Wrath of the Fallen by Eve Archer
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Dominick
“Cappuccino?” Mastema held out a white, bowl-shaped cup, froth peeking over the top.
I shook my head, even though the rich aroma was alluring. I didn’t need anything to make me more wired.
Mastema shrugged. “It’s too sweet for me, but I assumed angels would enjoy it.”
Rami took it from him. “I don’t mind a good cappuccino.”
We stood at the mahogany sideboard in a small dining room that boasted a round table and windows facing the bright morning light. Although the furniture was ornate and the ceiling covered in a colorful fresco, it was a far cry from the long, stately formal dining room we’d used the night before. A chrome espresso machine sat on one end of the sideboard, while a buffet of breakfast foods was stretched across the other.
It had been the savory scents that had drawn me to the room when I’d descended the stairs earlier, and I hadn’t been shocked to find Rami already helping himself to a croissant that smelled freshly baked.
“What do you prefer to drink in the morning?” I asked the prince of demons, suddenly aware how little I knew of the creature. “Shots of espresso?”
He wrinkled his nose. “I see no reason to alter my preferences due to time of day.” He opened the small door of the sideboard and retrieved a decanter. “Cognac is as good in the morning as it is in the evening.”
I couldn’t fault him on that logic, and I suspected liquor didn’t affect the demon prince like it did humans.
He nodded to the amber liquid as he swirled it around the crystal decanter. “Would you like some?”
I waved him off, instead plucking a croissant from the breadbasket and plopping it on a plate. I joined Rami at the table, pleased to see that there weren’t demon servants posted around the room to serve us. Despite the ornate formality of the mansion, breakfast was a casual affair.
“I’m glad you’re both early risers,” Mastema said, as he took a seat across from us, his full rocks glass in one hand.
I glanced at Rami. We weren’t always early risers, although we didn’t require as much sleep as humans. I doubted he was awake for the same reason I was, but there was a reason he was up with the sun. I’d rolled from bed at the first warble of birdsong, unable to sleep next to Ella for a moment longer without wanting to flip her over and take her hard, pressing her head into the sheets while I held her arms behind her.
The image that had woken me had been so vivid and the desire so visceral that I’d almost run from the bedroom, barely stopping to throw on clothes before barreling downstairs. As much as I’d loved every moment of the previous night, it had been such a deviation that my own dominant darkness had shocked me. I’d thrilled at her desperate moans and only gotten harder every time she struggled. Making her beg to come had only enflamed my need to punish her, and when I’d finally taken her, I’d fucked her without restraint, using her body like a pleasure toy.
Aside from stoking my lust, the demonic energy of the demon’s lair was setting my senses on edge—anger was sharper, regret deeper, and irritation quicker. None of which made sitting across from a demon prince any easier.
“I take it you rarely sleep?” I asked Mastema, noting that he still wore the unbuttoned tuxedo shirt and black pants he’d had on when I’d left him in his underground lair only hours earlier.
He glanced down, his face registering surprise at his own attire. “I got caught up in monitoring the situation.”
Rami was little better. Although he wore fresh clothes, dark circles ringed his eyes and his hair could generously be termed tousled.
“It would appear that none of us slept a great deal, if at all.” Mastema took a sip of his cognac. “The price of being powerful and knowing too much.”
“Have there been any developments?” Rami took a drink of his fancy coffee, and licked the foam off his top lip.
Mastema scowled and shook his head. “Nothing new. And no angelic activity anywhere else.”
“There wouldn’t be,” I said, taking a bite of my flaky croissant and almost moaning in ecstasy. Even tastes seemed to be magnified, the buttery, airy bread almost melting on my tongue.
Mastema lifted an eyebrow. “My chef excels at pastries.”
That was an understatement. I took another greedy bite, suddenly ravenous after my night of passion.
“The archangels must be lying low after the chaos they created yesterday,” Rami said, draining his cappuccino.
“I wonder who is answering for it.” Mastema drummed his fingers on the table, his gaze going from me to Rami. “Or who they are blaming.”
“They don’t have to work too hard to blame me for Azrael’s death,” I said. “It was I who thrust the sword of Uriel through his heart.”
“But you didn’t take the sword from Uriel, or bring it to earth, intent on killing a human,” Rami said. “Gabriel still has to explain how Azrael got the deadly weapon, and why he would have wanted to go after Ella.”
“Uriel can be in no doubt as to why,” I said. “He’s never been a fool.”
“But will he betray the angel Gabriel to defend one of the Fallen or even a bastard demi-angel?”
I flinched at Mastema’s description of Ella but pondered his question. Even if Uriel didn’t call out Gabriel to all the angels, such audacity and vengeance couldn’t be ignored, could it? Disobeying the celestial rules had not been tolerated when we were Watchers.
I finished my croissant and suddenly craved a coffee, standing quickly and moving toward the shiny, chrome machine. Was this what it was like to be ruled by demonic energy—impulses driving you forward unabated without even a flicker of hesitation?
“Rami is right,” I said. “Gabriel must be lying low after being the cause of such destruction. He knows everything can easily be linked back to him, and his existence is now a delicate house of cards.”
Mastema grinned. “That makes him desperate, which makes him an easy target.”
A demon attendant materialized next to the espresso machine before I could begin fiddling with knobs and nozzles. Although I flinched at his presence, I requested a double shot of espresso and returned to the table.
“How can we use his desperation to our advantage?” I asked.
Mastema steepled his hands in front of him. “To ensure your Demi-angel’s safety, you need for Gabriel to believe she is no longer a threat, which means you either convince him she’s dead…”
Before I could argue against this, the demon held up a hand.
“Which we’ve already eliminated as an option. Our next best strategy would be to force him to admit his actions and be judged for them. Once it is out in the open, it doesn’t matter if Ella continues to exist. His punishment will remain the same.”
There was some wisdom in his idea, although I doubted the angel Gabriel would ever face the kind of punishment the Fallen had.
“So, we force a confession and judgment,” Rami said.
“He’s already desperate.” Mastema leaned forward and rested his chin on his interlaced fingers. “If we give him a lifeline, he might take it.”
Fear prickled at the base of my spine. “What kind of lifeline?”
“The chance to get to Ella himself without archangels or the Fallen to protect her.”
I rose halfway from my chair, slamming one palm down and making the plates and glasses rattle. “Out of the question. I told you before, I will not sacrifice her safety for a strategic advantage.”
Mastema’s eyes sparked red. “Then you will lose, Semyaza. The archangel Gabriel will sacrifice everything to keep his status and keep you banished.”
I curled my hands into fists as we stared at each other across the table. It took every ounce of my splintered self-control not to launch myself at him. His pupils flared, and I wondered if he knew how his demonic energy was affecting us, and if he was using this against us.
Before either of us could speak and draw ourselves further toward a showdown, Ella burst into the room, waving a piece of paper.
“She’s gone!”
We all turned toward her, but Rami was the first one to react, jumping up and knocking over his chair. “Sara?”
Ella nodded, pressing her lips together as she clearly fought back tears. “She snuck away from the chateau,” she waved the paper again, “and it’s all my fault.”
