Chapter 12

Turns out they caught me just in time for the Divining.

Quite the coincidence, if you ask me, when it’s taking place for the first time in history. In a collective ceremony, that is. In New York.

And here I am—the girl who never even rode a cab—on a private jet. A flying ultra-luxury mini-mansion imbued by earthly cash and celestial magic.

My question of why we didn’t teleport instead went unanswered, leaving me to come up with my own answers. That maybe teleportation is reserved for the archangels, and it’s above the Nephilim’s pay grade.

If so, it’s one thing to my advantage. Who wants to be dissolved into only-archangels-know-what, and reformed thousands of miles away? What if they put me back wrong? Or if the angelic wi-fi blips and drops my signal?

Also if the process involves having Godric’s arms of mass destruction around me—well, let’s say I’m glad I revolt him.

That half-archangel, half-human, all-monster jerk dials my specific number, hard. I don’t want to find out what would happen to me at his slightest touch. While he thinks mine would be a taint he can never scrub off.

So, angelic jet it is.

When we boarded an hour ago, I stood swaying on aching feet, not daring to sully the pristine cream seats. I felt so filthy, I thought nothing less than an acid bath would get me clean again. Lorcan corroborated my opinion, mumbling something about needing to scrape his sinuses. Yeah, I stank that much.

Thankfully, he directed me to the shower. Even in this world where the supernatural is the daily norm, that felt unreal.

I now stand under the powerful spray, sobbing with relief as its temperature and pressure magically adjust to my exact preference. It feels as miraculous as archangels with a direct line to Heaven.

No. Way more. Who cares about pompous celestials and their inaccessible hometown? As someone who’s suffered scarce, cold showers all my life, I’d take that one over Heaven any day. I swear I feel it dissolving the grime of my cruddy existence, and cleansing my very soul of the contaminations of a lifetime.

It also cossets me in ways I can only associate with two things I never experienced—a good mother, and a better masseuse.

But as the shower adds a jasmine wash to the water, I can’t help but wonder. About all that decadence.

So the angels have become involved in earthly commerce and finance, taking over swathes of both. But I always believed it was about control and power, not wealth and comforts. As for the archangels, though everything on earth must be theirs for the taking, they didn’t strike me as interested in worldly stuff.

So is all this in service of the Nephilim? Does their human side clamor for material gratification? And does their powers amplify their appetites?

This idea only drags my mind into a disconcerting direction. One that sweeps me along like a raging river.

Even hating the guy more than anything in a life filled with hatreds, it’s impossible not to imagine Godric standing under that water jet.

My mind’s eye fills with feverish images. Of his every muscle flexing, of his majestic head thrown back, and his incredible eyes closing as he lets that shower pamper and worship him.

These images segue into seeing myself joining him. I avoid imagining how I look, since I must be a starved rat next to his supremely-fed panther. I choose to see his eyes filling with that crimson-hot lust as I run my hands all over his vicious perfection.

But even in fantasy, I don’t know how to inflame him. Frustrated with my pathetic inexperience, I let my mind veer into the part where he takes over.

I see him snatching me off my feet, almost feel him plastering me with all that power and virility to the caressing tile. I writhe against it, imagining him opening me wide over his hips, and clamping my neck in his ruthless hand.

The moment I imagine him pressing it, my whole body convulses.

A strangled cry tears from my depths as currents shoot down my nerves like lightning bolts. They fork from the phantom touch at my neck to my nipples, to lodge in my gushing, contracting core.

My head spins as I slide down to the floor, shaking all over in disbelief….and pleasure.

I-I just came. Without even touching myself.

And it was the best orgasm—the only real orgasm of my life.

And to think it was in that monster’s honor.

The worst part is, now I know how it feels, I need more.

For delirious moments, I lie there shuddering with aftershocks, and want nothing but to charge out, naked, dripping and crazed, looking for him. I see myself pouncing on him, pushing him down in one of those seats, tearing him out of those obscuring pants, and…

The images stutter with my hands over his imagined bulge.

Even in the privacy of my imagination, I balk at going further. I can’t even dictate his reaction, or imagine him losing control.

But if that monster ever loses control, and acts on the sensual threat I thought I saw in his eyes, he’d probably kill me. And if his leash ever loosens, he’d worse than kill me.

That thought finally tears apart the fantasy, and drenches my flaming senses in the icy, dirty water of reality.

As if sensing my upheaval, the spray becomes a cascade, soothing me, and somehow the aches of my contusions and lacerations right along.

