Matched With A Demon

by Ripley Proserpina

  The angel nodded, and reached for Lucia’s hand, squeezing it gently. “It’s good to meet you.”

  A sudden cloud passed in front of the sun, the land darkening for a moment and the breeze became colder. The two angels exchanged a glance. Hanielle closed her eyes, and when she opened them, horror and fear flashed over her features. “Oh, no. No. Lucia. Oh, no. How could he?”

  Vasanthi reached for her, tugging her close. “Hang on.” They shot into the air, zipping over the hills. The landscape changed—rolling green hills giving way to higher, craggier mountains. The trees were larger, but leafless, and the air cool but not uncomfortable. When Vasanthi set her down, they stood at the base of a mountain, one reaching so high the top was shrouded in mist.

  “Colorado?” Lucia asked.

  “Very funny,” Hanielle answered, not amused.

  The wind blew stronger, and the brook babbling behind them rushed with a new flood of water. It grew darker, and the breeze colder.

  “What’s happening?” she asked, but Hanielle and Vasanthi stared at the sky. Lucia followed their gaze, watching in amazement as the clouds roiled, spinning like a cyclone. Thunder shook the ground, rocks rolling down the mountain and slamming into the river. Lightning flashed, illuminating a form in the sky. Huge like the mountain in front of her, wings outstretched a sword in hand. “God?”

  “No,” Vasanthi whispered. All at once, a thousand flashes zoomed to the sky. It reminded Lucia of fireworks, set off from a barge. Streak after streak disappeared into the cloud, all aimed at the huge shadowed form. “Armaros.”

  “Armaros?” she asked in disbelief. He was here—or—there. Suddenly the forms streaking toward him made sense. “No!” she cried. “Stop them! They’ll hurt him!”

  One by one, flames fell from the sky, slamming into the ground with huge explosions before rocketing toward the sky again.

  “I’m not really worried about them,” Hanielle griped.

  She had to help him, he was hurting, angry. Her yearning for him burned her, racing through her veins. He needed her. Pain lanced her body, or whatever she was, and she fell to her knees.

  “Lucia?” Hanielle asked.

  It burned, she burned, like she was bathed in fire. Another rock smashed into the water, shooting it into the air and spraying her, dousing the inferno.

  “Holy shit,” Hanielle remarked.

  Lucia felt different, lighter and heavier at the same time. A flash of gold caught her eye, and she spun, but it remained in the corner of her eye, so she spun again.

  Vasanthi laughed, the sound joyful. “It’s your wings, Lucia.”

  “Huh?” she replied, ever articulate. She slapped at her shoulder, her fingers grazing the edge of her wings. Wings.

  Without giving herself a second to consider it, she shot into the air. She didn’t know how to fly, exactly, she thought, go, and she went. The wind stung her eyes, bringing tears, which never left the shadow in the clouds. She passed angel after angel, all holding swords, as if they were standing still. She passed through storm clouds and lightning until they disappeared and in front of her was Armaros.

  Armaros raging. His form froze her. He could easily hold her in his fist, ten angels standing head to toe wouldn’t reach his height. What happened to him?

  He growled, roared, swore. His wings sliced through the air, sword arcing and racing. “Armaros!” she cried over the din.

  He growled louder, angrier. Tears, blood red, flowed down his cheeks and his eyes were wild.

  “Armaros!” Taking off again, she zipped past angels, dodging them and their weapons. “Armaros!” His sword sliced above her head, but she ignored it, flying until she could hover in front of his wide, disbelieving eyes.

  “Impossible,” he whispered. His sword dropped, shoulders heaving. She heard the weapon whistling as it fell to the ground. Behind him, his wings, his beautiful, damaged wings, beat the air. “Lucia?” His voice broke.

  From the corner of her eye, something golden flew at them, crashing into him. A net. One after another, they flew at him, caging his wings, entangling around his arms and head until he began to fall.

  “Armaros!” Gripping the net, she beat her wings, struggling to keep him aloft. “Shit, you’re heavy.”

  His eyes flashed to her. “You’re here,” he whispered.

  “Help,” she cried, but she wasn’t strong enough and they dropped. Her wings extended, catching them like a parachute, but then folding from his weight. Drop. Fall. Drop. Fall. A sudden golden streak, followed by another shot by her and then back. Vasanthi and Hanielle. Each grabbed a corner, and together they managed to slow their descent.

