Page 31 of The River of Hatred

“Let me go.”

Chapter 16 – Sariel

The Malebolge:The Trench of Hypocrites

One moment I’m looking at Ithuriel’s beautiful face, scrunched up in concentration, the next, he lets go and disappears. Fuck yes.

Jessica begins to plummet toward the boiling black below, her scream catching on a choked inhale, and I burst into action.Lana would castrate me if I got her friend stewed.I eye the rate at which she’s falling and blink underneath her, my good arm ready to sweep her up.Plus, I have to admit, she’s quite… cute.My wings burst out, and I extend them wide, capturing the air and stopping at a hover.Got her.Before the curse could retaliate for my wing use, I transport us to where I hope Ithuriel is waiting on the other side of the cliff above us.

As the world solidifies around me, I see the silver angel pacing the ledge, a hand mussing up his gleaming hair in obvious worry. Seeing how agitated he is, I get the irrational urge to push him off. He’d just transport himself back and be fine. Probably. But how fucking dare he show this much fear for us now, when he abandoned me so thoroughly a thousand years ago?

Before my dark side makes angel Shakshuka out of him, he spots me and my Nephilim cargo.

“There you are,” he breathes, approaching us hurriedly. Stopping just a hairsbreadth away, he places a hand on my shoulder. Voluntarily. He’s touching me while the mortal is sandwiched between us like a delicious-smelling lemon drop. I should have pushed him off. I shouldn’t have taught him how to travel with the ether, let him charbroil a bit. I want to hurt him. But I also want to fuck him.

Is this cute aggression?

“We’re fine,” Jessica says to the angel who’s looking at me with his face all scrunched up.

I place the human between us and give her a little nudge until she has no choice but to brace herself against him. With that, I turn around and step onto the path, then pop my shoulder back into place with a merciless yank.

“Let’s go,” I say. “We’re almost out of here.”

I don’t turn around to see if they’re following.

∞∞∞

“Why are they grimacing?” Jessica asks as we weave between more rows of endlessly matching sinners.

“Their cloaks are lined with lead,” Ithuriel answers. “It is their punishment.”

The sinners around us don’t moan and wail in pain like in some of the other trenches. They bear the weight of their punishments – both literally and figuratively speaking – in silence, their hunched backs and pained expressions the only testament to their hardships.

“What did they do to deserve it?” Jess whispers. Trying to spare the sinners’ feelings? Hah. Kindhearted mortal.

“This is the bolgia of the hypocrites, poppet. They avoided the weight of consequences in life, so they carry it in death.” I enjoy the way her cornflower-blue eyes widen with whatever emotions my statement brought to life inside her. Bet her eyes will pop open like that the first time she takes my cock.

Oh, I’m in a mood. One moment I want to toss the mortal to the ground and rut her, right in front of all these sinners while the angel watches in shock and horror. The next I feel guilty for using the Nephilim to get a rise out of the angel like that. I’ve never felt guilty for fucking anyone; maidens, widows, females who belong to other males. Why should I start now?

“These sinners acted all high and mighty, holier than thou, but in reality, they were much more corrupt than those they judged,” I continue, a note of bitterness invading my voice. Whyever could that be? “You know who we could find here?” I nudge her with my elbow.

“Who?” she asks, rapt and waiting for the tea.

“Caiaphas,” I say, lifting my eyebrows dramatically.

She chews on her bottom lip for a second before her eyes turn round again. “Isn’t he the priest who put Jesus on the cross?”

I scoff. “Trust me, love, he didn’t dirty a finger. But he did make it happen.”

“Woah,” she breathes, stepping up on her tiptoes and looking around.

I snicker. “Would you even know him if you saw him?”

She deflates, her shoulders dropping as she falls back onto her heels. “Oh. Right.”

I can’t help wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close until we walk in tandem. I must be schizophrenic or something.

“Nah, I don’t think so. My uncle had schizophrenia and he’d go around doing things he had no memory of later.”

---