A loud knock rattles the door. Again.

“Go away, Lorcan,” I wheeze. “I’m not coming—uhh, I’m not getting out until we land.”

“Food,” Lorcan singsongs, his deep voice permeated with teasing. “Lots of food, Wen White. Lots of amazing, heavenly food.”

Another convulsion, in my empty stomach this time, forces me to sit up. As if realizing it’s over, the shower stops at once.

Pulling myself to my feet, I run regretful hands down its tiles. “Oh, Shower—leaving you is almost as difficult as being forced to leave Sarah behind. I’d marry you if possible. But this semi-heavenly rat just made me an offer I can’t refuse.”

“I left the Divining-required uniform in the dressing room,” Lorcan calls out again. “Hop to it, before we big lads wipe out everything edible on board.”

The unbearable idea of missing out on food makes me scamper out like a headless chicken. As I already said, semi-heavenly rat.

The only thing that slows me down again is my reluctance to see semi-heavenly brute again. My traitorous body is still tingling with that whopper of a climax. What if he can sense the pheromones blasting off of me?

I find said uniform as I come to a decision. At the first knowing, smug glance, I’ll commit suicide. By attempting to murder him.

* * *

“Chew, Wen.” Lorcan snickers. “Or the masses of food you’ve been cramming, will come back up again. I just sanitized my sinuses.”

I gulp down the latest massive mouthful, and make a face at him. “I’ll have you know, I’m now cleaner than any being who ever lived.”

For emphasis, I sniff my armpit, and almost have another orgasm. I smell of products that must be imported from Heaven, and used as a reward for benevolent souls.

The uniform must be, too. Once I put that indeterminate-material, silver-grey jumpsuit on, it shrank down to fit me like a second skin. It would be hell to get out of, but it’s more comfortable than my own.

Even better is the auto-fitting underwear. And that bra! I can’t feel it on, but it somehow totally hides the enchanted bottle and piss-dipped switchblade I stuffed in my cleavage. Best of all, it provides perfect minimizing support. It’s the first time I don’t hate my breasts for being too large for my frame, and being damn hard to disguise. Just thinking of going back to binding them makes me cringe. If I survive the Divining, I hope they let me keep that bra.

For now, I intend to enjoy it, and as much as I humanly can of that food that has to be manna.

The only thing that initially spoiled my enjoyment was wishing Sarah could experience it all with me. My regret disappeared when I remembered this comes in a package with being a captive. And that this could be a last meal for the condemned

But even if it is, I never even dreamed of these luxuries. And my relationship with planes was to squint up at them from garbage-filled streets, while they flew lucky Regulars to places I thought I’d never see. Like New York, for instance.

It was where the Apocalypse first came to earth. It was almost fully destroyed, but is also among the most restored places on earth ever since. There was a huge celebration recently after they erected a new Lady Liberty.

When I found out we’d go there, I thought if I died in the Divining, it would at least be after seeing a place other than filthy, supernaturally-overrun L.A. I thought it would be enough to send me to my grave, if I even get one, sort of content.

But I won’t even see New York. Angelhole is dragging me directly to the Divining. If I get through it in one piece, he’ll yank me out to slam dunk me in that Celestial Academy, aka my new Locus Indenturae, or Location of Indenture.

I tried to prod him for details about said academy, but true to his decree, he hasn’t uttered a word since we left the Court. So I’ve been talking to the more accommodating Lorcan. A. Lot. I hoped my incessant chatter would make him want to jump out of the plane.

But I couldn’t even savor that imaginary scenario. Not when he has his own inbuilt glider.

On the bright side, instead of the knowing, smug looks I dreaded, he seems unaware I’m even there. That distillation of heavenly grace and earthly sins continues to sit across from me with earbuds on, and consciousness roaming better realms.

At least he has spared me from attacking him, and ending my life prematurely.

But his nearness is a constant buzz in my mind and a fizz in my blood. I can only ignore him too by constantly talking, and eating.

Up till we touch down, I’m still stuffing my face with all I can. If this is to be my last meal, I’m going out on a bursting stomach.

If not, and I end up throwing up all over Son of Death here, all the better. Win win.

As the jet stops and Godric stands up, I peer outside my window. I only see the empty tarmac of another clearly private airport.

I turn to my companions, chewing a huge lump of caviar-laden croissant open-mouthed. “So—any pointers for the Divining?”

