Chapter 16
Sixteen
Lilith
I breathed a sigh of relief as Lord Fallon stepped away, leaving the library door cracked.
Thank goodness he had a message from his man of business, or he’d have spent the entire evening trying to impress Castiel.
I hadn’t liked how he’d run his eyes over Castiel’s wings and body, as if he was cataloguing every detail for some inventory later.
The door was around the corner, the library in a remote part of the house. He’d promised we’d be undisturbed, bowing and scraping as he went.
I slid a look at Castiel. “I believe you’ve made a convert.”
Castiel ruffled his wings, stretching, and snorted. “Elder Nelson will be so pleased.”
I laughed.
We had arrived at Lord Fallon’s home an hour ago.
Thankfully most of the servants made themselves scarce.
The butler had answered the door, ushering us into the most beautiful home I’d ever seen.
Gold gilt frames, velvet draperies, marble flooring, expensive busts and ancient-looking vases—it was all so much.
I strove to keep my face neutral so I didn’t look unduly impressed.
Castiel didn’t seem impressed, either. He’d said he was a farmer’s son, but surely if he was a leading warrior in an elite force, he’d seen wealth and luxury in his own world.
Lord Fallon met us in the library and gave us a tour, going through each manuscript in his special collection one by one. He was a middle-aged, balding man with gold cufflinks and expensive-smelling snuff kept in a silver snuffbox in his waistcoat pocket.
“Well?” Castiel arched an eyebrow at me, breaking my musings.
I shook myself, glancing over to the reading table where Fallon had left out his oldest books. He told us he wasn’t sure which book I was talking about, but he’d leave us in peace to look through them. “Yes, let’s get to it.” My stomach churned at the thought of helping him leave.
Whatever was growing between us would wither and die as soon as he left with the information in the book. But how could I keep him from his home? If I truly cared for him—and by all the gods, I thought I did, I really did—then I would help him.
I pressed a shaking hand to my brow, massaging at the headache already forming even before I opened a single book.
“Are you well?” Castiel asked behind me.
I flashed him a wan smile. “Perfectly well.” Straightening my shoulders, I forced my feet to carry me to the edge of the table, forced my hands to reach for the first book, and began carefully perusing it.
The first manuscript was easily two hundred years old, a theology tract from a priest of the god Termus. I set it aside. Two hundred years felt like a long time to me. But Castiel was probably older than that. To distract myself from our looming separation, I asked, “How old are you?”
Castiel shifted beside me. “One hundred and sixty-one—no, sixty-two now. Why?”
I turned a page. “I was curious. You’ve spent fifty of those years here in our world.”
“Yes.” His tone was unreadable.
I squinted at him, trying to judge his age. He looked, in human terms, only a handful of years older than my five-and-twenty. “Remarkable.” I shook my head, then turned the next page.
“I was in the army for nearly twelve years before we Fell,” he said quietly, unusually serious. “I’ve spent nearly a third of my life here.”
“Has it been so bad?” I reached for the next book.
“Parts of it, yes.” His tone lightened. “But other parts have been wonderful.”
“I hope your time with the church will fall into the wonderful part,” I teased.
He laughed. “I’ll be honest, cirra, your church is terrible.”
I wanted to argue, but he was right. The discovery of Jo made me rage on the inside, though I didn’t know where to put that anger when all my life I pretended to be calm so I could look beautiful and feel safe, escaping any more notice.
“But.” Castiel’s voice softened. “You are by far the best thing I’ve experienced in all fifty years here.”
My cheeks warmed. I turned another page, looking up at his face. “Castiel, I—”
His brow furrowed and he pointed. “Is that it? Is that what you saw?”
My words died in my mouth as I glanced down at the book. It was older, perhaps three hundred years old, so large I’d have to carry it with two hands, and the yellowed, fragile parchment crackled as I turned the page. I gasped, drawing my hand back to look more fully at the illumination.
Beautiful ink illustrated the scene from the stained glass across the yellowed page.
At the bottom fields sprawled, only interrupted by the gray building in the corner with a steeple, much like a church for Erlik.
And then in gradient blues, the sky stretched above.
