The Darkest Fall

by Ripley Proserpina

  Lucia sucked in a breath. “I thought you said there’d be biting.”

  Chuckling, he moved down her body draping her legs over his shoulders to leave her wide open. He nipped her inner thigh before licking up her center, and moving to the other leg. The sensations had her moaning and twisting, arching when he licked her, circling her clit, and then giggling when he bit on the tender skin of her leg.

  His hands gripped her legs then, pushing them to the bed and holding them there. He dove into her, tongue thrusting inside her before sucking the bundle of nerves and tapping it with his tongue.

  “I need you inside me,” she got out, her words punctuated with moans. He shook his head against her core, but she wouldn’t be denied. Jack-knifing, she reached for his arms and dragged him up her body. She grabbed his erection, lining it up with her entrance.

  One smooth thrust was all it took for her to come apart. Above her, he roared, pumping wildly inside her. His wings erupted from his back at the same time he came inside her. Heat bathed her insides.

  His arms shook with the effort of holding himself up. Gripping his neck, she pulled him down on her.

  “I’ll crush you.”

  “I’m stronger than I look,” she panted. Though, she was going to need to start doing cardio.

  He sat, pushing her hair away from her face. “I know.” Kissing her again, he rolled, keeping her wrapped in his arms. “You’re the strongest weirdo I know.”

  Chuckling, she sat, straddling his body. “Weirdo, huh?”

  “You said it, not me.”

  She kissed him again. “Fair enough.”

  Lucia

  After a ten-second shower, Armaros flashed them back to Lucia’s home. They’d considered searching for Delia from the monastery, but as she’d washed her hair, suds dripping and burning her eyes, she’d suddenly remembered her promise to her mother to say goodbye. It was the least she could do, the only thing her mother asked her before she took off to God-knows-where.

  Back to New England it was, and fingers crossed, no one had noticed her absence.

  When they returned, it didn’t seem anyone had. The kitchen was silent, the fork and spoon still laid on the floor. Lucia staggered to a chair, pulling it out and collapsing into it. “All this poofing from place to place is confusing the hell out of my internal clock.”

  “You need more rest.” Armaros kissed her. “Sometimes, I forget you’re human. Mortal.”

  “I’ll sleep after I find Delia,” she answered, waving away his concern. It was dark outside, but she knew they hadn’t been gone so long an entire day had passed. “Mom?” she called as Armaros picked up the fork and spoon and placed them back on their hooks. “Mom?”

  There was no answer. Glancing back at Armaros, she walked out of the kitchen and into the dining room, staggering to a stop. The glare of the TV was visible from the dining room, but the action was frozen, like someone had pressed pause mid-show. She could make out her father’s dark hair where he sat with his back to her, hand gripping the remote where it rested on the arm of the chair. Her mother was on the couch, magazine held in both hands, eyes glued to the page. Neither one moved, they didn’t breathe, or blink. Everything was suspended in time.

  Her gaze swept the room, alighting on the very real, very tall, and very angry female angel waiting for her. Beautiful golden wings tipped over her shoulders as she stood with sword in hand, staring at Lucia.

  The first time they had met, the female had taken sick pleasure in slicing her from arm to breast, and the memory of the burn had her tripping backwards to the safety of the kitchen and Armaros. As if he could feel her terror, he exploded from the room. His huge body dwarfed hers, wings gouging the ceiling and knocking pictures off the wall as they extended.

  “Warrior.” His voice was distorted again, altered by the change in his form. “You don’t threaten her. I’ll kill you first.” In his hand appeared a fiery sword, and in the other, his shield, but the female was unimpressed.

  “I haven’t come to fight you, Fallen.” Dropping her sword, she held both hands palm-out. “I came for Lucia.”

  Before she could formulate a thought, let alone answer the angel, Armaros had lifted his sword in the air. His head brushed the ceiling, looming larger than she’d ever seen. “You cannot have her.”

  “Armaros,” the female said, her tone softer. “The human is mine. Mine to guard.”

