Page 29 of An Unexpected Ascension (A War Between Worlds #1)

The Angel

Ican’t bear to watch another second of this memory the demon shares. The awful scene before me leaves me in shambles, but the second my eyes try to avert, Hermes clenches my jaw between his fingers.

“Don’t you dare look away now, Angel.”

The man stands, fixing himself as if he had simply just taken a piss and when his eyes snap up, I finally get a look at his entire face.

The dark hair, the curved nose, full lips... the green eyes.

Fuck.

“No.”

I cry, the word tumbling out on a desperate plea.

“Oh yes.”

He seethes in my ear.

“Damien Fentonelli killed my sister. Then went on to bore a son who continued to produce generation after generation like they weren’t made from the pit of Hell.

“I killed him with my own fucking hands. The same way he killed my sister. I watched the life snuff out from those green eyes. Eyes just like yours, Angel. Then I went on to kill my father and three more men, ridding the world of such a terrible evil. When I was eventually named the Executioner and a citywide man hunt was enacted, I took my own life.

“I couldn’t wait to get to Hell and see those damned faces again. The plans I had for those fuckers but imagine my surprise when I find out they were granted eternity in Heaven.”

“I-I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s not a single word in Heaven, Hell, or otherwise that would take back or fix what happened. I’m not looking for you to say a damn thing, Briar. Not looking for your sympathy, your pity, your apologies. No, I just want you to understand who you came from and how fucking unjust your Gods are.”

I nod, my cheeks wet, my nose running. I’m a product of such rot, a vile history in my very blood. My stomach lurches, forcing me to my knees as I heave, vomiting into the dirt at the demon’s feet.

“We’ll stop here for the night.”

Stepping around me, he summons a tent; a black tarp strung between two trees, secured to the ground with metal steaks. Though the outside looks less than comfortable, the inside is... shocking to say the least.

Dragging me from the ground, he ushers me into the shelter alit with a soft glowing lantern. A large rug covers the forest floor, atop it a bed with a duvet in the same color; black. Always black. The lack of red in this enclosure settles me some, allowing an illusion that I’m not in Hell.

“Still one bed,” I mutter.

“Yeah, I don’t need you to go missing in the night.”

“I just might, sleeping next to you.”

“Nah, I found I rather like keeping you around. If only for that needy cunt of yours.”

“How can you even look at me?”

I shouldn’t have asked. The question should have never left my mouth because I don’t know if I’ll be able to survive the answer.

He strips off his sword, tossing it next to his side of the bed, followed by his leather jacket, shirt, jeans... Those eyes that remind me so much of the girl from the memory, watch me with an intensity that scrapes away at my insides.

“It helps that you’re much prettier than the men in your family.”

“If I were a man, would you have asked Lucifer to eradicate me?”

“Yes.”

My heart sinks just the smallest bit, except I might have done the same if I were him.

“But because I’m not, you keep me around to use me.”

He shrugs, leaning against the mattress, the muscles in his abs contracting. Bruises bleed beneath the skin on his ribs, his chest, his arms – all from me when I should be the one wearing them.

I can’t bring myself to join him, so I stand there facing the bed as my gut clenches in shame.

“Did you see it happen?”

My question was a mere whisper.

He shakes his head.

“No. Those memories were gifted to me from the God of Hell. A reminder of why we’re starting this war, why we’re risking everything and everyone to eliminate the Gods of Heaven.”

I swallow.

“I’m glad you killed him. Damien Fentonelli. I would have done the very same if I had the chance.”

“You can stop standing there like anything has changed. Get in the bed, Angel.”

Exhaustion suddenly weighs on me as if my body was awaiting his permission to finally rest. Slowly, I undress and crawl in beside him as he extinguishes the light from the lantern. Cast in blinding darkness, I roll to my side, meeting his eyes.

“Will you use me as I used you the other night?”

Secretly, I want him to. I want the hurt to ease my conscience of what I’ve done to him. To take ownership of his loss on behalf of my ascendants. To be the release he needs. “No.”

His tone was curt, the answer final.

“Why not? I wouldn’t blame you. I think I deserve it.”

He sighs.

“Be that as it may, I will not hit you just to ease your guilt for the wounds you’ve inflicted upon me. I will not hit you ever, so do not ask.”

I prop myself up on my elbow.

“But you hate me. My family murdered your sister.”

“Briar!”

he growls, the bite in his tone stills my heart.

“Enough! I didn’t show you all that to beguile you with guilt, now go the fuck to bed.”

He slams himself down onto the mattress, rolling away from me. The act feels so much worse than if he were to hit me like I asked. It’s wrong of me to use this history between my ancestors and him as an excuse to rile him up, but the guilt I feel for the bruises that mar his face is too much to admit. I’d much rather take the pain I’ve begged of him because that pain he spoke of, it is so much worse when it’s in the heart.

The entire night is sieged by nightmares, one bleeding into the next. Horrors that I can’t decide whether they’re real or fake, my imagination or memory.