The purified disgust that crosses Godric’s majestic face as food flies out of my mouth is to be immortalized in digital painting. I can just see it. Him in wrathful demigod mode, with that flaming sword in hand, boot on my chest, glowering down at my decapitated head with that exact expression.

He, of course, doesn’t answer.

Lorcan, as usual, does. “Whatever happens in the Divining, happens.”

“Don’t give me that cryptic crap, Lorc!” I wipe my mouth with a napkin that must cost more than all our possessions, and realize how much food I had outside. “The archangels want me back in one piece, so any helpful nuggets you provide will be doing your masters’ bidding, really.”

“The archangels are our superiors, not masters,” Lorcan corrects.

“Masters, superiors—you still have to bend backwards in a bridge to see their wills done. So?”

Lorcan sighs. “No one knows what goes on in the Divining. At least, the Nephilim don’t. We never had to go through it. And it’s said every human’s experience is different.”

“So I go in blind, and hope not to explode or something. Peachy.”

Lorcan chuckles. “Just don’t talk—if that’s even possible.”

“Can’t promise that.” I unbuckle my seatbelt, again ridiculously proud of that achievement.

As I heave up, the world spins. All the blood not busy digesting the food bulging my usually concave stomach rushes to my feet.

My hands shoot out, grabbing the first thing within reach.

It’s Godric.

He goes rigid, hands rising away from any contact with me. He wouldn’t have displayed more aversion if he were accosted by sentient sewage.

I cling to the supple, black leather of the jacket he changed into, until the tornado uprooting my world slows down. As it does, I become aware of his scent and heat enveloping me. Though I’m sated into nausea, my stomach still growls, with a different kind of hunger—the traitor.

Once my vision clears, I look up into his spectacular scowl and mumble, “I would have grabbed Lorcan if I had a choice.”

“Next time, just fall down.”

“It’s you who can’t have me knock myself out and miss the Divining.”

“So grabbing me was doing me a favor?”

I smirk up at him. “Sure was. Me, I’d take coma over being around you, pal. It’s you who needs your daddy’s gold star. You’re welcome.”

A crackle of lightning emits from his eyes, such a heady promise of devastation.

Before I can relish it, he steps away and strides toward the exit.

As we descend from the jet in his wake, I look up at Lorcan.

My heart stumbles as I whisper, “Will you keep your promise, or will you be a good soldier and report it to Godric?”

An hour ago, Godric left us to talk to the pilot, and I grabbed the opportunity, and the risk, of telling Lorcan about Sarah.

I made him promise that in case I don’t make it out of the Divining, he’d help her buy her Indenture, and get her out of demon territory. And if I do make it, he’d let me contact her to the same end.

Lorcan gives a dramatic sigh. “Godric is my superior. The Nephilim take chain of command seriously. Deadly so. Literally sometimes. Doesn’t help that he’s also Uncle Azrael’s son, and he’s probably the scariest thing in all the realms.”

“Who? Azrael or Godric?”

He gives an incredulous huff. “Godric, of course.”

Ugh. And I’m not only fantasizing about him, I’m still antagonizing him with every word out of my mouth. But…

“Wait—uncle? Do all you Nephilim call archangels ‘uncle’, or what?”

Lorcan’s lips quirks. “What. My old man is Gabriel. The most laid-back among the powers that make Hell and Earth weep.”

“Great!” I groan. “You’re another archangelspawn! And I stupidly asked you to help my friend.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” He looks genuinely confused. “I said I’ll help her, and I’ll keep my promise.”

I bite my lip as hot, painful relief pokes behind my eyes. For I believe him. I believe that if there’s anyone who would help Sarah find freedom, I couldn’t have lucked into better than Lorcan.

I can be wrong. But what else can I do now but cling to that belief?

“But for the record, I’d rather keep my promise in option B,” Lorcan says under his breath as we reach the massive SUV awaiting us. “Don’t die, all right?”

“I’ll put that on my calendar,” I mutter as I slide in the back. “Monday, December the sixteenth—Don’t die.”

He chuckles as he slams the door and hops into the driver’s seat. Godric is already sitting stonily beside him, and I hear his teeth grinding as Lorcan screeches away, probably melting the tarmac.

Who thought putting that maniac behind a wheel was a good idea? And why isn’t control-freak Godric, who clearly loathes Lorcan’s driving, doing it himself?

Questions. I’ve got nothing but questions.

Now all I have to do is live long enough to find out their answers. Even if staying alive, between the Divining, Celestial Academy, and Godawful seems very, very unlikely.