11. Cat
Chapter eleven
Cat
“ H ow did it go?” I nervously asked once Zariel came back to his rooms. I had behaved while he was gone, doing little other than skimming some of the books he had piled in the corner. Fascinating tomes, really. Poetry and legends from what must have been his world, each one carefully scribbled with what were likely his translations. I cursed that I didn’t have my laptop or my own notebook—the information in this room alone was enough to make my thirsty PhD-candidate head explode. The budding otherworld literature program at the university would have literally slaughtered me for access to these. Academics could be ruthless.
Unfortunately, I had a concern other than academic deprivation, and that was the gorgeous angel who said I was sharing a room with him. Room s . Where was I going to sleep? More importantly—where was he?
Zariel didn’t return barehanded. Gossamer dresses were draped over his arms, and in a wicker basket hooked over one forearm was some sort of pastry whose delicious, sweet smell made my eyes water. The basket also contained a few flasks, their contents unknown.
Then there was Zariel himself, his muscles visible through the drapes of his flowing robe and cloak. He had changed before the meeting with the High Artist, and now he was a Renaissance artwork brought to life. I bit my lip. His dark eyes sparkled when they looked at me, and he stilled, as if he was as stunned by me as well. An angled jaw highlighted a perfect mouth, which was shaped into a pleased grin.
“You’re here,” was all he said.
“Yes.” My mouth went dry, especially when he set the items down on a table and approached, crouching down next to me.
Now he was close enough that I could smell him, and the urge—the rightness—of what it would feel like to be pressed against him—what it had felt like—roared within me. As quick as the urge came, it left like smoke blown away in the wind, though the memory remained.
I couldn’t indulge in such daydreams. They wouldn’t help. I took a slow breath, forcing myself to listen to the words that came out of his mouth and not focus on his lips .
“You’re able to stay in the mountain for the time being,” he said softly. “The Artists will give us time to determine what happened, and there are no apparent restrictions for your visit. You’re free to stay and go when you wish.”
“Good.” I nodded vigorously. “That’s very good.”
“They’re worried the humans will look for you.”
I grimaced. “Yes. They probably will. Silv, one of my friends—he’s a satyr—he will know what happened. Or will guess.”
“A satyr?” Zariel raised an eyebrow.
“Yes. He works at the university.”
“Interesting choice, for a people normally so … wild.” He gestured at the items. “I brought you clothes for your stay. And dinner, when you’re ready. The garments can be adjusted since you obviously don’t have wings. I can show you how to tie your belt to manage the excess fabric.” A kind reminder that I lacked wings, and was also short compared to angels.
“Thank you.”
A silence grew between us, as imposing as if it were its own presence, carrying within in it a thousand unsaid words. A thousand that couldn’t be said. Silv warned me about the angels and the myriad of rumors that surrounded them. He never warned me about what would happen if I found myself mated to one.
Silv. Did he know what happened to me? Somehow, I guessed he would know where I went. But would he put the pieces together that I was with this angel who was driving my mind and body to extremes, even when those extremes made absolutely no sense? It was similar to when I was a teen around my high school crush, the intensity and obsession overriding reason, adding layers to every look and interaction. If this was a mate bond, no wonder the angels accepted it—it was probably less painful for all parties that way. Including those around the mated pair.
“How long can I stay?”
A soft growl escaped him before he quickly stifled it, followed by reddened cheeks. “As long as you wish.” I didn’t know angels growled. But I also didn’t know that they decorated with cannibalistic carvings, so this was a day of new experiences.
“I … are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“That’s … perfect.” I closed my eyes. I couldn’t give into my feelings, no matter how I wanted nothing more than to touch him. Even just his hand.
Absolutely not, I was not touching him. I couldn’t make things more complicated than they already were.
For his part, Zariel shook himself, as if he were awakening from a dream. He moved to his own chair, leaving the space next to me emptier than it had ever been. I clasped my hands in my lap. The mate bond was bothering him as much as me—that was clear. Likely even more. Yet that knowledge just spurred the useless sensation of pleasure further. He wanted me. At least as much as I wanted him .
He wanted me.
And such wanting was pointless. It was purely physical, and would do nothing but complicate everything.
What was I supposed to do with this angel? I needed to learn what I could from the library. I was here to learn, to complete my dissertation. But this was—
“You were reading,” he said, a hint of surprise creeping into his voice.
“Of course.” My face burned, even as I was glad to be discussing anything else. “I mean, I’m sorry if they were private, but they were here, and you didn’t tell me I couldn’t …”
He flicked his wrist. “No. Anything I have here is yours. I brought you here, under slightly misleading pretenses. At the very least, I wish for you to learn what you desire.”
“Really?”
He smiled. “Yes. I will take you to the library tomorrow, where I work in Morven Hall. The High Artist said that you’re allowed to be with me as I work.”
“Morven Hall?”
“Yes. Named for the king who donated his entire library to us after his death, much of his personal collection is still kept in that same hall. What is it?”
“There’s something in Princeton named Morven. It just surprised me.” I sat straighter. “Of course I will go with you.”
He grinned. “While we’re there, you can read whatever you’d like, and take your own notes to bring home with you. I’m just happy to have company for once. Especially company as beautiful as yours. That is, if you’d like to.”
I smiled, and my face burned hotter. “Of course. But can I ask, why are they called Artists? Why not masters, or librarians or … professors?”
