by Tara Brown
“Duly noted.” There is no argument on the validity of the creepiness. I have been the creeper in the forest, watching people from the outside. I know how creepy it is. “The point is, he would risk being creepy for me.”
He motions toward the feather. “What’s up with you and Mr. Awesome? Did you tell him about the feather yet?”
“No—hell no.” I don't know when I’ve even seen Aleks lately or why I would tell him about Dorian. We haven’t been anything to each other in so long, I don't know when we last were. “He’s nothing but a friend.”
“You mean not your type.” He chuckles. “You like bad boys instead of the nice boys. I never would have imagined that.”
“I don't. I swear.” He doesn't appear convinced. “I’m not the kind of girl who likes bad boys. That’s Alise. Guess what that makes you? Besides, Dorian isn’t a bad boy. He’s just got baggage.”
“Baggage? You two have had some weird moments. I wouldn’t call that baggage.” Blake rolls his eyes. “It’s one of those ‘he only hits me because he loves me,’ huh? It’s always the same with you suckers for abuse.”
“Dick!” I give him the look, the one I reserve for assholes that are about to die.
“Joking.” He laughs harder, lifting his hands in innocence. “I was kidding. He would never hurt you. No one with any intelligence would hurt you.”
“Whatever.” I gaze out over the desert. “The funny thing is now when I think about Dorian, every action that was horrid before is now sweet and self-sacrificing.” I turn to face him. “Shit, I really am one of those girls.”
“Not entirely.” He cocks an eyebrow. “Firstly, you’re badass and you know it. So if he did actually hurt you, you would cripple him for life. Everyone knows that. You always were the only thing that could hurt Dorian. Secondly, he’s dead. So it doesn't matter how you feel about him or what kind of weird relationship you had.”
“Wow, not getting any action is making you mean.” I scowl. “Maybe stalking Alise isn’t so good for you. You should consider dating outside my family though.”
“See now, that was mean-spirited. What I said was reality.” He points. “Mean-spirited and it shows I nicked your soul with that last comment.”
“If I had a soul.”
“We have a soul.” His eyes grow concerned. “We all do. There is no way I am soulless after everything we have been through.”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I think I’m detaching. Getting cold.”
He laughs. “Trust me, this isn’t a new look for you. You like to talk with your hands. It’s your thing. It was before too.”
“Whatever.”
“Now who’s stealing lines from Alise?”
I make a W with my fingers. “WHATEVER!”
“You’re a loser.” He nestles into me and we sit in silence. The desert is busy. Trucks, camels, and people mull about. The blood bank of doom is up and running, regardless of the fact I remember shutting it down a few weeks ago. Or was it a couple of months ago?
“As soon as she gets here, we go in.”
He nods and starts playing in the sand dune, running his fingers through it, and finding the odd stone. He tosses one in his hands as if testing the weight of it. “Do you think we’ll ever be done being this? Like it’ll go back to normal one day?” He throws the stone and we watch as it sails across the desert, hitting a car at least five miles away. The sound echoes across the sand.
“Be done being angels of mercy?” I shake my head. “I don't think so.”
“There is no mercy in any of us. I have noticed that. Did you see how far I threw that?” He grimaces. “Shit! That was like a bullet. It’s still echoing.”
“Yup.”
The whole thing would be funny if it were under any other circumstances.
“Do you think there is something we’re supposed to be doing? Like finding Lillith is part of it, but we need to figure the rest of the puzzle out?”
I nod.
He sighs. “It seems like every time I try to focus on the whole thing, my brain gets heavy and tired or distracted. I feel like we are missing the mark. I tried telling Lucas yesterday—I think it was yesterday—and he told me I needed to calm down. He said the Lillith thing would work itself out. But I don't think it will.”
“Me either.”
