Waiting

1.

Arie POV

It had been countless millennia since I first asked the Celestials if I would ever be blessed with my mate. I knew—even at my creation—that my soul had been left unfinished. I was made to collect and so I did endlessly. Souls passed through my hands—branded, delivered, released. None stayed. None were mine.

I watched worlds change while I remained the same. Continents tore themselves apart and reformed. Fire, ice, water, and wind reshaped the earth again and again. Civilizations rose, fell, and were reduced to stories whispered through belief and myth. Across realms and ages, others were completed.

I was not.

The Celestials promised me that, in due time, I would receive my perfect mate. Even then, I understood their caution. Time, after all, had never been my ally.

When the Celestials sent me to face the Morning Star, it was not war they promised me—it was hope. The dust he guarded was meant to be the final element of creation, the substance that would complete what had been left unfinished within me.

We fought for decades. The earth burned beneath us, reshaped by our rage. He scarred me deeply, driving an angelic blade into my side. But I prevailed. I delivered the stardust with blood on my hands and belief in my heart.

I thought the waiting was finally over.

It was not.

In due time had not yet come.

After many more centuries blurred into distant memory, the Celestials came to me again, asking that I take up my sword and shield as their champion—to defend their divine realm from the Morning Star’s vanity and beauty. I obliged, clinging to the smallest sliver of hope left in my heart.

Circles of countless new moons, came and went. Once again, I was victorious. With sorrow weighing heavy in my chest, I raised my sword and cast him out—wounded, stripped, and bare. When I looked into his face—once a mirror of my own—and saw the slashes that now marred it, I knew from that moment forward we were no longer bound in likeness or spirit.

My heart was beaten, betrayed, and broken.

Still, I accepted my destiny. I continued gathering, branding, and delivering countless souls to their place of judgment—until they were received with open arms and granted new life by the mate I had been promised. A mate I tried desperately to banish from my thoughts before hope could take root again.

How long had it been since I last allowed myself to think of it? I could not remember. Each time the thought surfaced, it felt like shards of broken glass twisting into my essence—ripping it apart, leaving nothing but jagged edges that would never fit together again.

I had tried to bury thoughts of completion and companionship, but they festered. Each time hope resurfaced, it cut deeper than before.

In due time.

Perfect mate.

The words echoed like a curse.

My power stirred—restless, uncontained.

That was when the air changed.

What?

I had been so lost in my spiraling thoughts that I hadn’t sensed the shift until it was too late. Awareness snapped back into place, and my skin tightened in warning. Something slick and foul brushed against my senses—black, oily tendrils creeping toward me like living tar, clinging and invasive.

Lilith.

Fuck.

How had I allowed her to get this close? How had I been so careless?

And worse—why was she here?

“Arie,” she crooned, her voice honeyed and false. “Why so gloomy? Still waiting, and waiting, and hoping?”

Creation help me—I should never have confided in her all those ages ago. Loneliness had made me foolish. Vulnerable. I had listened when she spoke of her mate, of how their bond had rotted into something cruel and grotesque. She claimed she had loved him once. Claimed he had twisted their union into a sadistic game.

Perhaps there had been truth in it once.

Perhaps not.

Now, all that remained of her was hatred, bloodlust, and disgrace.

And yet—she had a mate.

That alone twisted the knife deeper. Lilith, monstrous and vile, had been granted what I had waited millennia for.

“Leave,” I said flatly. “Now. I am not in the mood to speak to you today—or ever.”

“Aww, Ariel of the Evening Light,” she purred. “You’re no fun anymore. We don’t have to talk. Let’s do something better instead.”

I refused to look at her.

Still, I saw everything.

She lowered herself into the grass, careless and deliberate. From the corner of my vision, I watched her lift her skirt and tuck the fabric into her belt with practiced ease. She bent her knees and opened herself shamelessly to the sky, bare beneath layers meant only for deception. I remained rigid as she drew two fingers into her mouth and wet them before sliding them between the intimate folds for her swelling lips. She pumped them in and out of herself as she pressed and rubbed her palm against her hood for friction and release.

