Page 40 of An Unexpected Ascension (A War Between Worlds #1)

The Angel

Aball.

The Devil is throwing a ball in his wife’s name.

How romantic.

Ada sits before the vanity in my room, studying me in the reflection of the mirror.

Perched behind her, I twist strands of her fiery red hair and pin them back.

It doesn’t evade me that this room was meant for her should she return and need her space.

Luckily, she was more than happy to let me have it.

“There are shadows in your eyes,”

she says quietly, her lashes fluttering with the soft movement of my fingertips along her scalp.

“I know those shadows well.”

“Did you expect to see something different in the eyes of a woman in Hell?”

I tease, keeping my tone light.

“I suppose not.”

She watches me again.

“But it’s more than that, I can feel it. Call it a mother’s intuition.”

I stiffen, my muscles locking in place and forcing me to drop the strands of her hair I’m holding.

“Did I say something wrong?”

I swallow. “No.”

She twists in her chair, facing me with worried eyes.

“You can talk to me, Briar. I think I can understand how you feel.”

“No offense, but how can you? You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

“No, but I do know the feeling of being broken on the inside.”

She pushes to her feet, wrapping a gentle hand around my elbow.

“I’m still broken. Every day spent with those Gods my heart corroded a little more. They chipped and tore away at everything I loved until there was nothing left of it. I was so afraid that should I finally do get to go home, mending it would be impossible. Yet, here I am. And even though my chest feels hollow, and my days are still dark, I know it’s worth it to rebuild what was lost. Because once my heart is whole again, I know it will be in good hands.”

I stare at the face of a woman who’s known torture for centuries, known loss. Something like hope stirs in her voice and I desperately want her to find it in herself to heal because she deserves it.

“I was pregnant when I died,”

I confess in a whisper like saying the words aloud make them real.

“I had no idea. When I got to Heaven, I didn’t even know how my life ended, just that it did. Then I touched the Tree of Death and saw it – my own ending. Relived it. I couldn’t save myself or my baby and for the first time since I’ve died, I’ve realized all the things I’ll never do, never have, never be.”

“Briar, I’m so sorry. There’s nothing like losing a child. No parent should ever have to go through that.”

A snort cuts through the oncoming wave of tears.

“I was hardly a parent. You raised your sons, so mourning the loss of their existence is understandable. I’m mourning something that never even was.”

Her soft hand caresses the side of my face in a motherly gesture.

“Loss is loss, dear. You’re entitled to your feelings.”

I return the soft smile she grants me.

“Can we make a promise to each other? Woman to woman, mother to mother?”

She wipes a tear that rolls down my cheek as I nod.

“I’ll work on my heart if you work on yours.”

A sinking feeling tugs inside my chest.

“I don’t think there’s anything left to fix at this point.”

“Of course there is.”

“And what if I do? What's the point? We have a war coming and who’s to say I’ll even make it through that.”

“You will. You have to. If not for me, then for a certain someone who’s been moping around the manor day and night.”

I roll my eyes.

“He doesn’t know the first thing about taking care of someone’s heart. He’s just a demon.”

“And my husband’s the Devil.”

She smirks.

“Let him try, Briar. We all know he’s desperate for the chance.”

She runs a finger beneath my eyes, wiping away any remaining tears. “Promise?”

As she steps back, holding me at arm's length, I take her in. The silk hem of her burnt orange dress pools at her feet. The color just a few shades darker than her hair, now intricately braided like a crown on top of her head with long tendrils falling below her shoulders in delicate curls.

She looks like a queen.

“Promise.”

“Now, let’s go enjoy this party.”

I smile as she loops her arm through the crook of my elbow and tugs me toward my door.

“Is this absurd or am I crazy?”

“It’s absurd,”

she agrees.

Gaudy decor has commandeered The Great Hall. The entire room is draped in blacks, purples, and ruby reds. Tables sparkle with a glittering lacy fabric as dark as the walls themselves and lit with a golden candelabra that sits in the center. The little flames flicker but never extinguish as if magic keeps them alight.

But it isn’t the magnificent disguise this room has undergone in a matter of just a couple days nor the sheer gothic beauty of it. No, it’s the bodies that fill this room as if all these souls appeared only today.

They mingle, stemmed glasses in hand, drinking a wine the color of the moon. Dresses and jewelry, suits and ties, every guest is absolutely stunning. It’s a far cry from the people that dwell in the city, except they’re one in the same.

Ada leads me to the front of the room where Lucifer sits at the center of a long table. His face is paler than usual with dark circles beneath his brown eyes.

“It takes a lot out of a man, these parties,”

he confesses.

“And I thank you for it.”

Ada rounds the table, placing a kiss on his cheek before claiming the seat next to him.

“Where did all these people come from?”

I ask over the haunting crescendo of the orchestra.

“The city. The people you meet tonight are soldiers, a part of the army we’ve compiled over the years.”

I look around the room at each and every one of them.

“That’s a lot.”

“It’s not even half of them. Just the folks I trust will behave in a setting such as this one. The others, they wait for my call.”

Lucifer crooks a finger at a nearby male in a clean black suit. He approaches with a glass of wine upon a silver platter.

“Drink, Briar. Enjoy tonight. It might be a while before we have another like it.”

I take the glass from the tray and in its place appears another.

Raising it, I toast to Ada’s return and as I clink my glass to theirs, a fourth one joins.

Trailing the hand to my right, I find?—

Devil, save me.

I find a hand with black ink swirling around each finger, trailing up to a wrist and under the sleeve of a black button up. My eyes catch on a silver skull cuff link as it twinkles under the glow of candlelight. Damn, I haven’t even made it past his arm yet and I’m already salivating.

