The Darkest Fall

by Ripley Proserpina

  But then, she began tossing out location after location, demanding he “poof” and check them out.

  In the last thirty minutes, he’d flashed in and out of an ice cream parlor in central Florida (closed), back to his penthouse (empty and trashed), the alley near her home, the university where she worked and studied, and the Sistine Chapel. He’d been more successful in some places than others.

  It was a first for him, attempting a transition into the Sistine Chapel, and it didn’t happen. He was bounced on his ass right back to Cornwall, surprising Lucia who after the first two flashes and subsequent nausea told him he could come back for her when Delia turned up. Apparently “poofing” made her “puke.” Not an experience he wanted to revisit.

  Now, Lucia studied an atlas kept on the bookshelf in the cottage. Clearly, they’d moved from places Delia may actually be, to places she may find interesting, to what, in Armaros’s opinion, were long shots.

  Between Lucia’s suggestions, Armaros went to places he and his sister used to frequent. There was a small possibility she’d taken Delia there, much like she’d done in bringing her to the monastery. It was worth a shot.

  “What if the angels took her? What if they’re why you can’t sense her?” Lucia tossed the atlas to the floor where it landed with a slap. “Is there some way we can get into Heaven? Ask someone?”

  He stared at her. “Surely, you’re not serious.”

  “As the grave, my friend,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “Isn’t there, I don’t know, a cousin or someone who could help us?”

  “No.” It was better she understood there was no way, no possible way, anyone who hadn’t fallen would help him.

  “So, no angels, but what about God?”

  “No.”

  “Delia’s part human, seems to me God would take some interest in that. Unless…” Her face lost its color and she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “What? Unless what? Why do you look like this?”

  “There’s a God, right?” she asked, and he rolled his eyes.

  “You’re a doctoral student in history. Or so you claim. Are you telling me in reading about what humans have done to each other, this is the first time you’ve pondered this question?”

  “Are you teasing me?”

  “A little,” he answered, smiling. “Yes.”

  In reply, she returned his smile but it was off. Not a complete Lucia smile. It was then he realized how tired she must be. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her mouth was, even curved upward, pale and tight. Her arms crossed and she drew her knees to her chest, propping up her head.

  “You need to rest.”

  Immediately, she glared at him. “I can’t. We need to find her first.” Her hand, as she moved to tuck her hair behind her ear, trembled.

  “Enough,” he said under his breath and quickly lifted her into his arms, cradling her against his chest, and carried her into the bedroom.

  “Let me go,” she directed, though, her voice lacked its usual heat.

  He dropped her on the bed and grabbed her foot, but she yanked it back. “I’m not sleeping.”

  “You’re useless like this. Reboot your brain. A few hours. Give yourself a few hours.”

  Pushing the heels of her hands against her eyes, she shook her head again. “I’m afraid she’ll get too far away. Or she’s hurt,” Lucia whispered.

  Her words made his back prickle, wings wanting to release but he pushed them back, refusing to let himself lose control again. “I will keep searching.”

  “You will?” Removing her hands from her face, she peered at him hopefully. “You’re not tired?”

  “I don’t sleep.” Never had.

  The grin she gave him this time was more familiar and genuine. “Thank you, Armaros.” Kneeling, she reached for his hand and tugged him forward. She didn’t give him a chance to resist, but stood on the bed and kissed his cheek before dropping back to the mattress. “You’ll wake me in a few hours?”

  “Yes,” he answered, resisting the urge to touch his face where her lips had been. Like a brand, he could feel its heat. “I promise.” A heavy quilt was folded at the end of the bed. He shook it out and laid it over her body.

  Moving onto her side, she reached for a pillow and tucked it under her head. “Thank you,” she said again.

  Staring up at him, her eyes nearly black in the dim light, he didn’t allow himself to think. Abruptly, he kissed her on her curls and strode out of the room. Everything about her tempted him. If he wanted to find Delia, he needed to concentrate.