“Oh… Ahhh… Come on, Arie,” she whispered. “Come enjoy yourself with me.” I could see the slickness coating her hand as I began to hear the slopping sounds her movements were making.

I would never deny the truth—Lilith was exquisitely made. Golden hair, flawless skin, eyes mismatched like stolen jewels: one the depth of an ancient forest, the other the open sky. Beauty sculpted to ruin men and gods alike.

But she was his.

No amount of temptation—no matter how grotesquely offered—would ever make me cross that line. Doing so would bind me to a cycle of chaos and suffering that would echo through eternity. I would never degrade myself by touching what belonged to my brother, no matter how fractured that bond had become.

Disgust curled hot and sharp in my chest.

“Lilith,” I thundered, “I told you to leave. NOW.”

The earth answered my rage.

The ground convulsed beneath us, a violent tremor rippling outward. She froze mid-motion, robbed of release, her breath hitching in surprise.

Damn it.

I felt it immediately—souls slipping loose from failing vessels, torn free by the uncontrolled surge of my power. I hadn’t intended for that to happen, but grief, despair, and her audacity had cracked something open inside me.

I clenched my fists and stepped toward her, towering over her without effort.

She scrambled upright, yanking her skirt back into place, fumbling to cover herself. Pleasure drained from her expression, replaced by hesitation—by fear. She felt it now. She sensed how close I was to losing control.

Good.

For a fleeting moment, temptation whispered. I could send her back to him. Deliver her directly into his hands. After all, His purpose was pain—eternal, meticulous punishment. Until he could fully claim dominion over souls and fulfill what he called his existence and purpose, he practiced on her. Night after night. Fire. Ruin. Degradation.

Her suffering would be absolute, and I would be free of her presence.

And yet—

No.

Even for a creature as despicable as Lilith, I would not do that.

I despised her with every fragment of my being—for her manipulations, her cruelty, her crimes against her own blood. But I was not my brother. I would never be as monstrously cruel as he had become.

I still possessed empathy. Restraint.

And I would not allow myself to cross that final, irredeemable line.

An alluring thought surfaced—cold, deliberate—and when I turned toward her, I saw it in her eyes. Before his scars, I was still my brother’s exact mirror image. She recognized it instantly. That look. That stillness. I knew exactly what she was seeing when she looked at me. Not me. Him.

When she stared at me, I felt it in the way her breath shifted, in the way her pupils darkened. She was reaching backward through memory, pulling from images defined by the beginning of their union—when love had still been tender, when his touch had been worship instead of punishment.

She craved me because I reminded her of what she had lost.

She wanted to use my body—my face—as a vessel for those fantasies, to pretend that the monster he had become was still capable of gentleness. I needed to make sure that she knew that I was not my brother and that I would never gift myself to her in order for her to fulfill these fleeting fantasies.

I extended my hand in a gesture that allowed her to believe I had decided to accept her invitation. it wouldn’t be for her pleasure. I would make sure that she knew that. She hesitated for a moment before reaching for my hand. I pulled her close to me.

I needed to borrow from my brother’s cruelty only long enough for the illusion to shatter—only long enough for her to know this was me and I would never allow myself to give into her fleeting fantasies.

“Lilith,” I said coldly, “I told you to leave. I suppose you’re too stupid to understand what that means.”

I made my grip iron-tight, and yanked her toward me before she could retreat.

“You should have left me alone,” I said. “You know you’re not wanted. And yet you insist.”

She went still.

Whether it was shock or the sudden realization that this was not unfolding the way she’d imagined, I couldn’t say.

“What?” I asked flatly. “No clever remark? No smirk?”

“I—I just…” she stammered. “I wanted to help you forget your loneliness for a little while.”

The audacity of it almost made me laugh.

Moments ago, she had been shameless. Now she trembled.

“Lilith,” I said, my voice calm and deliberate, “I need you to understand something very clearly.”

My grip on her tightened.

“This ends now.”

Fear flickered across her face—real fear, sharp and sudden.

