Above the Ashen Clouds (Twisted Worlds #2)

26. Zariel

Chapter twenty-six

Zariel

W hat I was preparing to do was unheard of. Possibly dangerous. And yes, it would anger the Artists beyond measure if they discovered it. As far as I knew, no angel had shared our magic with another creature. It may be impossible to share.

But Cat was my mate. My heart. If there was a single thing on this earth that I could give her, it was hers. If she were an angel, this would’ve been permitted without a second thought, and I wasn’t about to deny her what was hers by right.

She was going to be the first non-angel to bear our magic.

There was no reason she couldn’t have it, other than tradition. I never came across a single source that indicated that it was unsafe for her, or that the process was different. It was tradition, and not practicality, that created this custom. And the reality that it just might not work. If it did, it was possible that it was only the fact that she was my mate that permitted it.

But I had to try. Who knew what was going to happen? Meeting the High Artist reminded me that what we were doing had real consequences, ones I would protect her from at all costs.

Seemingly oblivious to the turmoil in my head, Cat turned to me and grinned, making my heart soar as if we were above the clouds once more. Those clouds where she was clutched tight around me, bringing me to release. Trusting me. I hardened under my robes. And what did it matter that I was making no effort to hide it? I knew my way around this mountain better than I knew my childhood home—the odds of us encountering anyone here at this time of night were unlikely. Pretty much everyone was either in their rooms, or one of the communal halls. If we were back home, some would likely be flying, but flying outside of the mountain’s vicinity was forbidden by the Artists, and few found flying in the ashen clouds to be anything but a poor substitute for the real thing.

This wasn’t the world I was meant to be in with her. Oh, the places I’d take her if she were home with me. Lakes with flowers that bloomed under the surface, glistening under the placid water. Fields where one could see the millions of colored stars in the sky, glistening like perfect gems, and our moon that had its own people, beings we knew little of but loved to wonder at. Ancient buildings that were now all but abandoned, carved with languages and symbols forgotten even by us and made by creatures now lost to memory. Our world was old, far older than this one, with many secrets lost to time that had yet left such wonders.

“What are you thinking of?” she asked quietly. “You look … sad.”

“Not sad, exactly. It’s just that there’s so much I’d love to share with you, and I never will.”

“Never say never,” she said. “You’re here with me, and that’s a miracle unto itself.” She squeezed my hand. “We live in a world where anything can happen.”

She was right. I had to hope that someday, with her, I’d have everything that I dreamed of. Even if it wouldn’t be in my original home.

A few minutes later we came to the familiar door that led to the black stone ceremony room. A familiar weight settled in my chest, heavy with the memories of what I had witnessed in here. The beings that took their last breaths, gifting me magic as they lost their lives.

Cat touched my arm before I could open the door, stopping me. “Won’t they find us?”

“No,” I said. “Only a few Artists like to come here, and they usually come in the morning. It’s lit inside only out of habit, and the fact that any fire in there isn’t going to damage anything.” How could it, when the room and everything within it were stone? No, I was confident we wouldn’t be bothered—I wouldn’t have risked bringing her here otherwise. This wasn’t exactly a room we liked to visit without reason.

With Cat seemingly pacified, I led us into the room and took care in closing the door behind us. The stone trapped sound, making every noise seem extra muffled under our feet. This black hall of stone wasn’t the only ritual room my people had, but they were all the same, even the ones outside of this mountain. They were all made from the same black stone, they all had that balcony that lined the space just under the ceiling, and they all were lit by torches, the stone reflecting the light like a dark lake of fire.

“We have to do this here?” she asked. Despite her frown, her blue eyes sparkled from the torches’ glow.

“Yes, unfortunately. It’s the best way to ensure this works.” This place carried horrific memories, but the room was made the way it was for a reason—everything was for the magic.

She grabbed my other hand, giving them both an extra squeeze. “I trust you.” She leaned forward and kissed me, all her trust and affection placed into that tender gesture. Unwilling, I shifted, preparing to touch her. I wanted her. My need overrode all reason, all caution, the mate bond doing its job of making me think of nothing but being buried inside her, claiming her. And I had other things to think of.

More important things .

