by Liza James
“Stells, I think we should talk about all of this when you’re sober. I believe you, okay? I think I even understand you.” I give her a weak smile, but she brushes off my serious tone, standing up from the bed abruptly. It’s as if she’s frightened to confront whatever this is. I recognize that painful part too.
“It’s okay. I promise it’s no big deal, it’s probably just because I’m drunk honestly.” She paints a fake smile across her wide lips and turns to head back out the door. “I’m going to head home. Esme is driving me so don’t worry. I just wanted to say bye.” She turns around again and hurries back over to me, placing a soft kiss on my head before opening the door to leave.
“You can stay, you know. Here. You can stay the night with me.” I want her to. I’m pleading with her to sleep here for the night. I feel the need to be closer to her while she’s going through whatever this is.
“In a house full of crazy men? No thanks, both Elijah and Nathanial are assholes. Sexy, beautiful assholes. But assholes all the same.” She winks and waves her little fingers at me before closing the door behind her with a giggle.
I drop my head back against the wall and close my eyes, willing myself to fall asleep, praying that tomorrow I’ll wake up and realize that all of this was a crazy, wild dream.
But as always, that’s just wishful thinking.
I launch upwards in bed with a start, my heart is hammering in my chest, my breaths coming out as gasps as I try to regain control over my lungs. Everything hurts, fucking everything. My chest aches and my limbs feel heavy as I try to stand up out of bed.
Something is wrong. Something is so fucking wrong.
Wars of conflicting emotions crash through me and I realize my bond with Elijah is fully open, flooding me with a mix of hatred, rage, arousal, needy desire laced up with even more anger. I don’t understand it and I stumble towards the door as I try to regain my balance. Everything feels off and I fight the waves of nausea as they course through me.
Opening the door, I’m slammed with a wave of heat that swamps the room. More of that blazing anger that’s tearing through our bond and surrounding me. Moans escape all too familiar lips and rip through my ears as I halt at the top of the staircase.
“Elijah, let’s go down to your room,” she begs on raspy breaths.
“No,” his voice is tense, strained and different than how I’ve ever heard him.
“Do you want to wake up Luna? She’s going to hear us.” Sam giggles, she fucking giggles. That high pitched, how-exciting-we-might-be-caught, giggle. And in that moment, I want her to fucking die.
“Good. I hope she does,” he groans in a deep, husky sound.
A disgusting, inky darkness overwhelms my mind as I take a step down. Then another step, and another. I move slowly, listening to the clear sounds of what could only be a blow job, a slight gag every now and then in between sucks. I see red, I feel rage boiling through me as I intentionally look over the railing and find them on the couch below.
He’s facing the staircase. Literally facing me as he’s sprawled out on the couch, Sam tucked neatly between his thick thighs, her bright blond head moving up and down. Up and down. Up and down.
His heavy green eyes are fixed on my own, that inky black haze seeping through them and darkening his shade to a rich, forest green. His hand grips the back of Sam’s head as he urges her back down, his eyes still locked on mine, as if feeling me this angry, this jealous, has him even more turned on.
I fucking hate you.
I don’t mean it, but in this moment, I feel it. In all of its dark and distressed glory. The toxic jealousy growing between us. It’s a vine snaking up my waist and around my neck, inching tighter and tighter until I’m standing there as an empty shell of want and need.
Needing to touch him.
Needing to be near him.
Needing to hear his voice in my ears.
Needing to feel his breath in my own lungs.
Needing his heat, to calm this raging icy storm inside of me.
God, why the fuck is this happening to me?
Good. He whispers, through our bond and it shocks me as I stumble back against the wall. Clear as day, I hear his voice in my own head and suddenly I realize he heard my own thought about hating him too. He was responding to my own anger, owning and claiming it for himself.
Enjoy that.
Always do, mo dheamhan.
I turn with a bitter smile tainting my lips and work to slowly pull myself back up the staircase. I fight every urge blazing within me to run down and tear Sam off of him, fucking destroy him for what he’s doing to me.
