In the Blood

“Of course,” Star murmured. “But first the throne.”

“Whatever you desire, beloved,” Lilith said. She marveled at how her voice managed to sound so tender when her heart felt so cold.

THE CLINK OF CHAINS drew Lilith’s gaze up from her cup of wine and its pomegranate-red depths. Escorted by a fluttering-winged chalkydri, Lucien walked into the room, wrists manacled, wings banded.

Lilith’s former cydymaith stood proud, his black hair spilling to his waist, shoulders back and head high, a cool smile on his lips as if he’d just strolled in from a dawn flight, hoping for refreshment.

But his pale face and bloodless lips revealed the lie. His vitality ebbed with Gehenna’s, his fate now blood-bound to the land.

A pang of regret nicked Lilith’s calm. She took a sip of wine, tasted the tang of limes beneath the pomegranates and grapes. For Hekate, she told herself. For Gehenna.

“Welcome, brother,” the Morningstar said. He reclined on a velvet and gold-brocaded couch beside Lilith’s. “It seems you found something that fit.”

“I did,” Lucien said. “Although it wasn’t necessary.”

“Or even desired?” Star said with a smile.

The clothing Star had provided Lucien in place of his tattered trousers fit him with breathtaking perfection, in Lilith’s opinion—the silver-belted black kilt flowed from his hips to just above his knees, and silver-edged sandals protected his feet.

The past slipped past her guard and winged into her mind: He catches her in the air and gathers her against him—chest to chest—heated skin and the rush of wings, counter-tempo. He tears her gown from her body.

Lilith pulled her gaze from Lucien and shoved the memory away. Everything between them had died with Yahweh.

“Leave,” Star said, flipping a hand at the chalkydri.

In a buzzing burr of wings, the chalkydri obeyed.

“Please, brother, seat yourself. Eat.” The Morningstar gestured at the low table laden with fruit—oranges, limes, pomegranates—breads and chilled pitchers of wine, and encircled by couches.

Lucien sat with grace despite the manacles and banded wings, but he didn’t relax. He kept his back straight, his muscles taut and ready. Lilith noticed he held a length of the manacles’s chain between his hands.

As if he planned to strangle his way to freedom.

He’s my son.

Maybe that was exactly what he’d do if given half a chance. Her amusement at the thought vanished. Drawing in a breath of jasmine-and-myrrh scented air, she centered herself, and pushed the image of the burning Chaos Seat out of her mind.

“Is this little get-together your idea,” Lucien said, “or are you merely doing Gabriel’s bidding, like a good little lapdog?”

“Gabriel knows, naturally,” Star said, ignoring the dig, his voice smooth as sun-warmed silk. “But he’ll only know what I wish him to know.”

“The Seat-Warmer, as you named him, is busy planning the quickest way to conquer the mortal world,” Lilith said.

“Once Gehenna no longer exists,” Lucien murmured. “And me with it.” He leaned forward on the couch, chains clinking, and grabbed an orange and a hunk of bread.

“That doesn’t need to happen,” Star said. Pale peach dawn light shimmered on his star-bright tresses. “Not if there’s a creawdwr to heal the land, and you.”

“There is no creawdwr,” Lucien said.

“Really?” Star asked. “I sent Loki to the mortal world to search for one.”

Lilith kept her face and mind still. She’d mentioned nothing about discovering Loki trapped in stone, forced to play crypt-guard in New Orleans.

Lucien peeled the orange and said nothing.

Star sighed. “Perhaps you saw him?”

“I saw him,” Lucien said. “He annoyed me, so I chained him to the earth.” He ate an orange slice, his face thoughtful. “I imagine he’ll remain that way until I return to free him.”

Star arched one white eyebrow. “That would explain his silence. As I said, I sent him because I believe there’s a creawdwr hidden in the mortal world.”

“Why would you believe that?” Lucien asked.

“A few times as I dreamed,” Star said, voice low, “I caught the fading edge of an anhrefncathl. A wild and beautiful song.”

“Perhaps it belonged only to your dreams,” Lucien said. “If a creawdwr walked the mortal world, I would’ve known.”

“Yes, you would’ve,” the Morningstar said. “And you would’ve been close—whether to guard or kill—I don’t know, but I have a feeling that’s how Loki found you and that’s why you bound him.”

“If you say so.” Lucien finished the orange, then bit into the bread.

“Samael…”

“He prefers Lucien,” Lilith murmured, sipping at her wine.

“Lucien, then, as my beloved cydymaith advises.”

Lucien looked at them, amusement glimmering in his black eyes. “Congratulations,” he said. “Did this blessed union happen to coincide with Gabriel’s claiming of the throne?”

Heat rouged Lilith’s cheeks. “My unions ceased to be your business the moment you fled Gehenna, our creawdwr’s blood still wet upon your hands.”

Lucien’s amusement disappeared and gold light awakened in his eyes. “We all do what we must. Each one of us. Then once we’ve done what was necessary, we begin anew.” He held her gaze, scorching though all her shields and barricades as if they’d never existed.

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