“How will this work?” she asked once we separated, for now. Suspiciously, she eyed the room, surveying everything with her perceptive gaze.

I pulled out a small cup that I had tucked under my robes, one meant for holding a tiny mouthful of liquor to sip. “I will bleed into this, you will drink it, and I will take care of the rest.”

Cat paled, noticeable even in the dim light. “You’ll … bleed? Zariel—”

I cocked my head. “Unless you prefer to drink from me directly?” I grinned, teasing as Cat’s eyes widened. “Some angels will drink directly from each other for this ritual, yes, but I figured that you’d rather drink from the cup.”

“It has to be blood?”

“Yes.”

“And not … another substance?”

My cock fully hardened at the thought, and she noticed, biting her lips. “I … I wish. But no. Our magic is all in the blood.” Fuck, I needed her. Now. No, I had to focus. This was an important ritual, normally done with supervision. Preparation. I had to focus.

She swallowed hard. “If I have to drink blood, the cup is perfect. I have no desire to be a vampire.”

I frowned. “You’ve met one?”

“They’re real?”

Unfortunately. “Another time—we don’t need to discuss those disgusting creatures now.” I took out a small knife that I used to cut fruit—a freshly sharpened one. I wasn’t absolutely sure that we were going to do this, but I didn’t want to pass up the opportunity, so I prepared.

I set the cup on the altar, placed the knife over my palm, and slit my hand. A hot fire tore through my skin. Damn, that was worse than the bird, that wound still fresh on my finger. Wincing, I let my hot blood trickle into the cup, a sticky red path roaming over my skin. Slowly, the cup filled, bit by bit. We didn’t need a lot, just a mouthful. But that little bit felt like a gallon when it was dripping out of me in a stinging stream.

“Zariel?” Cat asked, eyebrows knit together.

“I’m fine.” I was, but poor Cat seemed to be taking on a tinge of gray. I had cut carefully, knowing where to slice to obtain blood without going too deep. I did well—the cup was filling. Slowly.

Once the desired amount was in the cup—I had to squeeze out the last bits as the wound was already sealing—I placed the cut into my mouth to dull the pain and pulled out a roll of gauze.

“What else do you have in there?” Cat joked nervously. “Chocolate?”

“Unfortunately, no.” I smiled, just to show her that I was alright. What was a little blood in exchange for granting her some basic protection?

While I wound the fabric around my wound, I explained the rest of the process, enjoying the redness that bloomed on her face. The way her breath raced. Her scent wafted over me, washing me in thoughts of her and only her. The worst part was over, and the focus was shifting entirely. “Now,” I said, trying to keep the anticipation from my voice, “all you have to do is enjoy yourself.”

Cat stepped closer to me. “Is doing that necessary for the ritual, or is it something you added for yourself?”

“Would it be bad if I did?”

“No.” Cat’s eyes roamed around the room, at the overwhelming darkness that surrounded us. “But this is hardly the most romantic spot I can think of.”

“Well, it’s necessary, I’m happy to say—you’re gaining this magic by virtue of being my mate.”

“If we must,” she said, with a smile and a dramatic sigh.

“Yes.” Finally, I’d be able to do what I had spent the entire day anticipating. “We must.”

Pain forgotten, the blood safely resting on the altar away from us, my eyes roamed from her face to her breasts, to her abdomen … every bit of her was something that I’d enjoy to the fullest. The sounds I’d elicit, the quivering I’d cause … I was going to claim her, own her. This was my mate, the second half of me, and I would do whatever it took for us to be one. Forever.

Slowly, I approached her and took her into my arms, placing a solemn kiss on her forehead. She pressed against me and sighed, moving her legs so that she was rubbing herself on me, the damn fabric in the way. We were doing this for the magic, yes, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to take my time squeezing every drop of pleasure from this that I could—for both of us.

In one smooth movement, I swept my arms under Cat’s legs and set her on the altar. She laid back, on display, and watching me warily.

I stepped to the side, admiring the way the gauzy fabric laid against her form, revealing her curves. “Afraid?” I asked. “You shouldn’t be. I’d never let anything harm you.”

She thought for a second. “Nervous. I’ve never done any sort of magic before. Or seen anything like this.” She rubbed her arms. “And I’m a little cold.”

