Page 26 of Astaroth
Uriel resembled a hawk. Black tipped his rust-colored wings. He tilted his face toward Briar, and his ochre skin refined itself. Redness faded. Chapped lips softened. The weather ran from him, as did darkness. Like all archangels, no shadow shackled his ankles. He straightened, and folded his dual wings, tracking Saga’s movements as she pranced anxiously in place, turning left then right. Buttons lined the back of his long, navy jacket, tailored for extra appendages.
“You’re needed,” Uriel said, crisp as an icepick.
“You could’ve called,” Aster snapped. He moved Crown in front of Saga, tugging on the horse’s reins as he tossed his head and whinnied. “Brotherly visits are a rarity in our family. Explain yourself.”
Uriel offered a dismissive glance. “We’re not family.”
“Fine, I’ll rephrase. You’re on my fucking land. Explain yourself or see your wings mounted in the foyer. Your choice.”
“Enough,” Briar said. Nausea rolled through him. Minutes ago, he’d been throwing snowballs at Aster. Now, Uriel stood before him, demanding his attention. He lifted his chin, an attempt at courage. “What need could you possibly have for an exiled angel?”
“This conversation is more suited for a table,” Uriel said. He glanced from Briar to Aster and lifted his brows. “Unless the head of the house is too petty to extend an invitation.”
“My pettiness knows no bounds. Frankly, I’d rather choke to death,” Aster said.
“Don’t be childish. It’s freezing and the horses are spooked. I’ll have Jennifer stable them, all right? We can talk inside,” Briar hissed. He shot Aster a hard look, lips pursed, jaw clenched, and took out his phone. “All right?”
“How about this—we stand inside, and my brother stays on the porch. I’ll find him a nice dog bowl.”
“Aster, be reasonable.”
“I’m being perfectly reasonable.”
Uriel’s full lips split into a curious smile. He waved his hand gracefully between each horse. “I see. You’re lovers. Isn’t it like you to take your concubine riding, Astaroth. A nice treat for the live-in harlot, no?”
Briar’s spine straightened. He turned his eyes to Uriel, teeth set hard, bared like a wolf. “I’m no concubine, Scholar. You’re a guest here, and you’d be wise to remember that. Mind your tongue.”
Uriel’s dark eyes widened, just so. Apparently, he hadn’t anticipated Briar to be unmuzzled, nonetheless free.
“Or I’ll cut it out,” Aster added, because letting a chance to threaten someone pass him by? Briar rolled his eyes.Never.
Jennifer arrived in a puffy coat and snow boots, but stopped in her tracks the moment she laid eyes on Uriel. Her gaze flicked nervously from Briar to Aster. “Perhaps I should call Luca. . . ?”
“It’s all right, Jen. Take the horses. They’ll need to be fed, too, if you can manage,” Aster said.
“I can, sir. But—”
“Howdareyou.Sir?You know better. Please, call me by my name. I chose it for a reason.” He handed over Crown’s reins and winked. The tension wavered, slightly. “Go on. We’re fine.”
Uriel appeared fascinated. He lifted his elegant face and stared down at Briar and Jennifer. He stood tall, like most original angels, sporting narrow shoulders and a slender build. Briar couldn’t help dwelling. Wondering. Trying to piece together answers.
What would a Scholar—the Archangel of Intellect, at that—possibly need from him?
They made for the house, Briar and Aster shoulder-to-shoulder, and Uriel, smartly, a good distance behind them. Aster typed furiously on his phone, then shoved the device into the inside pocket on his peacoat.
“Wine or tea, Uriel?” Briar asked, angling his chin over his shoulder.
Aster answered for him. “Wine. We’ll talk in the sitting room.”
Inside, silence snaked through the halls. Briar almost startled, shocked the find the cheery chatter and festive spirit had evaporated. In its place, the manor held its breath, as if the estate was a living thing, preparing to be invaded. Luca stood at the bottom of the staircase, hands clasped at their waist, inhaling a long, steady breath as Uriel crossed the doorway.
Their jaw flexed. They scanned Uriel from laced boot to folded collar. “Honorable Scholar,” they said, syllables hard as stone. “Leave your shoes at the door.”
Oh. Briar met Luca’s eyes. His expression gentled. Guardians were technically Scholars, just as Medics were technically War Angels. Uriel would’ve been their overseer. They did not look at him for long. Their tongue darted across their bottom lip, attention shifting to Aster.
“Red, I assume?” They tipped their head toward the sitting room where a fire roared, illuminating one of the many colorful rugs scattered throughout the house. The coffee table had been stocked with glassware, a cheese plate and an uncorked cabernet.
“Thank you, Luca. Don’t bother with Uriel’s coat. He won’t be staying long,” Aster said. He shrugged his coat away and handed it to Luca. Briar did the same.
