Page 10 of The River of Hatred

Ithuriel’s lips twitch into a ghost of a smile, his eyes hazy from whatever his angelic system is still fighting off. “You are welcome, Nephilim.” His voice comes out stronger this time. “And it has mostly already passed. I appreciate you removing the unnecessary decoration from my flesh,” he adds.

A startled giggle bursts out of me. “I didn’t know angels have a sense of humor. And I couldn’t have done it without Sariel. Your bones are definitely not hollow like a bird’s and you weigh a ton.”

All hints of amusement wipe from Ithuriel’s face halfway through my riposte –right about at the mark of me mentioning the Fallen. The prone angel is looking behind me now, and the muscles of his cheeks twitch.

“No thank you for me?” Sariel asks over my shoulder.

I can almost hear Ithuriel’s teeth crack from how hard he’s clenching them. I probably shouldn’t find their dynamic as amusing as I do. Finally, he answers. “Perhaps if you had not run off, I would not have had to protect the Nephilim alone.”

“Perhaps you aren’t fit to protect her,” Sariel drawls.

“Perhaps she’s capable of protecting herself,” I mutter into the standoff.

Ithuriel stands and shakes debris off his cloak in one elegant move. “It is my turn to fly with the mortal.”

Sariel’s laughter booms unsettlingly loud in the quiet region of Hell we’re in. I glance around, worried we’ll attract more beasties. “Some offense intended, dude,” Sariel begins, “but you look like death warmed over.”

I look at the angel and wince at what I see. His face is pale and drawn, and there are a few smudges of silvery blood on his cheek. He’s still gloriously beautiful, though.

Shut up Jess, you whore.

“Only a little bit!” I rush to qualify Sariel’s statement. Ithuriel raises a silvery eyebrow in question. “Death warmed over? Only like fifteen seconds in the microwave or so.”

This sets Sariel off again and he throws his head back, laughing so hard his chest shakes, the muscles of his pectorals that peek over the edges of his vest lovingly illuminated by the reddish glow of the Underworld.

Wow. Just, wow.

∞∞∞

Sariel ended up flying with me for the rest of that day and the one that followed. By now, we’re nearing the border between Asmodeus’ and Belial’s territories and the lands below are no longer quite as abandoned. Demons travel between eerie settlements, most on foot, some using skeletal horses whose hooves leave sparks bouncing off the ground. Seeing life in Hell is surreal, like a macabre mockery of medieval times.

“How would you like to sleep in a bed tonight?” The fallen angel’s deep voice rumbles through his chest, making my skin tingle where my body is pressed against his. I trample down the shiver threatening to expose my reaction.

“Is that possible?” I ask, eyeing the landscape underneath us.

The mischievous Fallen hums. “Possible? Yes. Wise, with Dove Wings over there with us?” He stops speaking to expel a malicious-sounding breathy laugh. The air hits the side of my neck and this time I can’t stop the gooseflesh from rising over my skin. I clear my throat in a clumsy attempt to divert his attention.

Sariel’s hands tighten around me and my pussy clenches in an echo. The traitorous hussy. “No,” he finally drawls.

“I do not wish to have these demon scum around our Nephilim, Sariel.” At the sound of Ithuriel’s voice, I stop daydreaming about the dark-haired angel’s hands on my naked skin. Because I’m now stuck on how Ithuriel said ‘our Nephilim’. I’m going to end this mission in a straightjacket.

“Don’t think we can keep her safe, Itha?” Sariel’s voice is the snake that tempted Eve into biting the apple.

“Why risk adversity unnecessarily?”

Sariel repeats Ithuriel’s words with a mocking lilt to his voice and I bite my lip to keep it from curling into a grin.

“There’s an inn at a crossroads not far from here,” he whispers into my ear, the silken skin of his lips brushing against the contours of my earlobe. When my neck arches, I can feel those lips spread into a smile I know oozes with arrogance.

“I know we’ve been traveling for just a few days, but I can’t say I’d mind sleeping in a bed.” My voice falters with uncertainty. “But are you sure they’ll let Ithuriel join us?”

Sariel’s cheek presses against mine as he turns his head toward the angel. “My word means something in Asmodai’s realm. I’m his favorite nephew after all,” he finishes, the smirk heard in his voice.

The icy angel flying a wing’s length away scoffs mirthlessly.

“You have something to say?” Sariel drawls lazily.

“It is widely known that aberration doesn’t even know his own brood’s names.”

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