Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
HANNAH
When I wake, for once, I’m not alone.
Beast lies behind me, one massive arm draped possessively across my waist. Is it to prevent another escape attempt, or did he simply fall asleep this way?
He’d untied me after our intense encounter and never sought his own release. Instead, he’d simply wrapped himself around me like a living blanket, and we... slept. I was beginning to think he never rested.
I exhale slowly. It’s still pitch black outside, the room shrouded in pre-dawn darkness.
So this is my life now?
If I’m truly done running… Then in exchange for everything he’s given me, I’m actually planning to fulfill my part of the bargain and... stay...?
Well, hell.
I sink deeper into the pillow, blinking against the encompassing darkness.
I function better with clear goals. Trudging through the snow last night, everything felt crystalline. But now... what comes next?
Because, despite the intensity we just shared, I can’t imagine it’s as simple as happily ever after.
I turn toward him in bed, feeling oddly nervous.
He’s a light sleeper and wakes immediately, wings lifting behind him as his chest flares with that inner radiance, illuminating those golden cat eyes.
I thought they were unsettling when we first met.
But now... they’re actually quite beautiful. Not that I’m about to tell him that.
“Attempting another escape, little consort?” he rumbles.
I roll my eyes. “Please. If I were planning to run, I’d be much more strategic about it.”
A low growl emanates from his glowing chest.
“Oh, stop.” I tap his shoulder lightly. His gaze immediately tracks to where I touched him, then back to my face. Interesting.
“I’m not trying to flee,” I say softly. “I was thinking...” I lower my eyes. “Since this appears to be a long-term arrangement—”
“Forever,” he interjects with finality.
I roll my eyes again. “Would you let me finish?”
He makes one of those adorable snuffling sounds.
I meet his gaze again. “I thought maybe we should actually know each other’s names.”
This time, he's the one who blinks in surprise. Finally caught him off guard.
Sudden nervousness flutters in my chest. I rush the words out. “I’ll start. My name is Hannah. What’s yours?”
“Han-nah,” he repeats, emphasizing each syllable like they’re separate words. I can’t help smiling.
“Your turn,” I prompt.
“Abaddon,” he says solemnly. “The Destroyer.”
“Oh.” I nod, trying not to show alarm. “That’s... intense.”
“Creator-Father said it suited a chimera demon.”
“A what?” My voice climbs several octaves. Did he just say what I think he did? Have I been intimate with an actual demon?
Abaddon sighs heavily. “Though I’m not a true demon.” He says it like he’s disappointed.
“Ah,” I nod, attempting to look non-judgmental while my racing heartbeat gradually slows.
Now that I’ve finally gotten him talking—who knew the key was a post-escape kinky encounters—I’m still feeling mildly hysterical.
“From everything you’ve mentioned, I gather you and this Creator-Father didn’t have the best relationship? ”
He releases a bitter laugh. “That’s an understatement. I emerged as a demon when he’d worked so desperately to create an angelic offspring.”
His wings flare behind him, which usually indicates arousal or anger. I’m assuming it’s anger this time.
“He stole divine essence from the Great Hall when he fell. He believed he could use it to recreate more like his former self.” His expression turns grim.
“But all he could find on Earth were... fragments. Like your Frankenstein story. He attempted to stitch disparate pieces together and infuse them with angelic power.”
He stares at the ceiling, his chest blazing brighter. “He hoped to create a mighty army to serve him. Perhaps one day, even retake the Great Hall on the plane of light.”
“Like... Heaven?” My voice goes up another octave.
He waves dismissively. “Not as you mortals conceive it. But yes, there are beings of pure light there. Others like what Creator-Father’s ancestors once were before their fall.”
I want to interrupt—can we please return to the part where Heaven might actually exist?—but he’s already continuing.
“Creator-Father failed repeatedly. First came Thing.”
“Thing?”
“My brother with multiple arms and the serpentine tail.”
Right. I remember Thing vividly.
“Then he reached into his forge and attempted to craft me—Abaddon, who might become his great Destroyer. But I proved another disappointment, possessing none of the beauty he sought to recreate. Not that this deterred him. He simply tried again, creating Romulus and Remus, and... other failed experiments.” His eyes grow distant.
This feels like hearing some incredible new mythology unfold. I’ve always loved a compelling story.
“What happened next?” I ask eagerly.
He looks back at me. “You genuinely want to know?”
“Are you serious? You can’t stop there! Keep going!”
He blinks, those fascinating eyes sliding sideways.
“Well, though disappointed by our monstrous appearances, we initially tried to fulfill Creator-Father’s expectations.
My brothers and I proved... effective at destruction.
But we were also unruly, and the world was changing, no longer welcoming gods among mortals. ..”
He speaks slowly, and I sense that for every detail he shares, mountains remain hidden—like glimpsing only the tip of an iceberg. But I’m grateful for any information, so I listen intently.
“While Creator-Father originally envisioned reclaiming the heavens, he became obsessed with earthly power through human warfare. He craved dominion above all else, and for that, he required more warrior offspring.”
“Warrior children? That’s horrible.”
“We emerge from the forge fully formed. I’ve previously explained this.”
“Sure, but still. You might be physically mature, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t...” I search for the right words. “You still had to develop emotionally. You had to learn how to exist in the world.”
He pauses, then shrugs. “Perhaps. Some adapted better than others. Creator-Father had little patience for our... learning.”
“You mentioned he created more. But there’s only Remus, Romulus, and—seriously, couldn’t you come up with a better name than Thing?”
Abaddon shrugs again. “It’s what we’ve always called him, as Creator-Father did.
And yes, we had another brother called Layden.
Creator-Father used the last of the angelic essence to create our youngest, certain he’d finally perfected the formula for strength, invulnerability, obedience, but especially beauty. ”
Formula? Creator-Father sounds like a deranged scientist. And a complete bastard.
I prop myself up on one elbow, captivated. “So what happened? Where’s Layden? And your father?”
Suddenly, the light vanishes from Abaddon’s chest, plunging us back into darkness. Only the light from the pale dawn filters through the window.
“Talk, talk, talk. You’re like Romulus—all words, no action.” He vaults from bed, wings spreading wide in either a stretch or agitation from my questions. “I’m hungry. I’ll find sustenance.”
And just like that, the conversation’s over.
But as I watch his magnificent form silhouetted against the window, I realize something has fundamentally shifted between us.
He told me his name. His history. Pieces of his pain.
Abaddon.
Maybe this isn’t just about physical attraction and ancient bargains anymore.
Maybe we could actually get to know each other.
And despite everything—the dungeon, the fear, the running—I find myself wanting to know more.