What I do know is that when I wake, I wake entangled in the arms of a demon who despises me. His bourbon and firewood scent bombarding me in the early morning like a mouthwatering call for breakfast.

Though my muscles tense at the realization of who’s arms I am trapped in, I will myself to calm. I want so badly to hate him, to hate that he feels he owns me because he simply hasn’t eradicated me yet, to hate that he doesn’t truly hate me despite what my family has done to him.

Yet, I find that I like this moment. The ruby sun basks our shelter in its yawning heat before it can gather its strength and there’s a silence to the forest that’s peaceful. If I close my eyes again, I might pretend that this isn’t Hell and Hermes isn’t a demon.

“I know you’re awake,”

said demon murmurs in my ear.

And there goes that peace.

“Then why are you still touching me?”

“Because I know how much you want to hate it,”

he taunts as if reading my mind, but then he sighs.

“You cry in your sleep. It was keeping me up, and the last thing I want is to listen to it and the forest whispering nonsense until dawn.”

I sit up and the arm draped across my chest falls to my lap. Dragging my palm down the center of my face, I wipe away at the sweat and dried tears. I hadn’t realized I was crying. I just barely remember the pounding of my heart at the terror ripping through my dreams.

“Sorry.”

His mouth curls down at my apology, but he quickly fixes it before I can catch it. I do anyway which has him compensating with a smirk, drawing forth that blasé swagger he perpetually wears.

“Who’s Bean?”

My brows pinch together.

“I-I don’t know?”

He chuckles.

“It’s going to be okay, Bean.”

A cloud fogs my brain, the memory just barely visible past the obstruction. I rub at my temples, my head spinning from thinking too hard.

“It’s not ringing a bell.”

“Well, it wasn’t until I was holding you like a damn baby did those quivering lips and shuddering breaths ease. Do you like it when I hold you, Angel?”

I groan.

“It’s too early for your teasing. Can we get moving?”

Before I can drop my feet from the bed and to the floor, the demon’s arm wraps around my thighs, dragging me to him. A girlish squeal escapes me, reddening my face with embarrassment.

Hermes quirks a brow in amusement as he yanks me down to the mattress and crawls on top of me. My eyes trail over the swirls and patterns cemented in black ink along his skin. Starting from his neck and down to his chest. Every inch of him, covered.

He seems to have slept off that foul mood from last night as if he never revealed his motives for damning my soul to Hell. As if he never shared his worst memory with the descendent of his sister’s killer.

“You asked last night if I would use you as you used me. I answered no because I don’t find pleasure in hurting women. However, I did promise you torment and ruin for all eternity and I shall deliver.”

His mouth closes in on mine in a sensual kiss as his fingers tangle in my hair. Those lips demand a moan as they move from my own down to my neck, his shadowed scruff scraping along my sensitive flesh.

My fingers ensnare his shoulders, sinking down into his already battered skin. His body doesn’t even flinch at the violent warning, his attack on my neck only building in fervor. Though my hands fight, palms pushing him with a weak attempt to break free, the rest of my body floods with heat. My hips lift to meet his as I tilt my head further to the side, conceding to the torment he’s promised.

I don’t even know if I can tell myself I hate this any longer. My hearts been splayed open and in it shoved his morbid truth forcing me to see what I wish I did not. The moment I saw the malice reflecting in those horrific green eyes, it all clicked. His hate, his insatiable desire for vengeance, his need to ruin me. But while I understand it all, I realize I’m still just a weak remedy for an eternal sickness.

“And what if I said I don’t hate this at all?”

I counter, trying to play him at his own game.

He chuckles, his breath tickling my skin.

“I might believe you.”

“Then why bother?”

A tuff of dark hair falls forward along his forehead as he lifts his head to meet the challenge in my gaze. The unnatural navy coloring of his irises gleam with regalement.

“Because, Angel, I love watching you hate yourself for liking every moment I bring you pleasure. Especially after a night of festering guilt for something you had no hand in.”

“If you admit I had no hand in your tragedy, then why am I even here?”

He brings himself to his knees, sitting on his haunches between my thighs. I lift on my elbows, waiting for his response. He trails his gaze over every inch of my body before deigning me with an answer.

“It seemed befitting to defile the only female Fentonelli to ever exist. It’s too bad Damien will never get to see how I’ve turned you into my little pet.”

My blood begins to boil, my veins burning so hot I have this desperate need to rip them out of my own skin. To unthread myself of this searing fury he loves to ignite in me.

I shift myself away from him, flinging my legs over the side of the bed and toward the corner where my belongings lie.

“Fuck you.”

That damn chuckle rumbles through the tent, mocking me.

“I’d ask how a dirty thing like you ended up in Heaven, but I think we know the answer.”

Three days.

We spend three days trudging through the Silva Timoris. Fighting through wicked branches like fingers holding us back. Tripping over rotting tree roots like limbs of the dead jutting from their graves. Ignoring the ever-present whispered promises of every fear to raise your blood pressure. All while bickering with each other relentlessly.

