Chapter Ten
Gabriel
I shouldn’t have kissed her. It was a mistake.
A glorious mistake. A mistake I’d revisit in my dreams. Nightmares, too.
My wings splayed out beneath me, tangling in the bed linens.
I groaned and threw my hand over my face.
Sleep during the day was useless. I couldn’t.
At night I had nightmares. During the day my dreams were filled with her.
I was going to die if I didn’t have her in some way—even if it was just her scent on my pillow, that could be enough.
I shoved out of bed, giving up on the idea of rest. Yesterday’s kiss had woken me, in more ways than one. Desire hadn’t hit me this strong in…perhaps forever. Certainly in over a hundred years. I needed her, but I should not have her.
Yet this morning, when I’d woken, it wasn’t only my cock that was hard and straining for life.
My chest had cracked open, and the ache I’d felt since she’d arrived had grown stronger.
Suddenly every breeze felt like a whirlwind.
I cared about scents and tastes again. My thoughts weren’t dreary muddles.
Everything was fresh, crisp, bright, and cool—just as winter in this world began.
What did she think of the kiss? It had been hard to tell this morning when she’d arrived at my door as prim and proper as a housekeeper should be.
Her hair was tucked under that infernal cap.
I wanted it free. I wanted it strewn across her shoulders where I could touch it and run my fingers through it.
Bah. Such nonsense. Love and happiness weren’t for me. I should be focusing on finding a way home. Or, if that was impossible, making this manor more inhabitable for my sedge. They deserved a safe haven.
In Aerie, class would separate us. Perhaps here, too. I didn’t fully understand the ways of humanity. But here at Mirkwold we lived in a liminal space, human and seraph as equals, and here I could dream of her kisses and seek succor in her arms without recrimination.
I glanced around the room. It was clean, near sparkling in its intensity, but sparse of furniture or anything that created a sense of home.
This was the most decorated bedchamber in Mirkwold.
Perhaps that was why so few of my seraphim had visited as of late.
I hadn’t been a welcoming host, so wrapped up in my own despair.
I grimaced. That needed to change.
Renewed vigor surged through me. It couldn’t all be from her kiss. I shook my head as I left my chamber.
Castiel, after Eve left last night, had ruffled his feathers and cocked his head, a purely seraph gesture of amusement mixed with curiosity. He knew what he’d interrupted—he could smell it, he could see the flush on my skin. But he hadn’t asked, thankfully. Hadn’t pressed. But his eyes danced.
Had Castiel ever bedded a human? Had he taken one of the village girls as a lover?
Or perhaps one of the young men? I had actually opened my mouth to ask him what he thought of human women during our quiet evening together, then snapped my jaw shut.
I didn’t need to know. I didn’t need to encourage this thought.
And I certainly didn’t need him teasing me about it.
The hall was bare flagstone, cold against my bare feet. Was it always this cold this time of year? Regret wormed through my chest. Perhaps I had been failing my sedge all over again by moping and drenching myself in self-recrimination.
Not a good look on a captain in the Aerie military.
I wandered onto the minstrel gallery and surveyed the Great Hall. It was still dark—I hadn’t thought to give Eve permission to light many fires, and she was a frugal human, so it wouldn’t occur to her to do so without my permission. Grime, cobwebs, and dust still coated the high windows.
The oriel, though, was beginning to look like stained glass actually existed under all those layers of dust. My chest puffed up at the sight, though I didn’t know why.
The door from the servants’ wing opened, and Eve walked through with a bucket and her cap tied tight to her scalp. She wore a frown and she barely looked at the room, as if lost in her own musings.
What is she thinking about? Did she receive troubling news from home?
Did the shop not have the food she expected?
My hands tightened on the balcony railing.
If she needed more, I’d ask Castiel to fly to the next town.
Perhaps I’d do it myself, because I couldn’t have him making mistakes with her order.
She deserved only the best after how hard she worked around this decrepit manor.
Eve reached the oriel and set down her bucket. She put her hands on her hips and surveyed her next portion of work, sighing.
Before I could think better, my body reacted. I vaulted silently over the railing. My wings shot out, letting me hover halfway to the ground.
Eve gasped at the sharp noise of air hitting my feathers and spun to stare at me.