  Once her feet were firmly on solid ground again, Lucia ripped at the net. “I need something to cut it,” she said and a heavy weight appeared in her hand. A sword. “Convenient,” she muttered. As she cut, Armaros stared at her, his eyes tracking her every movement.

  All around her were thumps, she glanced up once and saw angel after angel landing, staring in confusion as she, Vasanthi, and Hanielle cut Armaros free.

  Eventually, he shrugged off the net and stood. He was as tall as the solid, redwood-like trees surround them.

  “Armaros,” she whispered and his knees gave out, folding so he landed with a crash. Gradually, he shrunk, tree-sized, to house-sized, to normal, Fallen Armaros-size. She threw herself at him, kissing his chest, his neck, shoulders. Anywhere she could reach.

  He groaned, and then his arms enfolded her, pulling her into his lap. “I love you,” she whispered. “I love you so much.”

  “You’re alive,” he murmured, lips touching her forehead, cheeks, lips. “You’re alive. How?”

  “No idea. Don’t care. As long as I’m with you, I don’t care how it happened.”

  The clouds parted and the sun blazed until it seemed like the entire world was bathed in gold. Warmth filled Lucia’s body, and suddenly she knew how. Someone had heard her prayer, recognized her love, and Armaros’s love, and gave them a chance. She felt all of these things, all the answers to her questions. They didn’t come with voice, but with emotions.

  She felt love, and sorrow for her sorrow, hurt for her hurt, and pride. Pride in Armaros and what he’d done, how he’d tried to protect her.

  Forgiveness and acceptance. Armaros wanted to make his own choices with his life, and the power was given. He changed beneath her hands. Fallen form melting away to leave skin, bone, and muscle.

  Accept who you are and live well.

  The light disappeared, leaving Armaros and Lucia alone. Hanielle and Vasanthi approached them slowly, both wearing matching expressions of happiness.

  “How?” Landing next to them, Jeheol stared at them in disbelief. “How?” He held his sword, and Armaros, roaring, launched himself at the angel. Before he could touch him, the angel began to fade. Holding his hands out, Jeheol gaped as the color left his body.

  A wave of disappointment overtook her, and it left her breathless. She never wanted such disappointment directed at her. No more. A lesson must be learned.

  “No!” Jeheol cried before he disappeared.

  “Wha…” Lucia’s voice trailed off as she met Armaros’s dissatisfied gaze.

  “Let it go,” Vasanthi interrupted, reaching for Armaros.

  “Vasanthi,” he rasped. Poor Armaros.

  “Hello, brother. Thank you for taking care of my girl. But you need to get back,” Vasanthi told him. “Delia is worried.”

  “We—” Armaros began.

  “I can go back?” Lucia asked, and Hanielle nodded.

  “It’s your choice; you can stay. Armaros can stay. Or you can go. Live your life the way you choose,” Hanielle explained.

  “What about you?” Lucia asked, her attention shifting to Vasanthi. “If I can go back, why can’t you?”

  “It’s just the way it is. I’m happy here. I know my daughter will be in good hands. The best hands.” Bending, she stared at Lucia seriously. “The safest hands. Her father and I are together, and we�
��ll be here for Delia, a long, long, long time from now. As it is, I get to watch over her.” Her golden wings extended, catching and reflecting the sunlight. “See?”

  Lucia nodded; she did, but nothing came close to actually holding the person she loved in her arms, and she squeezed Armaros’s hand tighter. She may never let him go.

  As if she could read her mind, Vasanthi smiled a little sadly. “You’ve got her. She has you. Both of you. I couldn’t have made a better match.”

  Lips touched her neck and she turned to Armaros. His blue eyes shone, and he cupped her cheek. “I love you,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her.

  This was heaven—his lips, his arms. Him.

  “Ready?” he asked, embracing her again.

  “Know the way?” she retorted, smiling, and he nodded.

  “Down,” he joked, kissing her again.

  She thought of Delia, waiting for them. Worried. Before she could utter a goodbye, or even blink, her wish appeared in front of them. A streak of blonde jumped at her, and automatically she wrapped her arms around the figure.

