Page 9 of Astaroth
Briar’s throat cinched. He wanted to argue. He wanted to defend his creation, his celestial birth, and believe in all he’d been taught. But the girl he’d tried to save was still dead. Michael had still put his boot to Briar’s back and busted his hollow bones. Briar still knew in his heart that he’d done the right thing—the holy thing—and he had still been deemed a traitor because of it.
Perhaps Aster was right, and even if he was wrong, Briar would never know the truth. None of them would. Loyalty, it seemed, was all that mattered.
“Tell me, when they locked you in your cell, did you pray for freedom?” Aster asked.
Anger twisted inside him. “I did,” Briar said.
“And who answered?” He guided the reins. Crown pranced in front of Saga, trotting around her in circles.
You did.Briar chewed on the inside of his cheek. He met Aster’s eyes again, and found a gentle smile curving the Great Duke’s mouth. Steamy fog tumbled over his chin. Aster winked. Briar’s cheeks flared. Before Aster could say another word, Briar nudged Saga with his heels and sent her galloping through the trees.
White branches whipped past his face. Muted sunlight illuminated gray cloud-cover. Snow flurried, tossed by Saga’s hooves, fluttering from above, knocked loose by a startled robin. Briar focused on the path, on his unsteady heartbeat, on the pain echoing under his clippings, and imagined desire—the color of it, the shape of it, the smell of it—stamped into his skin. Saga’s heaving breath filled the stillness. She whinnied, trotting to a stop at the bank of a frozen river, sliced apart by blue rivets where the ice didn’t meet.
Aster arrived, breathing heavily, cheeks chapped from the cold. “No one answered me either,” he said. “Surprisinglyenough, I prayed for a long time. I prayed to the creator, to the mother, to my brothers. No one listened. No one came for me.”
“You answered me,” Briar snapped, haughty and ill-restrained. He tugged on Saga’s reins, causing her to halt. “You came for me.”
“And?” Aster lifted his chin, curious. “You owe me nothing, Briar. Your price-tag might’ve been steep, but you didn’t break the bank. Trust me.”
“Give me a job, at least. I can’t just. . . Just eat your food and stay at your home and spend your money. I’m not decoration whether you admire me or not.”
“Fine, pick something.”
“I’ll. . .” He swallowed hard, thinking back to the taxidermy bat and the upended books. “Your library. Let me organize it.”
“Done. Anything else?”
“You mentioned courtship.”
Aster tipped his head like an owl, narrowed eyes pinned to Briar’s face. “And?”
“I’m interested. If I say stop, it means stop. If I say no, it means no. If you take what isn’t given, I’ll cut your heart out.”
“You’lltryto cut my heart out.”
“I’ll die trying.”
“Anything else?”
He couldn’t place the feeling. Like falling, maybe. Diving headfirst through open sky. For once, he was truly, unexplainably free. The High Court could not touch him. Michael could not touch him. His life had started again, and now, he yearend for recklessness. Towantwithout complication. To experience being desired by someone unequivocally powerful. “I’d like to kiss you,” he said, speaking through a nervous tremor. “If that’s all right.”
“Now?” Aster asked, tempering a surprised smile.
“Soon.”
His lips ticked upward again. From his physical response—his light smile and timid surprise—Briar wanted to kiss him right then, before he changed his mind. He stayed on Saga’s back, though, waiting.
Aster said, “Soon, then.”
The bravery swelling inside Briar leant him the courage to laugh, just a little. He tapped Saga and sent her prancing beside the river. “Your assistant said you’re shy as a mouse,” Briar said, tossing the words over his shoulder. “Strange thing to say about a Duke of Hell—someone who could have whoever he wants, whenever he wants.”
Aster snorted. “My assistant says a lot of things. . .” He lifted one hand off the reins and flicked his wrist dismissively. “They read a book about a necromancer and demanded I animate a slew of skeletons to serve our food. Real skeletons, mind you. Sometimes I think Luca talks to hear their own voice.”
“Clearly.” Briar bit back a laugh. “It’s not like you sweep lovers off sweaty dancefloors. And you’re surely not fond of dirty bathroom stalls.”
There was no telling whether Aster’s face had flushed from the wind or from their conversation. He chewed on his lip, turning his gaze toward the river’s broken ice. “I desire a specific kind of bodily warmth from time to time, and I enjoy the disconnection that comes with it. It’s easy.” His lips pursed. “Uncomfortable at times. Unfulfilling, mostly. But it’s there. I can fuck someone in a bar, give us what we both want, and walk away without the shape of them carved into my life.”
Briar wanted to understand, but he didn’t. How satisfying couldmeaninglessbe to someone like Aster? Someone who had lived a thousand lives? Someone who filled a house with discarded souls to keep himself company, yet refused to share his bed with a lover?Until now, Briar thought.Until me.Theyturned the horses around and trotted down the path toward the manor.