“Soon there’s going to be no reason for either. The worst that will happen is nothing,” I said confidently.

“You said the magic itself might hurt?”

I tried not to grimace. The thought of what was to come for her was awful, but in the long run it was for the best. Better pain from the magic than pain from the ash. “The runes will burn some, yes, as they form on your skin. That can’t be avoided. If you like, we can—”

“No.” She swallowed. “I’ll do it. I’m going to guess that they will look like yours?”

“Yes.” Probably.

“Good. I like the thought of having this—because it’s yours.”

She was brilliant, white and silver in the darkness, an offering displayed just for me. The light cascaded off her gown’s gossamer fabric, making her sparkle like stars in the clear night. Her nearly white hair was strewn over the black stone, like rays of moonlight against the void. That was what she was to me—light. Direction. Peace. How had I been so content before her, when I was missing half of myself?

“Alright,” I said. “Let’s begin.”

I retrieved the cup that held my blood and placed it on the altar closer to us, and finally, blissfully, I kissed her.

“Cat,” I whispered, the taste of her unraveling something latent within me. She tasted sweet, like winter’s air over a pristine forest. She returned my kiss and let me sit her upright, moving her lips languidly against mine. Nibbling on my lower lip, she took both hands and grabbed my head, pulling me towards her. Soft fingers wove through my hair, commanding me to move even closer, to obey her as she took what she wanted.

My wings flared up out of instinct, and I almost knocked the cup over. Despite my best efforts, there were still little drops of blood on my clothes, staining them in a trail of red and already fading to brown. What if someone noticed? What if someone asked what happened?

But Cat was here—and wanted me. Who cared? I’d lie and say that I fell and cut myself on the ash.

Cat let out a little gasp, pulling me back to what mattered—her. I gently laid her back on the stone altar, the focal point of the magic, her skirts in a beautiful disarray, as if she were a princess displayed in the snow. Thousands had died in this exact place over the years, their deaths serving magic. But Cat was pristine, and innocent. Darkness lies at the depths of knowledge, and magic could only be worked with a painful price. To be an angel was to live on the balance between enlightenment and devastation, power and corruption. Beast and Artist. And now, dressed in white diaphanous fabric and splayed before me, the black stone altar stark under her pale hair and skin, she embodied that very conflict.

“You’re so beautiful,” I said, running a finger over her face and down her cheek, to her neck, and down the valley between her breasts. She shivered underneath my touch, my fingers drawing a delightful trail of goosebumps over her skin. Her breath quickened when I lowered my mouth to follow what my fingers had started.

With my name on her lips, her legs shifted, and I took that as an invitation to lift her skirts up, revealing more and more of that smooth skin. I was already hard—painfully hard—but this wasn’t something I was going to rush. Last night was too hurried for my taste, spurred on by the desperate need to claim my mate for the first time. Tonight, I’d take my time, and that would involve tasting every bit of her, savoring everything.

I moved away from her face and crouched so that my head was above her center, my mouth hovering just over her. I breathed onto her core through the fabric, letting my breath warm her chilled skin. A heady scent welcomed me, hers mixed with mine, an echo from the days when we angels were desperate creatures, driven solely by our instincts.

Instincts that I appreciated once I lifted the fabric, exposing everything. What a perfect sight, those lips so sweet and beckoning. Her breath caught, her legs shifting in anticipation. I didn’t have a chance to study her last night, all of her, and I was going to rectify that now.

“May I?” I asked, tracing a finger along her already slick slit, and was rewarded with a little jerk from her hip.

“Please,” she said, voice rushed.

Using my index finger on each hand, I explored every bit of her—utterly flawless— admiring for a long moment before I took her into my mouth. I never understood why one would want to do such a thing, until her. I needed to consume all of her, in every way that I could.

“Zariel …” she moaned after a short gasp of surprise, covering her mouth with her hand. Her pleasure heightened my own. There was nothing but her sweet taste, the song of her gasps and moans, the way she twitched and thrashed when I did something she particularly liked. Her wet center fascinated me, and I used my finger to part the outer flesh before driving into her, making her clench. So tight, and yet she had managed to take all of me. Would take all of me.