  Lucia

  The dead-eyed angel held Lucia immobile, cutting her body with the dagger. Bathed in fire, she watched the silver flash leaving a trail of red blood welling in its wake. As much as she wanted to thrash, to escape the steel-handed grip, she could do nothing.

  Knowing it was a dream, and escaping the dream, were two separate things. Even though her mind screamed this was a memory and she was safe, Lucia could still feel the remembered burn of being sliced.

  In a flash, the angel was gone and Lucia found herself in a snow-covered field. Flakes fell thick, catching on her eyelashes and blurring her vision. She thought she was near the monastery. The field led into more barren, shrouded fields before dropping away abruptly, as if the world were flat and just beyond the hills there was nothing.

  The cold didn’t touch her, though, she could see her breath puff in front of her face. Her feet were bare and the wounds inflicted moments earlier, gone. Whirling around, she started to run in the direction she thought to find the monastery. But like many of her other dreams, the faster she needed to move, the harder it was to lift her feet. Soon, she was on her hands and knees, fingers clawing through the snow, dragging her body behind her.

  Ahead of her, there was a flash of yellow, like a lightning strike or a solar flare. It was so bright and so sudden, spots danced in front of her eyes, leaving holes in her vision.

  “Lucia!” Delia’s high voice carried to her before a gust of wind swept it away.

  She tried to answer, but like her body, her voice was useless.

  “Don’t look for me.” The girl was right there, but the spots obscured everything and Delia’s body was a hazy outline of red coat and blonde hair. “I’m okay, Lucia. Stop looking. Tell my uncle. You need to take care of each other, now.”

  Because she couldn’t argue, she shook her head. No. You chose me to keep you safe. I’ll find you.

  “I am safe,” Delia answered. “But he isn’t. I chose you both. I’ll find you again if I need you.”

  With those words, Lucia’s eyes popped open. “Shit,” she muttered, rubbing her eyes. Rain pelted the windows of the small cottage, and when she pushed back the covers and peered outside, she could see nothing except grey and dull yellow smudges. The stone floor was cold under her feet, so, she hopped back to the bed, curling her legs and snuggling under the blanket again.

  She suspected her dream was a message from Delia, and she needed to tell Armaros about it. Shivering, she pulled the blanket closer around her body. She believed Delia when she said she was safe, but it wasn’t enough.

  In the short time since discovering Delia, or being discovered by her, the girl had wound her way around her heart. Lucia had a sudden understanding of what her mother and aunt suffered when she didn’t call for weeks on end, or took a fancy to signing on for an internship in Budapest or Fez. They knew she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but the world was an unknown, and there was danger everywhere.

  And they only knew about earthly dangers! Well, maybe her aunt knew there were others, but her mother was much more concerned about her catching a cold than being smote by an avenging angel.

  Reflecting on her short period of parenting, Lucia recognized she’d been a dismal failure. How in the world did Delia choose her as a safe person? Armaros, she could understand. Remembering how he had manifested a shield and sword and battled Jeheol made her heart flutter. God, he’d been beautiful. And as tough a chick as s
he thought herself, in the moment he’d appeared and rescued her, she could have swooned.

  Literal swooning. Victorian handkerchief to the forehead swoon.

  Pushing her face into the pillow, Lucia groaned. She’d spent enough time lying there. She needed to do something. Maybe in the hours she’d slept, Armaros had come up with a plan or had some idea of where Delia had gone.

  The heavy quilt was warm from her body so she wrapped it around her shoulders, dragging it with her as she left the bedroom in search for Armaros. The main living area, however, was empty.

  On the counter in the kitchen sat a thick loaf of bread along with apples. For some reason, the apples soured her stomach and she searched through the drawers for a knife to cut the bread. A quick survey of the cupboards didn’t turn up a toaster, so she made do. It wasn’t stale, but it was a close cousin. Hoping she didn’t yank a tooth, she held it between her back teeth and tore off a bite.

  “What are you eating?”

