Above the Ashen Clouds (Twisted Worlds #2)

19. Zariel

Chapter nineteen

Zariel

I never expected that having a mate meant vacillating between crippling fear and devastating lust. Fear of the dangers that I could sense closing in around us. And lust, because I craved her more than a bird craves the sky.

It wasn’t fair that I had found such a woman, one that stirred and overrode every sense—and she was also someone who’d never want to stay with me, not after her time in the mountain was done. Besides the fact that a mate bond was purely physical, if it became more than that, we angels were working to return to our home, one way or another. I couldn’t force myself to stay here, away from my family and life forever, and I had absolutely no right to ask her to come with me and do the same.

Several days passed after I told Cat my fears, and there had been no dire proclamations from the Artists, no threats, and no hint that anything wasn’t as it should’ve been. Maybe I was worrying about nothing, and it was just the mating bond making me extra sensitive to any threats. While no one was outright rude to Cat—word of what I did to Gadriel spread quickly—I was the only one who didn’t ignore her existence. Even Cael, the coward, was still apparently locked down on that assignment and was unable to escape even for a meal to talk to me. Cael would be a blessing of normalcy in this chaos, something to remind me that I had a life before her. Even though I feared I’d never be able to have one without her.

Not that Cat wanted anything of that nature to do with me. Right? Despite taking meals together, sharing chambers—I was always on my couch—and spending our days in the library, discussing my work and everything else, we fell into an easy companionship that was anything but romantic. At least for me.

I tried to stay away mentally—to not think about her like that . I couldn’t. Instead, I was left alone with dreams in the dark, haunted by the sounds of her breathing nearby and doomed to remain far away.

“Isn’t this enough books?” I asked Cat teasingly. I was carrying a couple untranslated tomes pertaining to flora that I needed to work on, and she wanted one more that was known for its artwork. Of course, I would do anything she wanted, especially if I could sneak this one to her on the pretense that it was for me .

“Please?” she asked. “I promise I won’t bother you for the rest of the day.”

I chuckled softly. Even when she behaved perfectly, there was little chance of that. Just her sitting next to me, in her delicate, gossamer robes, was enough to drive me to distraction. I wanted nothing more than to trace the delicate lines of her neck and shoulders—where the panels parted to reveal her arms, and let me envision what it would be like if there was nothing except that flimsy fabric between me and her.

“And I can read what you translated later, right?” She beamed at me. We agreed that in the library, in public, we would act like nothing was wrong, that we weren’t concerned about the High Artist. Things would only be made worse by making people suspicious. And in the meantime, I still had to work. Sure, angels were given time for leisure, but we had our duties.

I smiled. Hers was an easy enough request. I was working on translating a short history of the races of our world, something that was little more than a list of what creatures lived in which lands, their rules, their magics, with a few notable anecdotes. It was something that we were going to give to the humans during the next summit, and they agreed to give us several works of theirs as well. Knowledge for knowledge.

“My translation will be incomplete,” I warned her.

“You know that doesn’t bother me. ”

“It should—it’s disjointed. I don’t have a perfect translation yet for every word.”

“Maybe I can help,” she said.

“Maybe,” I said sincerely. She was brilliant, her experience bringing new interpretations to things that I never considered. I never thought that I’d enjoy such things with a human, but I never thought I’d be mated to one, either.

I placed the books on an empty space on a shelf and reached above us for the tome. When I lowered my arms, book in hand, she clasped it, preparing to take it from me, her fingers touching mine. Suddenly, our eyes met and we both stilled. I clutched the book, the only thing between us, as we now stood far closer than we had before, our bodies almost touching in these hidden aisles.

Slowly, she took the book and set it aside with one hand, while still holding one of my own. Everywhere she touched me burned, as if she was the dawn, awakening me after an eternity of night.

“Cat—”

Then she leaned forward, towards me—and stopped. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know we agreed not to, and I respect that if you don’t want to, but I—”

Was this really her, saying such things? I had spent weeks forcing aside all thoughts of that as best I could, and now she was offering?

She was offering.

“I know,” I said .

I kissed her, and everything changed. What was first an urge to hold her—possess her—turned into a maelstrom of feeling. I needed her. All of her. Every single place she touched, every sigh she made, stirred me higher. I stiffened under my robes, and I had to carefully position myself, lest she feel what I was thinking. The craving for her turned into a painful ache, one that had only one way to be satisfied—and would that ever be enough?

Her lips explored mine, slowly, but then she consumed me, drawing me into her with both her hands and her mouth. Buried in the stacks she explored me, her hands moving, as if she, too, were frantic to feel every part that she could. I’d let her do it—fuck—I’d let her do whatever she wanted, as long as she never stopped.

“Zariel,” she whispered as she broke away from the kiss. “I’m sorry. I know that it doesn’t make sense that we feel this—”

“Then why fight it?” I asked, I wound my fingers in her hair and looked at her. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want do.” I pushed her golden tresses behind her ears and traced my knuckles down her face, satisfied at the way she briefly closed her eyes. “I’m enjoying getting to know you. I want whatever you are willing to give. And no more.”

A kiss was her glorious answer.

And footsteps ended it too soon.

We abruptly broke away and she covered her mouth, stifling a giggle. What did it matter if we were caught? She was my mate. No one would think twice about such a thing. But from the red that flushed her cheeks, I wasn’t about to press her. Maybe humans were more conscious than angels about such things.

“It’s alright,” I said, pushing down the joy that she was letting me touch her, even as my hands were desperate for more. “They won’t come here.” The rush of her scent made me heady, lost in nothing but the thought of taking her … and claiming her. Any worries at all were gone, banished by her. I needed her. Now .

She reached out and brushed a hand over my feathers, and I froze.

“I’m sorry,” she said, drawing back her hand. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s alright,” I said, “they’re not painfully sensitive. It’s just that touching an angel’s feathers is intimate, and having them removed is the greatest shame.”

“Why?”

“It means that you’re too weak to protect yourself. That you let an enemy lay you bare. And in some cases, removing another’s feathers is a crime punishable by death—or being kept here.” I rested my head on her forehead. “But I don’t mind you touching them. In fact, I like it.”

“This isn’t the place for this,” she said, her eyes sparkling.

“No,” I agreed, “it is not.” I leaned down to whisper in her ear, pleased at the shiver that went through her at my touch. “When I take you, if I do, it will be as the angels claim their mates.” I gestured above us. “Out there. I will not take you in any other way until that time. And until you ask me to.”

She closed her eyes and her mouth parted, as if she were imaging it. “But I can’t fly.”

“You can do anything.” She had my wings, she had all of me. Bond or no bond, illogical or not, I was swiftly being wrapped around her body, mind, and soul, and I prayed that she would never let me go.

A rough cough sounded from a few rows away. That was right. We were in the library, and I had work to do. If I wanted the High Artist to continue to allow her to stay with me, I had to complete my work. If we wanted to do anything, I had to complete my work.

“Come,” I said. I swallowed. Was I brave enough to ask her what I wanted? “Do … do I have your permission to stay with you tonight? I mean next to you, and only that.”

She agreed enthusiastically, and my heart leapt as if it were already soaring through the clouds.

Perfect. I wouldn’t claim her—as painful as it would be, I would resist—but I had tonight to start to show her exactly what she was beginning to mean to me.

And how, more than anything, I feared having to let her go.