12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

B riar woke before sunrise. Aster’s wide chest rose and fell beside him, and silence stretched as dawn crept toward the horizon. After retiring to Aster’s bedroom a few hours ago, they’d made love tenderly, holding each other close, burning touch into memory. Even when Briar had whined post-climax, straining beneath Aster’s weight, the Great Duke had kept him suspended in passion, drawing pleasure from Briar’s exhausted body until he’d finally said, “Stop, Aster. I can’t, I can’t.”

No matter how long they’d enjoyed each other, the solstice ended, and Briar had to face his fears.

Leaving, staying. Giving in, standing up.

Beautiful soreness bloomed around his tailbone. Briar breathed through his nose, watching Aster slumber peacefully beside him. The slightly pointed tip of his ear. Mouth parted and wings unbound, resting lazily on the bed beside him. Copper chest rising and falling. The aura hiding his angelic truth shimmered and jilted, showing the partial outline of another eye on his forehead.

Briar stroked the bridge of Aster’s nose with his fingertip.

“Go back to sleep,” Aster whispered.

“I need to deal with this,” he said.

Aster cracked his eyes open. “You don’t.”

“I do.”

The mighty duke rumbled like an old, cranky stag. He wound his arm over Briar’s waist and tugged. “I won’t chase you, War Angel. But you have a home here.” He paused, brushing his mouth across Briar’s chin. “With me.”

Briar slipped his small hand along the strong plane of Aster’s chest. He tipped his head, accepting the barest kiss. His mouth parted for the hot slide of Aster’s tongue, and his chest lightened as he arched forward, sliding his bare body against every dent and hollow of the demon beside him. They kissed a fever into each other. Briar moaned at the deep, hungry plunge of Aster in his mouth, greedy and wet, tongue rubbing sure and slow against his own. He felt Aster’s wide hand thread through his hair, holding him captive, and didn’t protest when Aster rolled onto his back, hauling Briar with him. Didn’t try to stop him when his palm drifted over the swell of his ass, between his spread thighs, and fingers probed insistently at his hole. First one, then another.

“Go on,” Briar exhaled, pitching his hips, riding Aster’s knuckles.

Aster pulled his hand free and fisted himself, holding still while Briar sank.

The hot push of Aster’s cock burned through Briar’s body. He bore down against discomfort. Opened for him on an easy, shuddering breath, and whimpered at the resistance—the weighty drag of Aster’s heavy cock. Briar was still swollen and sensitive, still raw and loose from a night spent soaked in desire. Aster left his channel bruised. Made every thrust feel too deep, too important. Briar’s slack mouth quivered. He splayed his palms on Aster’s chest, avoiding the bandage taped to his stomach, and rode him in a quick, hard, beating rhythm, chasing an orgasm. Looking down at Aster, long lashed with blown pupils, and feeling the duke’s strong grip on his waist, guiding every fast pitch of his lower-half, made a terrible, noisy cacophony erupt in his chest.

" Harder ," Briar begged.

He almost fell forward, taken off-guard by a bite of pleasure spearing through his groin. Aster seized him. Grunted and locked him an iron grip, thrusting up into his limp body. Briar’s gaze dulled. He let his vision slip and ebb, blurring as Aster pistoned into him, splitting his lithe frame, forcing himself deep, deeper . Cock nudged against prostate once, twice, and Briar spurted, gasping and yelping, taken off-guard by the sudden flood of blinding pleasure. He roped across Aster’s stomach, painting him, and Aster moaned, driving deep into the clench of Briar’s body until they were flush and inseparable. Aster’s face screwed into a blissfully pained expression. He filled Briar until the gush leaked, beading and dripping where Briar was still stretched full. Briar’s jaw dropped open. He took short, soft breaths, panting as Aster pushed harder, grinding his pelvis against Briar's stretched rim. Saliva strung from his slack mouth. His cloudy vision danced and spun.

Aster leaned up to kiss him, licking at drool and spit, and reached between them, tugging Briar’s spent cock. "Slip yourself down my throat.”

