11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

S now drifted past the window. Lamplight streaked the floor. Briar wrung the tremble out of his hands and opened the white kit, sifting through bandages, antiseptic, capped syringes, and suture materials. His pinky brushed a pack of cleaning cotton. Steady . He swallowed, stealing a glance at Aster. The Great Duke studied him, following Briar’s every movement with half-lidded eyes. The wound wasn’t terrible. The bleeding had already slowed and started to clot, but it required stitches.

“I’ll need to clean it first. From there, I’ll stitch the wound and apply a bandage,” Briar said. He made a valiant attempt at channeling the confidence he’d once had on the battlefield.

Aster hummed. “Briar—”

“You will let me work,” he snapped. Something hot and acrid filled his throat, like anger but worse. “You will be silent, Astaroth. You will be still and grateful, and we will argue once I’ve tended to you. Do you understand?”

Aster set his teeth against his bottom lip. He didn’t nod. He simply froze and watched. Briar attempted to ignore the duke’s hot glare, but even as he worked, wiping blood from his battered skin, sliding a needle along the mouth of the wound and pulling it closed, he felt Aster’s inquisitive gaze all over him. With the stitches in place, Briar taped a soft, dry bandage atop them, covering the gore from view. It hadn’t taken long. Ten minutes, maybe. But the silence stretched into an eternity.

“You’ve tended to me,” Aster said, voice even and gentle. “May I speak?”

Briar swallowed thickly. “Yes.”

“You don’t take orders from Michael any longer.”

“I don’t take orders from you either, remember?”

“You aren’t obligated to clean up his mess or handle his mission. What happened tonight shouldn’t impact your decision—”

“I’ve already given my word,” Briar bit out. He sat on the floor next to the disemboweled medical kit. “Because someone couldn’t resist a fight.”

“My relationship with my brother has nothing to do with you,” Aster said, snorting defiantly.

“Don’t play me a fool. Tonight, it had everything to do with me.”

He leaned forward on the sofa, propping his elbows on his thighs. His sharp eyes narrowed. “Apologies, Briar, but I defend the people I care about. The man who tore the wings from your back, the man who tried to ruin you, arrives on my doorstep during a household banquet—uninvited, mind you—and asks for an audience with my partner. My partner, who has already declined a less than enticing offer from a messenger. Forgive me, War Angel,” he spoke lowly, rasping each word from the back of his throat, “but I don’t take kindly to my siblings extending a show of power beyond their reach, especially when their intentions are far from pure. This is still my home. Michael has no privilege here.”

Partner . The term stopped Briar in his tracks. He’d never been claimed before. Not in the specific way a lover was crowned with importance. He pondered the idea of breakage. Taking back a promise had always been gravely disrespectful. A human thing; an unworthy act for a heavenly creature. His lips parted on a shaky breath, and he shook his head, unused to the concept of empowerment, nonetheless protection.

“If it bothers you that much, I’ll find a replacement to go in your stead,” Aster said, as if he’d read Briar’s mind. “This is nothing more than an attempt to weaken your resolve and take something precious from me. Two birds, one stone.”

In the core of him, Briar knew it to be true.

Aster made a dismissive noise. “He cast me down to force your hand. Someone without a personal agenda wouldn’t have bothered.”

“I’m quite certain he would’ve fought you simply to prove a point,” he muttered.

“You’re probably right. I let him win, by the way. That was completely—”

“Of course, my Great Duke, of course,” Briar interjected, rolling his eyes.

Aster’s lips ticked into a smile. Laughter warmed his throat. “C’mon, Briar,” he purred, reaching out to pinch Briar’s chin. “It’s the solstice. Forgive me, at least.”

Briar inhaled deeply through his nose and lifted his eyes, meeting Aster’s steady gaze. “Denying Michael would mean war. You know that.”

“I’ve denied him for centuries.” He slid his fingers along Briar’s jaw, cupping his face.

“You underestimate him.”

“You underestimate yourself,” Aster whispered. “C’mon, then. Forgive me. Let’s go back to enjoying our night.”

“And tomorrow?”

“I have no say over what happens tomorrow. You can go, you can stay. I told you I’d find a replacement and I will, but otherwise, I have nothing to do with whatever choice you make. Technically, Michael is entitled to absolutely nothing. I believe, quite simply, that you haven’t accepted that yet.”

