Page 101 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6
‘Then take a breath, and speak.’
He drew in a deep lungful, as directed, and the words spilled from him in a rush. ‘Truly, if the man weren’t such an oaf, I wouldn’t need to bloody breathe so much. For I’d not be so worried all the damned time that he’d be hurt.’
Iblis blinked, and the angel sharing his eyes blinked a second later. The strange echoed imaged was mildly disconcerting to see and stirred a sense of unease that Pitch promptly ignored.
He had an audience who wished to listen. That was all that mattered.
‘Who?’ Iblis brought Azazel’s voice very close. Far too close really, but Pitch’s desire to speak was too assuaged to mind. He spewed his thoughts.
‘Silas Mercer,’ he replied. ‘Who else? That very tall, very broad man who is out there in the forest somewhere when he said he’d be here, with me. He lied, didn’t he? He’s run off the moment he could, hasn’t he? You can tell me.’ But even if Iblis looked as though he intended to reply, which his befuddled expression made difficult to determine, Pitch gave him no chance. Unsealing his lips had been akin to opening a floodgate. Pitch could barely keep the words from tripping over one another and was irritated by the need to take a breath. ‘I mean I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m not so likeable really. I know it. That’s why I made myself so beautiful, so utterly divine to look at, because it distracts from the putrid mess that lies beneath. But he must be more the fool than I thought, for he seems to think he likes the contents of this pretty package. Can you imagine, the man claims he loves me.’ Pitch laughed and he was bright and airy, and not even sure where he was anymore, only that all this needed to be said. ‘But I’m rather new to all this, so I’m not entirely certain if I feel the same way. What do you think? I have him in my thoughts for more minutes than there are in a day. I want him to touch me, even when we are not fucking. And the fucking is superb, did I tell you?’ For that also had to be said.
‘You did not, and I did not ask,’ someone replied, though who, Pitch wasn’t sure and did not care. He was a pot boiling over.
‘I’m not sure why it’s so wonderful. My dear Sickle is well-endowed but hardly the largest cock I’ve had, and I tend to come far too quickly where he is involved. It must be all the hugging. He’s prone to far too much hugging. I abhor hugging, hand-holding makes my toes curl, but I find myself wondering when he is next going to drag me into one of his ceaseless embraces. He kisses me, a lot. Far too much but I only complain half the time I should. Is any of that love, do you suppose?’
‘By Dagan’s light, what’s wrong with him? He’s prattling like a lunatic,’ said Zaquiel.
It was the first reminder in a very long while that two other angels completed Iblis’s party. Pitch didn’t even know the other chap’s name, the one who’d been especially rough in his handling, but that was hardly of importance. There were urgent words to be spoken.
‘Oh, you have no idea how much is wrong with me, dear fellow.’ Pitch grinned, knowing how crooked it was upon his lips. But that was what happened when he thought about Silas. The world went topsy-turvy, entirely the wrong way about. ‘But that’s the thing, you see. He doesn’t seem to care about the monster I am. Even though he knows Seraphiel has made me one.’ He faltered, his thoughts slippery for a moment, the tickling in his throat finding a sharper edge.
Iblis blinked again, his master doing the same only fractionally later. ‘A monster? And what sort might that be?’
Pitch shrugged. The halo cut at him and the cuffs reminded him he was going nowhere at all. ‘I don’t know, and that is the honest truth.’ He did not feel so well. There was a heaviness upon his tongue he did not like. ‘The Seraphim has placed something inside me…I think…or added something…I don’t know. Until very recently I thought it was going to spill over, and I’d lose myself entirely. The wildness is a power far beyond my own, I think. Or perhaps a magnification of it? I’m not sure. Do you know?’ Iblis watched, waited. As though he knew perfectly well Pitch would not pause long enough for any decent chance to answer. ‘I wish I knew, because it terrifies me, more than ever now, because I have him. I don’t want to hurt him. I am so frightened, all the time, that I’ll do damage I cannot repair. If I hurt Silas, I could not bear it.’
The prickling at his throat spread, reaching to the back of his mouth. He was suddenly conscious of how hard and cold the stone was at his back, of how the burn he’d suffered throbbed so punishingly, like a clock marking time.
Time.
How long had he been hanging here? He looked away from Iblis and the Exarch to where the dryad was entombed in horror.
‘He doesn’t need to worry about being the one to damage the ankou.’
Pitch jerked his head towards the chuckled muttering that came from the angel at his right, the fellow with harsh hands and an auburn tinge to his hair.
‘What did you say?’
‘Now, Mr Astaroth, never mind Harut. Return to our conversation.’ Iblis, or rather Azazel’s, pleasant manner was a drenching that washed away consternation. ‘You say the Seraphim you destroyed gave you this power?’
Pitch replied without hesitation. ‘Yes. I didn’t want to kill him, you know. I deeply regret it. It tears me up inside to think on. And I still don’t understand how it could happen. I mean, he was killed by his own ministrations really. Because at times I utterly lose control, and I know that is not a new thing for me…I’m the Berserker Prince after all…but it’s been far worse since he brought me here…and…made me a bigger monster than perhaps even he intended. Seeing as I managed to kill him and all.’
Pitch didn’t realise he’d been staring down and telling all this to the lengths of his coat, rather Silas’s coat, until Iblis gripped his hair, an unkind tug forcing his head up.
‘And why would Seraphiel need a monster? What was the purpose of all this? Did he seek to create greater warriors for Enoch?’
‘Well, that’s the story they both told, I believe. But it wasn’t the truth.’ He spoke quickly, fearing he’d lost favour here somehow, with how tightly the angel held his hair. It wouldn’t be right to upset those who wished him to be honest with them. ‘I wasn’t defending Arcadia or helping to make the Dominion greater warriors of the Hellfield at all. I was made for this world.’
‘This world?’
Be honest with me.Azazel had truly pleading eyes. Even if they were a bit horrendous, nestled within Iblis’s own.Be honest with me.
The urge to do as the Exarch bade was titanic.
‘Yes, this world. And what it holds.’ Titanic, and yet…Pitch couldn’t help but think it would be nice not to have such an odd sensation in his throat, and something more pleasant at his back. He was hurting. Quite a lot. But he’d agreed to dangle here…had he not?
‘What did Seraphiel seek to protect here, then?’
Pitch sought to smile but hesitated, unsure of what he found amusing. ‘Oh he’s not protecting anything. He wishes to destroy it.’