Page 47 of The River of Hatred

“What are you doing, poppet? It’s not the time for a bump and grind.”

“I’m just… so damn itchy!” I growl, letting go of his neck to scratch mine.

Stop for a moment, Sariel.

The tone of Itha’s incorporeal voice gives me pause. Something’s clearly wrong. “What is it?” I ask. “What’s happening?” God, I would kill for a sip of water.

Itha’s lights flash alarmingly and Sariel rumbles with frustration.

“Fuck. We need to hurry.”

With that, the fallen angel picks up the pace, no longer caring if he steps on a sinner’s rotten face, gracefully keeping his balance even with me anchoring him down.

“Is someone gonna tell me what’s wrong?” I shout, the speed at which we’re traveling whisking the words away. But the angels hear me.

You are decaying.

“I’mwhat?” I shriek, bringing one hand up to inspect it. What I see makes the breath leave my lungs. Sinister black veins are spreading over my skin like ghoulish webbing.

“Sar,” I whine, my voice like a lost child’s.

His jaw muscles tick against my cheek as he clenches his teeth. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. We’re not gonna let anything happen to you,” he vows.

Sinners protest as his heavy, booted steps stomp over their squishy bodies, some yelling out, some only mustering a groan. All the while, I watch in terror as boils start appearing on my skin.

“I don’t want to end up like them,” I whisper. The agony, the indignity of such an end…

We will not allow that.

Minutes pass, or maybe hours, until, finally, the layer of sinners underfoot begins to thin.

“Itha, over there,” Sariel murmurs to the angel.

I see it.

“What?” I question. “Is it the portal?” I’m not above praying, even though we’re as far from Heaven as we can get down here.

“Yes.”

“Ugh, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me,” I sigh into his hair. I’m so very tired, it feels like my neck can’t keep my head up anymore.

“I’ll scream it for you later. Just hang on.” He sounds so worried. Could give a girl butterflies.

“M’… hangin’ on,” I mumble. It’s hard to hang on though. My arms hurt so much. Every step Sariel takes rubs them against his leather vest and it feels like my skin is getting stuck to it and peeling off with the movement.

“You have to hang on, Jess,” he repeats. Am I not hanging on?

I will enter first and see that it’s safe.

I crack my eyes open and see the rift to the human realm. Jagged and flickering, it pulses like a wound struggling to stay open. It’s also freezing cold. Or is that just me?

“Hurry,” Sariel urges the angel. Either the void is spreading and taking over the world, or the edges of my vision are turning black.

With a flash of light, Ithuriel’s gone, and I’m left alone with the pacing fallen angel. I try to speak, but it feels like swallowing shards of glass.

“We’re almost there,” he whispers softly. My arms finally lose the last of their strength and I start sliding down his back. Faster than lightning, he turns and sweeps me up into his arms.

“Stay with me, baby girl,” he pleads. I want to ask him if he cares whether I live or die. A part of me wants to know if my death will matter to him, just a little bit, if he’ll mourn me like he mourned his friend, Armaros.

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