Immortal Women, Eternal Love

The Horniest Angel By Alana Church Artwork by Moira Nelligar Copyright 2017 Alana Church == || || == ~~ All characters in this book are over 18. ~~ == || || == Is it possible to be bored in heaven? Doriel, beloved seraphim of God, singer in the heavenly choir, and ex-corporal in the Host of the Lord, sighed as she lay on her bed in her residence in the Celestial City. Across from her, having just completed an extended session of lovemaking, was Ambriel, her current lover, his jet-black hair spread on her pillows like a pool of ink. He smiled, his perfect lips curving in a sweet bow. Ripe and red as cherries, they drew her in despite her discontent. Even after a prolonged and vigorous bout in his arms, part of her wanted to wake his wonderful c**k again. At least while she was making love, she could ignore the dark thoughts that were crowding her mind. “Thank you, dearest,” he said. “That was...very nice.” She smiled back at him, but her heart wasn't in it. Ambriel was everything she could want in a lover; kind, generous, and skilled in bed. It wasn't his fault she was tired of him, the same way she was tired of everything else. Everything was perfect in the Celestial City. The hymns of praise to God were never out of tune. The streets were always immaculate, the pure white marble inlaid with precious metals and gems beyond price or count, indescribably beautiful. The weather was always, forgive the pun, heavenly. Even the rain and snow was, on those rare occasions when it was permitted to fall, only for the sake of variety. No stray lightning strike ever damaged one of the soaring trees, no sudden gust of wind ever broke a window, no one ever froze to death in a blizzard. What do you do when perfection is dull? Her lover rose from the bed, drawing his robes around the sculpted beauty of his body. “Doriel?” His beautifully modulated voice was oddly hesitant. “Yes?” His glorious eyes, dark blue and fathomless as the sky at twilight, were sad. “I'm not making you happy, am I?” A swift protest rose to her lips, but she slowly nodded instead. “No, you're not.” She closed her mouth on a sudden burst of bitter laughter. “To use a human phrase, it's not you. It's me.” “Hmmm.” He took her in an embrace. True to his nature, the gesture held nothing but simple comfort and love. “Can I give you some advice?” To her shock, her eyes were brimming with tears. “Please.” “I've known for a long time that you have been unhappy. Years. You should see someone. It's not good for one of us to be discontented. You know what can happen.” She shuddered at the reminder. Ages ago, some of the strongest angels had rebelled against God, seeking to overthrow Him and seize power for themselves. The War in Heaven had taken the lives of angels beyond count. Dozens of her friends had perished in the fighting. It was only by a supreme effort that Doriel and Ambriel and their allies had vanquished the traitorous hordes and had cast them down into the Pit. Even now, they lingered there, denizens of the foulest depths of depravity, plotting their destruction. Their hatred was everlasting and eternal. She gave a shaky laugh. “Ambriel, I'm not the sort to try to start a rebellion.” “No, you're not. But you need something to do. If one could accuse our Lord of making a mistake-” “Which we won't.” “-it would be that too many of us don't have tasks to suit our skills. We are beautiful and powerful and immortal. Isn't there more to existence than eternal songs of praise or the occasional smiting of the wicked?” She nodded slow agreement. The same thoughts had passed through her mind, more than once. “So who should I see?” “Michael,” he responded promptly. “An archangel? Ambriel, be serious. He is too far above me in rank. It would be crazy for me to approach him.” “Michael,” he repeated firmly. “If anyone will know what to do with you, it will be him. He has the ear of some powerful people.” He raised his elegantly drawn eyebrows significantly. Doriel's mind spun furiously. There were very, very few individuals in the Celestial City more powerful than the archangels. If Michael set a task for her, it would be almost as good as claiming that God Himself had given it to her. The audacity took her breath away. “I'll...think about it.” “Don't think.” He bent and placed a farewell kiss on her forehead. “Do.” ***** So it was that a few days later she found herself knocking timidly on the door of the Archangel Michael's office. It had taken her a full two days to work up her nerve. As she had approached the building, she had grown more and more afraid. It was close to where God Himself dwelt, and she could sense the terrifying blaze of power on her skin, like a campfire on a cold night. The building itself was huge, with hundreds of other angels working there. As she passed through, she began to think that perhaps Ambriel had been right. Maybe Michael could find her something to do in administering the vast expanses of both Heaven and the mortal realm. Humans spirits showed up in Heaven, tens of thousands on any given day, and had to be acclimated to their futures. And there was usually some task that needed to be done on Earth. Right now I'm even willing to be a guardian angel. I don't care how boring Ostiel says it is. It has to be better than this. At last the tastefully decorated corridors led her to Michael's office. There was no one guarding access to the archangel. Anyone who got this far, it seemed, was important enough for him to see. And deserved what they got if they angered him. He could blow me out like a candle if I displeased Him, she thought in sudden mad terror. What am I even doing here? “Come in,” said a resonant voice. She walked in slowly. “I'm sorry. Are you busy? I can come back later.” In truth, it was all she could do to force her trembling legs forward. The