Michael was an absolute. A steadfast and harrowing presence in his eternity. At one point, he’d been all consuming. A father, a mentor, a leader, the decision maker for every matter, at every crossroads in Briar Wright’s long, strange life. And yet, Briar found himself surviving without Michael, out from beneath Michael’s beautiful wing and thriving, nonetheless. For so long, he had lived to please. To provide care. To ensure life.

For once, Briar had to turn his skillset inward and analyze his own injuries.

Aster stood. He cupped Briar’s jaw, sliding his thumb over thoughtfully pursed lips. “You belong to yourself, Briar. I’ll be in the dining room, all right?”

“Yes, I’ll. . . I’ll be there shortly,” Briar said. He accepted a chaste kiss, close-mouthed and polite, and listened to Aster’s footsteps fade.

Snow drifted past the giant window. Candlelight fluttered on the bookshelves, illuminating old tomes and sallow pages, and a winter hush settled over the library. Briar stood and walked to the window, pressing his palm against the chilly glass. Cold struck through him all the way to his clippings.

The longest night sped by. After the violent outburst between Aster and Michael, the manor seemed to quiet, holding itself against the promise of a sunrise. The ghostly staff and retired angels dressed in fine silk and soft suede, and Chastity enjoyed the warm, damp atrium. Horses knickered from the heated barn. Through the window in the sitting room, Briar watched elk reach for hardy winter flora clinging to low branches. For a while, no one approached him. A few people nodded or smiled but kept their distance. It wasn’t until Luca’s hand graced his shoulder that Briar felt a breath loosen in his chest.

“You’re quite patient with him,” Luca said. Pomegranate floated in their bubbly champagne flute.

Briar sighed. “There’s no other way to be, is there? Impatience would only lend to a far more frustrating conversation.”

“Oh, absolutely. He’s a mule, I swear it.”

“I’ve learned as much.”

“But he does adore you,” they whispered, casting a sidelong look at Briar. “You’ve done something to his heart. I don’t think you realize that yet.”

“Aster has always had an open heart,” he murmured.

“Yes, he has. But he’s never had a foolish heart. It’s a very human thing, I think, to become childlike and vulnerable with someone. I’m sure it frightens him.”

“You think I frighten him?”

“No, dear. Losing you, though? I’m sure the idea has him shaking in his boots. You’re not a thing to be had, but you’re something he could lose. Strange, isn’t it? How our hearts can handle one but not the other,” they said, and offered a polite smile before crossing the room to adjust a pinecone on the tree.

Briar sat with that thought—being something to lose. To Michael, he’d been expendable, a thing to be conquered and molded. But ever since he’d stepped foot in Aster’s manor, he’d felt nothing but longing, triumph, and growth. It was an oddity, the concept of healing and actually feeling it. He dragged his fingertips along the wall as he stepped into the foyer. Music chimed through the house and people held quiet conversations in different rooms. Briar stepped into the dining area and scanned the table until he found Aster seated in a chair, cradling a wine glass.

“Hello,” Aster said, as if they hadn’t been arguing minutes ago.

Briar strode across the room and stepped between Aster’s knees, silently asking him to readjust. “May I? Or are you too injured to take my weight?”

“Don’t insult me,” Aster cooed. He snaked his hand around Briar’s waist and guided him onto his lap.

He was mindful of Aster’s wounded side, shifting to sit comfortably with his leg draped over the arm of the chair and his arm curled against Aster’s chest, fingers poised at his chin, tipping his face toward him.

“You’re a brute,” Briar said.

Aster snorted. “Am I? Heaven forbid.”

“You’ll drive me mad, I think. I’m almost certain of it.”

“You’ve already driven me mad.” Aster tilted his head, brushing his nose along Briar’s cheek. “Isn’t that obvious?”

Briar waited for him to ask about Michael, the morning to come, what his decision might be. But Aster took his lips in a gentle kiss and hummed pleasantly. You’re safe, Briar told himself. He held onto that kiss. Safe and free. Safe and loved. Safe and happy .

When he drew back, Aster cracked his eyes open.

Briar studied his handsome face.

The manor leaned into midnight. Candlewicks snapped, ghosts danced, and the longest night lingered.