I enter my room and slam the door shut behind me before racing to the bathroom and turning on the shower. I twist the knob all the way to cold, surprising myself at the choice. Instinctually, I need something to warm me up, fucking anything to break through this freeze inside of me. But I choose the opposite and embrace the cold instead. I tear off my clothes, fighting tears the entire time, forcing them back even as I choke on them.
I step into the icy water and sink to the floor of the shower, pulling my knees tight up against my chest. Letting my head fall back as each droplet crashes like a frozen piece of hail against my eyes, my cheeks, my shoulders. I surround myself in everything that isn’t Elijah. I force the heat away through the chilling water, focus my mind on anything but the moans Sam made as she sucked his cock into her mouth, refuse to visualize his dark green eyes as they watched me glaciate in front of him.
All too soon, everything warring inside of me slows until only remnants are left over. I don’t feel things nearly as strongly and I know he’s finally blocked me out of the bond. It’s the only bit of mercy he offers me, and I hate how much I cling to it. Savoring in the ability he has to push me away.
My body begins to tremble as the cold seeps into my bones. My lips and teeth eventually start chattering in my mouth. My skin looks paler than usual and I know, without even looking that my lips are starting to turn purple and blue at the corners. But I can’t tear myself away, I’m addicted to feeling the opposite of what Elijah elicits inside of me. The ice comforts me in an empty, negligent sort of way that I crave in the midst of my hatred and anger.
At some point, I fall asleep, my head lilts to the side and the water continues to fall and coat my naked body, bringing the chill deeper and deeper until it’s the only thing I can feel anymore.
“Luna! Answer the fucking door!” His rough voice shreds through me, but I’m far too exhausted to care at this point. I don’t even attempt opening my eyes. I’m numb and at this moment, numb is the best place for me to be.
“Luna, I will break down this fucking door if you don’t let me in,” he seethes. I don’t even have to see him to know that his throat is tight and veined with tension. His eyes are shut firmly, and his tattooed fist is slamming against the door to my bedroom.
Do it, I don’t care.
Just like that, I hear the door splinter from the molding as he crashes through my room, immediately knowing where I am and rushing into the bathroom. His heat infiltrates my space, breaking through the wall I’ve frozen around me.
“No. Go the fuck away,” I try to speak, but the feeling of ice on my lips has me faltering. I attempt to open my eyes, but my lashes are coated with frost. I don’t feel the water raining on me anymore, as if it’s turned off without me realizing.
What the hell?
“What in the—” he starts, but in an instant everything changes. I feel the water sliding down my skin again, still cold while all the previously frosted areas have completely melted. Almost as if they were never frozen to begin with.
I feel it, his sun burning into my icy walls and I hate it. I want him gone. But I need it at the same time.
I hear the sink turn on before he’s at my side. He quickly turns off the water and lifts a hot cloth to my face. I immediately try to shove him away from me but he’s quick halt my movements with a rough hold of my wrist. He’s careful not to touch my skin with
his own though, intentionally using the cloth as a barrier.
I try to stop him again, but I silently struggle against his hold until he releases me. He knows that I’ll keep trying however, and patiently waits for my refusal before moving to take care of me again. After several failed attempts to stop him, I give up, not in weakness but simply because I want to get this over with so that he can leave. He starts with my lips and cheeks, slowly warming my skin so that I can start regaining movement.
I open my eyes slowly and find he’s moved to sitting in front of me, in the actual shower. I’m naked, he’s completely dressed but strangely enough, I don’t feel a hint of embarrassment over it. What he feels through our bond is far more private than anything he could ever see.
The cloth works across my eyelids, moving lower and down my neck as he works my tight muscles without even touching my skin. I close my eyes again, wishing to be left alone but afraid of what I just found myself in. My body was coated in frost, practically immovable as everything within me slowed down while I slept. How could that be possible?
