Chapter 7
“Lute!” Adam bellowed happily, “Long time no see, danger tits!”
He spread his arms wide and she immediately darted into them, wrapping her own arms around his torso. She buried her face in the front of his robes. He was warm and soft, like she remembered. He smelled like he always did, that faint, barely noticeable note of manly cologne that would have assaulted her senses if it had been any stronger. Something like Old Spice, probably.
He chuckled and patted her head as they finally pulled apart.
“I missed you,” Lute forced out, trying not to sob.
Adam grinned, holding her at arm’s length. “I missed you too, sweet cheeks.”
As he continued to look down at her, his smile slowly dissipated, and his brows moved together in concern. “Doll, what happened to your arm?”
Lute didn’t want to take her eyes off of his face, but she briefly glanced at her right arm, then her left. What in the seven virtues was Adam talking about? There wasn’t anything wrong with either of her arms. Thoroughly confused, she frowned and wiggled her fingertips, rolled her wrists, and bent and straightened her elbows. Satisfied with the perfect range of motion she still had, she blinked up at Adam, slightly unnerved.
“Lute!” a familiar, feminine voice exclaimed. The exorcist whirled around.
A tall silhouette leisurely strutted closer, scarcely visible through the thick fog that surrounded them. Lute could just barely make out a huge, fluffy cloud of pale hair that cocooned the unmistakably female figure down to her hips, and two thick, scythelike horns curling around her temples. “Lute, baby, where have you been?” she trilled, stepping out of the mist.
Emily towered over Lute. She was clad in a long, bloodred dress, with an astoundingly low neckline and precariously high leg slit. Yards of excess fabric trailed on the ground behind her. The pointed tips of black stiletto heels peeked out from under the front hem of the skirt.
Fuck, the real Emily, kind and modest and pure, would never dress like this. Like some kind of fucking Asmodean Jezebel. Lute’s nose crinkled in distaste. This was wrong. Who in the holy water was this?
“Aren’t you… missing something?” Not-Emily tilted her head to one side innocently, huge horns gleaming. Not waiting for an answer, she reached out and took the exorcist’s left hand. Deep purple eyes bored into golden ones, and Lute tried in vain to pull away. Emily’s grip was unyielding. It felt like a block of stone was pinning her–
Lute clenched her jaw and braced her free hand on the block of stone that was pinning her arm. As she began to pull away, she felt the flesh begin to give first, a whimper escaping her throat. Her mouth opened soundlessly as her eyes screwed shut, willing herself to stay silent. It’ll be over in a moment, she promised herself. She could feel the bone beginning to splinter.
“Look at me, little dove,” Emily instructed, and Lute’s eyes betrayed her, immediately opening wide. Amethyst eyes, supple, dark red lips, sinfully long lashes–
Lute could feel it, the limb was about to detach. As her pain reached its climax, a feral, disgusting screech ripped itself from her throat. The appendage landed on the ground with a thud, but Lute could still feel the arm. It hurt, it hurt worse than anything Lute had ever experienced before. Tears spilled down her cheeks, leaving cool trails across her face.
“Does it hurt?” Emily whispered seductively, leaning in closer, “I could make it all go away, if that’s what you want.”
Lute nodded frantically, chest rising and falling rapidly. Emily could heal her, Emily was a Head Seraphim, for fuck’s sake, Lute knew they were capable of miracles. “Please, please,” Lute blubbered, sinking to her knees, her vision blurring as tears continued to fall.
“Aw, the poor little angel,” Lute heard the croon from behind her. A soft, deliberate hand gently snaked around her neck, lightly tracing the exposed skin of her throat before cupping the side of her chin. Another hand came to rest firmly atop Lute’s hair. “Well, better dead than broken, mm?”
Snap.
Lute jolted awake.
It was dark. She could hear deep, rhythmic breathing. Her gaze swept around the room and landed on Emily’s silhouette on the cot. Right. She sighed and clasped her hands together – or, rather, tried to.
Right.
It felt like the walls of the room were closing in on her, the air growing thicker with each passing moment. Lute swung her legs off of the bed and rose unsteadily, knees nearly buckling. She stumbled out of the hut and simply kept walking for a brief few moments before pausing. She sat on the mossy ground, then flopped on her back, staring up at the starry sky.
So this was her life now. Adam was dead. She had lost an arm. She… had fallen in love with Emily. Fuck. She didn’t stand a chance with that flawless angel. Besides, when they made it back, war was a likely possibility, given the current tensions between Heaven and Hell. Whatever. Lute would likely die in battle, just like Adam. No need to inconvenience Emily – or herself – with courtship and all that silly nonsense. Yeah, that was probably for the best. Lute willed herself not to cry as the stars shined silently above.