archangel made a polite gesture. “Not at all...Doriel, isn't it?” “Yes, my lord.” He smiled at her, the shining glory of his face making her squint. “And were we all not created on the same day, child? Are we not all equal in His eyes? Come in. Sit down. Stop shaking. What can I do for you?” She sat in an elegantly carved chair. “I'm...I want...” He raised his brows curiously. “I'm bored!” she burst out suddenly. “I've existed for thousands of years. I've sung the praises of God for generations beyond count. I've taken dozens of lovers, lost them, and taken new ones. “I want...I want...I don't know what I want. But I know it isn't this. Please. Give me something to do, or I will go crazy.” He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes frankly appraising. “Doriel,” he said, as if familiarizing himself with her history and her skills. “A singer. And a warrior.” She fidgeted, twisting her foot into the lush carpet. “I'm no warrior. Not really. I fought to stay alive during the war. Like most of us did.” He made an elegant movement of his shoulders. Not disagreeing, but not agreeing, either. “As you say. Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, I think I might have a task for you.” He sat down behind his desk, his agile fingers tapping at the buttons of his keyboard. “Come on, you thrice-damned son of a motherless donkey,” he swore gently. He looked up at Doriel, his eyes mischievous. “Isn't it strange,” he said, “that humans have better computers than we do? If it wasn't flatly forbidden, I'd arrange for few convenient traffic accidents at Microsoft, just so we could get some decent software engineers up here. Try running an organization this big when everything you have is at least ten years out of date. Unfortunately, there's not enough believers in the tech set. Too many atheists. We don't get them up here when they die.” “Where do they go?” she asked curiously, drawn out of her depression by his cheerful chatter. “Not for me to tell, even if I knew,” he said, pointing his thumb upward. “I'm high up the totem pole, but there's a lot of things the big man doesn't share. Ah, here we go,” he said with a satisfied air. He spun his monitor around so she could see the screen. “What do you make of her?” She leaned forward, studying the beautiful face, frowning slightly. “That's no human.” A terrible thought struck her. “One of the Forsaken, or their children, in human form?” “No, thanks be,” he said. “But you were close. She lives in that part of the world called the United States, near Chicago. Her name is Althea Carpenter. And she is the oldest living being who walks the earth.” Understanding dawned. “A succubus.” “Precisely.” Succubi were the offspring of humans and angels who had been expelled from heaven. During the War, there were some who refused to choose a side, who agreed that God had erred, but were unwilling to take up arms against Him. Objects of scorn, they were not permitted to stay in the Celestial City, but they had not been cast into the Pit, either. They had been exiled to Earth. To the outrage of their heavenly kindred, many of them had mated with humans, siring children who bore the stamp of their angelic ancestry on their faces and bodies. Eventually most of the angels had died after their human mates did, choosing to see what lay beyond rather than to spend eternity in limbo on Earth. But their children lived on, engaged in an unceasing war with the denizens of the Pit. It was the price they paid for their forebears' lack of resolve. They might have beauty and power and the immortality of their angelic parents, but the cost was to defend humanity against those demons who escaped from Hell. “And what does this woman have to do with me?” Michael gave a wintry smile. “Succubi and incubi are, by their nature, incapable of bearing or siring children. It was so decreed shortly after they came into existence. They could take lovers by the thousand, but they would never pass on their legacy.” “But?” “But this one has. Somehow she has given birth to a son. And her wife has born a daughter, blood of her blood. I want you to investigate and report back to me.” He drummed his fingers on his desk. “If the children of the Fallen have found a way to circumvent what God Himself has made law, we need to know. I do not think she means ill.” The look in his silver eyes was almost pitying. “But it is a disruption in the natural order. “So, Doriel. Will you do this for us? When was the last time when you were on Earth?” “About forty years ago,” she replied promptly. “In New York. It was during the Disco Crisis.” Michael shuddered. “Terrible time. I'm not like some of your friends, who think that humans should be mindlessly obedient. But that era should be buried deep and never exhumed. “Regardless,” he said, “things have changed a bit since you were last there.” He pushed over a bundle which suddenly appeared on the polished glass surface of his desk. “Get acquainted with these things. If you don't know how to operate a cell phone and credit cards in present-day America, you might as well be a cave-woman with a bone through her nose.” “And what is my mission?” “Make contact with Althea Carpenter. Find out, if you can, how she circumvented the decree against succubi bearing children. Observe and report back. Do not, under any circumstances, engage her in violence or threaten her children. She is an incredibly skilled warrior.” She felt her own eyebrows climb high. “No offense meant, sir, but I survived the war against the Forsaken. What could one half-human woman do to me?” “This 'half-human woman,' as you call her, has survived more than two hundred battles against the demon-spawn, and has sent one hundred and sixty-two of them into the outer darkness, where their damned souls can howl for all eternity. Do you think you could do better, seraphim?”