The focal point, however, was the most arresting: an angel—a seraph, I corrected myself—Falling, black wings folded painfully and a hand desperately reaching for the sky.
Castiel sucked in a breath beside me.
Unthinking, I reached for him, putting a hand on his forearm. How strange, even painful, this must be for him. His muscles under my fingers tensed, then slowly relaxed.
We stared at the image, not speaking.
Beneath the image, in faded ink, someone had scrawled: The angel Judith loved.
“Who’s Judith?” I finally asked.
“I was going to ask you.” Castiel shifted his weight, but didn’t move his arm away from my hand.
I glanced at the opposite page, hoping for more details.
Unique artwork found in the Hawkstone Cove of Emmas, around 150 years old.
An excellent example of artist depictions of myth and legend.
The angel Falls from the heavens, his face in anguish, one hand reaching for salvation.
His black wings are useless. When asked, the Priestess did not know why the wings were depicted in black ink when religious myth tells us Erlik’s messengers have white wings.
The wellspring of the Hawstone Coven’s magic is a closely guarded secret—more so than most covens. The area is lush with magic, evident by the fertile fields, the robust religious devotion to Goddess Emmas, and the number of artisans who study their crafts at the coven as part of their training.
“But who is Judith?” I muttered, turning the page a little too harshly. “A worshipper of Emmas? One of their witches?” I shook my head in frustration. “Since when did people write so confidently of magic?”
Castiel glanced at me in surprise. I caught the movement in the corner of my eyes but didn’t face him. “What do you mean, write about magic?”
“Magic doesn’t exist. Covens of Emmas nearly don’t exist anymore,” I said impatiently.
He hesitated. “Magic is absolutely real. Even in this world. I can sense it, even if I can’t use it.”
I shook my head again. “No, magic used to exist, but it faded from the world. And we don’t need it because we have Erlik.” I halted, my lips snapping shut as I contemplated what I’d said. Who taught me that?
“Lily,” Castiel said slowly.
I held up a hand, anger spiking inside me.
“I suppose I should reconsider those claims, since they’re made by the same people who cast my sister out into the cold and let me assume Jo was dead for years.
” Bitterness coated my tongue. I had trusted my parents, the elders, the whole community—and they’d lied to me. What else had they lied about? Magic?
I felt like someone was flipping my world upside down, and I didn’t know which way to stand, which ground I could trust to hold me. My vision wavered.
Now it was Castiel’s turn to set a hand on my shoulder.
“Lilith, you are an incredibly intelligent woman. I imagine learning you’ve been lied to your whole life is…
well, I’d take my sword and cut them all down for you, if you like.
I’d be sorely tempted to do that if I was in your place.
But I also have no doubt you can sort through it and pick out the truths from the lies. ”
“Magic still lives in my world?” I asked calmly, finally looking up at him.
Castiel nodded, eyes solemn. “But not nearly to the extent it does in mine.”
“And covens for Emmas have not died out?”
He hesitated. “They are not as plentiful as they used to be, but yes, there are several in this country that are alive and well.”
I sighed. “But of course.”
Castiel turned to face me now, his thumb rubbing soothing circling on my shoulder. “Lilith, you will push through this. You are young and you are fierce—you could remake the entire cult if you wished to.”
That wasn’t true, but I appreciated the sentiment. I forced myself to smile. “Thank you, Castiel.” I cupped his cheek with one hand, and warm tenderness rushed over me. This was his moment, his discovery. One step closer to getting his people home.
And yet he was comforting me. Because I was too stupid to see the lies in my upbringing.
I should’ve guessed at least some of it—especially when Absalom had been made an elder.
He had been used as the reverend’s bulldog, snarling and threatening punishment at anyone who dared ask a question.
But I had buried my doubts and carried on like normal.
Maybe I was a fragile cirra, like Castiel had said.
Yet last night…when he called me that, it didn’t sound like an insult. It sounded like an endearment. A thrill went down my spine when I remembered last night—both the look in his eyes and the way I’d given myself pleasure two more times when I was in my bed afterward and unable to sleep.
“What’s that look?” He returned my smile, though his brow furrowed in confusion.