Does she think I’m handsome? Do the wings repulse her? Are they too inhuman?
Back home, my wings were considered large and full. The white feathers reflected the light in a way most other seraphim found attractive. But I didn’t care about them anymore. I only needed to know what Eve thought about my wings.
She watched me flap once, until I was nearly over her head, then slowly descend.
My feet touched the cold stone floor. If it was chilly to me, a seraph, no wonder she was always wrapped tight in that bulky wool dress and her shawls. I made a note to encourage her to keep more rooms of the house warm. I needed my housekeeper to stay healthy, and humans were so fragile.
“Good afternoon.” She usually smiled when she saw me. This time she looked everywhere but me.
Worry pricked. Maybe she’d hated the kiss. Maybe this attraction was one-sided after all. My fists clenched at the horrifying thought.
“Here to help?” she asked with a hint of a smile after all.
“I…” If my sedge could see me now they’d laugh. I never showed uncertainty. “I’ll supervise.”
She snorted lightly. “Supervise,” she mocked under her breath. Soft enough another human likely wouldn’t be able to hear. She didn’t realize how good seraph hearing was.
My lips quirked in a smile as something light fluttered through my heart. No one ever mocked me. “How was your trip to the village?”
She dunked a sponge in the soapy water, her sleeve rolled up to her elbow. She had such fine, delicate wrists. Winter had paled her skin, and bluish veins wove a pattern up her arms. “Fine.” Eve cleared her throat, glancing away from me. “I got the food I wanted. Didn’t see anyone.”
I cocked my head. It was an odd response, but perhaps she was still getting used to me.
“Tell me about the village,” she said suddenly.
I stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“How do you speak our language? How did you buy Mirkwold? How does the village keep quiet about you and Castiel?” The tone of her voice changed when she reached Castiel’s name.
My wings bristled. Does she like him? Does she prefer him over me?
Thoughts spun through my mind before I could stop them.
What was wrong with me? I’d never cared much about whether someone liked me or not.
I’d had lovers of all genders in the past, and never had I worried about their thoughts. I forced my mind back to the present.
“After hiding in Alban wilderness in the north for a couple of years, we began searching for home. It was hard to keep our identity secret, especially since our Fall had been so public. We were able to find a few humans and swear them to secrecy. There was a coven of witches and seers who helped the most. They taught us the language.”
Eve jerked and stared at me, freezing with the sponge halfway through one swipe of a yellow piece of glass.
“What?” My eyes narrowed.
She shook her head. “Nothing, sorry.”
“What?” I repeated. “Do you not know any witches?”
Eve shook her head again. “My church doesn’t approve of magic. It doesn’t exist anymore anyway.”
I scoffed. “Doesn’t approve of magic? That’s like saying someone doesn’t approve of the wind.”
She shrugged awkwardly. “Hundreds of years ago many people worshipped the mother goddess, Emmas. I didn’t know there’s entire covens out there anymore. Magic is gone, and so are most of Emmas’s followers.”
I made a sound in the back of my throat. I wanted to come back to that later. The witches told us in this world women had better awareness and ability to weave magic into the physical world around them.
“I used to craft magic,” I said softly, before I could think better of it.
She stared at me, eyes wide. “Truly?”
I nodded, flushing. My wings hitched. “I can’t anymore. There’s not enough magic in your world for seraphim to gather and use.”
“What could you do?” she breathed.
“I could call wind and lightning,” I told her, wishing more than anything I could show her. Living without my magic for fifty years had been more painful than I ever imagined. The only thing that could hurt worse was cutting off my sword arm.
“All seraphim can do magic?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Only the upper echelons—the royalty, nobility, and seers. A few artisans and academics can do some spellwork, but not much.”
Her face turned wistful. “How you must miss it.”
Clearing my throat, I changed the subject before grief overtook me.
“A few of us took up guardian work, keeping some people safe. We pooled our money as we made it. A trusted human invested it for us in a bank.” I shrugged.
“And then we let the money grow. We live long here, so it is easy to let the money multiply. Once I had enough, I bought this property. It’s remote with open space. Doesn’t require much upkeep, either.”
Eve had resumed her scrubbing, nodding along to my words. “Makes sense.”