  “Lucia!” Delia’s sharp chin poked her shoulder.

  Lucia sat on the floor, and held her. “Delie. I missed you.” Pushing her back, Lucia studied her face. She looked good. Healthy. Older. “You’re bigger.”

  “I missed you,” the girl replied, her chin wobbling. “I missed you so much and Armaros said it wasn’t safe.”

  “Thanks,” he muttered sarcastically. “I had a reason, you know. I was trying to keep her alive.” But when he looked at her, he was unsure, like he fully expected her not to forgive him.

  “I grew angel wings to save you, idiot. We keep each other safe,” Lucia announced. “We’re a family, and that’s what we do.”

  Armaros closed his eyes, leaning his head against hers. “I’m sorry I was an idiot.”

  “I’m sure it’ll happen again. The idiot part. The abandoning me? Better not. Ever,” she told him.

  “It won’t.” His voice was low. “I love you. We’re a family.”

  “Forever?” Delia asked. “We stay together forever?”

  “As long as we live,” Lucia answered.

  Epilogue

  Lucia: Two Months Later

  “Delia, I need your math!” Lucia called, pushing her own books across the kitchen table. She stood. “Delia?”

  Walking out of the kitchen, she went along the stone hallways into the monastery courtyard. The gardens were in full bloom, and water bubbled in the fountain. Delia was where she thought she’d be, staring into a reflecting pool, holding her ball. As Lucia watched, the girl carefully dropped her ball into the water, waiting.

  When nothing happened, she picked it up, crouching closer to the water.

  “Frog not taking your ball?”

  “No,” Delia muttered, standing and dribbling it over to Lucia. She leaned against her side, and Lucia ruffled her hair.

  “Don’t be too disappointed,” she soothed. “You’d have to kiss him to turn him into a prince.”

  “Gross!” Delia exclaimed. “In the movie, they turn into frogs.”

  “Why do you want to be a frog?” she asked, confused.

  “No math.”

  Laughing, Lucia wrapped her arm around Delia. “Where is your math?”

  “In my room. I finished it ages ago, but you were all—” Delia pretended to hold a book in front of her face and read voraciously. “—So, I left you alone.”

  “Thanks,” she replied drily. “Well, let’s take a look at it and then we’ll see about your reward.”

  Delia squealed, jumping up and down and clapping her hands before running out of the courtyard. Lucia could hear her bare feet slapping the stone floor as she ran to her room.

  “How’s the math?” Armaros asked, sauntering like the sexy devil he was toward her.

  “Good,” she answered, lifting her eyebrows and studying him from head to toe.

  He laughed, snagging her and pulling her into his arms. Nuzzling her neck, he kissed his way to her ear. “How’s my newly minted angel?”

  Lucia’s wings prickled with awareness and she shivered. “Desperate for some alone time.”

  “Well, if our girl has her math done, we’ll get some. You know, Lucifer has been begging for some time with her. I think they’re going to poke Hitler or something,” he went on.

  “Not funny,” she replied, nudging him with her shoulder.

  “Here!” Delia cried, running back, her paper held above her hand in triumph. “Look!”

  Turning in Armaros’s arms, she leaned against his chest as she went over Delia’s work. One hand held the paper, while the other covered her stomach. Since Delia, and her own change from mortal to immortal, she’d been thinking about children. Namely, children like Delia, but specifically, children like the ones she hoped to have someday.

  There was no way Delia was the only half-Fallen child in the universe, and if Lucia’s most recent missed period was any indication, not the only half-angel child in the universe either.

  So, Lucia changed her doctoral dissertation again. If she was going to do research, she might as well get an answer to a real question: were there angelic and demonic children?

  Working remotely and on campus at Paris-Sorbonne University, Lucia did what she did best. She studied, and she searched.

  But she had help.

  With Armaros and Delia, they traveled the world. Delia could poof them, Armaros could poof them, and now, with her new angelic powers, Lucia could poof them. Between their search for the children, they’d poofed to her parents’ house. Now that they’d met Delia, Lucia’s family had fallen firmly in love with her. She was the granddaughter they always wanted. Even Zia adored her.

