Fallen Pride - 2. Chapter 2

Lahja was filled with light.

It was as it had always been, light was everywhere, surrounding him, making him, filling his vision and his mind with its purity and beauty. He was weightless, made of the essence of The Father, forged from the light which permeated the universe. Lahja heard the song, the million souls of the choir of angels singing in praise for Our Lord, and without thought he turned his mind to join them. They sung high and sweet, a noise which suffused everything with adoration and joy.

Lahja could pick out individual tones in the choir, angels he knew better than others, as there was one he recognised above all others. He moved through the throng of light to rest next to the mind of enjoyed beyond the rest, and sung with reverence and desire. Between tones, Lahja reached out and brushed the other mind, that of his friend, and felt the force of the love in Shai’s voice. Lahja had echoed it in his own voice, and then his world had fallen apart.

*

He groaned, waking from the vision, to find fabric under his face. Without moving, his eyes focused automatically on the tiny twists of fibre which made up the rich green carpet, and his mind began to make sense of what he’d seen before he opened his eyes.

That was a memory. Why was I thinking of it? He tried to remember things about humans he’d been told. Was I asleep? Is that a dream?

Lahja closed his eyes, willing the holy light to come back, lift him from the weight of the body he wore and take him home. Nothing happened, except the body made its demands loudly in Lahja’s mind, and shaking, he sat up and opened his eyes, expecting to see flames once more.

It was a shock therefore, to find himself in a perfectly appointed gentleman’s study. There was a entire wall made of books, though not all bound in heavy leather, a deep wing armchair, a sagging ancient couch, a wooden desk with a swivel stool and a little lamp, a few sheets of paper on the surface. The only fire in the room was that which danced happily in the grate behind the iron fire dogs. And there was a person in the room. He sat cross-legged on the floor, so he was at eye level with his guest, and to Lahja’s eyes he seemed perfectly calm, reposed, long ash-brown hair falling over his bare shoulders, great gold feathered wings slumped behind him. But Lahja’s inner vision saw only a dark mass of swirling energy, like a storm cloud out for vengeance, and he shrank away from the demon. Only when his spine hit the opposite wall did he stop and register that he now had carpet burn on the heels of his hands.

“You don’t have to be scared of me.” His voice was a light, pleasant tenor, but Lahja couldn’t reconcile the melodic voice with the power which made him quake. The demon did not seem in a particular hurry. “I hope you like the body. People say demons should look more classical, but I quite like a less dramatic appearance. Horns and hooves don’t suit everyone.” He wound a lock of shiny hair around one finger until it wrapped over his entire fist. “Now, I’m not expecting any highbrow conversation, but a name might be a good start?”

Lahja struggled to find his voice, and then wondered why he was trying. The demon would surely eat him, he must have fought off the other two in order to keep him for himself. Lahja supposed he should be grateful if killing and eating him, in that order, was all the demon did to him.

I could just fish it right out of your head, but it would be nice to hear you say it.

Lahja clapped his hands over his ears, which caused a new pain, but nothing on the level with not breathing, and did nothing to stop the demon’s words arriving directly in his mind. They were planted there, as though a book had just been dropped directly into him, and Lahja could feel pressure on his mind. It was like singing with the choir, the knowledge of the company of others, but different in almost every way. The closest thing he could compare it to was everything he had experienced when he had reached out to Shai.

“Lahja.”

“That’s beautiful. I am Nassau.”

“You’re him!” When Lahja spoke, his voice sounded different. Not the wonder he’d had at the sound of his own name, but tainted with something he might have called anger. “Get away from me dark one. Demon!”

“I could say the same to you, demon.” Nassau held his gaze, and Lahja shrank back against the storm clouds which swirled in his eyes. “But no, He is my father. I am Lord Nassau Del Rae, Prince of Hell. And to answer my question, you’re in my private study.”

Lahja stared at him for a long time, then fainted.

*

“Gods, I hope he stops doing that soon.” Nassau stood in an effortless fluid motion, and arranged his wings on his back. He wound a glyph of power in the air and used it to pick Lahja up and deposit him, reposed and hopefully comfortable, on the low sofa. For a moment he wondered if he should dress the newest demon in hell, but instead summoned an enormous wool cloak the boy would be able to use when he woke, and draped it over him very carefully. Nassau knew he could touch Lahja and survive, but he didn’t fancy having a severe headache for much of the rest of the day because of his sleeping visitor. Just as Nassau was preparing to leave his chambers and go to debrief the patrol who’d found him, there was a knock at the door, which was opened in the same movement.

“You’re a hard man to find today,” Kiorl snapped. It was easy to tell from the swishing of his tail; the panther was not in the best of moods. “What’re you doing in the study? You’re never here unless your hiding from Sathriel, and he went Upstairs like, a week ago. I didn’t know he was back.”

“He’s not.”

“Thank fuck.” Kiorl glared at him, but Nassau realised the anger wasn’t directed at him. “The boys are driving me nuts. They want a second bathroom. Kiaza and Jem are fucking in there all hours of the day and night, Vruuaska hasn’t taken a shower in so long even Atoki thinks he smells, and Zai actually tried to pick a fight with our friend the snake.”

“I bet that went well.”

“I’m not sure Zai has ever been afraid of a barman before,” Kiorl referenced their friend’s rather forceful lover, “I can’t even tell them to all go Upstairs and stop winding each other up.” The panther growled in frustration.

