Brendan looked from him to Rakir, possibly imagining all sorts of wonders that could take place between them. And as they waited, Rakir’s wings rustling as they folded tightly against his back, Brendan decided on the choice of fools and hedonists. “My soul.”
Nunkir’s smile was perhaps even deadlier than before.
“If you need it, I’ll sign a contract—”
“I am no demon,” Israfel whispered. “The desire is enough.”
“Then—it’s official?” Brendan’s voice was low and full of manhood, but his choices were anything but. He wanted to be a slave, for all Israfel’s remaining eons—and there would be very many if all went according to plan—merely to satiate his appetite for another human’s destruction. Oh, the possibilities. The endless entertainment of forcing him into one body after the next, using him until he perished only to begin the process anew. “You will have me? Because I want”—he stopped hiding the lust in his voice—“to be yours. I think I’ve been dreaming of you since I entered the seminary. My angel.”
That was highly doubtful. He’d been dreaming of sin.
“Then so be it. Now—” Israfel pulled Rakir down, murmuring in his ear. He couldn’t help relishing the words. “Satisfy yourself.”
Rakir smiled, kissing the glove on Israfel’s hand. Israfel smiled back at him, hallucinating someone else. Like Lucifel, Brendan would learn about possessiveness the hard way.
The human would have no chance at freedom.
Israfel had bound him tight, and he would keep him bound until long after the night was over. He left Rakir, returning to his seat with slow, drunken steps, settling into his temporary throne like he had once, long ago, in the pride and beauty of Heaven. Rakir would be absolutely brutal tonight, and Israfel’s oversight would be necessary to keep Brendan alive. The bruises on his arms would look like scratches in comparison to what was coming. The human was already shuddering, his broad shoulders tensed as Rakir came closer, treading with doom.
Israfel closed his eyes, imagining the Archon held tight in his arms—there was a strong possibility she might be at the feast day rituals. Then he began to sing, miring himself in memory and passion, all his self poured into each verse.
How long it had been since he and Raziel’s duet?
Brendan’s screams mixed with the refrain.
Twelve
If they desire something of us, rest assured, it is never in our best interests.
—BROTHER FRANCIS, Encyclopedia of the Realms
Stephanie paused outside the door, her hand on the knob.
Turn it. She had to turn it.
But no matter how often she welcomed this hour, whenever it arrived, she always second-guessed herself—like she was entering a nightmare where something could go wrong any second—and the more Stephanie broke the holy laws that kept certain creatures apart, the more she feared doing it again. At least here, in the middle of the sweat, the alcohol, and the haze of drugs, she fully understood what she faced, despite how bad for her it might be. Humans had a comforting kind of predictability to them.
Music continued to throb inside the Bell Chapel, shivering into her like one tiny earthquake after another, nearly drowning out the suggestive laughter to her right.
She glanced toward it, peering through the shadows.
Two people were making out next to a private dressing room, their bodies tangled and sweaty beneath a painted pentagram. Through the door behind them, the sounds of other people enjoying themselves erupted, muffled and somehow awkward. They were probably in a group. Stephanie could handle the drunkenness, but the sex still bothered her, and she turned away quickly, knowing not to show it on her face. Her candle flickered, spitting more of its pathetic gold into the darkness.
“All right. You’re going to keep an eye on things for a little while.”
Lyrica’s mouth settled into a line, her face pale. She’d kept her cloak’s hood up for disguise, probably hoping to avoid a student who’d taken advantage of her during the last sorority party. Luckily, she’d been smart enough to stay away from the drinks this time. They were for the idiot worshippers, not real sorority members who knew better. “Are you going to be very long?” she whispered, wide-eyed. “Is she upset?”
“Make sure it doesn’t get too loud out here.”
“I can make them play something different—”
“The party has to continue until shortly before I get out. When it’s over, I want anyone who’s not a member gone, even the drunks.”
Lyrica gestured at the other door, unable to express herself audibly.
“They can finish screwing each other somewhere else.”