by J. J. Dean
Well, the only Angel to sit by me, too, as a matter of fact. How the hell is another Angel roaming around Earth? Everyone chose their sides, and I'm pretty sure there's an unwritten no take-backsies policy in place for everyone but me, seeing as though everyone insists I didn’t actually make a choice. So how is it possible that, seated directly in front of me, is another one of my kind?
I don’t realize I’ve been staring while my inner rambling has taken on a mind of its own, but the angel says nothing about it. The little twitch in his lips tells me my gawking is amusing to him, though. It's enough to snap me out of my hottie haze, and my sass comes back full force. "The fuck are you doing here?"
I'm blessed with a smirk, one that he seems a little perplexed by, before I get a reply. "It's a coffee shop. People are allowed in here."
Smartass.
"No shit, Sherlock. But what are you doing in my coffee shop?" Manners, wherefore art thou missing? I'm crass and blunt, and cuss like nobody's business, but I'm normally politer than this. I clearly don't like being taken by surprise, or I have a stick wedged up my damn ass. Considering this man has shocked me twice already, I'm going with the former.
He doesn't seem fazed at all by my attitude; he only raises his scarred eyebrow. "So, your name is Frenchie?"
That gets an undignified snort out of me and I reluctantly smile at the handsome man... Angel... Mangel?
His eyes flicker to my mouth and my smile slowly fades. He's still staring, so I give him a taste of his own medicine in the form of an obnoxious cough that gets the attention of the customers milling around not too far from us as well as his.
He looks away awkwardly, an interesting look on a man who has such an imposing aura. I can't help but chuckle at the massive guy looking like I just caught him with his hands down his pants. I decide to take pity on him and give him an explanation. "It's not my store. It belongs to Ms. Frenchie, my best friend, but I'm here so much that I've just classed it as my coffee shop. You know, like claiming the place because I practically live here half the time." I give him a shrug and lean over to pick up my coffee and take a long pull, sighing at the heavenly goodness. I place my mug back down before he speaks again.
"Which one is Ms. Frenchie?" His rumbling voice causes goosebumps to travel across my skin. I ignore it and throw a thumb towards the counter where Ms. Frenchie is serving a cute blonde with a skirt two sizes too small.
“The old lady serving the chick with her ass hanging out from under her too short skirt? That’s Ms. Frenchie. Damn sweetheart of a woman. I’m glad she can’t see that girl’s skirt, though. There would be an hour-long lecture about modesty and all sorts of shit.” I snort again and roll my eyes before facing Asher again, only to find him already staring at me.
"What? Is there something on my face? I swear, if I have chocolate on my face, I'm going to stuff Francis in the dumpster. She told me I got it all." I start rubbing my face, trying to get all the chocolate I thought I'd caught earlier after indulging in cookies.
My frantic scrubbing slows to a stop when Asher smiles at me. I feel like time has come to a standstill and it's just us in the room. His smile... well, it's nothing short of stunning. Full white teeth gleam at me under the soft glow of the lights above, and my heart almost stops. That man should smile more. It changes his entire face. If he wasn't gorgeous before, that smile would have had my panties disintegrating faster than I could say hot damn.
It seems we're exchanging throat clearings and coughs more than conversation when the telltale noise comes from him and it snaps me out of my staring competition with his mouth.
"There's nothing on your face," he rumbles with that curious look he had on him the day at the cemetery. The same intense look, like he wants to know the ins and outs of all that is me. I begin to fidget awkwardly under his scrutinizing gaze, my heartbeat hiccupping every now and then.
"Then what were you staring at?" I push through my sudden nerves, my eyebrows drawing down in confusion.
There's a short beat of silence before he faces me and, with such honesty that I'm left a little breathless, he says, "Just a beautiful woman."
I give him a soft smile, and I can feel my cheeks warm. That's an unusual sensation seeing as no one has ever said anything to me to cause me to blush before. Saying that, no one has called me beautiful before either, other than Ms. Frenchie. A little flutter starts in my belly, and I'm left questioning if this is the whole 'butterflies' feeling humans talk about a lot. First time for everything, huh?
