Page 75 of Commanding Flame and Shield
Fuck. I wanted to graze my fingers over those soft ivory swells, wanted to feel them fit in the palm of my hand. They'd be perfect. I already knew it. When her fingers lithely emerged, she had a miniature Scottish dirk in her hand, and I laughed. Great. I was jealous of a fucking knife.
“You know, I was wondering where you would hide your blades in that dress.”
Alvara chuckled, and gave me a playful wink, full lips twisted into a smirk, but said nothing. Instead, she slid the glove from her opposite hand, and pressed the blade to her forearm. Small beads of blood sprang up along the tip. I stood there, unwilling to admit my discomfort watching her slice through her perfect skin. She brought the tip of the blade to the great metal lock in the door and smeared the red droplets across the keyhole. Long pale fingers came to rest against the lock, and she flicked her wrist. With a reverberating click, the lock released, and Alvara pressed into the door.
Her rooms were dark and moody, like the common room. The grey stone walls were like the interior of a historical castle. Most of the room reminded me of the quarters of royals long since dead. A four-poster bed draped in heavy deep red curtains sat to one side, its blankets looking barely used. I knew from experience, that Alvara only needed to rest every few days if she wasn’t in battle. Her mind and duties kept her alert most nights. I could understand how the legends of vampires had come to be, now that I’d been in the company of immortals for some time.
Books piled in corners and towered on tables. Even her vanity held a stack of them. Great maps layered the desk on the far side of the room, near the gargantuan stone fireplace. Artifacts and art from every age hung on the walls. I smirked as my eyes found volume after volume stuck in every nook and cranny. They lined the floor under most of the furniture, there were more stacked on the mantle, and more still piled on the top of a grand armoire. The actual bookshelves on the opposite side of the room from the fire were packed to the brim, with books squeezed between the book tops and shelves above them.
Three hundred years of research and literature. A sudden curiosity of Aren’s space brewed in my mind.
Alvara excused herself, and told me to make myself at home, before vanishing behind another thick wood door. I collapsed into a dark chair by the fire. When she returned, she had changed into her favorite pair of grey sweats, her signature fitted black t-shirt, and her hair had been spun into a messy bun on the top of her head. Only a few loose curls remained around her face. For a moment, I found myself visually tracing the long lines of her exposed neck and collar bones. But I quickly stuffed the sensation that stirred away and returned my eyes to the pile of books towering on the small table between my oversized purple armchair and the next. One of the books on the pile closest to me, must have been what we’d come for, because she reached out her delicate porcelain fingers to pluck it from the top. But my eyes focused on her smooth forearm.
Quickly, I reached forward, catching myself only an inch from her exposed skin.
“You healed that quickly?”
“It only takes a few minutes for us if we weren’t hit with cursed weapons. Or demonically poisoned, in Aren’s case.”
“I guess…I guess I hadn’t seen a normal angel injury heal before. Without, you know, one of you overseeing it.”
“Nephilim,” Alvara corrected with a smirk, before she raised her brows. “I’m not an angel. Although I suspect that they heal even faster than we do.”
“Why don’t we see them?”
“Angels?”
“Yes. Why don’t we…you know.Seethem. Why aren’t theyhere? Why don’t they come to us on Earth?”
“Strictly speaking…weare forbidden. We’re not supposed to exist. For a long while, we believed that the Archangels, and angels that serve them, were supposed to execute us if they found us. But then…well…Aren, me, and a few other seers, began receiving orders from Michael himself. More among us began to have visions and dreams of the angels giving us instructions or leading us to the things we needed to survive and win in battle. We are devoted servants. Aren and I both believe they have seen our dedication and allow us to continue existing.”
“What about the Renown?”
“We don’t know, to be honest. They’re hard to kill for us. I’m not sure if they’re hard for angels too, but I don’t think anything would really be hard for them outside of demons that rival their power. We’re not sure why they’ve continued to breed, and why the angels don’t wipe them from the face of the planet.”
“Can angels…die?”
“We believe so. But as none of us have ever spoken to one directly, we’re not certain.”
We both went silent as we caught the scent of our company on the air, moments before we heard them lumbering down the long hallway. The increase in my senses still felt surreal. They were speaking under their breath to each other, and this time, Alvara telekinetically opened the door. The rest of the coven entered the cozy room, their emotions mixed. Aren seemed unbothered by the questions looming between us. Alec, as always, had the light air of amusement across his features. Ansel and Lana were as battle-ready as ever, never letting their guards drop after Aren’s injury. Their mirroring faces were both taut with anxiety.
Wordlessly, the air heavy between us, they filed in and began to gather around our little table. Aren carried over two large armchairs, one in each hand like they were merely props. Ansel grabbed a third. Alec, who had taken a turn when he entered the room, was closing one of Ally’s armoire doors, an antique style bottle of brandy in his hand, grinning mischievously. The color of the liquid sloshing in the half full bottle was remarkably similar to the eyes that flashed back at us over his grin.
“You know, I loathe when you hold out on me.”
“Your lack of observational skills does not equate to me holding out on you.” Alvara didn’t bother to raise her gaze from the book in her lap as she spoke. Alec snorted, and Fae grinned. As he took a step, Alec pulled the cork out with his teeth, and shot it across the room towards Alvara with a pop. Eyes still focused on her text, she caught the cork with one hand, and tossed it to the table beside her. But the ends of her lips quirked, just a bit.
Fae pulled over an oversized bean bag chair that had somehow escaped my attention, and Alec took a long drag on the bottle before sprawling out on it. A cat, toying with its mate before a fire. Fae grinned and joined him, curling her back against his chest as he wrapped around her. He trailed kisses down her shoulder before relaxing into the bean bag.
Alvara remained focused on the book in her lap, as Aren brought over mugs of water that he’d warmed with magic. It wasn’t until we were each sipping on our chamomile that he finally cleared his throat to break the silence.
“So. We don’t know much more than any of you do. Ally was told to give the battle back to God, so we stood down through Samhain. Obviously, there were no attacks on Grayshell. But we have yet to survey what has happened in the mortal world. Our seers have been…quiet.”
“Too quiet.” Ansel’s gravel voice cut through the cloud of silence. “Don’t you find it odd?”
“A little,” Aren admitted. “We’ve all felt the storm beneath our feet, but we don’t know why. What exactly is coming. And as you said, our seers have all gone simultaneously silent. Like their connection has been…”
“Snuffed out,” Alvara finished pointedly. “It feels as though our connection has been snuffed out. As though we are not meant to know. Do you think the humans are being punished?” Alvara’s gaze was dark as she spoke, eyes intent on Aren. He pursed his lips, leaning his colossal frame forward to rest his arms on his knees. For a moment, his comical size distracted me as he dwarfed the chair beneath him. And then he exhaled slowly.
