12. Uriel

12

URIEL

I pace the length of my chambers, wings twitching with restless energy. Even though it's been a full day, the taste of Athena lingers on my lips - so sweet. So pure. My fingers curl into fists as I remember how she moaned as I plied her body with pain and pleasure, how she rode my face until I was drowning in her.

How I want nothing more than to have her straddling my mouth, suffocating me, until I use my last dying breath to make her come again.

"Fuck." I slam my palm against the stone wall, welcoming the sting of pain. It does nothing to clear my head.

I shouldn't have kissed her. I shouldn't have given in and had a taste of her pussy. Yet the memory of her little gasps, the way she melted against me...

My wings snap out, knocking a crystal decanter off the side table. It shatters, spilling purple liquid across the floor. The scent of aged amerinth fills the air, mixing with the metallic tang that always clings to my skin.

I drag my hands through my hair, messing up the golden curls. The perfect image I maintain slips as I picture her face - those golden-green eyes wide with want, her honey-blonde ringlets tangled from my fingers. Despite her fire, she is still such an innocent little thing, and I'd wanted to devour her whole.

Still want to.

My reputation, my position, everything I've built since retiring from the warrior ranks - none of it matters when she's near. One look from those doe eyes and I'm ready to burn it all down just to taste her again.

A growl builds in my chest as I stalk to the window. The workshop lights glow in the distance where I should be working on commissions. But how can I focus on crafting weapons when all I can think about is the way she trembled in my arms?

"Little demon," I mutter, resting my forehead against the cool glass. She's made me weak, and I hate it. Hate how much I crave her. Hate how I can't bring myself to regret crossing that line.

How I want more.

I trace my tongue across my bottom lip, chasing the last hint of her sweetness. The warrior in me knows I should end this now, before it goes further. The rest of me just wants more.

I unlace my pants, the constriction of it too much. My fingers work the laces of my pants, impatient, desperate. I fist myself, a groan escaping my lips as I picture her - Athena, with her golden eyes wide and innocent, yet hot with desire she doesn't understand.

My grip tightens, strokes rough and punishing. I imagine her here, on her knees before me, those honey-blonde curls tangled in my fist. Her submission, her defiance - it's a dance, a game I want to play until we're both exhausted and breathless.

I remember her taste, sweet and intoxicating. How she'd tried to resist, to fight the pleasure, her little nails digging into my scalp. I'd feasted on her, relentless, until she'd shattered, her cries echoing in my ears. The memory alone drives me closer to the edge.

I see her in my mind's eye, bare and writhing beneath me, her soft body yielding to mine. Her voice, sweet and breathy, begging for release. Begging for me. My name on her lips, like a prayer, a curse.

My wings snap out, stretching wide, as my release hits me hard. I groan, spilling into my hand, the intense pleasure leaving me frustratingly empty. It's not enough. I want her, not just the fantasy. I want her screams, her moans, her sweet submission.

"Fuck." I lean against the wall, panting, my body still humming with unsated desire. This obsession with Athena is consuming me. I need more. I need her. And I always get what I want.

I clean myself up and readjust my clothing, but the tension remains coiled in my muscles. My wings rustle as I resume my pacing, each step measured and precise despite the chaos in my mind.

"She's nothing." My voice echoes off the stone walls. "A human. A bargaining chip."

The words taste like ash on my tongue. I snatch a fresh decanter from the shelf and drink a generous measure, not bothering with a glass. The liquor burns, but it doesn't wash away the lingering sweetness of her kiss.

My reflection catches in the window - golden curls disheveled, eyes wild with something dangerous. I barely recognize myself. Where's the calculated warrior who's never lost control? The weapons maker whose name commands respect throughout New Solas?

I roll my shoulders, stretching my wings until the joints crack. The gray feathers catch the lamplight, a reminder of everything that sets us apart. I'm xaphan. She's human. A means to an end, nothing more.

"You're getting soft." I drain the decanter and hurl it against the wall. The crash splits the silence, but the violence brings no satisfaction. "She's a prisoner."

And yet, she's holding my mind captive.

Her eyes haunt me. The way she looks at me with defiance even as she yields. How she fights her own desire, making every surrender that much sweeter. My claws extend, scoring deep grooves in the windowsill.

I'm above this. So many years of discipline, of maintaining perfect control, and one little human threatens to undo it all. My reputation means everything in this city. I won't let her ruin what I've built.

My wings snap tight against my back as I straighten. I am a warrior, a weapons maker to the elite. I don't fall for human girls with honey-blonde curls and soft curves. I don't yearn for the sound of their pleasure or dream of marking them as mine.

Or that's what I tell myself. But soon the room is too empty and I have to escape.

The metal tang of my workshop calls to me. Perhaps I'll forge until dawn, let the heat and violence burn away these unwanted feelings. Better than staying here, surrounded by the ghost of her presence.

I stalk through the covered walkway to my workshop, the morning air crisp against my wings. The scent of metal grows stronger with each step, grounding me. My sanctuary awaits - anvils, forge fires, and deadly steel. No soft curves or tempting lips to distract me.

But the workshop feels empty. Wrong. Without her here.

I decide that I'll teach her. She wants to learn the runes, and I can shower her that at least. Perhaps keep her in here more, where I am, where I can see her, where I can breathe in her sweet scent mixing with metal and smoke.

I work harder, trying to shake out the pent up feelings inside me, but I can't. This little human is nothing but trouble, and yet, I can't let her go. I should auction her off, but the thought of anyone else having her makes me so furious my magic starts to flare in response.

Maybe I should just give in. If I get her out of my system, I can find a way to move on.

I work my jaw as I consider that. Perhaps it is the only way for me to be able to think clearly. I'll let out my base desires and soon enough, I'll tire of her surely.

The resolution is shaky at best so I focus on forging. I'll talk to her tomorrow, inform her of my decision. But right now, I am still alone and the heat of the flames is nothing compared to the warmth of having her near. Where I can protect her. Where I can watch her.

Where I can pretend this obsession is just about keeping her contained.

One that I can get rid of when a small part of me is screaming that I can't.