“No, please—Arie,” she whispered. “I understand. You don’t have to—”

I held her gaze and let my power bleed into the space between us.

Heat gathered beneath my palm—not indulgent, not inviting. Controlled. Intentional. Her body reacted despite her will, instinct answering power before her mind could stop it.

That was the moment she realized her mistake. She shifted, seeking relief that would not come.

Her breath hitched as the heat sharpened, no longer seductive—no longer something she could pretend was pleasure. Confusion twisted her features as sensation tipped into pain, as illusion collapsed under truth.

This was not her mate. This was not cruelty. This was not worship.

This was correction.

She tried to pull away, but I didn’t let her—not yet.

I held her there just long enough for it to burn into her understanding. Just long enough for her to know that the face she had mistaken for comfort could be the same one that denied her entirely.

Tears welled in her eyes. That was the line. I felt it the instant before I crossed it. And I stopped.

When she screamed, I shoved her away. She stumbled back and fell hard, curling in on herself, clutching at the remnants of dignity and desire I had stripped from her in equal measure.

“f**k you, Arie!” she screamed. “You’re just as horrible as he is—brothers cut from the same f*****g, disgusting cloth! The divine beings will never give you your mate. Look at what you just did to me! They’ll never gift you what you want because they know you’ll do it to her, too!”

She hurled the words like weapons—sharp, practiced, meant to wound. For a single, traitorous heartbeat, doubt stirred. What if she was right? What if the Celestials would deny me what I had waited millennia to receive?

I buried it before it could take root.

I stepped forward and stood over her.

“When it comes to you, Lilith,” I said evenly, “you’re right. I am like my brother.”

Her breath hitched—not in triumph, but in uncertainty.

“And when you feel the need to seek me out again,” I continued, my voice lowering, “stay the f**k away—or I will remind you exactly who you are.”

Something flickered across her face as she realized this wasn’t anger. It was intent.

“She was beautiful,” I said. “Like her mother. Pure—like her father’s light used to be.”

Her expression morphed into hatred when I mentioned her, but I did not care. Lilith would know her truth, whether she wished to acknowledge it or not

“I will never forgive what you did to my niece,” I went on. “Because of you, she no longer exists. That is why I do not spare you. That is why I do not soften anything where you are concerned.”

Unease crept into her eyes.

“I don’t feel loss the way my brother does,” I said calmly. “I don’t know a father’s grief. But I understand cause and consequence. And you are the cause.”

I could see in that moment my words affected something deep inside of her.

“He despises you,” I continued, “not because you failed him—but because you took from him all that he loved most.”

Color drained from her face.

“If you hadn’t bled her dry before she could receive her eternal light,” I said, relentless now, “she would still exist. She would still be part of creation.”

I leaned closer.

“Lucian would never have become what he is if you hadn’t slaughtered his child. His grief did not make him cruel—you did.”

Her eyes darkened—not with sorrow, but with the dawning realization of why her world looked the way it did.

“He loved Margarethe,” I finished. “And he loved you. You made him a father.”

Margarethe had been an infant. New. Fragile. Barely formed into the world she had entered. She had not yet known jealousy or longing or fear. She had known only warmth, sound, and the instinctive trust that the arms meant to hold her would keep her safe.

Her eyes—dark emeralds ringed with gold, a gift from her grandfather, the Dragon King—had not yet learned to focus. They simply reflected light. Her curls were still soft, barely formed, the color of raven feathers just beginning to grow. Her skin held the pale sheen of ocean pearl, untouched by time. Her lips, pink as calla lilies, had known nothing but breath and nourishment.

The moment she was born, I had watched my brother become a father—watched something ancient and sharp inside him still the moment Margarethe was placed against his chest. He did not hold her like a possession. He held her like something irreplaceable. Something that could be broken simply by breathing too hard.

He did not love her instead of Lilith. He loved her in addition to her—and that was the crime Lilith could never forgive.

Lucian’s grief had not begun as madness. It had begun as devastation so complete it hollowed him out. When he found Lilith — the love of his life, his queen, his mate — feeding on their child, something inside him collapsed beyond repair.