We settle into a comfortable silence after his sweet compliment, but my head once again starts going into overdrive. I’m brought back to his Angel status, and now that I’m thinking on it again, I can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t adding up. I can't seem to piece together how another Angel is on Earth. Does he still have his wings? Surely not, if he Fell. But...did he Fall? Did he, in fact, take back his decision and come to Earth to stay? Or...
Did someone send him?
I mean, it’s not infeasible considering every hundred years I receive visits from two of the ugliest assholes known to Heaven and Hell. If a Gargoyle and Cherub can come to Earth to try to convince me of the inconvincible, then why can’t Angels? Are both sides desperate enough to get their own to sway my decision?
Looking at the gorgeous specimen in front of me again, sitting in all of his sexy as sin glory, my mind decides that yes. Yes, they are. Javos said there was a war brewing, so why wouldn’t He or Lucifer send their Angels to convince me? Desperate measures and all that, right?
Just like that, my mind decides to latch on to what’s happening before me. It's like a puzzle clicking into place in my brain, the pieces fitting snugly together as my head finally catches up to what’s going on here. It’s a shitty puzzle, at that. I come to the realization pretty slowly, but it comes to me like a beacon of light in the darkness, shining brighter as the puzzle pieces connect. The entire picture forms in my head, and, sadly for me, it doesn’t make me feel any less of an idiot when the last piece falls in place.
It's that time again where I start getting visits from Lucifer and His minions, insisting I 'make up my mind' about my living arrangements, as if I would ever choose someplace else. I've already had the Gargoyle knocking at my door, so what's to say they won't up the ante? What if they’ve decided to send stronger messengers or those more convincing to a female Angel? Who's to say I'm not looking at one of Satan or God's lackeys?
Fuck it all to hell in a handbasket.
Luna
I'm being played right now.
He knows who I am. He knows I'm the only Angel that Fell. If his eyes sparked when my skin touched his when we met, then surely mine did too. That would explain the confirming look on his face after he shook my hand.
Well, now I feel fucking stupid.
I pick up my book again, deciding to hide my inferno like anger behind the pages of magic and imagination. My eyes narrow dangerously as my rage spikes. I can feel my eyes changing, and sure enough, I see a faint silver glow on the pages in front of me coming from the direction of my irises.
I snap my eyelids shut and breathe deeply, in and out in rhythmic motions, trying to leash my anger at being made to feel like a real and total idiot. How did I not see that coming? It’s glaringly obvious now that I’ve sussed it out that they'd resort to drastic measures. I mean, there's a damn war brewing, so of course they would send Angels after me as well as the fugly Gargoyle and fuglier Cherub. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
It takes longer than I care to admit, but once I have my anger under control and feel my eyes shift back to their usual gray, I lower my book. I’m a picture of faux calm by the time my book is in my lap, a plan formulating in my brain.
The second the book lowers, Asher’s eyes are on me. I give him a coy smile before I place my book down on the side table and mumble, "Be right back."
I stand and walk over to where Ms. Frenchie stands, looking a little frazzled.
"Everything okay? You're wearing
a hole in your cardigan," I point out gently, before carefully snatching her hand in mine to stop her from fidgeting.
She takes a deep breath before she responds. "The band's late, Luna. They should have been here ten minutes ago, but they haven't shown. Tonight is going to be a bust, I just know it."
Little does she know she just handed me the perfect opportunity to execute my plan, pretty much on a silver platter.
"I'll do karaoke until they arrive. No biggie, Francis. I've got you covered," I chirp sweetly and wink at her before I turn and make my way through the throngs of people I hadn't even realized had turned up since I arrived. Am I seriously that oblivious? The room is packed, every chair filled, people milling around by the shelves of books. Damn good turnout. Even better audience for the little show I'm going to perform.
