Eternal Sin (Primal Sin #2) - Ariana Nash Page 0,68

Severn followed. Mikhail couldn’t spoil these last few hours by rousing Severn’s suspicions. It had to be the perfect goodbye. There would not be another chance to get it right.

Chapter 29

Severn

Mikhail was not himself. Maybe it was Haven because the more time they spent in the damn place, the creepier it became, and now Mikhail was acting… nice. He’d never been nice. Powerful, stubborn, commanding, but not nice.

They’d taken a table at Haven’s only eatery and ordered a lavish dinner. Haven’s nightlights illuminated the gardens around them. Angels occasionally glanced their way. At least their table was set aside, keeping their conversation private.

The meal of fresh fish and an exotic salad had to be one of the finest things Severn had ever eaten, although he could have devoured three more plates.

“Tell me about your family,” Mikhail asked, and Severn almost choked on his mouthful.

He spluttered and gulped water. “I…” No one nearby was paying them any attention, but even so. Was Mikhail really asking him about demons? “My real family?”

“Well, yes.” Mikhail raised an eyebrow. “Angels don’t have families.”

Pushing his plate aside, he picked up the glass of water again and leaned in. “All right. So… I was raised in Red Manor. Do you know what a manor is?”

“A territory,” Mikhail replied with confidence. He set his own half-eaten dinner aside and leaned an elbow on the table, casually scanning the small crowd while glancing back at Severn.

“Yes, but it’s more than land. A manor is a family. Each family can trace its roots back to the first er… demons,” he whispered the last word. “Red Manor was one of the oldest, believed to be linked to Aerius.” The name simmered in the silence between them.

Mikhail’s gaze drifted back to Severn and stayed. “You were their lord.”

“By default more than anything. Most of Red Manor was killed…” Severn glanced down. “They—we consist mostly of concubi, so…”

“So I killed them.”

“Yes.”

Mikhail swallowed, but his gaze stayed, brows pinching.

“It’s war,” Severn added, feeling the need to explain how he did not blame Mikhail for performing his duties.

“Is there… love in the manors?” the angel carefully asked.

“Yes. We protect our own first. The Manor is everything. We love our siblings, our sires—parents. Though mine are long dead.”

“I see.” His cheek fluttered. “We don’t have that sense of family among angels.”

“No.” Severn sipped his water. The loneliness of being an angel had been one of the hardest aspects of becoming one of them. It had never felt right.

He felt his mood souring and steered his mind toward happier times. “As a pup, I had a brother or sister around every corner.” He fondly remembered the games of chase through abandoned streets, bounding off the burned-out shells of buildings and diving through gaping windows.

“Djall is all that remained of my siblings.” He glanced up, checking for Mikhail’s response to the name, expecting a flinch or a snarl, but Mikhail merely nodded and stroked his fingers down his glass, gathering droplets of condensation.

Severn wanted to tell him everything and anything. He hadn’t yet flipped the table or vowed to kill all demons. The old Mikhail would not have listened to a demon about their home, their life. This felt like monumental progress, but also a fragile one, as though this change came with a cost Severn didn’t fully understand.

Mikhail seemed to notice the quiet, and with a soft smile, he began to speak of his time as a fledgling, and of how he had “grown into his wings,” meaning he’d been a small youth. The thought of a young Mikhail, all feathers and fire, made Severn’s heart swell.

It was late by the time they returned to the habitat. Mikhail went inside first, but Severn hung back, turning to face the open park. The grounds glowed, lit by footpath lights, like strings of fairy lights leading into the dark.

He thrust his hands into his pockets.

Maybe he was overthinking this place.

Maybe it was just a sanctuary.

Maybe his skin crawled at the sight of the domes because he wasn’t an angel inside.

He looked up. The domes weren’t as obvious in the night. Stars were still visible, maybe even brighter somehow, as though the glass amplified their twinkle. He caught sight of shadowy wings and spotted the pair of sky-dancing angels again. Perhaps not the same pair as he’d seen in daylight, but it didn’t matter. Their aerial display was a silent display of agility and stamina, and it made Severn’s wings ache with the need to spread them.

A soft, soulful