  Lucia jumped, dropping the bread on the ground. Growling, she bent to pick it up. “I’m eating the bread you left me on the counter.” She pitched it into a garbage. “Duh.”

  “It’s stale and there’s mold on the bottom.”

  Stomach rebelling, she turned to face him and swallowed when she saw him. His hair was plastered, wet, against his forehead, dripping beads of water down his ears and neck, and his shirt. Holy hell. It was saturated, showing the pink skin and pebbled nipples beneath. “Well. I didn’t see the mold,” she whispered when she could breathe again. “Um, why are you wet?”

  His raised an eyebrow, glancing pointedly at the window and then back to her.

  “What I mean,” she clarified. “Is why didn’t you poof?”

  Unbuttoning his shirt, he peeled it off his shoulders and down his arms. All rational thought left her. All she could see were pecs and abs, and an Adonis belt which actually made her mouth fill with saliva. I want to trace the lines with my tongue. Bad.

  “I did poof, as you so eloquently call it, but I couldn’t poof inside the bakery. I had to poof outside and then walk out the door after I bought something and then poof back here.” He turned away from her and now she got to see his back.

  A moan left her throat and she covered her eyes. “Put a shirt on, please?”

  “What’s the matter with you?” There was a rustling and then cool fingers pulled her hand from her face.

  Her eyes dropped to the package in his arms and the yeasty smell of fresh baked bread assaulted her. “Ohhh! Gimme!”

  With a smile, he handed over the package. Inside was bread, butter, and jam.

  “Want some?” she asked, pulling a plate out of the cupboard.

  “No,” he answered quietly. “It’s for you.”

  She slathered the bread in butter and jam and took a bite, groaning. “So good.” Opening her eyes, she caught him watching her with a strange expression.

  “I don’t know if I’m happy I’ve distracted you with bread, or jealous that it took your attention from me,” he mused.

  The bread stuck in her throat and she forced it down. “Huh?”

  Reaching for her hand, he took the bread from it and placed it carefully on the counter. His thumb touched her lip, capturing a dab of jam, which he lifted to his mouth. He held his thumb there for a moment, pink lips rounding around the digit before he pulled it free. “It is delicious.”

  Last night, he was all we need to focus on Delia, and now he was a living, breathing fantasy. A wicked idea occurred to her, and she dipped her fingers in the jam. Pinning him with her stare, she lifted them to her mouth, sucking away the sweetness. “You’re right,” her voice came out husky and low, and completely different than she usually sounded.

  She scooped out another dollop and lifted it to her mouth. Before it could reach her lips, though, he stopped her. “Mine,” he growled, his eyes on her the entire time.

  His mouth was warm, and he sucked strongly on her fingers, tongue curling around the tips to gather the treat.

  “You know,” she whispered. In response he sucked again, cheeks hollowing out. “This isn’t helping with the whole, we can’t do this, position you’ve taken.”

  He pulled her fingers from his mouth with a pop and kissed her knuckles. “What I say and what I feel are at war around you, Lucia.” His eyes dropped to her lips and she nervously wet them with her tongue.

  The wind outside the cottage continued to howl and the rain splattered the windows. Inside, everything was snug and warm. Standing close to Armaros, Lucia felt sheltered. He stood between her and anything that would harm her. At least, for now.

  Lifting her hand, she pushed his hair away from his face, exposing his high, white forehead. She let her palm linger against his face. “Kiss me again?”

  Armaros

  It didn’t matter how bad of an idea it was, Armaros had to kiss Lucia. Coming in to see her grimacing while trying to eat the stale bread had been his undoing. She was so real, without subterfuge.

  And he’d enjoyed the honest appreciation in her glance when he’d removed his shirt. He would admit to standing longer in the rain than needed, if only to cool himself before returning to the cottage. But her eyes, the heat in them when they roved over his body lingering on his chest, was too much.

  What he didn’t like was the way she could dismiss him for food. He found himself wanting her attention again.

  And she gave it to him.

  “Kiss me again?” she asked.