“What happened?” I ask quietly, too tired to express any kind of surprise at the situation.
“I don’t know,” he says truthfully. I sigh a bitter sound of frustration, never any fucking answers.
“I hate you,” I whisper the words, and this time I open my eyes to watch him as I say it. His hands stop moving against my skin as he looks up to meet my gaze.
“Liar,” he states.
“I wish I hated you,” I say, my voice cracking just the tiniest bit and betraying me.
“That I believe.”
Silently, he stands and steps out of the shower, crouching in front of the cabinet under the mirror to retrieve a towel. I turn my head towards him, the curiosity of what he saw when he walked in here eating me alive.
“What did you see?” I demand.
He’s quiet for a minute, refusing to look me in the eyes.
“Don’t hide this from me, Elijah. You owe me that much,” I turn to face him more forwardly as he comes towards me. He bends and wraps the massive towel tightly around my shoulders before sliding his arms around my waist and legs and picking me up with ease. I let him, simply because my entire body feels like a sheet of ice and I don’t think I’d be able to climb out of here on my own as it is. The sooner he drops me on my bed, the sooner he can leave.
In his arms, his heat envelopes me in a thick wave that drapes and wraps all around me. I can’t fight it away while I’m this close to him, but I attempt wriggling a bit, so I’m not so tightly pressed against his chest. It mingles with my senses and throws everything off balance.
Or begins bringing everything back into balance. I push that thought away.
“It looked like everything was frozen in midair. The water, your body, everything. Your eyes were frosted over, your skin had water droplets that had frozen in place, the shower water had frozen as it fell,” he waits a moment as he kicks back my covers with his foot and instead of lying me down, climbs in to bed with me in his lap. “And then it was gone. It was back to normal, everything falling and dripping exactly where it should be.”
Confusion races through my mind. I want to get away from Elijah’s warm heat, but I’m so distracted by what he just said that I have to focus on which aspect to tackle first. Gently, I push away from his chest but his heavy arms cinch around my waist, holding me against him tighter.
“No. You need to warm up, Luna. You’ve been too cold,” his voice is hard, logical as he speaks, and it almost hurts more to be reminded that this is such a clinical exchange for him. I push harder, forcing my body away from his as I climb to the end of the bed and keep the towel wrapped tightly around me.
“I’ll keep myself warm, as I’ve done my entire life.” Truthfully, I’m freezing. It’s taking everything in me not to shiver in front of him. But I don’t want him to see how right he is, see how I fucking need him even when it’s the last thing I want. He’s casually resting against my headboard, one leg propped up while his heavy arms rest against his knee. His other leg is laying straight in front of him and part of me wants to crawl up right between those thighs and prove to him that he was never meant for fucking Sam. I swallow the lump in my throat and return my thoughts to what just happened in the bathroom.
“So, what do you mean, everything was frozen around me?” I push, he has to have some sort of answers.
“Fuck, I don’t know Luna. I’ve never seen it before. Everything was frozen. You looked like you were covered in ice and then suddenly you weren’t. Everything was normal again.”
“How do you not know, Elijah? You’re the Angel, you’re supposed to know what the hell is happening to me,” I lean forward unintentionally, out of frustration and a bit of fear at the fact that the one person who should have some answers for me, doesn’t.
“You think I don’t wish I had the solution for you? I do. But you have to give me some fucking time to figure it out, mo dheamhan.” He drops his head back against the headboard and shuts his eyes, annoyed lines begin creasing his forehead.
“Fine, then tell me something else. What language are you speaking when you call me that?” I was getting some damn answers tonight whether he liked it or not.
“Gaelic,” he doesn’t even look at me. It’s a simple answer for him to give, something that isn’t too painful.
“Gaelic? You don’t look Scottish,” I say, tilting my head to the side to observe him. The slight accent makes sense now. It’s just the barest hint of it, hardly noticeable. The tiniest smirk pulls at his lips. I can’t stop the immediate swelling in my chest at that view.