Briar blushed horribly but did as he was told. He pulled himself off of Aster, crawled over his chest, knees bracketing his shoulders, and fit his messy cock into Aster’s mouth. Felt tongue lap. Throat convulse. Felt the strong grip of Aster’s hands around the back of his thighs and tried not to cry at the electric heat coursing down his spine. He buckled forward, cupping Aster’s shaved head, and slid himself over the Demon King's talented tongue, thrusting deep again, into warm, spasming throat, skimming blunt teeth, back again, enjoying the searing curl of Aster’s wicked tongue on his slit. Two fingers breached his tender entrance, pushing come back inside, plugging him, and Briar cried out like a wounded animal, crowding into Aster’s mouth until the duke choked. Aster probed him hard and fast, fucking him with his hand while he milked him with his mouth, and Briar couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. Everything was gone. Carnal, uncoordinated pleasure encased him, whipping through his body like a bolt of lightning. He couldn't spill again, couldn't get hard, but he still tightened and twitched, clamping down on Aster's knuckles and smearing a splatter of clear semen on his tongue.

The wet glide of Aster’s messy mouth along his thigh brought Briar Wright back to reality. The rake of curled fingers, scraping along his channel, catching cruelly on his rim, popping free, made Briar wince and blink, staring intently at Aster’s headboard.

“Dream of this in Olympia.” Aster’s voice was sex-soaked and raw as he spoke in the hollow beneath his hipbone.

Briar caught his breath. He thought he might pass out, but the world righted itself.

“You’ll go to him smelling like me, if nothing else,” Aster added.

“Petty,” Briar murmured, climbing off his chest and perching on the side of the bed.

“And you’re beautiful,” he whispered, rising to press a kiss against Briar’s shoulder. “I could spend a lifetime in this bedroom with you. I could spend an eternity with you, period.”

Briar swallowed the itch in his throat. “I will come back.”

When Aster didn’t speak, Briar glanced at him.

“I will ,” Briar assured, meeting the Great Duke’s steady gaze. “My life is mine, Astaroth. You must allow me the chance to define my own fate. Make my own choice. Break my own bond.”

“Forgive me for my instinct,” he said.

“To hoard me?”

“To protect you.”

Briar opened his mouth to speak, but a featherlight rap on Aster’s bedroom door rang through the room like a church bell.

“Pardon. . .” Luca’s voice poured through the thick wood. “I’m afraid Michael is on the porch again.”

Aster rested his cheek on Briar’s shoulder, minding his bandaged clippings. He idly stroked his side, counting ribs. “You’re not owned, but I do love you, Briar Wright. In a way, I think you may very well own me.”

Something swollen and heavy seemed to burst in Briar’s chest. His heart became a soaring, unfamiliar thing, spilling with a blissful sorrow he had never experienced before. Love came at such an unexpected time, slivering his skin like a strike from Michael’s sword. Strange, to have loved someone, revered him, sought him out with every intention of instilling pride in someone who, in the end, shredded his resolve and inflicted a torturous pain Briar could not seem to crawl out from under.

Yet love still cracked through the cement around his flighty heart. Love—this love, Aster’s love—gilded every fissure Michael left inside him. For once, love was not a mountainous thing to climb. It was not something to prove, or hold captive, or use as bait. It just. . . was . In the simplest and most complicated way.

“Luca, tell him,” Briar croaked, clearing his throat. “Tell him to wait. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Aster shifted closer. His breath coasted the top rung of Briar’s bandage.

“You would move to disarm me before I face my greatest fear,” Briar hissed. He pawed at one leaky eye and huffed out a breath, pulse beating wildly. “How dare you say such a thing.”

The room thickened. Aster’s hand slipped away. “Would you prefer I lie to you?”

“Look me in the eye,” he said, turning to stare at the handsome, fierce duke curled around him. The top of his wings peeked over his shoulders, shadowing his chest. “Never brandish a weapon while my back is turned.”

