Repossessors of Souls: Expendable Pawns

by Danae Ayusso

  “No.”

  “Do you not find me attractive?” I demanded.

  “That has nothing to do with it,” he said indifferently and looked at the blade in his hand. “How did you kill Karael?”

  “Get off of my hands,” I hissed, pissed off that I was hot and bothered and not getting any offer for help of release in the form of a particularly moody angel; pissed that he didn’t answer me; pissed that he still hadn’t thanked me; pissed that he was still here; pissed that I didn’t want him to leave. But most importantly, I was mad that I wasn’t mad at him at all.

  Where was Freud when you needed him?

  Angelus spread his legs slightly farther apart, removing his knees from my hands, but lowering himself down on me more, and it did absolutely nothing to help with my current hot and bothered state, and by the feel of it, he liked what he saw.

  I caressed his head, and to my surprise, he let me, but his eyes widened when Precious was suddenly pressed against the side of his head.

  “Bang, you’re dead,” I informed him.

  The look on his face nearly made me laugh, nearly; eyes narrowed, lips pulled tight across his stone-like face, the dagger in his hand pressing into the flesh over my heart causing a small bead of blood to stain its perfect blade before it rolled down the ridge of my breast, blemishing my skin.

  “Are you going to kill me?” Angelus snarled.

  “If I was going to kill you, I would have watched you walk into your last appointment’s temple and let them do it for me. Or I would have let your asshole brother do it while you were stuck in that damn wall. Or I would have shot you while you were staring at me like some kind of homeless perv in front of the fountain. Or when you randomly popped into my bathroom, during my six-hundred dollar bath mind you, and then just spouted off like a rude prick and left. Or I would have done it when I repoed the priest, but not before I played double-dutch with his intestines in the middle of his congregation just to make you suffer an emotional loss before putting a bullet between your large, sexy, amber and black….wait, what was I talking about?” I asked, distracted.

  Stupid angel and his sexy eyes, mouth-watering scent, ambrosial skin, muscular physique, tan skin, shaved head with the softest sprouting of new hair I’ve ever felt….damn it! I’m supposed to be pissed at him, not envisioning him between my legs!

  “You are not going to kill me?” he repeated, skeptically.

  Precious disappeared and smacked him upside the head. “Are all angels this slow, or are you the exception of the rule?” I asked.

  “I do not understand,” he said, making absolutely no attempt at getting off of me or removing his blade, or throwing it in me for that matter.

  I really needed to get some help with these questionable issues of mine.

  “Are you going to kill me?” I quoted him; the sarcasm was appreciated.

  “I have made myself quite clear that I would not kill you, especially after everything I have done to keep you safe and alive. Why is that so hard for you to believe?” he demanded.

  Really? Is he blond? The new growth of hair on his shaved head is black, not blond.

  “Because you are stabbing me,” I stated the obvious.

  Angelus blinked rapidly then looked down. “Fuck!” he choked and scrambled off of me, backing himself against the far wall.

  Weird reaction, but I honestly expected no less from Angelus.

  I sat up. “Don’t worry about it,” I said and smiled at him, it was a completely fabricated smile, but it was a smile nonetheless, and inspected the small pinprick on my breast. “The white dress shirt makes it look worse than it really is,” I assured him, eying the misplaced drops of blood on it. I balled the shirt up and tossed it in the waste bin under the nightstand. When I looked at the disgusted angel with his knees to his chest, sitting against the wall, my face dropped. “What’s wrong?” I whispered, suddenly self-conscious.

  His attention was on my breasts.

  I snapped my fingers in front of my chest. “Earth to Angelus, they’re called tits. You’ve seen them before, many times, you’ve even grabbed them in your sleep, not that I’m complaining.” I smirked, but it didn’t register with him. “Man-up, it’s a little drop of blood.”

  When he didn’t roll his eyes or tell me that I was being ridiculous or a silly little girl, or a demon whore for that matter, I crawled over towards him, kicking away the rest of my the leather barbwire string outfit—sadly that outfit cost me eight-grand.