  “What are you talking about?” She wished she could see her, make eye contact while demanding answers, but Armaros was intent on shielding her. Instead, she was forced to yell over his shoulder. “Last time I saw you, you told me I smelled and tried to turn me into human shish-kabob.”

  Armaros remained immovable as stone, posture straight. Despite his monstrous form, he was regal.

  The angel continued, “If I must, I will kill her to save her soul. It is my duty.”

  “You cannot have her,” he repeated and his sword flashed down, leaving a trail of smoke in its wake.

  The angel met his onslaught with her own. The sword she’d dropped reappeared in her hand as she blocked his downward slice. When the swords touched, there was a flash of light. Instinctively, Lucia threw up a hand to protect her eyes.

  The house seemed to lift off its foundation, throwing her to the ground. The walls shook, timber groaning. The floor beneath her hands trembled, but when she pushed herself to her knees, everything stopped. Not a picture was out of place. The TV blared. Everything was as it should be.

  Except Armaros was gone.

  “Lucia?” her mother asked in surprise. “Where were you?” Her parents had no idea what had happened, but her mother must have read something in her face. “What happened?”

  “Remember your goodbye? I’m saying it. Gimme a hug. I gotta find Armaros.”

  The TV paused and her father hefted himself out of his easy chair. When he could reach her, he grabbed her arm and hugged her. “This is the last time. Stop losing people. You care about someone, you hold on tight.”

  “I’m trying,” she whispered when he released her.

  Her mother hugged her, kissing her cheek. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too. Tell Zia bye.”

  Leaving her parents in the living room, Lucia ran into the kitchen. She grabbed the bowl full of water and dumped it in the sink. Praying, she filled it again, her mind on Armaros. Desperation and fear made her fumble, spilling water onto the floor. Her fingers trembled as she tried to light a match and hold it to the candle, wincing when it burned her fingers. Still, she held it against the wick until it caught.

  In her mind, she pictured Armaros. Both sides of him. The beautiful man with the porcelain skin and the creature with the breathtaking black wings. Staring at the flame, she slowly tipped the candle. The wax dripped into the water. Like before, she wasn’t given a picture or image of where he was.

  A path appeared in front of her, a light shining into the distance, illuminating something she couldn’t see, but hoped led her to Armaros. The candle dropped from her hand and she took a step onto the path.

  When she poofed with him, something inside her pulled her from place to place. Armaros held her, anchoring her so she came to believe whatever was pulling her also connected her to him. Now, there was no anchor. It was up to her to move forward. If she didn’t, she’d be stuck here, in this in-between place.

  Forcing her feet to move, she ran to the light. Once, she glanced behind her, but all that remained was darkness. She knew if she stopped, it would swallow her whole and she might never escape.

  With Armaros's face at the forefront of her mind, she ran as fast as she could. Putting on a burst of speed, she felt the moment when she caught up to the light, plunging into it.

  She fell, catching herself on her hands. Hot sand lay beneath her palms, burning her. Hissing, she pulled them back. Everywhere she looked was sand and sun. The wind blew her hair around her face, but she listened hard for the sound of fighting.

  As if in reply, the wind grew loud
er and louder, wilder.

  “Armaros!” she called. She stood at the base of a dune. If she wanted to see anything, she’d have to get to the top. Ignoring the pain of grit beneath her nails and fire searing her skin, she dug into the sand, propelling herself forward. At the top of the dune, she lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. Sand blasted her skin, and she blinked madly, trying to clear the dust blinding her. “Armaros!”

  The path had led her here, which meant this was where he had to be. In the distance was a haze, something shimmering and glittering. Stumbling, she forced her body to move in that direction. Where are you?

  Each time Armaros took them somewhere, they landed where they were supposed to. Doubts assailed her. She should have known this wouldn’t work.

  On and on, she walked until she was barely able to lift each foot. Finally, she tripped and fell into the sand. Flipping onto her back, she stared up at the blue sky. Heat was a nice change, she realized. She was used to freezing her butt off in New England, and then freezing her butt off in France, and then freezing her butt off in Cornwall.