After shoving my way through the gaps the crowd of people have left, I make it to the makeshift stage and step up onto the platform. I head towards the microphone and give it a little tap to check that it's switched on and working fine. The high-pitched static noise confirms as much.
With most of the customers attention focused on me and the stage now, I speak confidently into the microphone. "Guys, our band is running a little late, but they're on their way, I promise. For now, how about a little karaoke? I've got a song I've been itching to sing, and we don't get many music nights here. How about it?"
I'm enthusiastic enough that everyone seems to perk up, smiles lighting faces, vigorous nods from others. A few even offer me an applause, bless them.
I head over to the amp and connect it to my phone and the aux cord and pick my song from my most played soundtrack. I'm just putting my phone down when the music starts, a beautifully haunting melody of Chris Isaak's Wicked Game begins to play, a cover version of the song flowing clearly through the amp.
I step up towards the microphone slowly, in tune with the piano that plays at the very beginning of the song. With all the audience's eyes now firmly planted on me, I open my mouth and sing.
My hips sway enticingly, drawing attention to the short purple chiffon dress I decided to wear today. As I'm singing, my eyes lock onto my target while Asher's annoyingly stunning blue eyes stare intently at me. It's then I unleash one of the two gifts He left me with.
All of us Angels were given five gifts from Him when we were created. Three of mine were stripped right alongside my wings when I was banished from Heaven but two remain. You see, I wasn't just given the ability to sing with the voice of an Angel, irony at its finest. No, I was given the gift to infuse my singing with emotions and sensations, a gift I'm all too grateful for being allowed to keep right about now.
I push my power into my voice, infusing lust and want into the lyrics and melody and direct the full force of it to Asher. My power, only visible to me, glides around the audience. Some sneaks out towards the others in the room, caressing a cheek tenderly or wrapping around a waist seductively. The onlookers visibly become a little flustered, moving slowly to the lyrics my voice pours into the microphone, cheeks becoming flushed from the soft touch of lust.
I focus back on Asher when the chorus to the song comes up, pushing more of my power into the dramatic vocals, sending a wave of desire out through my voice, making a beeline towards the angel whose cheeks are tinted a very alluring shade of pink. Our eyes lock the second the first word leaves my mouth, my eyelids slowly lower until they're half-mast with the effects of my power.
I see perfectly the moment he realizes I've worked out he's an Angel, and with a naughty little grin, I watch my power take effect. A pretty magnificent thing to witness, an Angel built like a Mack truck, menacing yet incredibly sexy, blushing furiously and trying his best to cover the hard on I got an eyeful of before his large hands hid the show I’d been enjoying a little too much for my liking. He lifts his unoccupied hand to pull at his collar, trying to remove the stifling cloak of hunger and want I've firmly wrapped around him, but to no avail. He starts looking around the room, as though searching for someone. Who? No idea, but I don't let it derail my mission to watch this man crumble. Revenge is oh so sweet.
I continue to sing, hitting every note perfectly, getting closer and closer to the finale. Asher's looking a little worse for wear, fidgeting, shuffling his feet. He's grown a new shade of red and a light sheen of sweat coats his skin. He’s still looking for the unknown source but seems to be coming up empty. He must know what's coming when the last verse of the song starts and his eyes snap right back to me, the Angel who is wearing a very menacing grin that’s pointed in his direction.
"D-don't you d-dare," he stutters out, his voice sounding a little higher pitched than I've grown accustomed to in the short amount of time we've known each other. He strains out another, “don’t you fucking dare,” and with a smirk, I continue and watch as his hips buck forward, his impending orgasm just a few song lines away.
He hunches over, leaning his hands on the table in front of him. I can tell from the rapid heaves of his chest that his breathing has picked up. I nudge a little more power into my next line.
He rests his head on the table, likely seeking comfort in the cool furniture. I can see beads of sweat dripping down the sides of his face. I’m reveling in watching his back heave with his rapid breaths. I continue with my song, a little more seduction added to the mix.