  “Angelus, what’s wrong?” I whispered, coaxing his chin up so he was looking me in the eyes. “It’s merely a flesh wound, a simple pinprick, it isn’t the end of the world.”

  “I hurt you,” he whispered, and for the first time since meeting him, he wasn’t the condescending prick that I was accustomed to dealing with.

  “I hurt you more,” I reminded him and smiled wide. “Remember my knee on your balls? That was totally worthy of a stabbing.”

  “This is not funny!” he snapped at me.

  Yeah it is. It’s hilarious.

  “Angelus, let’s get cleaned up and get some pie and coffee. Doesn’t that sound completely acceptable and a brilliant idea from the brains of the operation?”

  He shook his head and my face dropped. “I need to go.”

  When he started to get up, I gasped; on his chest, blemishing his beautiful, mouthwatering, skin was a pinprick. The tan flesh under it was ribboned with blood that rolled down his muscular abs.

  “What happened?” I demanded and got to my feet and pushed him against the wall so I could examine the superficial wound on his chest that ironically matched mine.

  “It is nothing,” he assured me in a clipped tone, trying to push past me, but I slammed him back against the wall again; on accident, I assure you.

  I squatted down slightly so I could look at it. I didn’t understand how he was apparently injured; he was perfectly fine after the repo. My fingers delicately caressed over his skin. Then again, I was fine until he pulled a damn Archangel blade on me.

  Wait.

  “Are you hurt because I’m hurt?” I asked and looked up at him. I was surprised to see that his eyes were closed and he was biting his bottom lip.

  Huh, this angel is completely insane. I can’t keep up with his mood swings.

  Then again, he appeared to like me touching him. And the sizeable bulge in the front of his pleated consignment store slacks would confirm that he liked what I was doing.

  What was the worst that could happen; he pulled another blade on me?

  I caressed my thumb over the small wound, wiping most of the blood away before softly kissing it.

  The choked gasp that escaped past his lips turned me on, and it made me smile.

  Softly I kissed around the tear in his flesh, moving my hands up the sides of his legs till I hit the skin at the top of his hips then dug my nails into his flesh, getting a hiss in return. I kissed the little wound again, that time my lips parted and my tongue caressed over his skin, and the ambrosial taste of his skin mixed with the sweetness of his blood made my breathing get ridiculously labored.

  Angelus snarled, his hand knotted in the back of my hair then he pulled me up to face him. I expected him to call me a whore, but he didn’t, instead his mouth smashed into mine.

  The taste of his skin, the sweetness of his blood, it was nothing compared to the taste of his mouth. The feeling of his tongue wrapping around mine, and the passion radiating from him, made me weak in the knees and caused my head to swim. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me off of my feet and I wrapped my legs around his waist, grinding against him as hard as I could, and dug my nails in to his muscular shoulders. We kissed so aggressively, so passionately, that my lips started to bleed, but it didn’t slow us down.

  Angelus staggered towards the bed, his fingers digging into the back of my neck and side of my hip and he sucked on my tongue.

  That little, not so sexy thing, caused a wave of desire and euphoric pleasure to rip through me. I g
rowled and started bucking and grinding against him like a feral beast in heat. I pulled my nails down his back, and he hissed in my mouth, his hold on me tightening and he turned us. In two fast steps, he was slamming me back against the wall.

  I gasped then glared at the smug angel I was wrapped around, his bottom lip slightly swollen and bleeding, chest rising and falling against mine with each labored breath he took, his eyes burning solid gold. He smirked, his top lip pulling up slightly, revealing the last of the fangs returning to his normal cute squared teeth.

  Smug bastard.

  “Tell me you need me,” I snarled and dug my nails into his back, and he snarled in return.

  And in typical Angelus fashion, he didn’t say anything.

  But in not so Angelus fashion, he attacked my neck and started kissing, biting and softly nibbling as he worked up and down the length of it then across my shoulder where he bit hard causing me to writhe in pleasuring pain.