“How much further?” I groan.

The end of the third day grows in the form of burgundy rays peeking through the tops of the trees. Even without the shade of a full set of leaves, the light rarely makes it down to us as if the forest itself rejected it.

Fears are best found in the dark.

Pulling the map from his back pocket, Hermes eyes it again for the fifth time today.

“Can’t be much.”

He snaps his head up, looking for anything to mark where we are, but honestly, it’s all just trees. Nothing has changed since we stepped foot in this forest.

“I’m thinking maybe another day, if that.”

“This seems like a good spot to settle for the night.”

Really, it seems like the same spot as all the others.

He grunts, materializing our tent and even some food. The smell makes my mouth water, and my dead stomach suddenly roars to life. Inside our tent, Hermes sets a small table lain with flawless etiquette, the utensils strategically placed for use beside the plate. A plate that holds a lean meal meant for fuel.

“No wine?”

I jest, sitting across from him.

“It wouldn’t be in our best interest to be stupid with drink should danger decide to show itself.”

He stabs the chicken breast on his plate with a fork, cutting into it. I watch as he aggressively devours the food. Each movement is laden with an underlying anger, like the disdain within him controls his every act.

I slip a piece of meat into my mouth, chewing all while watching him.

When his eyes snap up to mine, he glowers.

“What?”

“You eat like an animal.”

“I’m starving.”

“If you can conjure up beds and tents and food whenever you wish, why not eat when you’re hungry?”

“I only use the power I need. Especially while Lucifer is left alone and I’m out here draining him of it.”

“Surely a meal won’t push him past the edge.”

“Perhaps not.”

When he swallows, he asks.

“Why do you cry at night?”

Startled by the question, I only hum. It’s then that he drops his fork beside him, the metal clanking against the plate noisily.

“What kind of question is that?”

“Your crying, it keeps me up?—”

“Then maybe you should give me my own tent.”

“Mmmm, perhaps you cry because you like when I hold you.”

“I'm not responsible for what I do in my sleep.”

Dropping my fork, I ready myself for yet another argument.

“Do you cry for your mother? For yourself as you cower from the hands of a violent man? Or is it another reason entirely?”

“All of it.”

“Tell me.”

I don’t know why I oblige him. He asks only to bring forth those horrible terrors and nothing else.

So, I say.

“I cry for my mother, yes. I cry for myself. Not just because of the violence I lived through, but for a father that was never there. For a life I could have lived if my mother never got sick. But I also cry for the girl with the same face that stares back at me now.”

I wait for that all too familiar snarl to sound through the tent, but it never comes.

Instead, he holds my stare.

“Mercy was only a few years younger than me. Not even past twenty-one when she...”

He clears his throat.

“If I could cry, I would cry for her too. For the brother I wish I could have been to her.”

“From what you’ve told me, you seemed like a decent brother. You protected her as much as you could.”

He gnaws on his lower lip, reliving days from his horrible youth.

“And yet, it wasn’t enough.”

“You can’t blame yourself for all of eternity because of what happened to her. It wasn’t your fault.”

Navy eyes snap up, finding mine.

“And it wasn’t mine, so don’t even go there.”

“Wasn’t going to.”

“Then what’s the look for?”

“Just reveling in the rare moment of compassion from you.”

Hermes clears our plates, the table, and then the chairs before lowering himself to the edge of the bed. The lantern swaying gently above us rains down a soft yellow glow.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I disagree.

“I’ve been nice plenty of times.”

“Not towards me. Shall I recount the many times you’ve punched me?”

He points to his still battered face, which he refuses to heal if only to draw out the guilt in me.

“Or the times you’ve cursed me?”

“You literally asked me to hit you and why should I be nice? You’re the demon who lured me to Hell just because I’m a distant descendent of your sister’s killer.”

“You’re safer here anyway. I did you a favor.”

“I didn’t ask for your favors.”

“No, Angel, but you’re damn lucky I gave them to you anyway. Heaven’s going to fall harder than you ever did and when that happens, no one there will be safe.”

“What do you mean?”

A barrage of different faces I’ve come to know and love cross my mind.

“What do you think will happen once the war starts? The Gods, very well known for eradicating those that question them, will wreak havoc on their own world. They have no problem starting from scratch should we fail.”

“Then don’t fail,”

I breathe.

Gone. They’ll all be gone. Just like Hermes’ sister. Just like what they tried to do to Lucifer and his wife, succeeded with their children. I can’t fathom the thought of the Gods wiping every soul off the face of Heaven, but I don’t disbelieve it could happen.

He watches me wearily, leaning back against the mattress.

“I will help. I want to help. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it.”

“Why?” he asks.

“I may never see my friends again, those innocent children, my own mother, but they don’t deserve to be desecrated and wiped clean. Their souls deserve to enjoy eternity, to meet their loved ones again. You deserve freedom from your pain. Lucifer deserves his wife. But those Gods? They don’t deserve another minute of their reign.”