Page 29 of The River of Fire

Sariel laughs at my joke (but not really a joke) and shakes his head. “No, I’m here to escort you to dinner.” Oh. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Ashtaroth kidnapped me, and now he just foisted me onto his ‘son’? I also don’t bother asking the Fallen whether he approves of me being his father’s prisoner.

I am hungry though, so I accept the fallen angel’s outstretched arm and let him lead me out of the room. I observe the hallways as we go, noting more gothic décor: black candelabra and macabre paintings of hellish battles. “Is he subscribed to Gothic Weekly, or something?” I murmur and Sariel laughs wholeheartedly again.

“If anything, they would come here for inspiration,” he says with a smile.

“Oh, right,” I say. “Old.”

“Very old,” he agrees, and we must reach the entrance of the dining hall. I hear murmurs of a gathered crowd behind the archway guarded by menacing demons. The guards don’t look at us as Sariel leads me through the doorway.

I stumble when I see that the dining room is full. There’s a raised dais at the other end of the room and, naturally, Ashtaroth is sitting at the center, his eyes on me and my escort. Specifically, where my hand is still located at the crook of Sariel’s elbow.

I turn my head as Sariel leads me to his father, seeing tables full of various demons, most of them human-like. It’s then I realize I’m going to be sensing nothing but demons for as long as I’m here, feeling the power of the one in front of me now the most.

I briefly make eye contact with him, his face impassive, as Sariel takes me to the other side of the table, seats facing the room. The ones to Ashtaroth’s left are all empty and Sariel starts leading me there, just as Ashtaroth uses his foot to push out the chair to his other side. Sariel grits his teeth but guides me there instead, pushing my chair in, and then taking the one next to me. To his other side is another fallen angel, if I’m not mistaken, and he gives me a wary but curious smile. Why did Ashtarothwant me to sit between them?

He isn’t looking at me, so I look at the food on the table in front of me instead. There’s roast duck, fish, boiled and diced potatoes, steamed vegetables, and a tureen of thick soup. I can’t imagine eating something filling when my stomach is clenched from all the demons staring at me, or cutting meat with a steady hand as Ashtaroth’s power is all but vibrating the air next to me.

Sariel must see me eyeing the tureen the longest and says, “Here,” before serving me a big helping. I thank him and try the soup with a slightly trembling hand. It’s unexpectedly delicious.

The silence of the room suffocates me, but thankfully, Sariel starts a conversation with the Fallen on his other side, whom he introduces as Armaros. The other fallen angel has golden-brown hair and sparkling olive-green eyes. The most remarkable thing about him, however, is how innocuous he looks. If he wasn’t sitting at a feast in Hell, he wouldn’t be out of place as a kindergarten teacher surrounded by toddlers. While obviously strong, he has a pleasant layer of softness over his muscles. Next to him, Sariel looks like he was sculpted out of a block of marble.

“So, Lana.” Armaros leans forward as he addresses me. “What’s it like being an Elioud in Hell?

I chuckle at the way he suggestively lifts his eyebrows. “Oh, you know,” I say. “The sights are great, though the natives aren’t the most welcoming to foreigners. I’m also not crazy about the lack of fast food and streaming services, and my job doesn’t pay for shit.”

Armaros’ laugh is as friendly as his face, full and coming straight from the belly. Sariel almost chokes on his wine, obviously not expecting the answer I gave. He sets his goblet down and wipes his mouth with a napkin. No fasting, here; both angels are indulging in the many delicacies offered by Ashtaroth’s court.

“What was it you did Above?” Sariel asks, a full goblet once again in his hand.

“I was a high school history teacher. Come to think of it, I ventured into Hell on the daily there as well – it just came withhealth insurance.”

My proclamations are met with beautiful appreciative grins and for a moment I forget that I’ve just been kidnapped by an archdemon. Or that I’m surrounded by what feels like half of a demonic court. In my defense it was easy to forget, seeing as none of them are making any sounds at all. They’re all staring at me with varying nuances of frightening expressions and I don’t know which scare me more: the ones of hunger or those of disgust. Noticing the reason for my discomfort, Sariel gestures for the demons to begin eating.

Back straight with tension, I slowly finish my own food, then sip dark wine from a golden goblet, praying it will make this situation better. Alcohol is, after all, a solution.

Chapter 22 – Lana

Isit stiff and uncomfortable, seeing the hungry faces of Ashtaroth’s court watching me with undisguised intent; they would love to defile me. And though Ashtaroth is the reason I’m here, I know he’s now also the only reason I’m safe from being used like a doll, passed around until my body is scalloped empty.

As if to reaffirm his possession over me, his hand lands on my thigh and I can’t help but flinch. I was so focused on how much I don’t want those gathered below the dais to touch me, and he was focused on ignoring me. Or at least, it felt that way.

Since Sariel is sitting right next to me on my other side, he felt my body twitch and his gaze is now on the reason for it – his father’s hand on my leg, those long fingers caressing my inner thigh, the ring-adorned thumb rubbing gentle circles close to the bend where thigh meets pubis.

Perhaps the movement would be soothing were it coming from anyone else. But it’s coming from the magnetizing creature that’s been haunting my dreams and I feel every minuscule shift of his hand between my legs. It’s like he’s touching my sex, and the touch isn’t firm enough to satisfy me.

The longer his ministrations continue, the shallower my breath gets. A flush heats my face and my mouth opens to accommodate my panting breaths. Feeling all too aware that demons are watching me and that Sariel is sitting close enough that I feel the heat emanating from his strong body, I feel exposed and take a quick glance in his direction again.

But he’s not watching his father’s hand anymore. He’s watching me, my flushed cheeks, my suddenly dry mouth, and then the rapid motion of my chest as I breathe in air redolent with lust.

I can’t look away from him. Though his handsome features don’t have the same effect on me as his father’s do, my body only knows that a beautiful fallen angel is watching me being petted with naked heat in his gaze.

I bite my lower lip and his eyes follow the motion, the tip of his tongue licking a trail over his own lip. Does he wish he was the one biting my lip? Do I? Would he enjoy watching me writhe with pleasure, close enough to touch?

As soon as I have the thought, Ashtaroth’s hand tightens on my thigh to the point of pain. I turn my eyes towards him and see that he’s breathing heavily, his eyes boring into mine. He looks conflicted for a second and then his lips press together.

Too fast for me to follow, he again uses that incredible speed and grabs me – this time by the waist. Next thing I know, my ass is on the table, right between two place settings. My thigh tips over his goblet of wine and I observe the growing red stain with dazed fascination.

He wrenches my attention back at him by growling near my throat. I shudder and slowly lift my gaze to meet his. As soon as I do, he presses his hand to my sternum and forces me to lay down on the table, dishes toppling and clanking, being pushed out ofthe way as first my shoulders and then my head come to a rest on the cloth-covered wooden surface.

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