Golden Blooded

14. Halo.

Ivan pressed a cold cloth to his scalp. Yesterday was still fresh in their minds- they had stayed out in the woods well into dusk, before they'd heard the wolves and flew back home. Alfred's head had been covered in dried blood when they'd gotten back, and Ivan had taken him to Yao.

The dragonblood had found it funny that he had asked a scaled demon about a feathered angel, and told him that Alfred would be fine- that the blood would stop soon and the feathers would grow back.

"You know, when I said that," Ivan had told him, later in the night, "I had meant by a doctor."

So now, they sat in silence. Ivan pressed the cloth against him, removing the blood that had surfaced over the night. Occasionally, he pressed kisses to his hair and neck, which made Alfred smile despite himself.

"You should sleep," Ivan said, grabbing a roll of bandages and wrapping them around his neck, "you didn't last night- don't try to fight me, I know."

Alfred closed his open mouth, making a rumble deep in his chest that could have bordered on a growl depending on how you looked at it. Ivan decided it was a noise of irritation, not threat, which was a more accurate description but not what it really was: embarrassment.

Ivan rubbed his wings, always making sure to stay along the grain of the feathers. His muscles untensed, resting on the soft bedding.

After that, Ivan left to do his work. Alfred was left to himself, and that was really the greatest kindness that Ivan could have granted him. What had he been thinking, acting like that? He would now have to cut his crown again- what would happen if another angel saw him with a grown out crown? Then they would know his loyalty was sour. If Arthur saw him- Arthur had sold himself for him. Now there was no point. He did it for nothing.

Well, actually, he could still help Heaven. Even if he didn't like them. He could still escape, and give information in exchange for his life- but he didn't know if Heaven would still grant him his life.

To an angel, wanting to live was a curse. You were supposed to be completely willing to die for Heaven at all times. If you weren't, your loyalty was questioned and, well, a chain is only as strong as its weakest link. A short, strong chain is better than a long, weak one. He was the weak link.

Not to mention, Matthew. What was he doing right now? Had the other angels figured out he had intercourse with General Gilbert? Was he in prison? Had they decided because Alfred was weak the rest of the crop was rotten? Was he dead? He just wanted to know if his brother was okay.

Well, him, and his younger brother. Was he even still alive? He was a descendant of one of the originals, although not a firstborn son. They would probably rather keep him in prison- use him to replace a missing cog in the machine if it became needed.

But his brother had never gotten... them... removed. He couldn't do it now, they would have fused with his bones. He pressed a palm to his head, at the spot where his skull was thinner. It hurt to press for too long, and he pulled his hands away.

If his brother still had them, he would be killed instead of appointed. It was just a fact of life. There was an empty spot in his heart, a part of his mind reared its ugly head. Because he was alone, he felt no qualms showing his halo. An angel could never show their halo to a demon. Then they'd be forever cursed. Their blood would run black, and their lungs would no longer be able to take in air, and the bones of their wings would become brittle.

He wasn't sure if that was real, but he didn't want to test it.

He took his halo off his head, inspecting it. It was gold, with white rings wrapping around it. On the white rings were eye-like formations. They blinked, occasionally. It took him a moment before his eyes connected with all the others. He saw through eyes like a kaleidoscope. He could see everything in the room at once. First, he checked for anything watching him. Nothing. Anything dangerous to him. Nothing. Anything that could be a weapon. Lamp. Glass of the mirror. Iron poker against the wall.