Perhaps my heart feels nothing, but the warmth in my core can’t say the same.

The black fabric stretches over the taut muscles of his biceps and chest. Whirls of ink peek out again just above his collar, curling around his neck and up into the back of his skull. His dark hair is slicked back, only a short piece of his bangs falls forward. I want to run my fingers through it and by the way his navy-blue eyes are watching me, I know he knows it.

“Angel.”

He smirks at me.

“Demon.”

I try to scowl, but the damned heat inside my body spirals, causing an awkward grimace instead. Lifting the skirt of my deep violet dress, I retreat into the crowd away from the dangerous lure of the demon and towards... more dangerous demons, I guess.

Spinning, I find myself at a table surrounded by new faces. None friendly, but not menacing either. They survey me, assess me from head to toe, wondering what it is about me that’s worthy of sanctuary in the Devil’s home.

Sometimes I ask myself the same question.

After introductions, conversation comes easier. Lucy, the woman on my right in the black ballgown and silver tiara claims she and her husband, Clyde, chose Hell over Heaven. They never believed in either until death, so when the time came, they knew they didn’t want to be judged by any God.

The pair now live in the city, she bartends at a club, and her husband is an artist at a tattoo parlor. They’ve been dead now for a few decades and despite the heat, they’re happy.

As they talk about their lives it occurs to me that Hell is just like life only with weird nuances and death has already happened.

“That’s when we met Hermes. I was working on the piece covering his shoulder when he told me about the upcoming war. He shared his story and damn if it didn’t break me. I never really held a grudge against the Gods, since we never really believed they existed in the first place, but Hermes is a good guy. So, we extended our souls. Told him we wanted in,”

Clyde explains.

“He shared his story?”

“Yeah.”

Clyde shrugs, looking over to his wife.

“It’s not really mine to tell, but he lost someone special to him and those damned Gods saved her perpetrators over her. It’s really fucked up.”

I nod. “That is.”

Looking down into my glass, I find that no matter how much wine I drink, my cup never empties. Which explains why my head feels as heavy as my chest right now. That really fucked up story has my family name written all over it and it never ceases to make my stomach churn.

“Excuse me.”

I lift my glass in a silent farewell to grab some air.

I sneak up to the training room and as I traipse toward the opening overlooking Hell, the hem of my dress collects the dirt from the stone floor. Planting myself on the very edge, I watch my feet dangle in the open air.

Wine splashes across my tongue, and I think about what Ada had said earlier, about our promise. Maybe, someday I’ll get over all the things I never was, but for now, I still feel their weight.

The city sits in the distance, a black silhouette in the crimson glow. Desecrated land separates us from the crowded town where all the other demons dwell.

“There you are.”

Turning, I find Lynx standing in the center of the room, his hands in his pockets.

“Looking for me?”

“Mmhm.”

He closes the distance between us, offering me his hand to help me stand.

As he tugs me to my feet, I wobble, the heels of my stilettoes nearly snapping beneath me. With a soft, knowing smile, he places one of my palms against his shoulder as he kneels. Slowly, he unbuckles the black strap around my ankle and slips one shoe off before doing the same with the other.

“Don’t need you falling.”

“I thought that’s exactly what you wanted.”

He chuckles, grabbing the wine glass from my hand. It disappears like smoke in the wind.

“There’s a very distinct difference between falling and falling for me. I’d prefer the latter. You’re much prettier intact.”

My veins hum with liquor, the intoxication from too much wine is making me giddy. Any other day, I might have rolled my eyes or walked away, but tonight his words are everything.

Still kneeling on the ground, his eyes drink in every inch of me from my bare feet to my milky pale skin peeking out beneath the slit in my dress to my breasts wrapped in a deep violet silk. Finally, those navy eyes meet mine and I feel a flush bleeding beneath the skin on my face.

He stands, now towering over me without the added height of my heels. His thumbs brush the sides of my breasts as his palms curl around my ribcage. Naturally, my arms warp around his neck.

“What do you need?”

I breathe, desperately trying to avoid how his face hovers over mine.

“A dance.”

“A dance?”

“Yes. One dance with you.”

Lynx snaps his fingers, and a symphony of chords strum together in a haunting melody. He pulls me into his chest, one hand threaded through mine with the other still on my waist. As smoothly as if he was born to waltz, he leads us around the training room in rhythm to the song. The skirt of my dress swirls behind me as we dance.

For a moment, I feel alive again. I feel as though I’m seventeen, dancing the stress away in my backyard. Sweating and moving like each variation could separate me from the shit weighing me down.

“You’re smiling.”

He points out.

It’s muscle memory. The relentless smiling with each performance, held just as surely as my posture. Suddenly, I feel overly aware of what my face is doing, what I’m doing. Mid-twirl, my feet trip over each other. The alcohol from tonight possessing my limbs and rendering them useless. All that poise, control, perfection I once had is gone, nonexistent, as I stumble to the stone floor.

My back slams against concrete, my breath stolen with the impact. Or maybe it’s from the demon that I’ve accidentally dragged down with me. His weight presses against me as his hands fight the hair that’s crowded my face.

“Dammit, Briar. Are you okay?”

I open my mouth, but words escape me. Instead, a fit of giggles take their place. A broody face greets me as my obstructed gaze is cleared, but slowly that grimace turns upward, his lips now stretching into a full smile.

“I thought this would go a little differently,”

he admits.

“I used to be much better, but I haven’t practiced in years.”

Lynx lifts onto his knees allowing me to sit up.

“You’re covered in dirt.”

He laughs, running his hands through my hair.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”