  But if he did, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop. He’d have her, in bed, laid out like a feast for him, before she could draw another breath.

  Afterwards, though, what happened? Never had he let himself be as exposed as he did with Lucia. Even when he was trying to hide himself from her, she wouldn’t let him. If they were as close as he wanted to be, she would see who he really was.

  Then one of two things would happen. First, she’d run screaming for the hills when she realized how black his soul truly was. Or two: she wouldn’t. They’d be linked in a way he’d never connected to anybody and then he’d be weak. She would make him weak.

  All the power he’d gained would be nothing in the face of the hold she’d have on him. He wanted that. God, how he wanted it. He let himself imagine, as she stared at him, all of her yearning evident on her face, what it would be like to be happy with her.

  It was easy. They would be together, and they’d find Delia and they’d be a family.

  But eventually, she would grow old and die and leave him. Or his enemies, those from above and below, would use her against him.

  They could do it. Right now, he realized, if someone was to appear and threaten her, he’d give anything, make any deal, to keep her safe.

  There was no ending for him. Her life would end, but he would go on and on and on. He’d amassed huge amounts of power, enough to rival the devil himself, but he’d give it all away for Lucia.

  His wings pricked against his skin, tingling in a way that showed him he was close to losing control. Millennia passed with perfect restraint, and less than a week in her presence and he was newly fallen all over again.

  To be without her, though…

  Lucifer was right. He was closer to his fallen form than he’d ever been before. Not the demon form. Not the wings and the fangs, and the claws.

  No. He was a hairsbreadth away from being a power hungry, soul-grabbing, torture-loving primordial evil.

  Why in the world did he think he deserved Lucia?

  Because you do. A voice echoed in his mind, shocking him and making him whip around. “Delia?”

  I saw you and her and I knew you were meant to be together. She is meant for you.

  At his words, Lucia startled, following his gaze as he examined every inch of the cottage. “Is she here?”

  Keep each other safe, brother. Keep my child safe. You are meant for each other. All of you.

  Knees weak, he fell to the floor. Lucia was there in an instant, pushing at his shoulders, trying
to see his face. Head bowed, he knelt. Inside, his heart pounded and stomach clenched. It was his sister’s voice. He’d never been as sure of anything in his life.

  “Armaros?” Voice lifting to a shrill pitch, she continued to prod him. “Look at me. What’s wrong? What happened?”

  Slowly, he met her gaze. Blue eyes searched his, and her fingers trembled against his skin. “Armaros, you’re frightening me. What happened to Delia?”

  “Not her.”

  Rocking back on her heels, her head cocked to the side. “Then what? Who?”

  He studied her face. Her beautiful, confused face with the tiny spot of jam on her chin and he kissed her. This kiss was different than their first. It didn’t take him by surprise.

  He claimed her with his kiss. His lips fixed onto hers, tugging and pulling, biting and then soothing the hurt with his tongue.

  Lucia met his claiming, and made her own. He should have known she would give as good as she got. Her fingers threaded through his hair, keeping his head lowered so she could reach him. Shifting, she placed herself on his lap, spreading her legs and anchoring her feet on the floor to rock against him.

  It wasn’t enough. Her shirt rasped against his chest, but he wanted to feel her skin on his. Warmth to his coolness. His fingers clawed and he ripped an edge, using two hands to tear it from her body and throw it to the floor. Next, went her bra and then finally, he could feel her.

  She was as hot as he knew she’d be. Her mouth still tasted like strawberries, and he swept his tongue inside, circling and curling it, savoring each flavor.

  Her chest vibrated with her moan and he shivered, feeling her nipples pebble against his. He shifted, then lowered her to the thick woven rug on the floor so he could stare at her. At first, her hands scrabbled for his, clutching at his body to pull him back over her, but when she met his eyes, she paused.

  Fingering the button on her pants, he began to speak, “This means something to me, Lucia.”

  Her hands covered his, smoothing up his arms and rasping the rough hair on his arms. “It does to me, too.”