Chapter 19 Suriel
Icleave my sword through the hellhound’s head, splitting it in two. Rotting brains and blood that smells like ammonia with the texture of coffee grounds spill out. I refocus on Charlie. She’s scuttling backwards, away from a hole in the ice that’s rippling outward with cracks.
“Charlie, come towards me,” I say in a soft voice.
“This is bullshit! You’re not safe! God is a fucking sadist and-” She’s cut off by a hellhound skidding on the ice towards her. “WHERE’S YOUR FUCKING POWER, ANGEL?!”
The hound tries to bite her, but she kicks it in the face, making the beast whine. It digs its claws into the ice and manages to get closer, close enough to snap at her chest. It doesn’t want to kill her, but that doesn’t mean it won’t bite her.
My sword flares to life, burning bright as I approach, trying not to crack the ice.
What a time not to have wings.
The beast snaps at Charlie again and again, trying to claw her while she holds the face away, kicking the beast’s chest with one foot and beating the ice under it with the other. She’s not backing down. She’s not relying on me to save her.
She’s far from a damsel in distress.
The hellhound draws back, hissing as she digs a thumb into its eye. Then it gives a vibrating snarl like a final death rattle, before snapping at her. She punches it in the face, forcing it just enough to the side that I stab through the massive head.
Charlie groans as more rotten blood gushes from the beast. I dislodge my sword and the beast collapses, half on Charlie. I hear the crack, reach for her, and catch air as she plunges into the water. She gasps just before she goes into the black abyss.
“Charlie. Charlie!” I thrust a hand in and she grabs it, balancing her elbow on a thicker part of ice before her eyes widen.
“Behind you! It’s f-ugh- ing behind you!” She sputters, choking on water, trying desperately to stop her shivers so she can speak.
I turn my sword in my hand and thrust it backwards, feeling it catch in half-frozen, half-rotted meat. Glancing over, I see Lust. The demon wears the face of a gorgeous man mixed with classically feminine traits.
My sword burns through the demon, making the head fall back as the eyes burn with divine light. Lust drops to the ground and I return my attention to Charlie, reaching for her hand.
She’s not there!
I push myself into the water, leaving my knees balanced on the ice and grab her, hauling her up.
She doesn’t sputter. She doesn’t cough. The ice keeps fracturing under me, so I try to spread us out, dragging her across the ice closer to the shore until a weight barrels into me, dragging me from her.
Grunting, I find myself staring up at a hellhound, bristled, putrid, disgusting, with too many teeth. It goes for my throat and I manage to block, but that only saves my neck, not my shoulder. The rows and rows of teeth dig in, shredding skin and pulverizing muscle as it shakes back and forth.
I scream and fumble for my sword until I finally thrust it into the beast’s chest. It slumps on top of me, heavy and threatening, until I roll it off. The ice cracks, but doesn’t break.
Then I see Charlie. I slide to her, grab her, and pull her close to me. I draw an angel rune on the ice in my blood to protect us while I save her. I pump her chest, hissing, then lower my face to hers, breathing into her.
“Come on, Charlie. You fight no matter how small the insult. Fight now,” I order, then start compressions again.
I hate seeing her so limp, so quiet, so helpless. I hate how cold and close to death she is. I finish the round of compressions and gently guide her head back, just for her to squirm and vomit water.
Relief is sweeter than Heaven’s light.
I turn her on her side and rub her back as she keeps throwing up water. She coughs and tries to open her wet eyes as she folds in on herself, shivering violently. “F-f-fuck ev-veryth-thing…”
“Shh,” I say as I scoop her into my arms. “Insult it all later. Conserve your strength right now.”
Her arms lock around my neck and she presses her body against me as her legs wrap around my waist. I rub her back while my other arm supports her ass. Her hair is already ice.
“I’ve got you. No more hounds. I’ve got you, Charlie,” I promise.
“F-fuck y-y-your G-god,” she hisses.
“I heard you,” I say, my lips ticking down. “And I understand why you don’t believe, why it’s easier not to.”
“L-Lucif-fer was b-better. Held t-to his b-beliefs. D-didn’t bow,” she mutters, clinging to me, nearly digging her nails into the spot just above my fresh wounds. “Y-y-you d-d-don’t b-b-bow to m-me.”
“Sweet dove, I will get on my knees and serve you,” I whisper into her icy hair, so happy that she’s here, that she’s not dead, that she’s alive enough to sass me. “I’m your angel. Command me, use me, rely on me.”
The words are too honest, meant just for the two of us. They ride the line of blasphemy, the line I should never be close to crossing. When she faces me, her face pales, snowflakes collecting on her lashes.
Slowly, she releases my shoulder to push my hair out of my face, then strokes my jaw. “K-k-kinda l-look l-like an ang-gel.”
“I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment.”
She nods once, then buries her face in my neck, squeezing me tightly. Her teeth stop chattering as we get back to the cabin, but she’s freezing me thoroughly. Even my natural heat isn’t enough to protect us both.
Once we’re inside, I set her down in the bathroom, but she’s shaking worse. As she thaws, she flinches. Her face goes red, her eyes water, her nose runs, and she tries to fold in on herself.
She looks so utterly fragile.
I strip down, then focus on fixing this.
She needs to be warm. Hot water is the best way to do that, so I draw a bath for her. I make it scalding and let it run before returning to her and picking her up.
“I in-insulted y-you,” she breathes when I return to her side.