Who he had been before that very moment died that day.

Lilith stood there trembling, fury already twisting itself into accusation—as though the universe had wronged her, as though the moment Margarethe was born, something precious had been stolen from her. She straightened then, hatred twisting her features, entitlement burning through her rage.

“You have no idea what it was like after Margarethe was born,” she spat. “She took everything from me.”

Her words came fast now, unhinged.

“I was the most beautiful creature in existence before she came along. Lucian worshiped me. I was his world—his beginning and his end—and then she arrived and stole that from me.”

She stepped closer.

“He loved her more than me. After promising he would only ever love me. He cared for her more than he did for me.”

Her mouth twisted.

“I had to feed on her,” she said. “I had to take her essence so he would see me again. So I would be the most beautiful creature in the realms once more.”

She smiled—thin, proud.

“There can be no one above me when it comes to my mate,” she said. “Not even a child.”

Silence followed.

Her breath was heavy—not with shame, but with the effort of justifying herself.

Something inside me went cold.

She wasn’t mourning a daughter.

She was mourning attention.

She hadn’t lost a child.

She had eliminated a rival.

I stepped forward.

“You want me to feel sorry for you,” I said quietly.

Her eyes flickered, still clinging to the lie.

“I don’t,” I said. “And I never will.”

Her breath caught.

“Margarethe was not the reason your world collapsed,” I continued. “She was the reason it expanded. And you couldn’t stand it.”

I held her gaze.

“You weren’t abandoned,” I said. “You were revealed.”

Dread finally replaced her rage.

“You want to know why your mate treats you the way he does?” I asked. “Why fire follows you instead of devotion?”

I leaned in.

“Because the day you murdered his child, you taught him exactly what you are. You didn’t lose him to grief,” I said. “You forged his cruelty with your own hands.”

I straightened and raised my hand, allowing the ancient light to gather—final, absolute.

“I’ve heard enough, now f*****g leave.” With one snap of my fingers, the light flashed, and Lilith vanished in a violent rupture of air, torn from the space she had poisoned.

The silence that followed Lilith’s disappearance pressed in around me—thick, heavy, cleansing in its own way.

I drew a slow breath and let it ground me.

Enough.

I had allowed myself to drift too far—into memory, into grief, into rage that did not belong to the work I was made to do. Whatever she had stirred in me, whatever wounds she had torn open, they could not be permitted to linger.

I was not here for vengeance.

I was here for purpose.

I steadied myself, drawing my power back into its proper confines, forcing it into stillness and order. The world responded immediately. The tremor in the air settled. The echo of my presence dimmed.

Only then did I turn my attention to the consequences of my lapse.

Souls had been pulled loose from their vessels—unintended, premature. Lives ended not by fate, but by proximity to me when I allowed my power to surge unchecked. The weight of it settled over my shoulders like a familiar mantle.

Responsibility.

I closed my eyes.

Not in escape—but in focus.

I reached outward, extending my awareness across the thin places where life and death brushed too closely together. Threads of existence revealed themselves—flickering, fraying, dissolving. Most were already slipping beyond reach, their paths set.

One was not.

It stood out immediately.

Anchored. Dense. Resistant to the pull of dissolution.

A presence that refused to scatter.

Half Moon Bay.

The name surfaced with clarity, carried on the pull of the soul itself. The connection tightened, drawing me toward the edge of land and sea where time slowed and the veil thinned just enough for me to pass unseen.

That was where I was needed.

I rarely felt a summons like this—only when a soul carried weight beyond its own understanding. Not necessarily righteous. Not necessarily damned.

Significant.

Extraordinary souls always were.

I exhaled, allowing the last remnants of distraction to fall away.

It did not matter who they had been in life. Once I reached them—once my hand found theirs, or my touch brushed their shoulder—the truth would unfold. Every choice, every fracture, every kindness and cruelty would reveal itself in a single, relentless cascade.

I would see it all.

And I would know.

Which brand they would bear.

Where they would be delivered.

I opened my eyes.

The path was clear again.

The work was waiting.

And I would answer it.