Finding Heathcliff

Twenty-Eight

When Azrael reached Astrid's room late that night, he found her sobbing in her sleep.

Leaving his bow and quiver, and the black, hooded cloak by the window as usual, he rushed towards her bed, his heart beating in a faster, happier rhythm when she grabbed handfuls of his shirt, pulling him close. Her sobs subsided soon after she laid her head on his chest, but not before he understood why she was so upset through the few words distorted by sleep, which she whispered.

Azrael hated the girl's demon. He was manipulating her, messing with her mind, toying with her emotions, and now he made her cry... He couldn't wait for the moment when he would make the man pay... but not yet; she still cared about him too much. Demon or not, the man was the closest person the girl had in the world.

Caressing her hair, he listened to her ragged breathing calming down as she fell into a deeper, peaceful sleep, where the demon could not reach her. That was Azrael's domain, and he would hold her, watch over her until she woke up again. And after. He knew about the gun her fiancé always carried within reach. He didn't trust him at all. It was a shame that he couldn't read the demon's mind as well and often, as he could read the girl's. Arcturus had taught him quite a few useful, demonic tricks.

Cradling Astrid closer to himself when she spoke in her sleep again, a couple of words impossible to understand, Azrael let his mind stroll back to his encounter with Jophiel. He had entirely forgotten about the fallen angel whom he once, years ago, helped to rescue his lover, accused of witchcraft, from a certain death at the stake. He didn't know that they had settled here.

Azrael sighed, the soft sound sufficient to make Astrid strengthen her hold around him, as if she was afraid he would leave. He wasn't content that Jophiel revealed to this... angel, this fragile, young girl where to find them. Her intentions were pure and wonderful but unrealistic. She couldn't change anything, Arcturus would never allow her, and Land's End Pit, the place that she was so desperate to reach, was too dangerous for her. It wasn't worth the risk...

The only thing her fiancé had to do was to dissuade her from continuing on this fool's errand and take her back home to the safety of her uncle's castle. But of course, he had failed miserably... For someone so young and little, she was surprisingly stubborn. And yet she looked so delicate and endearing; she needed someone to protect and love her. How could the demon not treasure her feelings? How could he use her so, only to get to the throne? He would make her life miserable.

But it wasn't Azrael's place to worry about this. He didn't belong to her real world, only to her dreams. The huge ring, gleaming on her finger obscenely even in the near-perfect darkness filling the room around them, was his constant reminder of that.

He stilled as she shifted slightly in her sleep, inhaling calmly, deeply, breathing him in, placing her tiny, warm hand right over his heart, sending it soaring. Azrael knew that he wasn't doing himself any good by spending these nights with her; he would regret it deeply in the long run, he should get up, go away, and never return...

Smiling, he shook his head. He knew he couldn't leave her. He wasn't a novice to suffering; he would pay the price for these moments of joy when the time arrived. Until then, he would enjoy them while they lasted.

"Azrael..." she whispered just then.

He had no idea how she knew his name, but it spilt from her lips so clearly, easily, naturally... It confirmed his decision to never leave her, sealing their fate. He would be her guardian as long as she needed him.

Azrael pulled her closer yet when she repeated his name, less clearly this time, and pressed his lips to her temple, allowing himself to kiss her for the first time, inhaling her alluring, irresistible scent-- the perfume of books and wildflowers, of newly discovered freedom and dreams-- committing the moment to memory.

Don't trust your demon...

The words Astrid had heard so clearly in her sleep still swirled in her mind when she woke up, heart fluttering in her chest like a caged bird.

She heard something, a soft thud of a door being shut somewhere far in the house. Dismissing the thought as unimportant-- Regulus or Rigel probably walked out early to prepare the horses for their journey-- she forced her attention back to the shards of her dream, the shattered pictures vanishing into the total darkness that surrounded her too fast to grab all of them.

But she recalled having seen herself back in Jophiel's house, and it had been the witch, Stella, speaking to Astrid in the dream, through that whirlwind of images sent into her mind. Only now, Astrid was starting to remember some of them.

"Don't trust your demon," Astrid muttered.

Sitting up, she lit the oil lamp, its golden light banishing the night into the corners of the room. What did Stella mean by that, she mused, her fingers caressing an imprint in the pillow automatically, her hands bringing it to her face to capture the scent trapped within the fabric. She had gotten used to finding that shape in her pillow so much that she would miss it, should she not see it there in the mornings. She smiled, distracted from her gloomy thoughts momentarily as she pulled on her gown-- dressing up as her uncle's guard didn't seem like a good idea in this part of the country.

Too soon, her thoughts strolled back to her dream. Astrid didn't know any demon unless... Stopping in her tracks, returning to her bags from the small table holding a basin and a water-filled ewer before she could wash her face, she pulled out the Book of Angels, sitting on her bed again.

Of course, she knew demons. She knew Jophiel, but she doubted that Stella meant him. There was only one other demon in her life. Her mysterious man, the fallen angel with the eyes the colour of sea foam whom she had spoken to in her uncle's castle, and then again at the witch trial...

She opened her book at the chapter talking about fallen angels, her fingers finding the too many times touched pages immediately, and skimmed the text again carefully.

'If the forces of light are angels, what are the forces of darkness? Led by the Devil, they were originally good angels who rebelled and turned against God. These fallen angels, angels who committed a sin, are also called evil spirits, unclean spirits, or demons.'

Astrid's breath caught, she shut the book quickly and pushed it back into her bag. Stella could have only meant one demon. The dark angel who had tried to kill her.

Don't trust your demon.

The thought refused to leave her mind as she stripped her bed, leaving the sheets in a heap by the door for Andromeda to wash, collected the rest of her things after she brushed her hair, switched off the lamp and opened the door, nearly bumping into Rigel, who came to help her with her luggage, as she walked into to the ill-lit corridor.