying how much pain it caused her, partly because of all the pain Sophia had caused him. The demon would be searching for her soon, but by then he’d planned on opening her and being done with it already.
The Book’s time was short indeed.
“And why am I a child?” He relaxed Angela back into sleep and struggled up from the floor, spreading his wings for balance while carefully straddling the broken syringe. “Because I hurt you by unveiling your true identity?” His speech began to slur, stretching his consonants. “Remember this night for the lesson that it is. Consider what could happen next . . . every time you defy me.”
He tried using the wall as a crutch.
No success. A wave of dizziness flung him back to his knees.
That was just fine. He didn’t really need to stand anyway.
“Look at you,” Sophia said, sounding like a mother scolding an infant, “debauched to the point where you no longer even see your dissipation. For all your hatred of Lucifel, you don’t act any nobler. My warning in that cathedral was not said as a joke.” She shifted in her seat, her soft curls catching the light. “Perhaps you’re not aware that Mikel escaped your prison.”