His left hand goes to his groin, where he shamelessly palms his very rigid length under his tight fitted jeans, while he wraps his right hand around his neck while his head still lies on the table. Dignity has flown far and fast out of the window, and I couldn't be anymore smug. I sing another line, feeling the addictive thread of seduction pulling at Asher, coaxing out his release.
His head snaps up just before I sing the final line of the song, and I'm a first-class voyeur who blatantly watches Asher come apart with a last lick of my power. And what a glorious fucking sight it is to see. With a flirtatious wink, I sing the final line of my song.
"…With you."
I can hear the guttural groan that emerges from the depths of his chest all the way from the stage and if my panties weren't already soaked, they sure would be now. His head falls back in ecstasy and I can do nothing but stare at the man in all of his glory, falling apart in the middle of a crowd of people. I feel like I've taken revenge on myself when I can't tear my eyes away from him, my skin feeling flushed and an ache forming between my legs, growing stronger the more I watch Asher. My lips part on a gasp when Asher’s head snaps back down and the hungriest gaze I’ve ever witnessed locks onto mine.
My eyes are suddenly pulled away by someone who stands by the door, clapping enthusiastically, breaking me out of the lust induced trance I’d fallen into just with one look from the Angel across the room. Another drop-dead gorgeous man stands with his mouth open in surprise, watching me in complete and utter awe, his beautiful dark brown eyes alight with amazement.
"That... was fucking magnificent."
Elijah
I can't help but stare at the beauty standing on the stage in nothing short of wonder. She's even more stunning up close. No fucking wonder my brother was so damn smug about being the one to come inside and strike up a conversation. He thought he hid it well, but I know him like the back of my hand. Sneaky bastard. Can’t say I blame him, though. That woman has the ability to make men fall to their knees. Quite literally, too, it seems.
I had it in my mind that this woman was going to look exactly like He would want her to look like; flawless skin, the lightest colored hair, delicate features, small and fragile. Oh, how I've never been so happy to be wrong in my assumptions. The woman who stands on the stage in front of me is nothing short of spectacular. Covered in tattoos, a face that would surely make weaker men beg for attention and a body most women would die for. She's a damn knockout. Color me pleasantly surprised. Definitely not what I was expecting.
Her chest rises and falls with her swift breathing, which draws my attention to her ample breasts that are only just covered with the flowing fabric that pr
otects her modesty. She's covered in the lightest sheen of sweat and when it becomes too alluring to stare at her body, I shift my gaze to her eyes that leave me a little breathless as they connect with mine. Beautiful light gray irises framed by thick black lashes stare back at me, surprise coating her features, no doubt at me interrupting her staring match with her unknown opponent with my highly deserved round of applause. This Angel can sing.
To the right of me, a noise catches my attention, and I swing my head in its direction. My eyebrows almost hit my hairline when my mind catches up to what I'm seeing. A young couple no older than twenty is unabashedly dry humping while leaning on the shop’s counter, while the couple beside them are playing a very messy game of tonsil tennis. It's only then that I take a proper look around the room only to find everyone else in nefarious positions and situations. This is a coffee shop... right?
My eyebrows furrow in bewilderment, and I swing my eyes back to the Angel who still stands on the stage. I catch her looking around the room with a peculiar look of confused fascination, a bemused smile on her face. When she spots a group of people getting frisky in the middle of the room, she outright laughs, slapping her hand over her mouth and holding her stomach as though it gives her great pain to laugh at the scenario I stumbled upon.
"Hey, Flower. Don't suppose you know what happened here, do you?" I ask timidly, not sure approaching an Angel laughing at the beginning of an orgy is the best thing for me.
A futile thought, really, when the woman doubles over in hysterics, a beautiful laugh pouring out of her between sharp intakes of air. Her laugh becomes infectious, especially when it turns into one of those wheeze laughs that leave you soundless and clapping like a seal.