Page 37 of Astaroth
“Is that so hard to believe?” Aster whispered.
A nod. Then he shook his head. “No one has—”
“Ihave,” he said, annunciating. “Ido.”
Briar gulped. His chest emptied. “I’m not possibly worthy of—”
Aster kissed the rest of his statement away. “Don’t question my capability,” he whispered, speaking against Briar’s lips.“I, Astaroth, Twenty-Ninth to Fall, Great Duke of Hell and Commander of Legions, love you, Briar Wright, Fallen Angel of War, and there is nothing you can do or say to uproot yourself from my heart.”
There was no fight left. No excuse to sputter out. No resistance to rally. Briar simply stared at Aster, memorizing this beastly, terrifying, incredible man, before he spoke into the tiny space between them, right against the scar on his lip. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, and then inhaled sharply, allowing the next three words to tumble after, “I love you.”
“You’resorry?”
“I’m wingless, and fallen, andbroken—”
“You are beautiful, and holy, and healing, Briar.”
And Briar knew with such blatant, steadfast immediacy that he would not leave. Could not leave. He seized either side of Aster’s neck and kissed him hard, savoring the warm, relieved hum vibrating from the cavern of Aster’s throat. There was a timeless prayer seated deep inside him. Some wayward part of him wrapped itself around Aster, and this mansion, all the ghosts and strays floating through its halls, and recognized it ashome.
“I will never chase you, I will never cage you, I will never collar you. You will forever belong to yourself. . . I just. . . I sincerely hope you will consider being mine, too,” Aster said, stealing another kiss. “Let me admire you until you tire of me.”
“I’ll never tire of you.” Laughter weaved through each soft word.
Aster made a weak, playful noise. “We’ll see.”
They held each other for a long while, trading breath, sliding mouths along the delicate skin of face, neck, jaw. Dawn poured through the window. The day still came whether Briar liked it or not, and he knew he would have to face the archangel who hadcarved such a deep, unforgiving well of grief inside him. Knew he had to fortify his heart.
Give me strength, he prayed, searching for a shred of God in the hopeless pit Michael left in his chest. One Aster filled with light and safety.
“I need to go,” Briar whispered.
Aster flinched. The slightest movement—a twinge in his jaw, a feather at the corner of his eye.
Briar kissed him again. He dragged his hands from throat to chest, over the hard plane of Aster’s lean stomach, finally to the bed. He pushed to his feet. Soreness panged in his pelvis, ricocheting through his body like a skipped stone as he walked to the bathroom. Aster quietly followed. They showered under a spray of steaming water. Briar allowed himself the indulgence of Aster’s sudsy grip along his body, soaping him from collar to ankle, and closed his eyes when Aster scraped shampoo through his hair, massaging his scalp.
It was a quiet, endangered moment. Briar soaked the fragment of time into his marrow.
Aster dressed in a simple black outfit, sharp and predictable. Briar wore a stone-colored sweater and patterned pencil pants with heeled boots Luca swore wouldcleave a man’s mind in two. Aster seemed to like them, so they hadn’t very well been wrong.
Briar steadied his breathing. Remembered to hold fast to the small, steady, newfound strength glowing deep, deep in his chest. For a long while, he’d thought Michael had snuffed it out. Smothered his courage under the weight of love gone sour and brutal betrayal in the aftermath of disobedience. But it had been there, that headstrong courage, smoldering under the fallen eaves of what he’d once been.
He flexed his shoulder blades. The stretch of virgin skin stitched across his clippings was a stark reminder of whatMichael reduced him to—stole from him. Flight and freedom, divinity and stability.
Aster rested his hand on the small of Briar’s back and said, “You belong to no one, War Angel.”
Luca stood in the foyer dressed in fanciful pajamas. They sighed, scanning Briar from boot to brow, and clutched tighter to the brown coat folded neatly over one bent arm. Briar’s coat. When they offered it, Briar shook his head.
“Stay,” Briar said to Aster.
Aster tilted his head owlishly, but did as Briar asked and halted on the polished wooden floor. He gave Luca a quick look and nodded toward the stairs, silently instructing them to leave.
Luca cleared their throat, laid their hand on Briar’s shoulder, and then darted away, prancing up the staircase.
Briar steeled himself, charged across the foyer, and reached for the doorknob. His hand stilled. Fear latched around him. All he could think of was Chastity swallowing something half her size, how her mouth might stretch, and her teeth might puncture. His chest felt stuffed with a buzzing hive. Every breath seemed to shred, growing thinner, harder to sip.You must, he told himself,you must, you must,and yanked the door open.
Michael faced away from the entryway. The mighty feathered appendages sprouting from his back ruffled slightly, pulled in close, leaving twin streaks through a dusting of snow. He angled his chin over his shoulder and smiled fondly. “Briar,” he said, as if they were friends, as if last night never happened.
Briar stayed in the threshold, hand clamped around the doorframe. “I have a lot to say to you.”