“I’m Scottish and Armenian. My Armenian roots run deeper. I lean to that side. But you can hear the Scot in my voice sometimes.” Still, his eyes are closed, but his hands are clenched into fists at his sides.
“If you’re an Angel, how do you have any sort of nationality?” I edge a little closer to that barrier between us, threatening to force a tiny crack into who he is.
He’s quiet for a moment, clearly wavering on whether he should entertain my questions or not. “They were called The Original Angels. Each one was created in representation of every nationality, every race. They are a varying depiction portraying the masses of humans. We breed and birth new Angels. But we aren’t raised with the traditional roles of mother and father. The children are raised in the community by everyone. I never had stereotypical parents, I simply had every mentor surrounding and developing me. But I did have Nathanial, we were birthed of the same donors.”
No parents. Ironically similar to my own upbringing. Whether I had been a full Angel or not, I still would never have had a mother and father to call my own.
I respond with a quiet nod, absorbing these small pieces of vulnerability he’s willing to give me. “Do you all speak English in Arcadia? Or do you have a native tongue?”
He glances over at me, his eyes search mine as a tick flickers in his jaw. “Enochian is our first language, it’s referred to as the Celestial form of communication.”
“Enochian,” I repeat. “Is that what you and Nathanial use to communicate?”
“Have you ever heard Nathanial and I speak to each other in another language?” he asks sarcastically, his voice tainted with clear disapproval at my prying. Sucks for him, I’m not backing down just yet.
I tilt my head to the side and settle my hard gaze on him. “No, but that doesn’t mean you don’t speak it with him, asshole.”
Elijah drops his head back and shuts his eyes again, clearly surrendering to my questioning. “No. We don’t speak it. I haven’t in many years until I bonded you.” He sounds dismissive, as if it isn’t a bigger deal but something subtly tugs inside of me and lets me know it is.
“When you created our blood bond?” I ask, suddenly anxious to know exactly what he said. I want to hear his deep voice as he speaks his native language, however it sounds rolling off his tongue. “Can you say it now?”
Elijah’s eyes snap open and meet m
ine. I can already see the sturdy refusal forming on his mouth before it cracks around us. “No.”
“Why? You’ve said it around me once. Technically I heard it then.”
“Drop it, Luna.”
I’m silent, contemplating my next move when I decide to settle into bed before kicking him out, but I have another question I want to ask before he completely shuts down. I climb up next to him, still keeping space between us, and curl up under the blanket. I let the towel fall to the ground once I’m covered and turn on my side to face him. He doesn’t look at me, seeming to already know that I’m about to push that personal barrier between us even further.
“Fine, then answer a different question.” I pause, “How did you Fall?”
I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to escape this. This uncomfortable, uncontrollable draw I have to Luna. She’s pushing me farther than I’ve let myself go, let myself feel in seven years. I hate it but I fucking want it, and her at the same time.
That bullshit with Sam earlier ate me alive. I fucking burned with such hatred for myself through that mess that I felt my body go up in flames at the sight of her coming down the stairs. I hurt her, far more than I ever should and the most fucked up part about it is that I don’t regret it. I still feel like I needed to do it, to put us back behind those lines we need to divide us.
But I couldn’t get off, the second she walked away, I pushed Sam off and shut down the bond. Sam freaked the hell out, obviously. But I couldn’t finish, I couldn’t hurt Luna like that. If she was sick and in pain from watching me get head from another woman, having an actual orgasm with someone else would be fucking destructive.
Now here we are, in her bed, in my home, while she pushes to once again to blur those lines I work my ass off to keep between us. I couldn’t speak the blood bond verbiage to her in Enochian. It’s too intimate, too sensual in this moment while she’s naked. Gloriously, sexually, beautifully naked and right next to me. I’m forcing every single ounce of restraint I have to the forefront in order to keep my hands off of her smooth, creamy skin and focus on what could possibly be happening with her.