  His hands moved to my hips, and he slid me up the wall higher, raising his knee under my ass to keep me up as my hands awkwardly clawed at the wall behind me. His mouth moved down the center of my chest. Aggressively he kissed each heavy mound of tan flesh, softly nipping at each with his front teeth, causing me to moan even louder. His free hand fondled one breast, teasingly rolling the pert pink bud between his fingers before pinching it aggressively, causing my hips to buck and a hiss to escape through my clenched teeth, while his mouth latched onto the other, sucking hard before he flicked the tip of his tongue against my overly sensitive nipple.

  I hate him. I hate him. Oh holy hell, why can’t I hate him?

  Reluctant, I tried to pull his mouth away, but he wouldn’t release my breast and bit the erect flesh between his front teeth in the process. I started writhing in pain that was surprisingly pleasurable, and blindly slapped at the wall behind me, grinding my hips against him even more.

  No. I am in control.

  Damn it. I have to be in control, not him!

  “Tell me you need me,” I hissed, pinching his nipple and twisted. Instantly he released my nipple and snarled at me. “Tell me you need me,” I snarled back.

  “Never,” he hissed in my face, his lips hovering over mine, his top lip snarling as he fought to keep from kissing me again.

  Stubborn angel.

  I un-wrapped my legs from around Angelus then pushed him off me. “Enjoy the blueballs, I’m going to take a shower.” He wouldn’t be the only one that would be in unreleased sexual discomfort. I ran my fingers through my hair as I strolled towards the bathroom, putting more sultry sway into each step than needed, but I could feel him watching, glaring at me with burning gold eyes, and I wanted him to know what he was missing out on because of his refusal to open up emotionally.

  When I closed the bathroom door behind me, I doubled over then dropped to the floor. “Did I seriously just do that?” I whispered in disbelief. “There is seriously something wrong with me. He was there, he wanted me!” I sat up and looked around the bathroom in an attempt to clear my head and to get my hormones under control. “Angelus doesn’t want me. He has made that perfectly clear. He was just enjoying embracing his, my, inner demon for a little bit. Seraphim Angelus would never have done any of that! He’s a fucking monk.”

  And that was it then.

  My realization was as clear as day; Angelus only wanted to throw it in me because he was embracing his inner demon, my demon soul that was still wrapped around his. It was nothing more than a lapse in his better judgment, and when I exited the bathroom, all would be well in Zion Land again, and I wouldn’t have to worry about that damn angel pretending that he wanted me, especially considering he wouldn’t and couldn’t say that he wanted me.

  I should just become a lesbian since chicks aren’t so damn confusing.

  Okay, that’s total bullshit, but this angel is driving me insane.

  After a hot water consuming shower, and some self-gratification with the massaging showerhead, I wrapped a towel around my body and quietly returned to my room. I expected it to be empty. I prayed that it would be, but I was wrong and then some.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed was Angelus, looking completely bored and un-amused as usual, but for once he wasn’t directing his prickitude towards me. It was directed towards the lycan standing in front of him with a gun pointed at his head.

  Obviously I missed something, something major.

  “You are well aware that this is a clerical error,” Angelus said and my eyes widened. “It would be advisable to call and confirm the contract. It would save both of our souls.”

  The lycan laughed a bark of a laugh. “Trying to buy yourself some time is pathetic, even for a winged pig.”

  Wait, I know that voice. That’s Niles.

  Niles was from my Hub, and was number five or so out of the group of us. I personally didn’t have anything against him, but this was a perfect example of why he wasn’t number one; he liked to talk and toy with his appointments instead of just pulling the trigger.

  “Do you really want to do this here, in the bedroom of a fellow repo man that will get really pissed off if you stain her frivolously expensive bedding?” Angelus asked then cocked an eyebrow; his tone was level and completely collected, as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  “Zion will get over it,” Niles grumbled under his breath.

  “Are you sure about that?” Angelus smirked.

  “I couldn’t give a shit,” Niles started to snarl, but stopped when Persuader was suddenly pressed against the side of his head. “Zion?” he choked, looking over at me from the corner of his eye.

