Page 9 of The River of Hatred

“So.” I lie down and look at the sky. In this area of Hell, it’s a milky yellow without any celestial objects. Each of the underworld’s domains, governed by its archdemons, has its own laws of nature. Lana told me Ashtaroth’s domain is quite rainy. I wonder just how ‘lush’ the area around Lethe will be. “Why doesn’t he just pop Above for a hit?”

“Looks like he can’t travel through the ether yet,” Sariel muses. “Power granted to me by Ash aside, angels our age usually can.”

“He doesn’t seem weak,” I protest, defending Ithuriel for unknown reasons. Maybe because he’s not conscious to do it himself. I always did root for the underdog.

Sariel chuckles and a shiver runs down my back.Fuck. “He’s not. But I didn’t see you use any ether there either.”

I fidget with the clasps of my armor. “Unless we run out of arrowheads or Ithuriel’s armor needs patching, my contribution to this mission won’t depend on manipulating the ether.”

“Hmm,” Sariel hums, pitch high with interest. “A metallurgist.”

“Nothing as powerful as creating large weapons or armor pieces, but I can draw the necessary minerals from the ground to create small objects.”

“Why don’t you show me?”

I tilt my head back to look at him. He doesn’t seem to be making fun of me. Still, the anxious part of me makes me as prickly as Ithuriel was a few minutes ago. “What do you want, a giant butt plug?”

Sariel throws his head back and laughs. His lips are still split into a wide smile when he looks back at me. “Only if you let me use it on you.”

“No thanks, not into butt stuff,” I reply breezily, trying not to let him ruffle me.

He wags his eyebrows. “Clearly no one’s done it right then.”

Now I do flush – consider me ruffled.

Chapter 6 – Jessica

Since Ithuriel’s still… hibernating, and Sariel seems to be lost in introspection, I decide to get some rest as well.

After slowly descending into sleep, I dream that I’m in a great ballroom. A crimson ball gown is wrapped around my body and gold heels decorate my feet. Spinning in a circle, I fan out my skirts, and glittering lights wink at me wherever I turn. Someone grabs my hand and pulls me toward them. I look up and into serious pearlescent eyes. The angel is unsmiling, but his gaze shows a depth that reaches inside my very being.

Ithuriel spins me across the reflective marble floors, our feet hardly touching the ground. Breathless, I cling to the warrior’s broad shoulders, completely confident that he’d never lead me astray.

Warm breath hits the nape of my back and shivers skate down my spine. Tilting my head, I look over my shoulder until my horizon is swallowed up byenormous black wings.

Sariel’s hands gently grasp my waist. Instead of pulling me toward him, he takes a step forward, herding me into Ithuriel. He doesn’t stop until my front presses against the pale angel, the contours of his body now on display in a slim-fitting gray suit that does nothing to hide the hardness at the front of his pelvis. The fallen angel presses me against his old friend, and his bulge nestles against my butt. Their smell envelops me and my head spins. Ithuriel’s hand gently presses my cheek against his chest as Sariel grinds against me from behind, moving my body against the white-haired angel who moans and…

Ithuriel’s whimper startles me from my dream. I sit up and watch the angel subtly writhe in agony. Even unconscious, his motions are subdued. When I realize what inspired my steamy dream was the angel’s chorus of pain-filled sounds, I flush, warmth suffusing me from head to toe.

I glance at Sariel from the corner of my eyes, but he’s not looking at me. His unblinking gaze is lasered onto the other angel, eyes narrowed like every minute expression of pain Ithuriel displays is an affront. As if feeling my attention, his eyes slide to me without warning. His nostrils flare and his lips stretch into an insincere smile.

“Didn’t peg you for a sadist, poppet,” he all but purrs. “Enjoying poor Itha’s misery, are we?”

That rank bastard! Isn’t it common decency not to call out people on their wet dreams? Then again, idiot me for expecting a Fallen to have any kind of decency, let alone one that’s common. Maalik basically put us through boot camp when we first got to Hell, after all.

I roll my eyes at the wicked angel. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say breezily. “I was just dreaming about the entire cast of Magic Mike giving me foot massages. Taking turns. Sometimes tag-teaming.” I flip my ponytail over my shoulder and tighten it. Sariel chuckles. “What?” I growl.

“The only part of what you said that’s true is the tag-teaming. And neither of our names is Mike.”

The poisoned angel chooses that time to wake up, his eyes fluttering open, and I feel a little bit guilty for how relieved I am to have him as a buffer between Sariel and me.

Oh, no, Jess, control your thoughts; there will be no fantasizing about any sort of threesome combinations.

I lean over until I’m in Ithuriel’s line of sight. “How are you feeling?” I ask gently.

“What happened?” he asks instead of answering, his voice a husky whisper.

“Well, you decided you’d rather identify as a flying pincushion than anangel, and put your body between me and all the poisoned barbs flying at us.” I cringe while speaking, imagining how much pain the angel went through to save my squishy hide. “Thank you,” I say empathetically.

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