Warm, dry air swirls around us, interrupting our thoughts. Before either of us can say another thing, she’s there standing in front of me, but I would swear I don’t even know her anymore. Ari winks at me in an overly confident way. “Let’s do this.” She’s cocky and full of herself now. She turns and surveys the buildings below. “How many times are we going to shut down this same shit hole?”
Blake leans into me. “She seem more like Dorian lately?”
“Shhhhh.” I nudge him as she points at the buildings. “We’ve been here before, right? This is the one we closed down like two months ago. I’m not crazy, right?”
Blake rolls his eyes. “You’re crazy either way.”
Ari stares at him with black daggers. “Don’t make me beat you around this desert.”
He opens his mouth, but I stand up and snap at them both, “Let’s get this over with!”
Ari gives me a look. “You two are in shit moods today. What’s your deal?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head, pocketing the feather. “No deal. Just ready to end these assholes and go home.”
“They seem to be popping up everywhere. The whole blood bag thing is getting out of hand.”
“The whole ‘evil will reign the world for seven years’ thing is kind of helping them out.” I lift a brow at her.
Blake has a point. We aren’t focusing hard enough on this. Seventeen months and we’ve accomplished nothing. Nothing I recall anyway.
“I know. I’m just saying it’s crazy how they are everywhere we look.” She glances at her nails, an act I have never seen her do. “Okay, let’s go ‘cause I just want to go to Miami with everyone tonight, not rescue vamp whores.”
Her comment is way off base. I don't even have a response. The blood bags aren’t whores. They’re slaves. She used to see it that way. She’s pissing me off a lot more than the vampires are.
I wink to the blood house, landing in the far corner of the compound, and take a picture with my cell phone. I text it to them and they both immediately wink to me.
Ari flashes a wicked grin on her face. “Who is hungry?”
Blake is clearly confused when he says, “Not me. I just want to go home. Try not to make this too fancy.”
She grins wider. “Try to keep up.” She sprints across the dusty compound to the house, ripping a door off its hinges and taking a spray of machine gun bullets to the chest. She stalks down the hallway as the bullets drop to the marble floor, not exactly bouncing off her but not totally wounding her either.
She’s a savage. The blood lust vampires have is similar to what we have all been feeling more and more. Enjoying the kill more.
A man pulls a sword from his belt, pointing at her. She waves her fingers at him, taunting him to come for her. He runs, screaming and oblivious to the fact he cannot hurt her. Not the way he wants to. She winks behind him, snapping his neck with one hand as she spins him and kisses his soul away.
Blake winks past her, killing the next man. But I run past both of them, winking to the hallway full of rooms. Each one is the same, it always is. A girl or guy reeking of blood and drugs. They are always young and attractive, my real age perhaps, but more fragile.
Where once I would have saved them, freed them and cleaned them and taken them home, I now kill them.
The world is populated so heavily that my job is not to save anyone. My job is to free them in a different way and let God decide where they shall land for I am his weapon and his angel of mercy.
The instinct to save them is gone. I do not even contemplate it as I suck the sweet soul from the chapped and desperate lips of each victim.
Judgment Day has come and I am the hand of God.
Chapter 1
Who wants a werewolf sandwich?
The woman in front of me sashays hypnotically down the alley, nearly putting me into a trance. I imagine she has walked this way a hundred times and never given her safety a single thought.
She’s beautiful.
Her long tanned legs and silky hair have me convinced she’s flawless, the way Giselle is. I almost lift off to get a better angle of her face to see if maybe she’s one of us, only she doesn't smell like it.
She’s clearly an idiot, whoever she is. No one that sexy strolls an alley at night, not that confidently anyway.
Of course, she can’t sense the things I can. Being me is helpful in alleys where the truly bad things of the world tend to hang out, waiting for chicks like her.
It isn’t until the beast from the shadows has her on the ground and is draining her of her vital life source, blood, that I realize I’m paused, too long of course, no longer watching her. It was never her I was after. She was the bait from the start. I guess I could have told her that. Or saved her.