“My love is no weapon,” Aster bit out. He leaned forward, cupping Briar’s jaw with one hand. His thumb followed the jutting path of his cheekbone, and he clucked his tongue, gray eyes soft and radiant in the threadbare shadow. “I did not want attachment,” he confessed, chewing at the last word. “I avoided it like the plague. Did everything I could to stay an island. But I’ve found myself upended by you. Your mind is a cavernous, beautiful thing, and you carry courage in your heart like I’ve never seen before. You’re the fucking best of us, Briar. You’re brilliant, and fierce, and kind, and I might be an orphan, but I prayed for you.” He paused, sucking in a coarse breath. “The High Court did not deserve you. I do not deserve you.” His grip tightened. He gave Briar’s face the smallest shake, touching the pad of his thumb to the corner of Briar’s watery eye. “But I love you. Deeply, illicitly, I love you.”

Each word plucked Briar’s heartstrings like a claw on a harp. He stared at Aster. At his beautiful, carved face, and the tender, rich depth of emotion pooling behind his eyes. At a Great Duke of Hell, powerful and ancient, naked beside him, still shiny and scented like their coupling.

“You love me.” Briar spoke accidentally, repeating a thought that kept rising, fluttering.

“Is that so hard to believe?” Aster whispered.

A nod. Then he shook his head. “No one has—”

“ I have,” he said, annunciating. “I do .”

Briar gulped. His chest emptied. “I’m not possibly worthy of—”

Aster kissed the rest of his statement away. “Don’t question my capability,” he whispered, speaking against Briar’s lips. “I, Astaroth, Twenty-Ninth to Fall, Great Duke of Hell and Commander of Legions, love you, Briar Wright, Fallen Angel of War, and there is nothing you can do or say to uproot yourself from my heart.”

There was no fight left. No excuse to sputter out. No resistance to rally. Briar simply stared at Aster, memorizing this beastly, terrifying, incredible man, before he spoke into the tiny space between them, right against the scar on his lip. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, and then inhaled sharply, allowing the next three words to tumble after, “I love you.”

“You’re sorry? ”

“I’m wingless, and fallen, and broken —”

“You are beautiful, and holy, and healing, Briar.”

And Briar knew with such blatant, steadfast immediacy that he would not leave. Could not leave. He seized either side of Aster’s neck and kissed him hard, savoring the warm, relieved hum vibrating from the cavern of Aster’s throat. There was a timeless prayer seated deep inside him. Some wayward part of him wrapped itself around Aster, and this mansion, all the ghosts and strays floating through its halls, and recognized it as home .

“I will never chase you, I will never cage you, I will never collar you. You will forever belong to yourself. . . I just. . . I sincerely hope you will consider being mine, too,” Aster said, stealing another kiss. “Let me admire you until you tire of me.”

“I’ll never tire of you.” Laughter weaved through each soft word.

Aster made a weak, playful noise. “We’ll see.”

They held each other for a long while, trading breath, sliding mouths along the delicate skin of face, neck, jaw. Dawn poured through the window. The day still came whether Briar liked it or not, and he knew he would have to face the archangel who had carved such a deep, unforgiving well of grief inside him. Knew he had to fortify his heart.

Give me strength , he prayed, searching for a shred of God in the hopeless pit Michael left in his chest. One Aster filled with light and safety.

“I need to go,” Briar whispered.

Aster flinched. The slightest movement—a twinge in his jaw, a feather at the corner of his eye.

Briar kissed him again. He dragged his hands from throat to chest, over the hard plane of Aster’s lean stomach, finally to the bed. He pushed to his feet. Soreness panged in his pelvis, ricocheting through his body like a skipped stone as he walked to the bathroom. Aster quietly followed. They showered under a spray of steaming water. Briar allowed himself the indulgence of Aster’s sudsy grip along his body, soaping him from collar to ankle, and closed his eyes when Aster scraped shampoo through his hair, massaging his scalp.

It was a quiet, endangered moment. Briar soaked the fragment of time into his marrow.

Aster dressed in a simple black outfit, sharp and predictable. Briar wore a stone-colored sweater and patterned pencil pants with heeled boots Luca swore would cleave a man’s mind in two . Aster seemed to like them, so they hadn’t very well been wrong.

Briar steadied his breathing. Remembered to hold fast to the small, steady, newfound strength glowing deep, deep in his chest. For a long while, he’d thought Michael had snuffed it out. Smothered his courage under the weight of love gone sour and brutal betrayal in the aftermath of disobedience. But it had been there, that headstrong courage, smoldering under the fallen eaves of what he’d once been.