“Is … am I supposed to come during the ritual?” she asked between gasps.

“Yes,” I said, lifting my head to smile at her. Her hair was disheveled, her skin a pale pink and lightly covered with sweat. Her robes were askew, one perfect breast visible. “Now would be too soon. And, unfortunately, you will have to climax with me inside you.” I could bring her to the brink twice—I was more than capable of it. I’d enjoy it. But my understanding was that the magic demanded the first time. It demanded craving. Need.

“Fine by me.”

She pushed herself up, and slowly removed her dress. One strap after another fell over her shoulders, baring her breasts above the clouds of her fine dress. She then knelt on the altar and pushed it down the rest of the way, revealing herself.

My mouth went dry.

Then she swung her legs over and slipped off the altar, landing on the stone ground with a soft thud, letting the dress fall the rest of the way to her feet.

The rush of blood filled my ears with my heartbeat, and a thin layer of sweat broke out under my robes as she faced me, entirely naked. A queen of snow, beautiful and pristine. Her normally perfect, braided hair was mussed, her face flushed. Yet she commanded me, her loyal subject, with a mere look—I stayed exactly where I was.

She approached me, and before I could react, she knelt with her head barely reaching my waist, moving and parting my robes so that I sprang free. The cool air hit my cock, and if I thought I was hard before, that was nothing compared to what I was feeling now, with the sight of her, combined with the tenderness with which she stroked me in a languid rhythm.

Wait, was she—

“Cat, you don’t have to—” Any protest died as she took me into her mouth, sucking and rubbing my shaft, spreading her spit to help her hands glide over me. So perfectly smooth. I cursed. She smiled with me still in her mouth, and before I knew what I was doing I ran my fingers through her hair, adjusting her so that she went over me in an even rhythm.

I released her and she kept that same pace, and suddenly my garments were far too warm. I threw off the robes, letting them crumple on the ground. My wings flared harder behind me, threatening to lift both of us into the air. Her hands gently worked their way through the little feathers surrounding my cock, teasing them and making them send little jolts of pleasure that made me desperate.

Damn her. If she kept this up, I’d come far too soon, and we’d have to re-do the ritual at a later date. I had to do something. Now.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I bent down and guided her up, taking her mouth in mine as I carried her back to the altar, her legs around my waist and her sweet wetness touching my skin. My cock.

Carefully, I rested her on the altar so that she sat upright, both feet braced on the black stone. A moment later I joined her, kneeling in front of her. I picked up the cup filled with my blood with one hand, spreading her legs with the other, unable to resist the urge to run my fingers gently over her swollen flesh.

“Drink this,” I said, gesturing with the cup, careful not to let it slosh over the side. “And when your pleasure threatens, don’t fight it. The mate bond is doing what it is supposed to. Trust it.” She nodded. We didn’t have to hit our climax at the same time for this to work, but it had to be close. Our souls were what was connecting—not just our bodies. Everything else was just designed to help the process go easier. The important part was that we were open to each other, accepting what each had to offer. But the window where that acceptance would be at its peak to allow the magic to transfer was small.

Cat stared at the cup in her hand for a few seconds, swirling my blood, and then she drank. And swallowed. And set the cup down. A drop of my blood ran out of the corner of her mouth, a brilliant red against her skin.

“Done,” she said with a grin, wiping away the blood.

“Lay back,” I said.

A moment later I lifted her legs, positioning her so that I could access what I needed, rubbing my cock on her wetness. As soon as she braced herself, I entered her, the mate bond and the magic already tugging into me. With a small cry she grabbed me, pulling me closer. As if I didn’t need her enough before …

Her tight heat gripped me, clenching impossibly hard against my thrusts. With the luxury of being on the ground, I leaned us back, admiring how I worked in and out of her, an angle I was unable to see last night. How she stretched to take me. The way her wetness coated me, letting me slide effortlessly.

I rubbed the nub between her legs. And then, once I was rewarded with her moans, I slammed into her, harder and harder. I couldn’t hold back—too much was at stake for me to hold back. I had craved her since the moment I left her last night, thinking of doing exactly this with every spare thought. Despite everything that was around us, I yearned to be with her once more, to have her wrapped around me. Her mouth had worked me so close already, it wasn’t fair.