  Her skin burned and she licked her lips, feeling the chapped skin beneath her tongue. Closing her eyes for a second, she twisted onto her side to get to her hands and knees. Next time she did this, she was going to be more specific. End up within inches of her goal, or at least within eyesight.

  She concentrated on each step, only allowing herself to think as far as the step she needed to take. All the focus she used to write theses and learn ancient languages now went into walking.

  Through her hazy brain, a clanging registered and she paused. The glimmer, which had seemed so far off was right there, ahead of her. Sword met shield, and sparks flew.

  Armaros.

  Her lips cracked when she opened her mouth to call to him, but he sensed her before she could speak. The female noted his distraction then thrust her sword past his shield, slicing his skin.

  A croak left her throat instead of the cry of warning she attempted. He disappeared, but a second later, his form appeared in front of her, wings outstretched, shielding her from the sun.

  “Found you,” she wheezed.

  His sword tumbled to the ground, thunking softly into the sand. Icy cool skin surrounded hers as he swept her into his arms. “Lucia.”

  Gold flashed in the corner of her eye. “No!” Her voice broke and Armaros grunted. The angel stood behind them, one hand on Armaros’s shoulder, the other out of sight.

  Lucia heard a sound, like metal sliding against metal and he jerked. The black bled from his eyes, brightening to navy, and then blue again. The angel shoved him, but rather than let her go, Armaros fell to his knees.

  Against the bright blue sky, the angel lifted the sword. It burst into flames, white and blue.

  “Please, no,” Lucia begged. Fingers touched her face and she shifted her gaze to Armaros.

  “I love you,” he whispered. He was between forms, half man, half Fallen, but she could see his love. It shone from him.

  She held his hand to her face. “I love you, too.”

  The sun reflected off the sword, but the blow never came.

  The female knelt behind Armaros, but her sword lay next to her. “Don’t move,” she commanded. Her hair began to fly around her face, her blue eyes blazing as she carefully placed her hands on Armaros’s skin.

  He jerked at her touch, losing his grip on Lucia who clambered behind him, ready to wrench her back.

  But her hands weren’t instruments of torture. As Lucia watched in disbelief, the injuries on Armaros’s body, injuries so deep she could see the gleam of bone and muscle, healed. The skin fused together, leaving a white line of scar tissue. Toppling forward, he landed face first in the sand, still as death.

  “What did you do?” Each word tore from her throat painfully. She licked her lips, tasting blood where the skin had split.

  Rather than answer, she placed one hand on Armaros and grabbed Lucia’s wrist with the other, transporting them out of the desert.

  “Is he going to live?” Lucia asked.

  The angel nodded. Her name was Hanielle, and she was a guardian angel, not a warrior. In fact, she was Lucia’s angel. Her purpose was to protect Lucia, but not in a jump-in-front-of-a-bus kind of way. She was supposed to guard Lucia against temptation. When Armaros had forced his will on hers, taking away Lucia’s memory of Delia, Hanielle had felt it, an angelic dog whistle.

  “Why won’t he wake up?”

  “He is Fallen,” she answered by way of explanation.

  “Thank you for not killing him,” Lucia whispered, leaning over to kiss his cool forehead.

  “I only dispatch the purely evil.” Her beautiful brows drew together as she regarded Armaros’s form.

  “You should have talked to him before attacking. He’s not evil at all.”

  “Not anymore,” Hanielle agreed. “But he is Fallen, and his choice cannot be undone.”

  Lucia nodded, but she wanted the angel to understand even at his worst, Armaros was never evil. “He’s always loved his sister. His family.”

  “Maybe. But the Creator should have been first in his heart. That is how it is with all of us.” Turning to the window, Hanielle stared at the snow shrouded courtyard. “I don’t know what this means. He is very unusual.”

  “Why did you attack us? One conversation with him and you’d know he was different. Like his sister was different. Neither of them deserved to be hunted.”

  Hanielle’s strong shoulders shrugged, wings lifting with the movement. “They were not my responsibility.”

  “Why are you hunting us? Because you’re worried about my soul?” Holding Armaros’s hand, Lucia sat on the edge of the bed. Hanielle continued to stare out the window, not answering right away.

