Page 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CASSIEL

I lean against the wall outside Isolde’s Blood Magic class, watching other students file in. The corridor is thick with magical signatures, some bright like solar flares, others dark and muted like shadows at midnight. Every creature has a distinct energy, but none captivate my fallen senses quite like hers.

The feel of her at my neck still lingers, an echo of pleasure that makes me respond in ways that continue to enchant me. Heaven’s lessons never prepared me for the sheer intensity of physical sensation. The way her fangs broke my skin, the pull as she drank, the heat that spiralled through my body... these are experiences no celestial observation could possibly capture.

I straighten as she rounds the corner, her face flushed, her hair slightly dishevelled. Something’s changed. Her energy has shifted, become more complex, intertwined with another’s. CJ’s. The realisation sends a jolt of academic interest in this new development.

I step back around the corner so she doesn’t see me. I’m more interested in observation rather than interaction. I’m due in my own class shortly, but I needed to see her. It’s an impatience I have to lay eyes on her. It’s new and thought-provoking.

As the last students file in, I slip away toward my own class, mulling over these new observations. The dynamics between supernatural beings are far more complex than the clinical assessments we made from above.

Professor Lachlan’s Celestial Theory class awaits me, ironically. I find it amusing that I’m expected to study what I once was. The professor, a gaunt creature with eyes that have clearly seen beyond this realm, pauses mid-sentence when I enter.

“Mr Cassiel,” he intones, his voice like stones grinding together. “How convenient that our fallen specimen arrives just as we discuss the hierarchies of the heavenly host.”

Students turn to stare, their expressions ranging from fascination to wariness. I take a seat at the back, offering the professor a slight nod. “Apologies for being late. I’m still getting used to this academic setting.”

He nods graciously at my apology. “Perhaps you’d care to correct my understanding of seraphim organisation?” he challenges, a glint in his ancient eyes.

“Gladly,” I reply, settling into my seat. “Though I should warn you, I was never privy to the highest echelons. My fall wasn’t entirely accidental.”

This draws murmurs from the class. The professor’s eyebrows lift with genuine interest.

“Do elaborate, Mr Cassiel.”

“Questions were discouraged,” I explain, feeling everyone’s gaze on me. “Curiosity was considered dangerously close to doubt. I simply asked too many questions about why we observed but never interfered. Why knowledge without application was considered superior.”

Professor Lachlan strokes his chin thoughtfully. “The celestial bureaucracy values order above progress, then?”

“They value conformity above all,” I correct. “The seraphim aren’t organised by power but by adherence to divine will. The closer you align, the higher you rise.”

“And you failed to align,” he concludes.

“Spectacularly,” I confirm with a small smile.

The class laughs nervously, and I feel a strange satisfaction in this connection, however tenuous. The professor returns to his lecture, occasionally glancing my way when discussing particularly controversial points of celestial doctrine .

As class progresses, my thoughts drift back to Isolde. Why is she new here when her brother has been here for a few years? Why now? What happened? Who is she? All these questions swirl around my head, but I have no answers for them. Only talking to the source will provide these answers. But for that, I will have to wait until she is alone. CJ won’t take kindly to me moving into what he thinks is his territory.

When the lecture concludes, I leave the classroom, the stares of my classmates like pinpricks on my skin. Their curiosity is a pale imitation of my own. I need more than celestial theories; I need empirical data. Isolde Morvoren is rapidly becoming the most compelling variable in this chaotic equation.

The scent of her is a beacon I’m drawn to.

Navigating the corridors, I let my heightened senses guide me. The air still hums with the residual energy of countless supernatural beings, a cacophony compared to the serene, ordered vibrations of heaven. Here, every interaction, every emotion, is amplified, unrestrained.

She is outside Blood Magic class, a textbook clutched to her chest, when I see her again. She looks preoccupied, a frown creasing her brow.

She looks up when she senses my gaze on her, and she smiles tentatively. “Hi.”

The simple word has an effect on my body that I’ve never experienced before. I search her eyes, before my gaze drops lower, taking in every inch of her as my cock grows harder.

“What?” she asks, shyly.

“Nothing, just observing.”

Isolde tilts her head, a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Observing what, exactly?” There’s a hint of a challenge in her voice, a subtle defiance that intrigues me.

