Page 42 of The River of Fire
I’m glad he seems to have calmed down about Kevin’s presence, because he just shakes his head and says, “He’ll be fine,” sounding less Ancient Sunday School Teacher than normal. “I must take care of a few matters before we depart.” He ruined it again.
Throwing a slightly confused, but still incredibly regal look over his shoulder at my giggle, he leaves and I plop down onto the pillow.
While I’m looking forward to being more useful again tomorrow, in the grand scheme of things, I can’t help but worry about what working with Ash will be like. He’s probably going to be overbearing and frustrate me.
I sigh into the pillow and try to fall back asleep. And ignore the part of me that wishes he had taken me up on my offer to feed him.
chapter 30 – Lana
“This armor is the shit!”
I’m looking at myself in a large mirror in Ashtaroth’s quarters, having just put on the armor he brought me. He’s lounging in the seating area, looking like a bored monarch, the familiar mildly indulgent smirk in place.
I can’t help the child-like joy I feel. The armor which, of course, fits like a glove, is the most badass thing I’ve ever seen. Well, apart from his own. Mine is clearly its feminine counterpart though – tight at the waist with reinforced cups to protect the breasts. While the décolletage isn’t armored, it is protected by intricate metal ribbing, interlocked with joints that ease shoulder movement. The ribs meet at the center of my sternum in a spine made of interlocked circles. A diamond hangs from the last ring, just above and between my breasts, shaped like a jagged fang. A silken black shirt protects from any chafingthe slim, layered shoulder guards may cause. Reinforced bracers are snug at the wrists but flare out at the elbow, and my hands are protected by supple black leather gloves. A large red ruby decorates the steel-ribbed corset at the spot just above my navel. Fire seems to churn inside it. The wide belt draped over my hips has attached hilts on each side. Everything, from the shoulder guards to the boots on my feet, is decorated with gorgeous gothic designs.
I notice Ash walking up behind me in the mirror, not disguising his admiration for my backside in the tight leather pants that showcase it. “You’ll need these,” he says and extends two black short swords. The metal seems to absorb light, just like the crown that’s occasionally on his head. The guards are decorated as ornately as my armor and the hilts end with more of those blazing red rubies. They’re beautiful, but…
“I had swords of angelic steel with me?” I question, my palms hovering over the hilts he offers.
He grunts and shakes his head, unbound hair gently caressing his face. “I had these made for you. Try them.”
I eagerly take the swords from his hands. The hilts feel like they were molded to my palms. I flip the blades from a standard grip to a reverse one and then back again, moaning. “Perfection,” I say reverently, and he smirks, pleased with himself. I would roll my eyes if I wasn’t pleased with him as well. While everything in Purgatory was in my size and well balanced, these items clearly took into account the way I move and even just my posture. I beat down the urge to hug him.
“This can’t have all been made while I slept?” It’s just too detailed.
“Some of it,” he hedges.
Huh. No point in poking, I guess. “How are we getting there?” I ask instead and his mouth moves slightly in a hint of a wince.
“It’s too far to walk and even flying would take a couple of hours. You will have to endure traveling by ether again.”
I focus on the important part of his answer. “Wait, you have wings?” He just raises his brows in that kingly way that says ‘obviously’. I’m afraid asking to see them would show too much of the insatiable curiosity I feel when it comes to him. Instead, I inquire about something that’s been bugging me for a while, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask the Fallen at Purgatory. “Why do some of you have wings and others don’t? I mean, you all had them at the start, right?”
“We did not have physical wings upon creation,” he corrects. “They, as is all of us in our true forms, are made of ether. When assuming a humanoid form was required, great feathered wings were the physical manifestations that human minds of that era chose to accept.” I nod to show that I’m following along so far. “During the Fall, either the first one when we archangels rebelled against our Creator, or any subsequent ones, the power to summon wings was taken away as but one of the punishments bestowed upon the outcasts. Humans witnessing the ostracism said they saw the wings of the exiled burn. It is an apt metaphor. Those siding with Hell see that power returned.”
So since Daniel is not on the side of Hell in the Heavenly Conflict and because he hasn’t been taken back into the angel’s fold, he can’t use his wings. That’s just wrong. “How come some of the Fallen have snake eyes and some don’t?”
“Some characteristics of demonkind can manifest quickly once the Fallen venture into Hell.”
“So, Maalik was on the path to becoming demonic?”
“He served Belial briefly if I’m not mistaken,” Ash supplies.
“Belial? The chatty one? I can’t imagine Maalik serving anyone, he’s too… Maalik.” Too dominant, too strong-willed. I scrunch my nose.
Ashtaroth just smiles at me. It’s that ‘you’re a cute little lamb’ smile.Ugh. “Are you done asking questions so that we may leave?” he asks.
“Actually, one more question. Are Fallen all male? Or mostly male?” Since he’s being open, I may as well take advantage and ask this stuff. In fact, I don’t think I’ve heard him string together so many words at one time before.
“As ether we’re genderless and, furthermore, we did not havethe many names you know us by today. We communicated in the Celestial language – or Malachim as it is sometimes referred to in human tongues. It has no translation. When taking a physical form, various factors were considered, such as the superiority of male physical strength and the various prevalent beliefs at the time. Once we became known to mankind in our humanoid forms, we adopted the names bestowed upon us.”
“You’re being awfully forthcoming,” I remark with suspicion.
He gives me a neutral look. “You asked nothing that would need to be concealed from you for your own wellbeing.”
That doesn’t sound ominous at all. “There are things that would harm me if I knew them?” I ask, mouth ajar.
“Certainly. Now, may we proceed?” He holds a hand out and I offer him my own, cutting off the graphic image of my brain leaking out of my ears via knowledge. But I’m not mentally prepared to be squished like a bug again either.
