Read Online Octavian's Undoing (Sons of Judgment) by Airicka Phoenix - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Airicka Phoenix
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myself,” she replied instead with a sharp tilt of her chin.
Octavian gave a long suffering sigh, one reserved for parents with stubborn children. “I’m getting my coat.”
“I don’t need you to—”
His gray eyes were cutting as they bore into hers. “And I don’t need for something to happen to you!” he barked back. “Come on.”
It was only her curiosity to see what lay beyond the corridor that propelled her after him. She practically had to run to keep up with what to him were probably normal strides. He held the door open for her and let her pass through before motioning her down the narrow path.
There was barely enough room to fit his frame. The walls were mere inches from grazing his wide shoulders, but the ceiling seemed to vanish into the darkness overhead. Riley studied the lettuce print wallpaper in faded red, and wood paneling along the bottom as they ventured into the unknown. There were portraits framed in wood lining either side, but they were moving too fast for her to see the occupants. The air smelled of wood cleaner and time, which was an odd smell. It wasn’t quite mildew or rot, but it smelled like age, like it had seen too much and every moment had embedded itself into the structure. Riley was still trying to put a more definite response to the scent when the corridor opened into a lavish foyer with rich, dark wood and dusty tapestries. Red velvet drapes fell in waves from a doorway across the room. Another set of doors, these ones stamped with stained glass were on the left. A set of stairs wound its way up on the right, splitting off in two different directions at the top. In the center, at the very top of the steps, immortalized forever in colored glass, loomed an angel in all its judging fury. In his pale hands, he brandished a sword that seemed to glow despite the darkness surrounding it, and a shield. He glowered at those standing beneath him.
Riley gulped. “Michael?” she asked.
Octavian glanced at her, surprise in his tone, like he hadn’t expected her to know that. “Yes.”
She nodded slowly, never taking her eyes off the mural. “He looks angry.”
Octavian snorted, starting up the stairs. “He’s an angel,” he replied as though that explained everything.
Riley, not sure what else to do, followed him. “Aren’t angels supposed to be, I dunno, kind? Loving? Not so… judgy?”
His laugh carried through the silence, sharp and brittle. “Only in the bedtime stories mothers tell their children.”
The definite note in his tone made her pause and glance at his back. Didn’t people usually like angels? She certainly never met anyone angry with one. God, yes, but angels?
“Don’t you like angels?” she asked, hurrying to catch up.
He snorted. “Not if you tortured me.”
Not sure what to say to that, not sure it would be polite to press him, she said nothing else as he took the left fork at the top of the stairs and led her deeper into the catacomb of corridors. Riley was beginning to wish she’d thought to bring bread crumbs. No way would she be able to find her way back on her own.
“Where are we going?” she asked him as they passed yet another endless corridor lined with grim-faced portraits.
“My room.”
Caught off guard, Riley tripped on her own feet. She staggered, but quickly righted herself. “What? Why?”
“I need my coat,” he replied simply.
“Yes, but why… why did I have to come?”
He tossed her a sardonic glance from over his shoulder. “I like your company.”
Riley bunched her face in an unimpressed scowl. “You and your brothers should become comedians.”
Octavian turned forward. “The world isn’t ready for our kind of humor.”
“How did I get so lucky?” she grumbled under her breath.
If he heard her, he didn’t respond. Instead, he stopped in front of a set of high, arched doors. He pushed them open and
Octavian gave a long suffering sigh, one reserved for parents with stubborn children. “I’m getting my coat.”
“I don’t need you to—”
His gray eyes were cutting as they bore into hers. “And I don’t need for something to happen to you!” he barked back. “Come on.”
It was only her curiosity to see what lay beyond the corridor that propelled her after him. She practically had to run to keep up with what to him were probably normal strides. He held the door open for her and let her pass through before motioning her down the narrow path.
There was barely enough room to fit his frame. The walls were mere inches from grazing his wide shoulders, but the ceiling seemed to vanish into the darkness overhead. Riley studied the lettuce print wallpaper in faded red, and wood paneling along the bottom as they ventured into the unknown. There were portraits framed in wood lining either side, but they were moving too fast for her to see the occupants. The air smelled of wood cleaner and time, which was an odd smell. It wasn’t quite mildew or rot, but it smelled like age, like it had seen too much and every moment had embedded itself into the structure. Riley was still trying to put a more definite response to the scent when the corridor opened into a lavish foyer with rich, dark wood and dusty tapestries. Red velvet drapes fell in waves from a doorway across the room. Another set of doors, these ones stamped with stained glass were on the left. A set of stairs wound its way up on the right, splitting off in two different directions at the top. In the center, at the very top of the steps, immortalized forever in colored glass, loomed an angel in all its judging fury. In his pale hands, he brandished a sword that seemed to glow despite the darkness surrounding it, and a shield. He glowered at those standing beneath him.
Riley gulped. “Michael?” she asked.
Octavian glanced at her, surprise in his tone, like he hadn’t expected her to know that. “Yes.”
She nodded slowly, never taking her eyes off the mural. “He looks angry.”
Octavian snorted, starting up the stairs. “He’s an angel,” he replied as though that explained everything.
Riley, not sure what else to do, followed him. “Aren’t angels supposed to be, I dunno, kind? Loving? Not so… judgy?”
His laugh carried through the silence, sharp and brittle. “Only in the bedtime stories mothers tell their children.”
The definite note in his tone made her pause and glance at his back. Didn’t people usually like angels? She certainly never met anyone angry with one. God, yes, but angels?
“Don’t you like angels?” she asked, hurrying to catch up.
He snorted. “Not if you tortured me.”
Not sure what to say to that, not sure it would be polite to press him, she said nothing else as he took the left fork at the top of the stairs and led her deeper into the catacomb of corridors. Riley was beginning to wish she’d thought to bring bread crumbs. No way would she be able to find her way back on her own.
“Where are we going?” she asked him as they passed yet another endless corridor lined with grim-faced portraits.
“My room.”
Caught off guard, Riley tripped on her own feet. She staggered, but quickly righted herself. “What? Why?”
“I need my coat,” he replied simply.
“Yes, but why… why did I have to come?”
He tossed her a sardonic glance from over his shoulder. “I like your company.”
Riley bunched her face in an unimpressed scowl. “You and your brothers should become comedians.”
Octavian turned forward. “The world isn’t ready for our kind of humor.”
“How did I get so lucky?” she grumbled under her breath.
If he heard her, he didn’t respond. Instead, he stopped in front of a set of high, arched doors. He pushed them open and
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