Free Hell's Angel by Jackie Kessler Page B

same.” His eyes glowed amber for a moment, hinting of mischief and fire. But then they settled back to their steady green. Somberly, he said, “But I am the Light Bringer no longer. You may call me Samael.”
    Samael—the name of the Angel of Death. So she was no longer to think of him as Lucifer? It flummoxed the angel how other creatures could bandy about something as important as a name. “Yes, Lord Samael.”
    “As I said, little angel, I am no one’s lord. And certainly not yours,” he added with a bow of his head. “My fellow outcast, do you have a name?”
    The angel stuttered, “I am but a cherub.”
    Lucifer—no, Samael arched a dark brow. “I have always thought that to be a poor decision among the celestials. Why should cherubs be any less deserving of a name than humans?”
    For that she had no answer. But something about the look of Samael’s face, the way his eyes glinted and his mouth curled up into a sardonic smile, gave her the courage to blurt out, “I rather like being called ‘Angel’. I think it is pretty.”
    And then she clamped her lips shut. Whether he called himself Samael or Lucifer or Satan, he was still one of the most powerful creatures in all of existence. And here she was, blathering on about a pretty nickname! If he hadn’t still been holding her hand, she would have transported herself back to Hell.
    Now Samael’s smile was bemused. “Indeed. A pretty name for a pretty cherub.”
    Heat flooded her cheeks. “Thank you.”
    “You are one of the angels newly assigned to Hell?”
    “I have that honor,” she said. That was how the assignment had been presented to her, when the new King of Hell had taken office—it would honor Heaven for some of its children to go to Hell and do the work of demons. But she would never see it as anything other than banishment.
    If only her fellow Hell-bound angels saw it the same way, perhaps she would not feel so lonely, so lost. But they all seemed to accept their new role—most with good grace, as befitted the cherubim, and even those who were less than divine in attitude still performed their tasks to the best of their ability.
    She, however, could not perform well. The very notion of what she was supposed to do terrified her. She was meant to soar among the rings of Heaven, to inspire humans to strive for the Light. Hell sickened her.
    Samael asked, “What Sin were you given?”
    “Lust.”
    “Ah.” Dark humor sparkled in his eyes. “That must have been a difficult adjustment.”
    The word had yet to be invented to describe just how difficult it had been, and still was. “Angels are not meant for lust,” she said, her voice dulled by melancholy.
    “Have you experienced it yet? Taken a lover?”
    “No.” She shuddered delicately. While the notion of physical love was enticing, the concept of lust, of being controlled by passion, disturbed her. And to do so for the benefit of Hell disgusted her.
    A pause filled with the sound of her wings moving in the wind. As the moment stretched, she remembered who Samael truly was, and what he was, and she trembled. He was an archangel, and more. He had been the Lord of the Underworld for thousands of years. Who was she to complain about her fate to one such as him?
    Why was he still holding her hand?
    Samael was looking at her intently, his green gaze probing. “You did not answer my first question,” he said, his voice a low hum. “Why are you here, just outside of Paradise? What could bring you to hover outside of Heaven?”
    The angel’s throat constricted, and her chest felt too heavy. Her fear and awe of the archangel before her dimmed as her heartache surfaced once again. When she finally spoke, her answer came in a rough whisper. “I miss home.”
    Samael’s eyes softened. “Ah.”
    That small word, that acknowledgment of her pain, overwhelmed her, and the angel’s eyes stung with sudden tears. Overcome, she turned away, squeezing her eyes shut. She was three kinds of fool.