The Soul on Fire | Slow Updates

Chapter Seventeen

A knock sounded at the door as it was pushed open and Barachiel poked his head inside.

"Are you ready?" he asked, sweeping his gaze briefly up and down Armaita's body.

She stood in the center of the room facing a full-length mirror. Her new robes were gold and silver – matching her former mentor's. They fit her perfectly, accentuating her narrow waist and the curve of her shapely hips.

Not that it mattered.

The one person she wished could see her ascend the hierarchy today wouldn't have been allowed in – even if he was still alive.

She gasped, fighting against the sob that had worked itself into her throat, her hands flying to cover her mouth as tears pooled in the cusps of her eyes.

She had tried to convince herself that it would get better – this burning, agonizing torment would soon come to an end. But she was wrong. Rather then improve, her depression had only gotten worse with each passing day.

"Oh," Barachiel stepped into the room, coming between her and the mirror. His large hands cupped her cheeks and he swiped an errant tear away with the pad of his thumb. "Please don't cry – not today."

Her eyes fell shut and the remaining tears fell, rolling down her cheek and off her chin. Barachiel wiped the trail away and leaned forward – pressing their foreheads together. His warm breath washed over her and his right hand slipped beneath the fall of her hair, cupping her nape and massaging it gently. His other hand remained on her cheek, holding her face immobile.

She blinked up at him, her brow creasing as confusion rippled through her. His pupils were dilated as he looked down at her. His breaths came in short pants and he flicked his gaze between hers, his lips parting the longer they stood this way.

"I can't bear to see you so upset," he whispered, his thumb rubbing small circles into the smooth skin of her cheek, "it hurts me to know you're suffering."

She smiled weakly at him, the gesture not reaching her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"No," he breathed, gripping her nape tighter, "don't apologize. I just wish..." his voice trailed off and even though he still looked at her, his mind seemed to be elsewhere.

"What do you wish?" she whispered, thinking of her own desires as she did. She wished Asmodeus were there with her, holding her this way instead of her former teacher. Her soul ached for his, feeling empty ever since he sacrificed himself to save her.

"Armaita, there's something I've been wanting to tell you for a long time. It wasn't appropriate until now..." The Head of Guardians' gave her a nervous glance as he continued, "you were my pupil. But, you're an archangel now – I am no longer responsible for you and you have earned this position. I am so incredibly proud of you. I hope you know that."

"Thank you," she replied, blinking away more tears. He ran his thumb along her cheek, catching the salty droplets as they slid down.

"You're welcome," he smiled, "but that's not all I wanted to say."

She furrowed her brows and looked at him expectantly. Again, he seemed nervous as his eyes darted back and forth between hers. He sucked in a shaky breath and licked his full lips.

"Words fail me," he breathed, pressing his forehead harder against hers, "but perhaps I can show you what it is I want to say."

Her eyes widened when he pressed his mouth to hers without warning. He swallowed her surprised gasp and tightened the grip he had on the back of her neck. His left hand slid into her hair, fisting it as he worked his mouth on hers.