Zariel shrugged. “Because knowledge is an art. Knowing how all the pieces fit together, how to delve further into study, using it to benefit society, it’s as much an art as drawing or music. Creatures like certain elves may mold their art from bones, and some fae may fuse their bodies with metal, but we angels mold our minds.”
I laughed. “That’s the opposite of what I’m used to. There’s no arena more vicious than academia. The battlefield is littered with failed tenured professors, the ground watered with students’ despairing tears. Only the well connected, or truly masochistic, survive to wear the victory tweed.” My lips quirked. “Silv said that to me.”
A grin crept across Zariel’s face, and my traitorous body responded too well. I had to focus on his words, and not what his mere smile was doing to me. “The title of Artist is more aspirational than truth. It takes a lot to become an archivist or scribe, and that is nothing compared to becoming an Artist.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Even though my family is well-connected at court, I had to excel in my studies for years. This included a test where I was introduced to a language—in this case an extinct sprite dialect—and then given a month to study before I was tested on it. I was expected to be very proficient, enough to translate works.”
“That sounds impossible.”
“Our minds are trained for this from a young age—I didn’t have access to my runes at that time. And that’s just languages. We’re tested in mathematics, astronomy, literature, the sciences, and magics.”
I gasped. “Magics? You learn magic along with science?”
“Yes. That and more. Those two topics are far more similar than you think. You’re going to enjoy the library,” Zariel said, enthusiasm now working into his voice with every word, the passion of discussing something he cared about. I loved it. He was reminding me of … me. But with more feathers. “Magic has its rules. They’re nearly impossible to understand entirely, but its workings did not come from nowhere. I can show you what we’ve already translated. Most of it isn’t a secret—you couldn’t do anything directly with the magic even if you tried. Especially not in this world—we suspect that the conditions are just not right, not for our magic. Even angels sometimes have difficulty with runes acting as they are supposed to. There’s no point in showing it to you, other than for your own knowledge.”
“Oh my god.” At my fingertips I had more knowledge than I could hope to absorb in a lifetime. Culture, legends, history, magic … I had unparalleled access to everything about the world that had invaded our own. The ex citement of so much information being right here for the taking was enough that I stopped picturing what Zariel probably looked like without his robes, if the rest of him was as muscular as his forearms. If that tantalizing v at the bottom of his abdomen, that I had seen when he showed me his runes, was chiseled further, deeper under the fabric. What those muscles would feel like against my bare skin, those hands touching mine, grazing my body …
Zariel caught my expression, as if he could feel the absolute giddiness that ran through me. As if he could read my mind and see my illicit thoughts. He smiled. “I think we’re going to enjoy working together, Cat.”
D inner was a delight. A pastry-filled delight.
This was turning into a dream come true.
We talked for hours. About our studies, our lives, our interests. Zariel wasn’t just book smart, he was … clever. And funny. And he was fascinated by my research, and quickly assured me that the angels who had come to our world had absolutely no interest in manipulating the earth’s political powers, but was fascinated by the question. He candidly told me that some angels back in their original world would gladly pretend they served a god to reach their goals. Gently, he suggested I rephrase my dissertation to focus on what humans might do by interpreting the angels’ actions, and not th e angels themselves, using records of human and angelic interaction from their old world to form my study’s backbone, and include relations between humans and other creatures. “The potential influence from your world’s religious history and imagery, intended or not, cannot be ignored,” he had said. “As time passes, those from our home will engage with humanity more and more, and yes, there are some creatures who won’t hesitate to become involved in your politics if given the chance. It’s best that you prepare for that. Your topic is relevant. And needed.”
Blissfully, he agreed to help me find documents on angelic military philosophy, tomes that covered not only the angels, but every documented creature in their world. My dissertation was primed to write itself.
My studies were just one topic of discussion that night. If someone had told me what I’d be doing when left alone with a gorgeous angel, I wouldn’t have guessed discussing angelic sciences. But that’s what we did.
After hours of conversation, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I had already changed into one of the robes he brought me, and I tried to ignore how I caught his gaze lingering.
“Would you like to sleep?” he asked.
“Yes. I think I should.”
“Come,” he said, standing and offering me his hand. I took it and my breath caught. He was leading me to his room. His room .
Once inside, he lit a lamp, illuminating the space. But I couldn’t focus on what was around me, there was just him. “Use whatever you like,” he said, “there’s more blankets in the gray chest. I’ll be in my sitting area if you need anything else.”
“You will?”
“Yes.” He paused, his eyes roaming to his bed and then to me. Was he regretting his decision? What if I asked him not to leave? “You will be more comfortable in here,” he finally said. Was he trying to convince me, or himself?
“What about you?”
“I’ll be fine. I sleep out there all the time.”
I nodded, too tired to argue. Why did I think that he’d want to stay with me? We barely knew each other. He was right—him staying out there was for the best. Even though his couch had to be way too small for him to sleep comfortably.
We said a short goodnight, and once alone, I curled myself under the thick blankets that were heavy with his scent, mixed with a hint of pine and mint. Softly, I groaned, my hand yearning to reach between my legs and give myself relief, my body and mind surrounded by reminders of him . The incessant urge that made thinking nearly impossible.
I wouldn’t act. He was too close by—and I couldn’t let myself think of this angel as anything but a friend. This mating bond was horrible, though I could see how it was effective for continuing the species. If Zariel was feeling anything like I was, it was a miracle he could function.
Bond aside, Zariel wasn’t what I expected for an angel. He was articulate, intelligent, and humored my questions in a way that wasn’t belittling.
The library. I had to focus on the library.
The library.
Not the angel who was overwhelming every single thought.