I close my eyes, waiting for the sound of him being done.
I hear it, the way he’s gulping her back like a Slurpee from one of the fat straws at 7-Eleven. The second he licks his lips, I wink.
He doesn't sense the air shift behind him. He’s drunk off the blood. He doesn't realize I smell his Walmart shampoo wafting from his dark hair and floating about in the warm air. It stings my nose, actually. He doesn't see me until it’s too late. He turns and I smile like the lion that waited for the hyena to finish its meal before eating it.
He tastes extra dirty when I grip his face and pull him free.
He crumples to the floor as though he’s a bundle of clothing and not a man at all.
I turn, leaving the two of them, and wink to the rooftop again.
Satisfied the cool night air is clean, I turn to leave but my eyes drag to the dead people below. They remind me of a Chinese symbol; a character that represents all the things dying off inside me. The way their arms and legs intercept and sprawl, almost makes it art.
I don't like the changes in me.
The changes are much the same as watching lightbulbs burn out in a house. As each one dies off and it gets darker, I forget how big the house is. I am left with only a small corner of light to huddle in. The small corner is my humanity.
It’s hanging on by a thread.
There is a terrible feeling inside me that everything is changing, and soon I will forget who I was.
Lorri must have forgotten that part of the speech. Not that there had really been a speech or anything was actually explained when she changed us. She fought for one thing: the survival of God’s planet. We were just the way. Casualties of a war fought for too long.
Now we are stuck this way, slowly losing the very reasons and traits she chose us for in the first place.
I know one thing. I once believed that forming a habit was the way to kill a human.
Drugs, alcohol, smoking, overeating. That was my opinion; habits killed people. But thus far, I believe it has been my habits that have saved me.
Every time I feel myself slipping away, I instinctively reach into my pocket and pull it out, dragging it across my lips like it were his mouth meeting mine, and not a feather at all. Touching the last thing he ever gave me, makes me remember him in ways that light me up again. So far, he is the only way for me to remain. The part of me that wants him stays and fights while everything else slowly gets lost or cut off. Sort of the same way Blake goes to see Alise. He’s like the others until he sees her and then suddenly he remembers who he is.
Love is the only thing we can grip to.
I run my fingers across the white feather and close my eyes. The second I do, Dorian is there, floating past me and saying filthy shit that makes me smile as a single tear drips from my eye. I touch the tear, collecting it on the tip of my finger. The ball of liquid sitting on my finger is all my humanity in one tiny puddle. The little bit of me that’s left clings to the feather, desperate to stay human.
My phone vibrating in my pocket interrupts the melancholy moment.
When I pull it out, the glow of the picture Sam has sent me makes me smile.
Time to party.
I have recently learned some things about myself that I never knew before. Or rather, I have become so altered I am not the same girl I once was, and the new me likes things the old me never would have.
For starters, I like to wear revealing clothing when I am kicking ass. I think it’s insane that when faced with death, a man will still let his eyes fall to my pathetic attempt at cleavage. He will literally die pondering what’s beneath that tightly worn shirt.
Insane.
Also, I like to dance. I judged my sister for her desire to throw her hands into the air and wave them about like she just didn’t care. Apparently, I was wrong, not that I’m ever going to tell Alise that. Wings or not, I am still her sister. It is my God-given duty to torture her with wit and sarcasm, the only weapons I have against her.
But back to dancing. It’s a freeing feeling. My hair whips around me and my arms sway as the beat of the music becomes part of me. I can feel it inside, vibrating and inspiring me.
The fact I am getting short on things like that these days makes me all the more appreciative of the feeling.
The flashing of the club lights and the energy of the people around is overwhelming, but that's the part I love about it all. I don’t know if I ever feel anything as strongly as that anymore. Apart from my moments with the feather each day.
What I don’t love—grabby-handed guys. That, I could live without. It’s not only the men; the women are grabby too. Drives me around the bend.
