The Sinner

He arched a brow. “Is that so? You know me so well, do you?”

It was a rhetorical question, but something about it bugged me. Being with Casziel was like constantly living with that feeling you’ve forgotten something but can’t remember what. I did know him. Or at least it felt like I did. The tone of his voice, his facial expressions, the tilt of his head…they all had a familiarity about them that made no sense. It was why I hadn’t thrown him out of my house a hundred times.

I don’t know him at all. We’re bonded, I rationalized. I said his true name and now he’s mine.

“He’s mine.”

A flush of heat swept over my face, and I almost dropped a jar of peanut butter. If Casziel heard me, he didn’t show any sign; he was too absorbed with his TV show.

A demon trying to improve himself with Dr. Phil.

I smiled behind my hair.

When the groceries were put away, I pulled my desk chair next to the couch. “Dad really likes our idea?”

Casziel sighed. “I don’t enjoy repeating myself.”

“Does he think it’ll work?” I persisted. “Not that Guy and I will live happily ever after… I mean, does he think it’ll help you?”

Cas seemed to listen but kept his expression neutral. “Yes,” he said finally. When I started to protest, he shot off the couch. “I’m going out.”

“Cas, wait,” I said, standing too. “About tomorrow…what do we do for our plan? Do you, I don’t know…send me a bouquet of flowers to get the office’s attention? I saw that in a movie once.”

God, pathetic.

“I’ll take care of it.”

He reached for his black leather jacket on the back of the couch, and that’s when I saw another gash on his wrist, a twin to the first. Two lines of sliced, burned skin in two perfect rows. The next morning, I realized with a sinking feeling, there would be three.

“Cas…”

“Goodnight, Lucy.”

Then there was a raven in my apartment and then there was nothing.

I ate dinner alone and then curled up with a romance novel. But the words couldn’t hold me, and I started to drift. My thoughts scattered but I saw the woman in the field with the black braids and she

enters the city walls—bricks made of mud—and into the chaos. A parade for the soldiers returning from war. It’s been four years; she’s been counting each day, yearning for her warrior’s return. Her blue eyes scan the crowds, hopeful to find him and terrified she won’t. Black-haired men and women wave cuts of colorful cloth, cheering and singing hymns to Utu and Innana. The acolytes burn tall staffs of sage as they walk among the warriors marching toward the ziggurat in the center of the city.

The woman pushes her way through the throng, following the marching soldiers, scanning their faces. But her beloved is no foot soldier. He’s their commander, and the woman’s soul sings louder than any hymn when she sees him at the head of the regiment. His back is to her—new scars mar his bronzed flesh—but she would know him anywhere. He is half her heart, and he is alive.

Fierce pride and fiercer desire burn through her as she follows the march to the steps of the ziggurat. Priests—her father among them—perform the Šu-il-lá i, raising cupped hands in supplication to the gods, chanting incantations while an acolyte makes an offering. The gelded bull lows in panic, and then his blood flows rich and red on the stone altar.

The king steps forward, the sun glinting off his headdress of gold and lapis. He raises his arms wide and declares the day a holiday to celebrate the glory of Innana who has graced them with victory. The speech drones on; the woman grows impatient. Men in the crowd mutter that the enemy isn’t defeated, only delayed. She scoffs. There should be no talk of Babylonians on this victorious day—it’s her beloved’s valor that the king should celebrate.

She will atone for her pride later. Now, she wants only him. Soon, they will be joined; they’ve paid the price in long years of separation and war. But that ends now.

Ki-áñg ngu…My beloved.

He must hear her silent call; his head turns, and somehow, he finds her in the cheering crowds. His helmet shadows his face, but a sweet ache blooms between her legs for she can feel how he's watching her. He’s been waiting too. To have her. To wed her. To take her as his and claim her under the laws of gods and men for all time.

The king calls for her beloved to stand before him. Ale is poured over his muscled shoulders, and it flows like liquid gold. The chanting voices rise as he is celebrated for bringing home victory. Prosperity. Safety.

And as the priests and the king heap their praises on him, she knows his gaze strays to her, heated and full of longing. Of love, for though he may have taken others to his wartime bed, she is the one he comes home to…

I came awake with the woman’s anticipation and desire burning under my skin and between my legs.

“God, what was that?”