He flexed his shoulder blades. The stretch of virgin skin stitched across his clippings was a stark reminder of what Michael reduced him to—stole from him. Flight and freedom, divinity and stability.

Aster rested his hand on the small of Briar’s back and said, “You belong to no one, War Angel.”

Luca stood in the foyer dressed in fanciful pajamas. They sighed, scanning Briar from boot to brow, and clutched tighter to the brown coat folded neatly over one bent arm. Briar’s coat. When they offered it, Briar shook his head.

“Stay,” Briar said to Aster.

Aster tilted his head owlishly, but did as Briar asked and halted on the polished wooden floor. He gave Luca a quick look and nodded toward the stairs, silently instructing them to leave.

Luca cleared their throat, laid their hand on Briar’s shoulder, and then darted away, prancing up the staircase.

Briar steeled himself, charged across the foyer, and reached for the doorknob. His hand stilled. Fear latched around him. All he could think of was Chastity swallowing something half her size, how her mouth might stretch, and her teeth might puncture. His chest felt stuffed with a buzzing hive. Every breath seemed to shred, growing thinner, harder to sip. You must , he told himself, you must, you must, and yanked the door open.

Michael faced away from the entryway. The mighty feathered appendages sprouting from his back ruffled slightly, pulled in close, leaving twin streaks through a dusting of snow. He angled his chin over his shoulder and smiled fondly. “Briar,” he said, as if they were friends, as if last night never happened.

Briar stayed in the threshold, hand clamped around the doorframe. “I have a lot to say to you.”

“We have a long journey. Tell me while we’re traveling.” His voice. That voice .

Briar swallowed around the needle jammed in his throat. “You know I would never break a promise, but I was once again forced to bend against my will. That’s on you, not me.” He paused for a breath. “I’m staying here, Michael. Find another medic.”

Michael’s serene face tensed. It was an echo of the expression he’d worn when he slammed his boot against Briar’s spine and held him down, twisting hollow bone from its socket. “You gave your word.”

“You gave your word,” Briar snapped back. He watched surprise widen Michael’s light eyes. “You swore an oath to guide me, safehold me, counsel me, and you battered me instead. You ruined me,” he coughed out, edging forward on his tiptoes. “And I will never stand beside you again.”

On a significantly short breath, Michael slid his attention past Briar toward the interior of the manor. Toward Aster. “You’ve let a snake seep into that beautiful skull, haven’t you?” He clucked his tongue like a parent would to a child, flicking his gaze back to Briar. “He bought you, Briar. You’re nothing but a plaything. Something leashed and bound, paraded around by a self-serving demon.” The archangel lifted a blonde brow. His mouth twisted into a sour half-smile. When the silence thickened, growing taut, he scoffed, shifting between Briar and the rippling force behind him. Michael’s smile slowly disintegrated. He pinned his stare over Briar’s shoulder. “Did you soil him, brother? He’s ripe for plundering, I assume.”

“Enough,” Briar bit. His face flared hot. Anxiety weaseled into his stomach, burrowing there.

Aster’s answering hum scorched the air. “I certainly have not squandered him.” A step closer. “Or brutalized him.”

Briar shot his hand out, signaling Aster to keep his distance. “What I do with my body is none of your concern. You’re free to leave, Michael.”

“An Angel of War warming your bed. . . My protégé,” Michael seethed, squeezing each word between his teeth. “What a conquest, Astaroth. You must be proud.”

“You’re lucky I haven’t clipped you,” Aster said, richly dark, dangerously low. “The man standing between us is the only reason you’re able to fly.”

Briar’s pulse ran impossibly fast. He swallowed a sticky mouthful of saliva. “I loved you, Michael,” he breathed out, exhaling the confession like a curse. Michael faced him again, fluttering his beautiful, heavy wings. Briar’s throat threatened to close. “And you destroyed me.”

“I made you strong,” Michael said. “I exposed your weakness—I made you look into a mirror, little bird. That’s all.”

