Page 7 of Astaroth
After washing in the ridiculous glass-walled shower, Briar spent a fair amount of time perusing the cologne, perfumes, makeup, and lotions neatly placed on the shelves. He settled on a square bottle labeled Body Glow, and stared at his reflection as he dabbed the Tahitian oil on his wrists, hips, and behind his ears. The faint purple hue beneath his eyes hadn’t faded. Neither had the blood vessel that’d burst near his left tear-duct, an ugly, red blotch hovering next to brown rings. His lips thinned. Michael hadn’t been gentle during his wing-extraction, and Briar hadn’t been compliant. The end result had left him battered. He turned away from the mirror. Battered and sold and. . . free, somehow.
He dressed in a simple beige sweater and jeans and slipped on his house-shoes. He’d seen the artwork in the hallway last night: gothic pieces by Jan van Eyck, portraits he didn’t recognize, and the oversize painting that stopped him in place, Henry Fuseli’sThe Nightmare, facing the top of the staircase. Briar regarded the painting again, tracing the imp’s scowl and the woman’s expression—lulled ecstasy. Had she called to the demon? Had her desire truly manifested in the body of a horse? She wore her purity like something almost discarded, clinging to her shoulders, wrapped around her thighs. Unimportant. Easily pushed away. He turned his shy gaze toward the east wing. Candelabras held flickering pillar candles. A wide, black door etched with intricate filigree designs loomed at the end of the hallway. Unexpected jealousy curdled in Briar’s chest. He flewdown the stairs, away from Aster’s wing and that damn painting, and walked into the dining room.
Servants—residents, rather—sat at the table and stood near the walls, chatting amongst themselves. Fragrant grapefruit juice filled glass jugs, waffles topped a large plate in the center of the table, and fancy sliced meats sat on a cutting board next to brie, gouda, sharp cheddar and goat cheese. A few people glanced at him. Clementine, the chef, lifted two fingers away from her mug and waved.
“It’s Starbucks,” Luca said, appearing beside him. “The coffee, I mean. Aster refuses to drink anything but the Verdanda blend. Diva, that man. I swear it.”
Briar followed Luca’s lead and took a plate. “He only drinks Starbucks coffee?”
“He made a deal with Howard, so, technically, Aster owns Starbucks. Still, the blonde roast? That’s his pick? Tragic.”
Briar spread cheese and jam over two pieces of sourdough. He added prosciutto at the last minute. Hardboiled eggs, too. He followed Luca around the table, watching them snatch a yogurt cup, sprinkling it with granola and diced melon. A woman leaned back in her seat, one foot propped on the lap across from her, belonging to a handsome woman wearing torn jeans and a flat-cap. Briar clocked the slight tent on her blouse. Corset. Wings.Angel. She met Briar’s eyes and tipped her chin.
“Ah, yes, Sam, this is Briar. You two might have a few things in common,” Luca said.
Sam, the butch with cropped dark hair and upturned black eyes, extended her hand. “Another Fallen. Looks like me and you aren’t the only ones anymore,” she said, flicking her gaze to Luca. She looked back at Briar once he grasped her palm. “Sam Sato, Angel of Deliverance. Collections.”
A reaper.He nodded. “Briar Wright, Angel of War. Medical unit.”
“This is my partner, Jennifer.” Sam patted Jennifer’s shin.
“Welcome, Briar.” Jennifer’s smile dimpled her copper cheeks. Thick black hair waterfalled down her back. “Are you making yourself at home?”
“I’m considering,” Briar said.
Luca tsk’d.
Sam offered a slow nod. “Give yourself time.”
“Are you. . . treated well?” he asked, shooting an apologetic glance at Luca. They simply rolled their eyes.
“Well enough to stay. I spent five years as a concubine to Vinea before Aster bid on me. Naturally, I braced for. . . well, hell. Landed here instead. A year later, Aster made a private bid on Jennifer.” She smiled, running her fingers along the sole of Jennifer’s foot until she squirmed. “He pulled her from purgatory.”
He nibbled on a hardboiled egg. “Is he a regular attendee at the auction or—”
“Heavens, no!” Luca barked out a laugh. “If only you knew what it took to convince him to bid on you. Not much after he saw you, I’ll admit. But Aster is ferociously stubborn when it comes to expanding his social circle. I think it’s been. . . Lord knows. How long, Sam?”
“I’ve been here for seven years,” Jennifer said.
Sam nodded slowly. “Seven years, then.”
“Seven years,” Luca repeated, squawking like a crow. “That means it’s been easily a decade since his last concubine.”
“Oh, my, you’re a concubine,” Sam said. She gave Briar a curious once over. “I’ve never known Aster to bring a lover here. I thought he sought partners—” she shrugged “—elsewhere.”
“Please, he’s shy as a mouse. Do you know how many times I’ve had to whisk him away? How long I’ve been saving him from his own poor decisions? Rooftop nightclubs, dive-bar bathrooms.” They shivered, mock gagging. “Our Great Dukeis prone to hiding in the dark and fucking people who won’t remember him. It’s like dealing with a frat boy, I swear.”
“Do you always gossip about him. . . ?” Briar asked. He tried not to eat like a wolf, but his stomach refused to quiet, and the food was, once again, annoyedly delicious.
“Of course,” Luca chimed.
“Oh, yes. Frequently,” Sam said.
Jennifer nodded vigorously.
Briar poked at a solid egg yolk. “What happened to the last concubine?”
Luca, Sam and Jennifer said, all at once, “They broke up.”