  “The one and only,” I said. “What in the hell do you think you are doing, in my home of all places, pointing a gun at my company?” I demanded.

  “It’s nothing personal,” Niles stammered. “He’s in my batch!” He held his free hand out, and I quickly looked over the tattooing on his arm: Angelus was the only one on there. “When I repo him, I’ll get a high priority. It’s just business, nothing personal.”

  This couldn’t be happening: a clerical error on both sides putting their bests against someone from the other side of the company. It wasn’t right and was improvable. Angelus didn’t sell his soul, the look on his face was silently conveying to me that this was bullshit and that something major was going on and that he didn’t want to die…okay, I totally made that last part up, the prick was fearless and dying wouldn’t be anything that he really give a damn about.

  “How do you intend to kill an angel with a demonic gun?” I asked the obvious with a snort.

  “I was going to repo it once he was immobilized,” Niles admitted.

  I nodded my approval. “That would have worked.”

  “What do you-” he started to ask, but the sound of the single shot from Persuader ended his question, and covered my wall with blood, brain matter, hair, and skull.

  I looked at the wall then groaned. “Goddamn it, I just had that painted last month. Fuck!” I jumped up and down in frustration, slipping on the quickly pooling blood from the wide-eyed lycan on the floor.

  “Get dressed, we need to go,” Angelus barked at me.

  “Why?” I really didn’t care. I was so not looking forward to the damn cleaning bill from that little fiasco.

  He snarled as he glared at the body. “Because this is only the beginning,” he informed me.

  Riding the subway was not my favorite means of transportation, at all, and was making me feel dirty. What should have taken a minimum of six-hours and thirteen pieces of luggage to do was reduced to ten hasty minutes where I was being barked at by an angelic drill sergeant the entire time and was informed that I could only bring one bag.

  One bag?! Was he insane?

  One bag?

  No woman, no Manhattan princess would ever be caught dead traveling or going anywhere with one bag, let alone a demon like me that had a fifteen-hundred square foot apartment, which half of it was turned into a closet for my fabulous wardrobe. My awesome Louis Vuitton
luggage, that I still hadn’t used, was just waiting to be showed off, and yet there it sat, once again, empty in my closet.

  One bag was never going to happen with Angelus’ time frame, so I told him to go fuck himself and went to change in the bathroom. Sadly, he used the time productively and packed a bag for me; I was terrified to see what he packed.

  As ridiculous as it sounded, I wasn’t terrified of whatever this threat was that he seemed to think was following or trying to kill us. I was terrified to look in the bag he packed that he wouldn’t let me carry. If he didn’t color coordinate, I was killing him. The unknown threat would be a warm embrace compared to the wrath of this demon. And why hadn’t he used one of my pretty designer bags? Was a black trash bag really the way to go in this particular situation? A girl needed a little bit of class, and my stupid angel was reducing me to trash, trash bags to be exact.

  “You know,” I said and made a face at the paranoid angel eying everyone in the cramped subway car, “you could have fit everything you threw in that trash bag into my bleu nuit Pégase 45 Louis Vuitton bag, it even has wheels.”

  “No,” Angelus said in a clipped tone.

  “Why?” I whined.

  “I do not feel like getting mugged over your damn luggage,” he said and gave me a look, that lovely look was his not-so-subtle way of saying, ‘Zion, shut the fuck up before I put a sock in your mouth and leave you in the trunk of my car’—not that he wore shoes so he’d have a sock to shove in my mouth, and he didn’t drive or own a car, that I knew of, but still, the sentiment was there.

  I made a mocking face at him, “Do we have time to get some pie?”

  “No.”

  “Do we have time for sex?” I asked, completely uninterested in his answer and studying my nails, waiting for his usual response.

  “No.”

  He never ceased to amaze me with how predictable he was.

  I looked up at him, and he was glaring, his eyes darting between around the stuffed subway car.

  “Oh come on,” I purred and caressed the toe of my stiletto up the back of his leg. “It’ll be fun. I’ll even let you tie me up and spank me,” I sang then curled my tongue at him.