Page 10 of Astaroth

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“Do you want distance?” Briar asked.

“When it comes to you?”

Briar nodded.

Aster shot him another curious glance. “I’d prefer closeness.”

“Why me, specifically?”

“You fascinate me.” He lifted his brows, smiling. “Your turn. Why me?”

Briar swallowed hard. “I’m still trying to understand that myself.”

“Well, it’s certainly not my devilish good looks,” he teased.

“Certainly not,” Briar said, smothering a laugh, and snapped the reins, sending Saga galloping through the snow.

Chapter Four

The library needed far more work than Briar had originally anticipated. He spent three days scaling the rolling ladders on each wall, pulling dusty books from bowed shelves and stacking them in skyscraper piles on the floor.

A few portraits leaned against the wall beneath three oval windows, and he unearthed a leather couch under a pile of curled maps tied with burlap string. Once he had the secretary cleared, he used the desk as a workplace, sorting fiction, non-fiction and poetry into different areas, and marking each title in an empty spiral notebook he’d found tucked away in a drawer. At this rate, he’d have to fill four notebooks to keep any sort of inventory.

He plopped on the couch, thumbing through an annotated poetry book. Fingers found the cursive scratched into the margins—promises, promises—written next to Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”.

How long had Aster collected poetry? How long had he analyzed sonnets and lyrics? Briar set the book down beside him and grabbed another. The notes beneath the title of “Romeoand Juliet” read:And if we all fell as one where would we be now? Choked, I think. We would strangle ourselves with this inconceivable love, wouldn’t we? This overbearing love for each other. This love we can’t escape in a world we never wanted. This love bred into us. This grotesque, ancient love. We would die without it, we will kill because of it. I want to think I’d catch you, if you fell (will you fall?) but I don’t know, brother.

Wind pushed hard against the windows, sending snow whipping against the glass, loud enough to mask Aster’s footsteps as he walked into the library. Briar didn’t notice him until his tall, broad shape blotted the empty bookshelves to his right.

“I hope you like stew,” Aster said, skimming his hand over the stacked books. “The storm put a stop to our grocery delivery this morning, so Clementine’s braising a sheep. She mentioned cognac, root vegetables, and bone broth.”

Briar wrinkled his nose. “The whole sheep?”

“We’ll be eating from the skull, I believe.”

“I do like stew,” he mumbled, stealing a glance at Aster.

The Great Duke snatched a leather-bound book, flicking through the first few pages. “Are you enjoying my collection?”

“I am. You have eclectic taste.” He turned his eyes toward the book open in his lap. “Who is this about? ‘I want to think I’d catch you, if you fell’.”

“Ah, that. Probably Gabriel, maybe Michael.”

“You love them, don’t you? Even after all these years, you—”

“Love is a complicated thing. After a while it evolves, becomes more. Changes. My love for them is indominable, as is my hate. They’re alike, somehow.”

“Would you kill them?”

“That’s a good question. I’ve had the opportunity. They have, too.” He tapped the scar on his chin. “Yet we’re all still alive.”

“The originals, yes. The rest of us are collateral, right?”

“You shouldn’t be.” Aster heaved a sigh. His black sweater wasn’t thick enough to hide the swell at his shoulders, an odd, oblong shape beneath his clothes. “Replicating birth isn’t easy. It took a long time for us to understand the mechanics of creation. Because of that, every angel born after the inception of humanity took on human likeness. It was easier that way, even if it set us apart.”

“I’ve never seen our ancient bodies,” Briar blurted. He immediately flushed, regret burning hot in his chest. “I’ve heard stories, though.”

“I’d scare you,” Aster said, matter-of-factly. He laughed, that cute, hiccupping laugh. “I’d scare the shit out of you, actually.”