My smile stretched wider, and I went on tiptoes to kiss his lips. “I’m just happy I know you.” Before you leave me. I pushed the thought from my mind, wrapping my arms around his neck and abandoning myself to the passion between us I could no longer deny.
His hands settled on my waist, pulling me against him, and something else bumped at my back.
My eyes flew open, and from the periphery all I could see was gorgeous, rich, steadfast brown.
He’d wrapped both wings around me. I’d never thought much about the poetic blessings talking about being sheltered under Erlik’s wings.
But now, well. Now it was both the most comforting and the most arousing thing I could ever imagine.
I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to lean against his hard body or lean backward and feel those feathers against my skin.
He bit my lower lip, his fingers pressing into me, and then all I could think about was his lips, his breath, his touch, and the way my name sounded in his mouth.
Lilith. Lily. Cirra. He repeated it over and over, pressing the sounds into my own mouth, against my own skin. His heart pounded in his chest, and awe and smugness spiralled through me, that I could do such a thing to him, someone so powerful.
His erection pushed against my stomach, insistent and hard. It sent butterflies through my belly. This time I wanted to see it. I wanted to feel it. And I wanted him to feel me.
I clutched at his shoulders and neck, clawing for purchase so I could get even closer.
His hands slipped down and he planted his palms across my ass, and my desire shot so high I thought I would scream. He gripped me, then lifted me up into his arms.
Gasping, I hiked my dress so I could wrap my legs around his hips.
Ah, this is heaven. With my hips opened, his heated length nestled right in between my thighs, rubbing exactly where I wanted it.
He was strong enough I didn’t need to hold onto his neck with both hands, and I reached one hand higher to stroke the crest of his wing.
He shuddered, pausing in his kiss. “Lily,” he whispered, his lips never leaving mine. “That’s…that’s very sensitive.”
I grinned, rolling my hips. “Does it get more sensitive?”
Instead of rubbing against me like I expected, he stretched his wing higher, granting me access down his back.
“So much more sensitive,” he moaned, and the sound of his voice so desperate and needy made my core clench and throb.
“Please, I, please—” His breath came in shaky gasps, his muscles spasming.
Gods, I needed this man.
He licked down my neck, his fingers digging into my ass. Somehow he was able to stir all this passion, display all of his lust, without a single whiff of possession. As if he knew it would always be my body, as if he would be the humble supplicant always begging for a touch, a taste, an entrance.
That made my passion rage all the more.
Sensing my change, Castiel snapped his wings back and turned, setting me on the edge of the reading table.
I hissed as the cool wood kissed the backs of my bare thighs. “Castiel, what are you doing?”
He grinned. “Worshipping you.” And then he got down on his knees with inhuman grace and parted my knees.
Yelping in surprise, I slapped my hands on top of his. “Castiel!” This was new. He’d be much closer and I was in brighter light than last time.
He kissed one knee, eyes on me. “What?” His kiss became open-mouthed, his tongue licking flames on the inside of my knee.
Suddenly my body exploded in fire, and oh, I wanted to burn even hotter. I nodded frantically, even though I was still a little uncertain. I just needed him touching me, and if that’s how he wanted to do it, then I would be happy.
His smirk had a wicked edge to it as he trailed kisses up my left thigh. “Cirra,” he whispered, “legs apart.”
The thought of someone staring at me—there—unnerved me. I let loose a shaky sigh. “You…you won’t dislike it?” I couldn’t bear the thought of Castiel looking at me, especially that close, and turning away in distaste. It would crack me.
Castiel leaned backward, putting pressure on his wings. It looked very uncomfortable, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Cirra Lily, do you know what I did after you left last night?”
I shook my head.
“I buried my face in the wetness you left on my bed because I couldn’t get enough of your scent. I brought myself off multiple times before I could sleep. And yet I was still awake before the dawn with this desire to climb out of my skin and nestle myself right against your beating heart.”
My mouth formed an oh. I needed his tongue on me now.
Instead of diving in, Castiel hung back, brow furrowing as he searched my face for some sort of reaction. “You understand it’s not just because of how you look, don’t you? I also respect your mind, and I’ll never touch you without your—”
“Castiel!” My hands clenched his. “Just kiss me already!”