Read Online Etched in Bone by Adrian Phoenix - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Adrian Phoenix
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charming, and treacherous egomaniacs hungry for power and glory.”
Dante snorted. “There’s a surprise.”
“And what does that mean for us?” Heather asked. “For Dante?”
“Whoever can claim and bind the creawdwr will be exalted above all others,” the Morningstar replied. He turned his head to look at Dante. Moonlight gilded his blue eyes silver. “They will never allow you to leave Gehenna, not unbound.”
6
ÇA FINI PAS
G EHENNA ,
I N THE AIR
Night of March 27–28
“ A llow? I T AIN’T UP to them,” Dante said, voice low and tight. “I’m leaving, un-fucking-bound.”
“Perhaps a compromise could be worked out,” the Morning-star said. “We’ve—”
“A compromise requires trust, yeah?” Dante cut in. “And trust needs to be earned. Over time. We ain’t anywhere near there yet. So fuck the compromise.”
“Ah, cranky. Must be getting close to your bedtime,” the Morningstar murmured. “Well, let’s see if we can get you home. And, yes, I know—I can go fuck myself.”
Heather laughed. “He’s got your number.”
Dante couldn’t help the grin that slid across his lips. “Must be psychic.”
“More like a glutton for punishment,” the Morningstar said, dipping his right wing and following as Lucien and Hekate descended in graceful swoops to the crowded terrace.
Lucien landed first, stumbling a little as his sandaled feet hit the marble, but recovering quickly. His belted black kilt swirled around his legs. Folding his wings behind him, he drew himself to his full six-eight, shoulders back, an arrogant tilt to his chin, as he put his back to the balustrade.
The gathered Fallen bristled at Lucien’s presence, tension prickling through the crowd like a thorned blackberry cane. Expressions darkened. Taloned hands fisted. The scorched rubber smell of anger threaded into the air.
“Looks like they’re ready to put Lucien right back on those hooks, Baptiste,” Heather commented.
“Of course they are,” the Morningstar said. “He murdered Yahweh and we’ve been forced to live without a creawdwr ever since. They don’t want to risk their new Maker’s safety.”
“Do they know he’s my father?” Dante asked.
“No one did, until you named him as such to Gabriel,” the Morningstar replied. “Although I imagine rumors are winging through Gehenna even now.”
White wings fluttering, the Morningstar’s daughter, Hekate, landed on the marble landing terrace with grace. She smoothed her pale tresses with one elegant hand, then moved to stand beside Lucien.
The Morningstar descended to the terrace with powerful sweeps of his wings, fanning the scent of wing-musk and bitter orange into the perfumed air. He touched his sandaled feet to the marble floor, landing with ease and precision, despite his passengers.
Wybrcathl chimed and trilled into the air, hundreds of voices, the earlier tsunami’s intense second surge. Instructing. Praising. Suggesting.
Welcome home, young Maker! Take your place upon the Chaos seat.
Holy, holy, holy!
We shall love and serve you and you shall feed Gehenna.
But underneath the crystalline multiple-voiced choir battering at Dante’s shields, he detected a quiet, desperate vibrato, a warning song.
Don’t listen, little creawdwr. They will enslave you, just like they have us.
Pain rapped brass knuckles against Dante’s temples.
The Morningstar released Dante from his hold. His silver brows knitted in concern. “Your nose is still bleeding and you look like you’re about to drop. I could ease your pain and clear your head, if you’d only allow it. Just say the word, child.”
“ Ça va bien. Ain’t your worry.” Dante unlooped his arm from around the Morningstar’s neck. He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. Blood glistened on his skin. “And don’t call me child. I don’t care if you’re older than the fucking pyramids, you ain’t got the right.”
Frustration shadowed the Morningstar’s handsome
Dante snorted. “There’s a surprise.”
“And what does that mean for us?” Heather asked. “For Dante?”
“Whoever can claim and bind the creawdwr will be exalted above all others,” the Morningstar replied. He turned his head to look at Dante. Moonlight gilded his blue eyes silver. “They will never allow you to leave Gehenna, not unbound.”
6
ÇA FINI PAS
G EHENNA ,
I N THE AIR
Night of March 27–28
“ A llow? I T AIN’T UP to them,” Dante said, voice low and tight. “I’m leaving, un-fucking-bound.”
“Perhaps a compromise could be worked out,” the Morning-star said. “We’ve—”
“A compromise requires trust, yeah?” Dante cut in. “And trust needs to be earned. Over time. We ain’t anywhere near there yet. So fuck the compromise.”
“Ah, cranky. Must be getting close to your bedtime,” the Morningstar murmured. “Well, let’s see if we can get you home. And, yes, I know—I can go fuck myself.”
Heather laughed. “He’s got your number.”
Dante couldn’t help the grin that slid across his lips. “Must be psychic.”
“More like a glutton for punishment,” the Morningstar said, dipping his right wing and following as Lucien and Hekate descended in graceful swoops to the crowded terrace.
Lucien landed first, stumbling a little as his sandaled feet hit the marble, but recovering quickly. His belted black kilt swirled around his legs. Folding his wings behind him, he drew himself to his full six-eight, shoulders back, an arrogant tilt to his chin, as he put his back to the balustrade.
The gathered Fallen bristled at Lucien’s presence, tension prickling through the crowd like a thorned blackberry cane. Expressions darkened. Taloned hands fisted. The scorched rubber smell of anger threaded into the air.
“Looks like they’re ready to put Lucien right back on those hooks, Baptiste,” Heather commented.
“Of course they are,” the Morningstar said. “He murdered Yahweh and we’ve been forced to live without a creawdwr ever since. They don’t want to risk their new Maker’s safety.”
“Do they know he’s my father?” Dante asked.
“No one did, until you named him as such to Gabriel,” the Morningstar replied. “Although I imagine rumors are winging through Gehenna even now.”
White wings fluttering, the Morningstar’s daughter, Hekate, landed on the marble landing terrace with grace. She smoothed her pale tresses with one elegant hand, then moved to stand beside Lucien.
The Morningstar descended to the terrace with powerful sweeps of his wings, fanning the scent of wing-musk and bitter orange into the perfumed air. He touched his sandaled feet to the marble floor, landing with ease and precision, despite his passengers.
Wybrcathl chimed and trilled into the air, hundreds of voices, the earlier tsunami’s intense second surge. Instructing. Praising. Suggesting.
Welcome home, young Maker! Take your place upon the Chaos seat.
Holy, holy, holy!
We shall love and serve you and you shall feed Gehenna.
But underneath the crystalline multiple-voiced choir battering at Dante’s shields, he detected a quiet, desperate vibrato, a warning song.
Don’t listen, little creawdwr. They will enslave you, just like they have us.
Pain rapped brass knuckles against Dante’s temples.
The Morningstar released Dante from his hold. His silver brows knitted in concern. “Your nose is still bleeding and you look like you’re about to drop. I could ease your pain and clear your head, if you’d only allow it. Just say the word, child.”
“ Ça va bien. Ain’t your worry.” Dante unlooped his arm from around the Morningstar’s neck. He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. Blood glistened on his skin. “And don’t call me child. I don’t care if you’re older than the fucking pyramids, you ain’t got the right.”
Frustration shadowed the Morningstar’s handsome
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