Chapter 21: Lana

N ot seeing any other options at the moment, I make use of the bathroom, the water warmer than at Purgatory. Bottles are set out and when opening a few, I'm greeted by the refreshing smell of snowy mountains and pine trees. Maybe the toasted marshmallow scent is all him then? I wonder how the thousands of years old Great Duke of Hell would feel if told he smells of a dessert that's especially popular with children.

I laugh at the thought of that imperious face pinched in affront. Clearly, I've lost it if I can laugh at such a time. He's probably going to fuck me and then discard me. Hopefully not in pieces. The hell of it is that I don't know if I would mind. The fucking, obviously, not the dismembering.

I sigh and open the offending dresser. I heard him calling me a lamb and I don't appreciate it. I am a grown, strong woman, a fighter. And I sound like an affirmation tape.

The dresser is full of red and black clothes – shocker. I pick loose and silky black pants and a tight red wrap top with long sleeves. There are flats and heels at the bottom. I opt for flats; it's not like I'm trying to be sexy.

Just as I'm cinching the sides of the top closed, there's a knock on the door. I frown at it. Ashtaroth wouldn't be knocking. Then again, I guess a demon out to make a meal out of me wouldn't knock either. Since I don't answer, the person knocking opens the door cautiously, then wider once he sees me looking in his direction.

He's gorgeous: tall, wide, and muscular, the cords of his biceps straining the skin that's on display in his leather tank top. His hair is as black as Ashtaroth's but cropped, except for at the front, where it's slightly longer and styled up and forward. He has prominent cheekbones, putting the apples of his cheeks and the edges of his jaw in relief. His eyes are completely black, only the sclera white, the pupil and cornea indistinguishable from each other.

"Hi," he smiles confidently, but warmly. "I'm Sariel. I'm Ash's son."

I stumble back a step. Surely that cold-hearted demon couldn't have raised this creature with crinkles on the edges of his eyes. He laughs at my shock.

"No, no. Adoptive son. I'm a Fallen," he adds.

"Oh," I say. Then add, "Did you just say Ash ?"

Sariel grins at me. "Only call him that if you want to piss him off."

"I see." That makes more sense than him willingly accepting a nickname. Though his name isn't the easiest to say. Like maybe in the heat of passion. Shut up, ovaries. I guess I should introduce myself, since he did. "I'm Lana. Nephalem," I add teasingly, mimicking his clarification as to why he doesn't have a father.

"Really?" he says, eyeing me with more interest. "You're rare."

"I know. Anyway, may I help you? Are you here to spring me out of jail? "

Sariel laughs at my joke (but not really a joke) and shakes his head. "No, I'm here to escort you to dinner." Oh. I'm not sure how I feel about that. Ashtaroth kidnapped me, and now he just foisted me onto his ‘son'? I also don't bother asking the Fallen whether he approves of me being his father's prisoner.

I am hungry though, so I accept the fallen angel's outstretched arm and let him lead me out of the room. I observe the hallways as we go, noting more gothic décor: black candelabra and macabre paintings of hellish battles. "Is he subscribed to Gothic Weekly, or something?" I murmur and Sariel laughs wholeheartedly again.

"If anything, they would come here for inspiration," he says with a smile.

"Oh, right," I say. "Old."

"Very old," he agrees, and we must reach the entrance of the dining hall. I hear murmurs of a gathered crowd behind the archway guarded by menacing demons. The guards don't look at us as Sariel leads me through the doorway.

I stumble when I see that the dining room is full. There's a raised dais at the other end of the room and, naturally, Ashtaroth is sitting at the center, his eyes on me and my escort. Specifically, where my hand is still located at the crook of Sariel's elbow.

I turn my head as Sariel leads me to his father, seeing tables full of various demons, most of them human-like. It's then I realize I'm going to be sensing nothing but demons for as long as I'm here, feeling the power of the one in front of me now the most.

I briefly make eye contact with him, his face impassive, as Sariel takes me to the other side of the table, seats facing the room. The ones to Ashtaroth's left are all empty and Sariel starts leading me there, just as Ashtaroth uses his foot to push out the chair to his other side. Sariel grits his teeth but guides me there instead, pushing my chair in, and then taking the one next to me. To his other side is another fallen angel, if I'm not mistaken, and he gives me a wary but curious smile. Why did Ashtaroth want me to sit between them?

He isn't looking at me, so I look at the food on the table in front of me instead. There's roast duck, fish, boiled and diced potatoes, steamed vegetables, and a tureen of thick soup. I can't imagine eating something filling when my stomach is clenched from all the demons staring at me, or cutting meat with a steady hand as Ashtaroth's power is all but vibrating the air next to me.

Sariel must see me eyeing the tureen the longest and says, "Here," before serving me a big helping. I thank him and try the soup with a slightly trembling hand. It's unexpectedly delicious.

The silence of the room suffocates me, but thankfully, Sariel starts a conversation with the Fallen on his other side, whom he introduces as Armaros. The other fallen angel has golden-brown hair and sparkling olive-green eyes. The most remarkable thing about him, however, is how innocuous he looks. If he wasn't sitting at a feast in Hell, he wouldn't be out of place as a kindergarten teacher surrounded by toddlers. While obviously strong, he has a pleasant layer of softness over his muscles. Next to him, Sariel looks like he was sculpted out of a block of marble.

"So, Lana." Armaros leans forward as he addresses me. "What's it like being an Elioud in Hell?

I chuckle at the way he suggestively lifts his eyebrows. "Oh, you know," I say. "The sights are great, though the natives aren't the most welcoming to foreigners. I'm also not crazy about the lack of fast food and streaming services, and my job doesn't pay for shit."

Armaros' laugh is as friendly as his face, full and coming straight from the belly. Sariel almost chokes on his wine, obviously not expecting the answer I gave. He sets his goblet down and wipes his mouth with a napkin. No fasting, here; both angels are indulging in the many delicacies offered by Ashtaroth's court.

"What was it you did Above?" Sariel asks, a full goblet once again in his hand.

"I was a high school history teacher. Come to think of it, I ventured into Hell on the daily there as well – it just came with health insurance."

My proclamations are met with beautiful appreciative grins and for a moment I forget that I've just been kidnapped by an archdemon. Or that I'm surrounded by what feels like half of a demonic court. In my defense it was easy to forget, seeing as none of them are making any sounds at all. They're all staring at me with varying nuances of frightening expressions and I don't know which scare me more: the ones of hunger or those of disgust. Noticing the reason for my discomfort, Sariel gestures for the demons to begin eating.

Back straight with tension, I slowly finish my own food, then sip dark wine from a golden goblet, praying it will make this situation better. Alcohol is, after all, a solution.