“You,” I reply simply. “The way your energy has shifted since we last spoke. It’s intertwined with another’s now.” I step closer, drawn to her like a magnet. “CJ’s, I presume?”

A blush colours her cheeks, and she glances away briefly before meeting my gaze again. “That’s none of your business.”

“Perhaps not,” I concede, “But the way supernatural connections manifest, the intensity of the bonds is unlike anything I witnessed from above. You’re a mystery, and I find myself increasingly compelled to unravel you.”

Her breath catches, and for a moment, we simply stare at each other, the air between us charged with something unspoken. The scent of her, the memory of her fangs in my flesh, the heat that coils in my core is all so new, so visceral.

“I have to get to class,” she says abruptly, breaking the spell.

I step aside, allowing her to pass, but the urge to follow her is strong. “Of course,” I murmur. “But Isolde, if you ever need assistance, with your ghost or any other mystery, you know where to find me.”

She pauses, glancing back at me over her shoulder. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As she walks away, I watch the sway of her hips, the fall of her dark hair against her back. Every movement is a study in elegance and barely contained power.

Turning away, I head towards my next class, my mind whirling with questions.

I slip into my seat just as the professor begins her lecture on the history of daemon summoning. The subject matter is a welcome distraction from the strange sensations coursing through my body, the phantom feel of Isolde’s presence lingering like a caress.

As I listen to the professor drone on about summoning circles and binding rituals, I can’t help but draw parallels to my own situation. Wasn’t I, in a sense, summoned to this realm? Cast out of heaven, I could’ve landed anywhere. Yet here I am in the middle of this complicated situation between Isolde and CJ.

Was it chance or design that brought me to SilverGate, to Isolde? The thought nags at me even as I take meticulous notes on the proper sigil placement for daemon containment.

When class ends, I gather my things slowly, my mind still turning over these questions. As I exit the lecture hall, I head straight for my bedroom. This place of solitude and privacy is something I didn’t have before. I strip off my clothes and stare at my body in the full-length mirror. I release my wings and stare at the black feathers, once so pure, now so tainted. I run my hand over my chiselled chest, grazing the markings that cover my left shoulder and arm. They are new. I didn’t have these in heaven. Did I get them as I was falling or after? My hand drops lower and wraps around my cock. It’s semi-hard, the lingering sensation of Isolde drinking my blood has kept it in this state. I run my hand over it, feeling a certain pleasure in the act.

The sensation of my own touch is novel, exploratory. In heaven, physical needs were non-existent, but here, desires are undeniable. The memory of Isolde’s mouth on my neck, her fangs piercing my skin, sends a surge of heat coursing through my veins. My cock hardens fully under my grasp, the sensation intense and pleasing.

I stroke myself experimentally, observing the responses of my body with academic detachment even as pleasure coils tighter in my core. The friction is exhilarating, each movement sending sparks of excitement through me. I can see why creatures become so enthralled by this act; it’s a primal need, a physical expression of desire that transcends rational thought .

My wings flutter slightly, the feathers rustling with the motion as I quicken my pace. The image of Isolde—her eyes, her scent, the feel of her presence—dominates my thoughts. There’s an undeniable connection between us. She’s a catalyst for these new experiences, a doorway into a world of hedonism I never knew existed.

The building pressure reaches a climax, and I release with a grunt, watching it splatter over the mirror, the intensity of it sending waves of pleasure through every fibre of my being. It’s a revelation, an uninhibited and visceral understanding of what drives these creatures around me. For a moment, I simply stand there, breathing heavily. I crave more of this new sensation. This experience has opened a door to a realm of carnal understanding that I can’t wait to explore further. My intrigue with Isolde goes beyond mere academic curiosity. She’s the key to unlocking these primal desires, the catalyst for my awakening.

I turn from the mess splashed across the mirror and dress quickly. I need to see Isolde again, to talk to her, to understand more about her and the effect she has on me. But I also know that CJ will be a formidable obstacle. His possessiveness is a tangible force, a barrier I’ll have to navigate carefully. But nothing, and I mean nothing, will stop me from seeing how this act differs when it is Isolde’s hand wrapped around me.