When arms wrap around my waist and someone tries to dance with me, I lose the happy vibe I have worked so hard for. If there is one surefire way to piss me off, it’s to take away the only bit of good in my entire week.
I don’t think it’s an angel thing. I think it’s a common sense, decency thing. Of course, I am obligated to grab hold of the wrist and flash as fast as I can from the dance floor to the roof above. From there I can send the idiot to meet our maker if he or she doesn’t apologize promptly.
I wink to the club, instantly enjoying the energy and intoxicated fun that washes over me with the waves of music. I don't know where my friends are. I don't even care. My arms lift the second I get into the crowd and my body starts to jerk and sway.
The flashing lights and disco-ball reflections attempt to hypnotize me as the music bursts through me. Sweat glistens on my skin. We don't sweat like we used to. But the glow of the sweat gives me the illusion of being human.
The wafting odor of depravity and evil brings with it the reality that I am not human. But I don't care. Not right this second. This second is for joy and release and illusions.
Reality is overrated.
Sam arrives suddenly, shouting at me, “Hey!”
“Hey!” I smile, dancing to the music.
He cups my face. His dark eyes are lit up and sparkle with the lights in the club as though fireworks reflect in his stare. He presses his lips against mine. The smell of him draws a moan from me as his tongue slips between our caressing lips. His hands touch up my back, sliding against my skin and creating intense heat everywhere.
I pull back, dazed and uncertain of why we just kissed like that. He raises an eyebrow and a grin that makes my knees weak. “Wanna go back to the house and finish this conversation?”
I do. Sweet God, I do. But my hand slips into my pocket and the reality of it all crashes on me. “SAM!”
“What?” He looks confused.
“What was that for?” I still want to devour him but I step back, only for safety’s sake. “Where’s Hanna?”
“Whatever.” He bursts out laughing. “Aimes, it’s free-love time. We don't have to live by the same rules as these sheep,” he shouts, making the people near us shout with him. “We are free to live how we want, no restrictio
ns.” He steps back in, grazing my cheek with his teeth. “Let me love you, Aimee.”
I almost collapse, desperate for his touch, but my heart tells my head this is wrong. “No. This is wrong. Where is Hanna?”
He steps back again. His smile is broken. I don't think he knows it, but I see it. He winks and he’s gone, leaving me shivering with want.
Until arms slip up my torso. I wink to the rooftop and spin, holding a man in the air by his throat as the warm wind brushes against me. He gives me a drugged-out smile but smells nothing like evil.
The air turns cool as something or someone whips past me. I drop the man, spinning quickly to find the smug face of Marcus. True love has not cured his annoying traits or twisted idea of what’s funny. He’s still a sarcastic prick of a vampire. He winks at me. “You wanna share your snack, Aimes?”
“No. Where’s Lorelei?” She is the one thing that keeps him in check since he’s the biggest kid of all. Even the curse that made him hurt every time he ate hasn't panned out. He’s found the resolve to suffer through while he does it.
And loving Lorelei has helped too. She’s the head of the Roses Academy in Europe and deadly powerful for a witchy vampire. We get along like Lorri and I did. Lorelei is the sweet and Southern version of Lorri.
“She’s in London. Something about a plague. Like I care.” He glances at the guy on the ground next to us. “Are you going to toy with him a little first?” His eyes sparkle.
“No, ewww.”
“Fine. You’re boring.” He turns and leaves, dropping off the ledge of the nightclub building.
I think he likes the fact we angels are a hot mess most of the time.
The wind returns to normal as the man trembles where I dropped him. I forget why he’s here with me. He’s here, on the roof of the club, so he must have done something. But he doesn't smell evil. I gesture toward the door to the stairs. “If I see you again, you’re dead.” The words feel dirty. Perhaps they aren’t something I should say, but I do anyway. A small part of me thinks I should end him, but Dorian’s feather in my hand reminds me I once had compassion.