Chapter 6 #2
An apology. Again. Two in twelve hours. Seraph the Radiant, First of Hubris, Lord of the House of Ruin, apologizing to me twice. Well, fuck.
"Why did you do it?" I ask quietly. "Deny me the ritual. Force me to hold the lust. Was that really about testing me, or was it about something else?"
He's quiet for a long moment. Long enough that I think he won't answer.
"Both. I needed to see how you handled pressure.
But I also..." He stops. Starts again. "You walked into my house wearing another angel's claim.
Gold at your throat and wrists. Smelling like him.
Connected to him through a binding I can't see but can sense.
" His hands clench on the chair back. "I wanted to see if that claim was absolute.
Or if there was room for... complications. "
"Complications."
"Yes."
"You mean you wanted to see if I'd betray him."
"I wanted to see if you'd choose survival over loyalty." He meets my eyes. "You did. Which tells me you're practical. Adaptable. Willing to do what's necessary. All useful traits."
"And the fact that it’s destroying him? Feeling every moment of it through the binding? That doesn't matter to you?"
"Of course it matters." His voice is sharp now.
Defensive. "I'm not a monster, Raven. I don't take pleasure in causing pain.
But I also can't afford to be sentimental.
Seven angels. Seven houses. Seven years of you moving between us, binding yourself to all of us.
If I'd let sentiment dictate my actions, I would have given you the ritual.
Let you purge alone. Maintained the comfortable fiction that you belong solely to Croesus. "
"But instead you made us purge together."
"Yes."
"Why?"
He's quiet again. "Because I needed to see if you'd break. And if you didn't break, I needed to see if we could... coexist. Without the ritual as a barrier. Without the comfortable distance your little ceremony provides."
"And now you know."
"Yes." His eyes are unreadable again. Mirrors showing me only myself. "I’ll grudgingly admit you're stronger than you look. More resilient than most sin eaters I've encountered. And when backed into a corner, you don't collapse. You attack."
"Is that a compliment?"
"No. Simply an observation." He sits finally, settling back into his chair with that perfect posture. "One that influences how I'll approach your training over the next year."
"Training."
"Did you think I'd simply use you to break contracts and nothing more?" He tilts his head slightly. "Your grandmother was powerful. Skilled. Dangerous in ways most sin eaters aren't. You have her blood. Her potential. But not her training."
"She taught me everything she knew."
"She taught you how to survive. How to break contracts.
How to purge sins." He leans forward. "But did she teach you how to fight? How to shield? How to manipulate sin instead of just absorbing it? And I know she wouldn’t have been able to teach you how to use the binding you share with all of us as a tool instead of a leash.”
"No."
"Then we have work to do." He opens a different drawer, pulls out another journal. This one looks newer. Less worn. "I'm going to teach you things your grandmother never had time to. I'm going to make you dangerous."
"Why?"
"Because her murderer will come for you again. And when they do, I want you to be ready."
The weight of it settles over me like a lead blanket. Grandmother. Dead. Murdered, not naturally. And me with a target on my back I can’t get rid of. A target written into my very blood.
"And when I get to whoever killed her?"
"Then we deal with them." His voice is cold. Certain. "Together. Because I made a promise to protect you. And I always try to keep my promises."
"Even when keeping them is inconvenient?"
"Especially then." He stands, circles the desk in that slow lazy way these angels have, and reaches down to take my hand.
Lifts it between us. The gold chains at my wrist catch the light, and I see him staring at them.
"These mark you as Croesus's. But you're in my house now.
Under my protection. That makes you mine as well.
Not in the same way. Not with the same claim. But mine nonetheless."
Croesus's jealousy flares inside me. He's listening somehow. Hearing this. Feeling my reaction to Seraph's words.
I should pull away. Should reject the claim. Should remind Seraph that I belong to no one, that these contracts don't make me property, that I'm my own person despite the bindings and the deals and the year of service I owe.
But I don't.
Because despite everything. Despite last night, despite the cruelty and the testing and the absolute lack of privacy, there's something in his expression that makes me believe him. Something that says he will protect me. That he will help me find answers.
That maybe, just maybe, I'm not alone in this.
"Fine," I say quietly. "Teach me. Train me. Make me dangerous. But Seraph?"
"Yes?"
"If you ever force me into a situation like last night again. If you ever deny me the ritual or manipulate me into purging with you, I will find a way to make you regret it."
His smile is sharp and approving. "Good. That fire is what I need. What I'll cultivate." He releases my hand, steps back. "Now. Go rest. Training begins at dawn. And Raven?"
I pause at the door.
"The boots. By the door. Not on the marble."
I look down at my feet, still wearing the leather boots I put on this morning. There are faint smudges on his perfect white floor from where I walked in.
"Oops," I say, completely unapologetically.
His eye twitches.
I smile sweetly and leave my boots exactly where they are as I walk out.
Some battles are worth fighting.
Even the small ones.