  Lucia remembered the first time she had dared miss Wednesday’s sacred family spaghetti day. First her phone rang, and her mother launched into a tirade about ungrateful daughters who moved across oceans and were so important, and didn’t care when their mothers had been counting on seeing them. When their mothers had gone to the bakery, the good bakery, where Marty worked now, not Mike. Mike was a putz, and picked up Delia’s favorite cannoli.

  And if that wasn’t enough, through space and time came a tug, and before she knew it, before she had time to hang up the phone, Lucia had appeared in her mother’s kitchen.

  Zia had blown out her saint’s candle and stuck a hand on her hip. “Your mother is expecting you for dinner.”

  “I told you, Zia, we had to skip this week. We just got back from—”

  Stopping Lucia with a palm out, Zia interrupted, “I don’t need your story. I need your ass in the chair.”

  With a one-two flash, Armaros and Delia spilled into the kitchen. “You left!” Armaros accused.

  “Yeah!” Delia enthused, ignoring her uncle. “Nono and Nana and Zia and dinner! Are those cannoli? Are they for me? Do they have pistachio? What else did you get?”

  Lucia had watched Zia’s face soften, a smile forming on her lips as Delia flitted around the kitchen. Her father had come into the kitchen, slapping Armaros on the back a little harder than necessary and dragged him into the shed to look at—something. There was probably nothing there. Lucia suspected it was an excuse to escape the females.

  “You did good, piccola,” Zia had whispered, pulling her attention from the retreating forms of Armaros and her father. “You have a nice little family. I’m proud of you.” Her arm had wrapped around Lucia’s waist, squeezing and then releasing.

  “I love you, Zia.”

  “Love you too, stupido,” Zia teased. Delia pulled out a tray of pepperoni and cheese and started to dig in. “Not too much!” she called to Delia. “You’ll ruin your appetite!”

  “Then why do you have so much food?” the girl asked, a mouth full of crackers.

  “Why do we have so much food?” Zia mumbled. “This is a question? Why do we have so much food?”

  Her mother had come in, and Lucia was relegated to the far side of the kitchen table. It wasn’t a pun
ishment, but they did want her out of their way so they could spoil Delia, and Lucia had been perfectly happy to let that happen.

  In the last few weeks, however, her new little family stayed closer to home. Except on Wednesdays. Lessons learned: Wednesdays were sacred.

  Lucia did her research, taught Delia, and sat in the sun. France was beautiful in the summer, and they’d slowly been updating the monastery to fit their needs. Lucia couldn’t believe how difficult it was to get cable in a monastery, let alone Wi-Fi.

  “Great job!” Lucia said, finally finished scanning Delia’s math.

  “Reward time?”

  Nodding decisively, Armaros answered, “Yes. Reward time.”

  “Finally!” Lucifer appeared. “You’ve been hogging the kid.”

  “Luc!” Delia ran to him, and immediately began a complicated system of hand slaps, waves, and shakes that ended up with both doing the mashed potato. “He’s my reward?”

  “Yup,” Lucia replied.

  “Ready to get into some trouble?” Lucifer asked Delia.

  “Born ready!”

  “Nothing illegal!” Armaros directed.

  “Or blasphemous!” Lucia called.

  “You’re saying no to all the good stuff,” Lucifer complained before winking and flashing them away.

  Alone at last, Armaros spun her in his arms, dipping her low to kiss. “Where to, my love? Paris? Saint-Tropez?”

  “The bedroom?”

  Lifting her into his arms, Armaros captured her lips with his, sucking and nibbling. “Bedroom,” he agreed, voice low and husky.

  Stretching, Lucia grabbed his head, holding his mouth to hers and biting his lip. “Hurry up,” she whispered against his lips. “I need you.”

  The wind whistled past her face, and then, he was lowering her to the bed. “I need you too, Lucia. Forever.”

  His kiss was sweet, gentle.

  “Forever.”

  * * *

  THE END

  About the Author

  Ripley Proserpina spends her days huddled near a fire in the frozen northern wilds of Vermont. She lives with her family, two magnificent cats, and a dog who aspires to cat-hood. She is the author of the Reverse Harem series, The Searchers, and “Missing Linc” from the paranormal series, The Aegeans in the upcoming horror romance anthology, Bloody Kisses. Follow her on Facebook or sign up for her newsletter at www.ripleyproserpina.com.