Chapter 74 Chapter 74
Chapter 74 Chapter 74
⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧ Adrianna ⛧⛧⛧⛧⛧
Two days. That's how long I have been rotting in this gilded fucking cage, chains biting into my wrists like icy teeth, the cold stone wall pressing against my back through the thin shift they shoved me into. The room is a shrine to some angelic bullshit—white marble floors that gleam like polished bones, incense thick in the air, choking me with its holy stink. And that massive painting across from me, dominating the wall like a judgmental eye, showing a man with eyes that burn right through the canvas. Every time I stare at it, something twists in my gut, a flicker of recognition I can not pin down. Who the fuck is he? And why does looking at him make my skin crawl with heat, like a soul-deep itch?
I yank at the chains again, the metal rattling loud in the silence, my arms aching from the stretch.
“Hey, you pompous peacock! Let me the fuck out!” My voice echoes off the vaulted ceiling, raw from screaming, but I do not care. “Overgrown pigeon with a god complex—show your feathered ass in here and face me!”
The soul bond hums faintly in my chest, a distant throb like Levi, Apollo and even Elena are clawing through the veil, their demonic rage pulsing against the block. It makes my pussy clench involuntarily, a mix of fear and that dark, hungry pull they have etched into me. But it is muffled, like shouting through water, and it only pisses me off more.
“Who are you really?” I bellow, throat burning. “Why the hell am I here? What do you want with me, you celestial prick?”
The questions bounce back, unanswered, just like the last forty-eight hours of this nightmare. Kidnapped in a flash of blinding light, dragged to this heavenly prison without a whisper of why. Is it the bond? My blood? Some twisted angel vendetta against the demons who claimed me? My nipples harden against the rough fabric of the shift from the chill, or maybe from the rage boiling low in my belly, turning to something feral. I imagine Levi's claws on my skin, Elena’s dripping pussy on my lips and Apollo's cock slamming into me—fuck, anything to drown out the isolation.
The heavy door creaks open, and in slinks a servant—tall, gaunt, dressed in flowing white robes that scream subservience. His face is pinched, eyes shadowed, like he has seen too much divine cruelty. He does not speak at first, just glares at me with those pale blue eyes, lips pressed thin.
Finally, he snaps, “Shut your mouth, woman. My master is a busy man. If he wanted you to know the answers to these questions, he would have given them already.”
I bare my teeth, chains clinking as I lean forward.
“Busy? With what, polishing his halo while he plots whatever sick game this is? Tell him to get his ass in here!”
He winces, rubbing his temples like my voice is a spike through his skull.
“He will return in a few hours. If he deems you worthy of his words, you will hear them then. Until that time, for the love of the light, shut the hell up. You are giving me a migraine that could split heavens.”
The desperation in his voice hits me—a crack in the facade. I straighten, the chains pulling taut, making my breasts strain against the shift, the fabric whispering over my sensitive skin. The soul bond flickers again, a warm pulse between my thighs, reminding me of the power thrumming in my veins from my bond with Apollo. I can use this.
“I will be quiet,” I say, voice dropping to a husky bargain, “under one condition.”
He pauses, hand still at his forehead, looking like his head is about to explode.
“Anything. Just peace. What is it you want?”
My eyes flick to the painting, that man's face haunting me—strong jaw, eyes like storm clouds, a smirk that screams ancient sin. It stirs something deep, a memory buried under layers of mortal life, tied to the supernatural chaos that's swallowed me whole.
“Tell me who that man is in the painting. The one staring like he owns my soul. Do that, and I will zip it until your master deigns to grace me with his presence.”
He hesitates, glancing at the door like Michael might burst in and smite him for spilling secrets. Tension coils in the air, thick as the incense, my heart pounding against my ribs. Finally, he sighs, stepping closer, voice low and reluctant.
“He is... the one my master loves. He is a Fallen One. 5,000 years before the rebellion, my master fell in love with a fellow angel, one he considered his best friend. However, this man never returned his feelings and bound himself to another. Later on, this one,” he pointed to the painting, “and his bonded were among those who rebelled. My master has tried everything to find a way to bring this one back to the heavens and sever the bond he created. You are the key.”
My mind races, absorbing the clues like poison. The man in the painting... tied to this asshole? To the arch-angels' grudge? This bird-brain is after me to break the bond, to purify or destroy whatever demonic claim Levi and Apollo have staked. Heat floods my core, not just anger but a dark thrill—the thought of their cocks claiming me again, defying this heavenly bullshit. I nod slowly, lips curving in a defiant smile.
I smirk and say, “Just one more question. Do you know his name?”
“Apollyon.”
“Thanks, like I promised, I will be quiet now.”
He exhales, relief washing his face, and slips out, the door thudding shut. Silence descends, heavy and oppressive, but my brain whirs with plots. The chains are cold iron, etched with glowing runes that burn my skin when I tug too hard, but they are not unbreakable—not with the hellfire I know Levi and Apollo have pouring through their veins. I test them subtly, muscles straining, sweat beading between my breasts, trickling down to pool at my navel. Escape. That is the play. Use whatever twisted motive this glorified feather duster has against him—play the innocent mortal, lure him close, then rake his eyes out with whatever is in reach.
The painting watches me, that man's gaze almost alive, stirring the soul bond to life with a vengeance. I feel Levi's fury echoing, Apollo's rage, a promise of blood and cum-soaked revenge. Hours until this dodo returns. Plenty of time to plot, to let the dark fantasy of our reunion fuel me—imagining their bodies slamming into mine, angels falling in our wake. But first, freedom. I twist my wrist, ignoring the bite of metal, whispering curses under my breath. This peacock is about to learn what happens when you cage a woman bonded to demons.