“After what?” She blinked up at me, somehow both pure and seductive at the same time.
“After sex,” I said gruffly. “And exchanging ayim, which is done through mixing our blood.” Often a cut on the hands during the bonding ceremony. Though Gabriel and Eve hadn’t done that. I’d have to ask more about it when I returned to them late tonight.
Lilith’s face turned bright red. It was a delight to watch. She struggled to maintain eye contact, her eyelashes fluttering.
I grinned. “Is that too scandalous for your ears, Lily?”
“No.” She scowled as even her ears turned red. “I’m not a child.”
Oh, but this was too much fun. How much more skin would turn red if I continued to tease her? I leaned against the bookshelf and smiled down at her, all sorts of ideas running through my mind.
Eight
Lilith
My face was as hot as the sun and I hated it. I didn’t want this worldly, sophisticated man to think so little of me. I was a virgin, despite all the looks I’d received from men over the years, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t handle adult conversation.
His eyes gleamed with mischief, and I knew he was about to mock me.
Quickly, I jumped to the first subject I could think of. “So, royal seraphim have black wings?”
If it threw him off-kilter, he didn’t show it. Castiel nodded.
“And Gabriel, your captain. Why does he have white? And you have brown?”
The glint in his eyes extinguished, and he leaned away from me. The change was subtle yet unmistakable. I stared at him in surprise. What had I asked?
“Gabriel comes from the aristocratic echelon,” Castiel said. “They usually have white wings.” He sighed, then continued to speak, as my face must’ve clearly shown all my questions. “Seraph society is different from humans. We don’t have an organized religion. We don’t force women into lesser roles. And most of us are attracted to all genders of seraphim, unlike how humans seem to be sexually attracted to only one, perhaps two genders.” He raised his eyebrows to confirm the description.
I nodded. The Church of the Love of His Divine Saints only encouraged relationships between men and women, but I knew that was somewhat unusual compared to the rest of Anglia.
“However, we have a very rigid class system.”
I cocked my head. “But…we also have social orders.” I laughed. “It’s not like I could marry the King of Anglia. He would only marry a princess.”
Castiel smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Our echelons are far more inflexible. I…I have brown wings because I am not from a high echelon. I cannot wield magic. My parents are farmers. My grandparents and great-grandparents, and all my known ancestors, were farmers or worked in skilled trades.”
“Were you forced to join the army?” I whispered, horrified.
“Yes and no. In Aerie all second-born become warriors for a set number of years. I am second in my family, so I joined. It’s not a bad thing. Warrior life is where your echelon matters the least. In my sedge, I was third in command over other warriors who are far above me socially. It’s the one time I had authority over a mage and a noble seraph. But still”—his wings rustled behind him—“it’s rather obvious I’m from the fifth of seven echelons, and I’d be retired from the war and farming in Aerie right now if I wasn’t in your world.” A twinge of shame and resentment colored his words.
I stared at the edges of his brown wings. They were beautiful. In proper sunlight they’d reflect not just bronze, I guessed, but nearly gold. They were rich and earthy and full of color. Everything you could want in a man—and the shades complemented his body so well.
My eyes roved over Castiel, taking in more details. His curly brown hair fell over his forehead. Sparkling amber eyes now appeared dulled from the memory of his frustration. Golden brown skin that would be warm to the touch. And those perfect brown wings. Aerie is full of fools if they don’t see his beauty.
He laughed suddenly, the sound sharper and harder than I’d heard from him before. “Goodness, you aren’t pitying me, are you?”
I flushed. “Of course not.” I snapped the book in my hands closed and set it on the shelf. And I’m a fool if I feel sorry for him. Forcing myself to push past whatever moment we had, I glanced around the study. “The book isn’t here.”
Castiel stiffened beside me. “What?”
I gestured. “There is no large, old book here. Not anymore.” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “It has been some time. But the manuscript looked valuable, so I don’t know what he could’ve done with it.”
“Think,” Castiel urged. “Can you remember anything else about it? Did you read the story? Was it a book about art or history? What about the title?”
“If I knew that I would’ve told you,” I snapped, glaring at him. “But the book was open when I saw it, and I didn’t have the time to stop and read any of the pages. For some reason I didn’t think it might be important two years later if one of the Heralds demanded I help him return to his home. Strangely enough.”
Castiel huffed. “Pardon me. But this is crucial.”
