“While Creator-Father originally envisioned reclaiming the heavens, he became obsessed with earthly power through human warfare. He craved dominion above all else, and for that, he required more warrior offspring.”
“Warrior children? That’s horrible.”
“We emerge from the forge fully formed. I’ve previously explained this.”
“Sure, but still. You might be physically mature, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t...” I search for the right words. “You still had to develop emotionally. You had to learn how to exist in the world.”
He pauses, then shrugs. “Perhaps. Some adapted better than others. Creator-Father had little patience for our...learning.”
“You mentioned he created more. But there’s only Remus, Romulus, and—seriously, couldn’t you come up with a better name thanThing?”
Abaddon shrugs again. “It’s what we’ve always called him, as Creator-Father did. And yes, we had another brother called Layden. Creator-Father used the last of the angelic essence to create our youngest, certain he’d finally perfected the formula for strength, invulnerability, obedience, but especially beauty.”
Formula? Creator-Father sounds like a deranged scientist. And a complete bastard.
I prop myself up on one elbow, captivated. “So what happened? Where’s Layden? And your father?”
Suddenly, the light vanishes from Abaddon’s chest, plunging us back into darkness. Only the light from the pale dawn filters through the window.
“Talk, talk, talk. You’re like Romulus—all words, no action.” He vaults from bed, wings spreading wide in either a stretch or agitation from my questions. “I’m hungry. I’ll find sustenance.”
And just like that, the conversation’s over.
But as I watch his magnificent form silhouetted against the window, I realize something has fundamentally shifted between us.
He told me his name. His history. Pieces of his pain.
Abaddon.
Maybe this isn’t just about physical attraction and ancient bargains anymore.
Maybe we could actually get toknoweach other.
And despite everything—the dungeon, the fear, the running—I find myself wanting to know more.
THIRTY-THREE
ABADDON
My consort—no,my Hannah-consort. My chest warms at having her name. At her trusting me with something so personal.
Hannah-consort frowns at the bear meat. “Wonderful. Bear for breakfast. Delicious.”
I sense deception in her tone, given the persistent frown marring her features.
But then her stomach produces an audible rumble. She is hungry, though apparently not for the finest meat available. Peculiar, since bear truly is choice sustenance. But perhaps mortal digestive systems operate differently than I understand. I haven’t spent time among humans in centuries. These days, instead of revering me as a god, they tend to point and scream upon seeing me.
“Come.” I fold my wings tightly against my sides to navigate the narrow doorway.
I hear her delicate footsteps on the stone behind me as she follows.
Her obedience pleases me immensely, as does seeing her beautiful form unclothed once again. Though perhaps she’s merely attempting to regain my favor after yesterday’s betrayal. I barely suppress a growl at the memory of returning home to find her gone.
I won’t forget such treachery easily. She’s betrayed me twice now—that pathetic earlier attempt by the lake when I was bathing and yesterday’s flight.
I refuse to be made a fool a third time.
Still, I lead her down the numerous flights to the main level where I’d abandoned yesterday’s carefully gathered provisions. They remain by the entrance where I dropped them to battle my brothers.