“You insulted me,” I agree, looking her over and trying not to let my gaze linger on how her clothes are matted to her, highlighting every curve. I clear my throat. “Keep doing it.”
I force myself to focus on her face to calm my body’s reaction to her.
“I-I insulted y-your G-God,” she continues. She pulls at her shirt, wanting (correctly) to undress. “M-my fing-fingers are n-numb.”
I take her hands and pull them to my face. I wrap my hands around hers and exhale again and again, trying to literally breathe life back into her fingers. She trembles, but doesn’t look away from me.
“W-why b-be nice? Everyone only w-wants t-to help when th-ther’s something in it f-for them,” she whispers.
“I enjoy it,” I say softly, too honestly. “I don’t like seeing you in pain, afraid, hurt. That’s reason enough.”
“Angel,” she whispers. Her eyes dart over my naked body and she licks her bottom lip. “W-What are y-you thinking?”
That I want to hold her so she can’t get hurt again.
So she’ll never think about what she’s already been through and force herself to get stronger when she should be allowed to stay soft and sweet.
So many injustices have ripped through her life and never left a physical wound to be treated with care.
“S-Suriel?” She asks weakly.
“You need to be warm,” I say softly.
She shifts closer to me and takes my hand, putting it against her cheek and leaning in. Her eyes close. “W-warm.”
“Yes,” my voice rasps. I hate how weak I feel in the wake of almost losing her, of her basking in my touch like it can save her.
I pull away. “Your clothes have to go.”
I reach for her shirt and she grabs my wrist for a moment, still shaking, watching me with torn eyes. She wants me, but she doesn’t trust me. I understand.
I nearly let her drown.
I wasn’t fast enough.
I wasn’t there… again.
The war in her eyes ebb and her touch softens.
She lets me drag her shirt up, revealing her flat belly, tan skin glittering as beads of water catch the light. She tries to undo the tie she’s tightened around her waist. She hisses. “Just … w-work.”
I gently push her hands out of the way. “Let me.”
While I focus on undoing the tie, I hear wet fabric slap the floor and glance up to where her arm is wrapped over her breasts. Her eyes are focused on me, her cheeks burning red, eyes watery, but dilated.
She’s vulnerable.
She wants control.
“You’re okay,” I promise. “You know what I won’t give you.”
“Y-you want t-to,” she mutters.
I pretend not to hear her. I undo the knot she tied in her sweats, then take a slow breath.
“B-boots,” she says.
I look down and realize she only has one on. The other one must have fallen off. I undo her boot, guiding it off her foot and leaving it and a puddle of water on the floor. When she shifts, I glance up and see her wiggling out of her pants.
She looks up at me and squeezes her thighs together, then holds her knees. I drag her pants the rest of the way down, slipping them over her feet and barely resisting the urge to warm every inch of her with my mouth.
My tongue is hotter than my hands.
It would do her better.
Wrapping myself around her, rubbing every inch of her body in some way or another, getting her moving, up, active …
My eyes flick to her and she glances down at my cock, then back up to me. Of course, I’m hard. She’s naked, in front of me, needing the kind of warmth that’s so easy to encourage.
Being tangled with me would make you so, so warm.
The thought spreads under my skin, tightening my lower belly. I know it will lead to disaster, but what a tempting journey to a hellish destination.
Is there any point in ignoring what I want when it’s becoming more and more clear that there is only one way to prevent the Devil’s reign?
She adjusts her arm, pressing her breasts tightly against her chest, so her cleavage is lick-able. I set her in the tub before I lose my mind entirely. I slide in behind her and she shifts slightly.
“Let me help,” I whisper, splashing water over her back. She flinches and I swallow. “Is it too hot?”
“No,” she answers, glancing back at me with soft, expectant eyes.
Something in my chest shifts. I swallow and help her rub life back into her frozen body. I work her shoulders, cup water and pour it over her hair and listen to her breathy sighs before she coughs again.
“Rub yourself,” I say tightly.
She leans forward to rub her legs while I work on her back. I massage her shoulders, her upper arms, her scalp. When she moans softly, shifts further back into my hands, guides me where she wants me, my dick pulses.
I want her.
I want her in every way.
Her happiness, her eagerness, her lust – I’ll take care of them all.
I try to rip that thought out of my head and focus on her skin finally starting to return to a more natural, lively color.
She shakes her head, her shivers steadily dying down. She sinks further down in the water, rubbing against my body, and moans.
I bite my tongue to keep myself in check while turning off the water. When I realize she’s moving slower, I give another order, “Faster, to build friction.”
“Y-you said to command you.” Charlie looks up at me, her hips rubbing against my body. “So, help me.”
I obey, rubbing her arms with determination. Then I feel something across her forearms and turn her arm to look. Scars rip across her skin, some lines parallel, but wavering, one vertical, from the heel of her hand to nearly her elbow.
I catch her wrist, and lift her arm while holding her eyes. I see warnings, threats, and a soft pleading in her eyes. She doesn’t want me to ask, she doesn’t want to tell. I know that.
These wounds are personal.
Self-inflicted to regain control, or perhaps for reasons she’s not ready to share.
“I wasn’t there then, but I’m here now.” I turn and kiss the heel of her hand, then trace the wound with my tongue, trying to heal that old ache, whatever drove her to this.
“For our remaining time, I will keep you safe,” I promise, ignoring the pulsing agony radiating from my shoulder that I now feel it. And trying to keep my eyes open.
Even if it damns me, I’ll keep that promise.