My Angelic Master

Punishment

"When you greet him, you will bow. You're his slave and you must do anything that he wishes. Dance for him. Sing for him. Do...other things for him," Vimore growls as he leads me through stone halls with ceilings nearly twenty feet high.

I find myself staring up and looking around aimlessly, unable to walk in a straight line. I'm still trying to maintain my composure, but it is nearly impossible at this point. As far as I know now, our world is just one of many. The shattering of what I thought I knew and what is real has collapsed everything else. I can only numbly execute the most basic of functions. My hands shake at my thighs, gripping the nearly translucent fabric into tight wads. My skin is frigid. I don't think I've ever been this afraid in my life.

When Vimore speaks, I try to put the words together so that they mean something, but all I can think of is how my life...my world...everything has been torn apart. And for what? So some ancient freak of an angel can have his desired slave? Why me, of all people? Was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

"Mostly Master Zeylon likes to spend his days in his study. It will be your job to bring him sustenance, record his thoughts, read to him, and do whatever else he wants. As I said. You are his, body and soul. You are not who you were on earth anymore, so it is best you forget that girl."

"Forget?" I whisper, jamming my nails into my palms. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Before I can move even one more muscle, Vimore has slammed me up against the wall, pinning my throat with his forearm.

"What did I say about that filthy language of yours?" he utters, lips nearly brushing my forehead, his breath hitting my face and filling the space with a scent like roses. I strain against his hold and try to breathe.

"You're...choking me..." I gasp out.

"You'll be fine," he grunts tersely and then smiles. "Now, what did I say? No foul language. We are angels, after all. If you do it again, you will be punished. And as a rule of thumb, dear, I'm not usually this kind."

My throat nearly buckles beneath the weight of his arm, and fury streaks through me. I glare straight into his eyes, noticing again the primal oceanic blue of them, wishing I could pluck out the white feathers from his wings and stuff them into his smooth mouth so that he'd choke on them. It's what he deserves.

"Get...your...hands off me..." I wheeze.

Light, brilliant and hateful, flashes through his gaze and I can see that he is most likely determining if he should off me right now. Perhaps that would be the better option. In this case, I would not have to conform to my random servitude and doing the bidding of creatures I still have yet to fully believe exist. It would be easy to pass it all off as a dream, but then...if this were a dream his arm would not feel so cold and tight on my neck. My blood would be flowing freely and my body would not be struggling for air. If this were a dream I could will myself away from this place, fight him off, do anything alternate. But no, reality crashes around me in hard peaks, everything sharp and clear. Painful. Beautiful. Ethereal.

Before he chastises me again, a shadow appears behind him. At first, it is a mere darkness filling up the stone hall, then a figure is born from nothing. This figure is broader than Vimore. It is hard to view his human form beyond the gigantic wings, spiked upward like glorious arches from bulky, muscled shoulders, falling in arcs of thunderous black feathers. Even in their unmoving state, I can tell that they are powerful, indomitable. They drag on the floor behind him.

As the angel steps forward, I note every small feature that comes into focus. The wings first, darkening the hallway with their vivid blackness, and then his male form. He is tall. Taller than Vimore by perhaps a head, and Vimore is most likely six feet tall. He exudes strength that is both unnatural and yet proportionate, abdomen blocked with tight core muscles, pectorals rising with each breath. My gaze travels across the sun-soaked skin, gleaming like gold in the pale light. Then, my eyes travel up his bare chest to where long white strands of hair hang loosely. Tendrils frame his face.