“You stole my will to live.” Briar blinked through the glassy haze flooding his vision. He stepped backward into the house, outstretched hand flexing. In an instant, Aster was there, palm skating his wrist, granting him something to clutch. “I’m sure I’m not the first angel you’ve clipped. I can’t be the only protégé you’ve tried to destroy—I’m not your sole survivor. So, hear me, Michael, if you arrive uninvited again, I will find them. Each and every battered bird you cast out. I’ll put a sword in their hand, and I will allow Aster to unleash his legion on you with a fury you’ve never seen.” He paused, rallying strength. “The High Court will endure you like a bloodstain for the rest of time. God’sblessed general , heaven’s abuser,” he spat, blinking until a tear spilled down his cheek. “Brought to heel by his victim. What a legacy.”

Michael’s Adam’s apple rolled. He gave Briar another long, lingering look. His face—cut from marble, savagely beautiful—remained unmoving and tense. The soft wrinkles denting the corners of his eyes deepened. When he peeled open his perfect mouth, his voice lost its luster. “If you align with this beast, you will be banished from the High Court. Damned to a life as lesser. Those on high will recognize you as liar, deceiver, betrayer, and the story of Briar Wright will be one of sadness and loss. Another soul fallen from grace, landing in a lap loyal to Lucifer. Is that what you want?”

“Make me a villain,” Briar said. Each word tore from him like a loosed arrow. “But you and I will know the truth, Michael. You’ll carry the burden, and I will remain. Let it be known.”

The last four words rang through the house and hushed across the courtyard. Let it be known . It was a holy commandment. Something uttered during a mending, proceeding, ritual, or communion. Let it be known was iron and blood. It was uncompromising.

Michael tilted his head ever so slightly, regarding Briar with a tight nod. “Let it be known,” he muttered, harsh breath fogging the air.

Snow began to fall, drifting from the navy sky like tiny beads of cotton. The Archangel of War stepped backward. His buttery, bronze wings flared, and he launched skyward, sending up a dusting of ice and snow in his wake.

All was quiet. All was calm.

Briar’s knees buckled. He almost fell forward, but Aster caught him with a hand around his middle, hauling him closer. The demon unceremoniously bent his leg and kicked the door shut, sealing them off from the place Michael had stood. The wall rattled. A picture frame shook, and the coat rack tipped, almost toppling. But Aster didn't seem to care. He simply held him, curled around his back, mindful of his clippings, and circled one arm around Briar’s waist, the other bracketing his chest.

They breathed together. Briar followed each inhale and exhale, mimicking the rise and fall of Aster’s sternum against the achy mounds where bone pieced itself together beneath thin, new skin.

We both loved him . Briar did not say it, but the thought moved through him, permanent and unwieldy. He broke us both in different lives, at different times.

“Take me somewhere else,” Briar whispered.

Aster scooped him up, bending the back of his knees over the crook of an elbow, and carried him past the staircase, through the hall, and into the library. He lowered onto the sofa. Cradled Briar against his chest. Briar squirmed, sliding his thighs around Aster’s lap, straddling him, and tucked himself close, sealing his front to Aster’s chest. He looped his arms around Aster’s neck, cupping the back of his head, and welcomed Aster’s face in the hollow of his throat, nuzzling. Briar did not want to cry. He was done crying. But a tear still slipped free. Aster ran his hand along Briar’s spine to the center of his back, just below the damage, and pressed. The other latched around his upper thigh, steadying him.

“I will fly with you,” Aster whispered, brushing a kiss against Briar’s pulse. “One day.”

Grief, and joy, and mesmerizing hope pooled in Briar’s chest. He drew back, taking Aster’s fine face between his hands. His thumbs smoothed over strong jaw and high cheekbones. He looked into endless, blazing stormy eyes, and love bloomed where darkness used to reign. “I will touch the sky with you, Great Duke,” he said, breathing shakily. His voice dimmed, almost fading. “One day. And I will love you then as I love you now.”

Aster's face gentled. His throat bobbed and he gave a short, sharp nod. Emotion seemed to pummel him, and Briar thought he might be able to hear the Great Duke's big, open heart begin to gallop.

“One day,” Aster echoed, leaning closer, brushing his mouth along Briar’s chin. “You're free, Briar Wright.”

Briar tasted a future on Aster's warm lips. I'm free.