Page 20 of The River of Hatred

The Fallen’s lips curl into an arrogant smirk. “That the angel and Nephilim are off limits. That they’re mine.”

Heat spreads from my chest to my face at his words and Jessica gulps. But despite having the sense that Sariel is expecting it, I don’t argue.

∞∞∞

It takes hours to reach the end of the first trench. The sharp cracks of whips mingling with the anguished cries of the punished grow quieter as we put distance between us and the endlessly marching deceased being hurt and controlled in death as they hurt and controlled others in life.

“I’m sorry guys, but I’m starving and my feet are killing me,” the mortal says, pouting up at us. Sometimes I forget we’re with someone who has human needs, and then her stomach rumbles or she has to take a bathroom break.

I tilt my head in acknowledgment. “Of course. We will take a break.”

Sariel snorts and I raise my eyebrow in question. “Do you have to be so damn pretentious all the time?” he asks.

I bristle just as Jess steps between us, placing one hand on each of our chests. “As much as I’d love seeing you guys wrestle again, it would delay me getting my break and I can’t have that.”

Sariel grins like a shark while I flush at her insinuation and look away under the guise of looking for a secluded area to rest. I spot an outcropping of rocks in the near distance and point to it. “That looks like a defensible position,” I say.

“That looks like a defensible position,” Sariel repeats in a high-pitched, mocking tone.

“Hey!” the mortal yells, slapping the Fallen’s shoulder. “We’re behaving so Jess can eat.”

“I have something Jess can wrap her lips around,” he replies, nudging her with his elbow.

A blushing Jessica mutters, “You’re incorrigible,” before stomping off toward the rocks, the two of us following with a respectable distance between us.

An hour later, we’re sitting around a fire and the well-fed Nephilim laughs at the Fallen’s immature snips. It’s still difficult to reconcile addressing Sariel that way – as a Fallen – even if it is just in my head. Seeing him now, spending so much time in his presence again, reminds me so much of our youth. I watch the way the fire sparkles in Jess’ light-blue eyes, the way it gilds the contours of Sar’s face. Lost in my mind, I pay little attention to their words until I notice the mortal squirming and blushing.

“Really?” Sariel sneers. “Not one of your limp-dicked little human boyfriends made you come?”

My ears burn. “This is not an appropriate conversation to have,” I interject.

Sariel waves his hand dismissively. “Oh, shut it, holy. Go clutch your pearls somewhere else if it bothers you. What bothers me is that no one showed this magnificent creature the pleasure she deserves.”

I sputter but don’t leave. Do some men not ensure their partners are content during procreation?

Blushing furiously at what is likely a curious expression on my face, Jessica shrugs before answering, “I haven’t had the best taste in men, that’s for sure. They all talk a big game, but when it comes down to it, they have one move.” She pumps her hand in a gesture that confuses me but makes the Fallen laugh.

Sariel slaps the palms of his hands on his thighs. “Welp,” he says. “We can’t be having that.” Standing up, he walks up to where Jessica is sitting and sits behind her. As she looks over her shoulder at him with her mouth open, he scoots closer until the inside of his legs frame the outside of hers.

“W–what are you doing?” she stutters.

“Making sure you can’t say no guy has made you come again,” he speaks into her neck. The Nephilim arches her head to the side in apparent reflex. Once Sariel’s hands snake to her front to cup her breasts, I shoot to my feet.

“You should not be doing that!” I exclaim.

Sariel looks at me, his black eyes alive in the firelight. “Why not?” he challenges.

“I will not allow you to hurt her,” I hiss. Jessica bites her lip with uncertainty.

The Fallen chuckles. “I’m going to do the opposite of hurting her.” With those words, he turns his attention back on the girl, nuzzling the side of her neck with his nose as his hands knead on the soft flesh of her chest. “I’m going to show her how good a male can make her feel if he wants to.”

A soft moan escapes the Nephilim’s lips and she leans back onto her seducer. My hands clench into fists at my side and I tremble with uncertainty. Do I physically interject or leave them to it?

I already intervened once. And we know how that ended.

“Itha,” Sariel calls out. “Stop hovering,” he says, one hand moving up to the girl’s neck, the other sliding down toward her core. I stare, unmoving. “Ithuriel,” he calls for me again and we lock eyes. “Sit,” he says with finality. And I do.

Father help me, what am I doing?

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