  “No. I was commanded not to search for you. When I met you at the monastery, I did not know who you were right away. Not until you prayed and I recognized your voice.”

  “How strange.”

  Glancing over her shoulders, the female narrowed her eyes. “Strange?”

  “Yes, strange. You were my guardian but you never met me before.”

  A small smile touched her lips and her face softened. Lucia sucked in a breath, awestruck by her beauty. “I know your soul,” Hanielle answered. “Not your face. I met you when the Creator chose your body. I could never forget it.”

  “Aww.”

  The soft look vanished, leaving only a pissed-off angel. “There is no reason to mock me, Lucia.”

  “I’m not mocking you. It was a very sweet thing to say.” She was being honest. “It made me feel special.”

  “All humans are special to the Creator.”

  “Not what I meant.” Lucia shook her head. “You made me feel special. To know you’ve been with me since before my birth. It’s incredible.”

  “Yes,” the angel nodded in agreement. “It is. And it is why, if given the choice, I would kill the body housing your soul rather than allow it to burn for eternity.”

  “Aww,” she repeated, this time teasing and making Hanielle smile again. Her attention went back to Armaros’s motionless figure. “Will he wake up soon?”

  “I don’t know,” Hanielle answered. “I’ve never healed a Fallen.”

  Lifting his hand to her face, she rubbed her cheek against his knuckles. “Do you know where Delia is?”

  “Delia?” she asked, confused “His sister was Vasanthi.”

  Lucia wondered if she should tell her. Was it safe? Would Hanielle try to find Delia to kill her, or like she had with Armaros, would she be able to tell the girl was innocent? Perhaps she would protect Delia the way she protected Lucia.

  But what if Hanielle was commanded to find and kill Delia? It wasn’t a risk Lucia could take. “I meant Vasanthi,” she lied. “Do you know where Vasanthi is?”

  “The Warriors sought her.”

  Unbidden tears welled in her eyes and fell onto Armaros’s hand. “And her husband?”

  “I believe her husband, the
human who was with her, is dead.” Hanielle stroked her hair before clasping her hands together. “His guardian was commanded to save his soul.”

  “Oh,” she whispered, sadness overwhelming her. Poor Delia.

  “I am sorry,” Hanielle said quietly. “If Vasanthi was no longer evil, and her husband sought only to protect her…What we did was wrong.” Shaking her head back and forth, a tear dropped to the angel’s hand. Lifting it, she stared at the moisture in disbelief. Her hands went to her face, wiping it away. Her lips trembled when she met Lucia’s gaze. “We were wrong.”

  Still holding Armaros’s hand tightly, she took Hanielle’s as well. “Then you just have to find a way to make it right.”

  Armaros

  The ground disappeared beneath Armaros’s feet, and he fell. His wings were charred, exposed bone and muscle screaming.

  Unfurling his wings and beating them against the air was instinctive, though, and despite knowing it would do him no good, he tried. Around him were screams and cries as the other angels, the ones who had chosen like him, tumbled through the air.

  The fall was endless, through dimensions and heavens. Unceasingly, they screamed. Armaros’s voice mixed with the others.

  In Heaven, their voices blended harmoniously, beautifully. Now, they were bound together by their screams and their choice, and in the infinite fall, their song was one of fear and terror. One begging for mercy and forgiveness that didn’t come.

  Armaros’s voice broke, and the silence was worse than the screams. He didn’t feel the pain anymore, his focus had gone inward, igniting his anger until it grew and he could have illuminated all of space and time with its flame.

  His sister. He thought of her face. Of the determination on her features when he chose freedom over servitude, and she followed suit. In the blackness, he saw her shock and terror when they began to fall and she realized she’d given up everything she’d ever known.

  Black lightened to blue. A blue so vibrant and bright, he could feel it on his skin. He shut his eyes, feeling cold for the first time. Air rushed past his ears, forcing his eyelids open. Beneath him was the dull brown of earth, rising faster and faster, ready to meet him and smash him to pieces, grinding him to dust and sand.