I was done being patient. I needed her. Now . I wouldn’t be satisfied until I had filled her, and even then, it would only be temporary. I’d need to take her again. And again.

And Cat—Cat was falling apart, biting on her hand to keep from crying out in pleasure. I memorized her, determined to remember the look on her face so that I could recall it later. Dream of it. There were so many things I was going to do to her, my gentle mate. So many places and ways I would enjoy her. We hadn’t even scratched the surface of how I could elicit pleasure from her. The things we would explore. Together.

I wasn’t going to be parted from her. I refused to allow it. No matter what the Artists decided, or what the High Artist tried to do .

But in order to keep just that from happening, I had to work some of the most complicated magic I’d ever had to do. Magic I wasn’t even sure I could do.

It was difficult, lost inside her as I was, but I focused on my runes, calling their magic to life. Like a pot starting to simmer, I felt their magic rise within me, burning, pushing against my skin, like a boil threatening to burst—and then it left me and poured into her in a steady golden stream, like exhaling in a winter’s night.

She shivered, and suddenly cried out, gripping me tightly as her release took over her.

Perfect.

I let go of the last bit of my restraint and let my desires take control. If not for the mate bond, it would’ve been next to impossible to focus on carnal pleasure with my skin on fire, but the bond did what it was supposed to. I was in its thrall, and I allowed it.

I thrust into her, again and again, tasting my own blood on her lips as I spent inside her, forgetting where I was. Forgetting my name. My hands rested on each side of her as I hovered over her, bracing us as I worked to my climax, pouring into her with a guttural cry, her own moans of pleasure in my ear.

And then everything cleared. She was underneath me, my head resting on her damp chest, her legs still gripping my hips. Her eyes closed and her moans changed their song—now they were not from pleasure .

My love …

I sat up so that I could see her stomach, and the runes that were forming along the base of her abdomen, bright red lines on her pale flesh.

“It’s alright, my dear one,” I said to her, rubbing my fingers through her hair. “It will pass. Soon.” I gently pulled out of her. My body still hummed with pleasure, but I could take no joy in it, not while she was in pain.

I offered my hand and she took it, gripping it with a fierce strength.

“Zariel,” she moaned, “it burns.”

“I know.” I kissed her head. “Be brave, my love. It is working. It won’t be long.” If only I could bear this for her. I’d do it gladly, a thousand times over. But I couldn’t. Magic came from pain and blood, and if she wanted it, she had to pay the price.

Like someone was branding her from the inside, the runes pushed against the skin, lifting to the surface and emanating a soft glow, her moans mellowing to soft cries. Despite her misery, I sighed with relief.

“Cat, it’s working. It worked.”

If she heard she gave no indication, her eyes clenched shut as she emitted harsh breaths.

She had my magic—the ritual actually worked. Now she was truly an angel’s mate. Her magic wouldn’t be as strong as mine, but she’d have it. We were now bound in one of the most intimate ways. I was told that if she didn’t accept me, didn’t have her body and heart open to me, this wouldn’t have succeeded. But it did. She was mine, just as I was hers. And the magic … my runes were a meagre protection, but one never knew when any gifts would be useful.

A couple minutes later she fell silent, her runes now complete. The embers under her skin were a perfect match of mine, in position, size, and angle. “Is it over?” she asked, her red face beaded with sweat.

“Yes. They will never feel like that again. They will occasionally burn, but nothing like initially receiving them.”

“Good.” She sat up with my help and looked at her stomach. Gently, she poked at a rune. “For some reason I thought they’d be warmer.”

“They usually won’t be.” I inspected her face. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” She chuckled. “I’m just envisioning trying to explain this to Silv.”

“If he’s your friend, he’ll understand.”

“Oh, he will. But that won’t stop him from being horrified. Admit it—these are a bit unnerving. I’m a human glowstick.”

“I’m … not sure what that is, but I think you look perfect.” I leaned forward and gave her a long kiss. We were still naked, spent, I had a bloody hand, and she had a drop of dried blood smeared on her face. Not to mention she was still flushed, worn from the exhaustion of having the magic forged in her.

When we parted, she stared at me for a long moment, and then asked, “Can I … can I take a bath?”