Nassau watched his friend pace across the room, then raised a hand and a waft of magic to stop him from dropping onto the sofa.

“Don’t sit there.”

Kiorl froze, mid-motion, and turned to look. Nassau didn’t need to be an empath, because he knew his friend so well, but under his fur Kiorl had gone pale and flushed all at once.

“Who is that?”

“The new guy.”

“You recruited him?” Kiorl’s voice was tight, as though he didn’t know which answer he wanted to hear.

“No, at least, not like that. I just had it arranged.” Nassau brushed aside Kiorl’s question easily. He doubted he’d ever recruit again, not in the way many of his friends had. Nassau wasn’t jealous of their mates and easy love, but sometimes it made it hard to think about Mattias. “Don’t touch him, Kiorl.”

The panther paused. He’d been about to reach out and touch the smooth white skin. The new demon was just the type of human he usually went for, and his white-blond hair looked as velveteen as Kiorl’s own fur.

“But-?”

“You want him to throw you clean across the room?”

“He can do that?” Kiorl arched an eyebrow, “He looks so delicate...”

“You live with Kiaza,” Nassau countered, “you know exactly how inaccurate appearances can be. Come on,” he stood and smiled at his old friend, “Let’s go and see what we can do about your bathroom problems.”

*

Kiorl fiddled with his tail as he walked towards the south portal. It was the furthest from the house, and one he barely used, but neither did anyone he lived with, and Kiorl didn’t really fancy explaining his actions to his house mates. Nassau had dealt with the request for a new bathroom, and though someone somewhere in requisitions would accuse the prince of favouritism, they wouldn’t do it where Nassau or Kiorl would hear them. Nassau had however, refused to tell him the new recruit's name.

Kiorl hated surprises. Pretty much every unexpected event in his life threatened to kill him, someone he liked, or both. Or once, break the world into a dozen pieces. He didn’t think Nassau had meant for him to see the new demon, passed out and soft looking in Nassau’s study, and Kiorl couldn’t help but wonder why. When a human soul had been recruited and turned well enough to make it, not just into hell as energy to be used up, but to materialize as an actual demon, it was usually a cause for celebration. There had been maybe two such instances in the last century, and none since Kiaza and Jem had finally built them a place to go to celebrate. Whoever this new demon was, Nassau obviously wasn’t yet ready to share him with the world at large. With the image of the young man still in his head, Kiorl knew he needed a distraction.

The panther was not a shape shifter, not like Kiaza was, and though the human mind decided not to see what it couldn’t fathom, a little magical push was always helpful to get Kiorl looking just the way he wanted. He chose his destination almost at random based on the season and the time of day, and ended up standing in a little back alley, a shadow within a shadow, in Mumbai. Kiorl’s dark fur was helpful in creating a good skin tone, for once he didn’t want to stand out, and he kept his braids for the evening as he switched his clothes for jeans and a loose vibrantly coloured shirt. Already the panther missed his tail, it was still there, but the glamour was very effective, and without the appendage swishing behind him, Kiorl had to concentrate on actually walking.

The club was not much like those in the northern hemisphere where Kiorl had spent much more time. There was less neon, fewer people, and little of the showy pride which was de riguer for larger establishments. The subdued mood suited Kiorl just fine, and the demon glamoured his way through the door as though he’d actually paid and found himself at the edge of a bar and quarter-full dance floor. He ordered a drink without speaking, his grasp of human languages had never been good, and found himself eavesdropping on a young man with soft dark hair and an easy smile as he chatted with the barman in English.

“There’s never anyone new to dance with.”

“You can’t afford to be picky, you’re only young. Go dance by yourself.”

“I hate dancing alone.”

“I’ll dance with you,” Kiorl wasn’t quite sure what made him say it. He’d never spent even so long as the few minutes he’d been in the place, without throwing his blanket of seduction over someone, or everyone, and beginning the sometimes delightfully slow process of torturing and breaking every single one of them.

The boy squealed happily and grabbed his hand. Kiorl put an extra shot of magic into his glamour just in time for the human not to feel his fur. Touch was always more work than mere appearance. The major demon allowed himself to be pulled along into the swirl of the music. He’d never been one for dancing much, he preferred to watch, but inherent feline grace had always been useful, and Kiorl put on a good front. It was nice not to have to think much, and after an hour, Kiorl smiled at his companion, and suggested they go somewhere a bit more private.

It was all looking rather promising, Kiorl reflected, up until now. There had been a kiss, some fumbling in the dark, and then the young man had led him don the narrow space between houses. And then for a moment, he’d vanished. Kiorl blinked, the one thing the glamour did which he did not enjoy was dull his otherwise perfect senses. Glancing around once and not seeing the boy, he’d nearly turned back when he felt the presence of others. Somebody mocked him in a language he didn’t understand, and then there was the boy, standing beside another, two more on Kiorl’s other side, and each of them was holding a weapon. Kiorl sighed. They had tricked him, and now meant to teach him a lesson. Apparently his proclivities were sinful and wrong, and they had to show him the error of his ways.

And all I wanted was to get laid without spilling any blood.

Kiorl sighed, and began to wind the glamour down, revealing his true shape and power. He stifled the screams with the cloak of seduction. By the time he and the young man from the club should have been having furtive messy sex in a little private room somewhere, Kiorl left the alleyway, leaving the men behind him trapped in a miasma of orgasmic death and pain. Not one of them would live.