by Azzurra Nox
Somehow those words only made him more eager. He bit down on her lower lip and she was hit with vision of a gleaming sword, its blade streaked with blood. But not even the disturbing image could disentangle her from his arms. Her hands tugged at his now wet garments.
“Lena,” he whispered, as he kissed along her jawline, “you’re making it very difficult for me to decline.”
“Then don’t,” she urged, “just say yes. Just go ahead and do it,” suddenly she was no longer cold, but hot, as though she had an impending fever. Maybe this was like having a fever, because the feeling was clouding her senses and making her body speak in ways that her words couldn’t. His fingers seemed to fumble with all the layers of her black tulle short skirt, as he jerked the material upward tearing it. They kissed without restraint, their wet hair hung down like soaked sheets of paper on their shoulders. She sucked in her breath when she felt his arousal press against her leg.
“You’re mine,” he growled, and she heard another tear of fabric. Opening her eyes a little, she saw a pair of wings flutter under the rain. They were chalk white. The feathers glistened like tiny diamonds. The shirt he had been wearing only moments ago, was now on the ground, in smithereens. Then it hit her. Those wings belonged to him.
Danger was like a rough kiss to which she was the willing victim to. “You’re…an angel?” she whispered in awe.
His grip on her tightened, she could feel his strength getting increasingly more intense by the seconds as his wings seemed to embrace her like his arms would.
“Sic volo tibi,” his fingers clawed at the front of her top, she heard another rip as the flimsy lace garment gave away. There was something harsh and primordial to his gestures that surprised her, but nonetheless couldn’t pull herself away. When she opened her eyes again, his eyes seemed to flash with a strange fire. His eye color altered from green to a vibrant black with speckles of red. It was like two burning coals. She was the flame that sparked the fire, and now there was no stopping the outcome.
“Michael…” she whimpered feeling tiny in his grip, as he lifted her up. He grabbed her wrists, pulling her to the wet ground. With a fierce force he had never demonstrated to her before, he pinned her down. Lena’s heartbeat increased tenfold. She had never expected him to act like this. A part of her was turned on and another part was deathly afraid. She now knew that he wasn’t human. This realization faltered along the brink of fear and fascination.
“Don’t say a word,” he said, his hand leaving her wrist and wrapping around her neck. Instinct sounded off alarm bells in her head when his fingers clasped around her throat allowing very little air supply to reach her lungs. She was gasping for oxygen like a fish thrown on deck, flapping its tail in agony, whilst his other hand moved up the side of her leg. A slight fear paralyzed her limbs, as a dark desire to have him not stop overcame her. Her instincts told her to run and scream, and yet she did nothing at all. His mouth was everywhere and she closed her eyes, succumbing to the blissful feeling.
“You’re mine,” he growled, his long hair tickling her neck, his large, white wings tightly bound around her like in a vise of some kind. Neither of them knew what was happening other than it felt both completely right and wrong at the same time.
“Wait,” she whispered, feeling the pull of his fingers on more fabric. Her heart beat wildly, like a derailed train without a set destination. Delirious, Lena opened her eyes, looking at him intently. “I…” she licked her lips trying to moisten her parched lips, “I love you,” the last word came out in a choked gasp as his fingers tightened around her neck.
She was starting to feel a little lightheaded. Maybe she should scream, but she couldn’t. Or rather, she didn’t want to. Closing her eyes, his lips wandered over her mouth, and she felt like she could taste a slice of heaven and hell. It was bittersweet, and this helplessness was almost intoxicating. Her limbs felt weak. If any part of her wished to resist, it wasn’t in charge at the moment. For the time being she was ever yielding, desiring that he’d break the tension that was growing between them. Her back was wet from the moist ground, her hair getting tangled with the leaves and small fallen shrubs. The rain was melting her eye makeup but she didn’t care. She could only think about how much she wanted him, how she didn’t want him to stop but rather to bring relief to the growing ache that embraced her whole being.
There was an abrupt stop his movements, his fingers suddenly loosening his grip around her neck as he pulled quickly away, a cry of agony filled her ears. Her eyes snapped open, and she watched Michael tend to his wing. There was a strange light seeping through the white feathers. Confusion overtook her senses, not comprehending what was going on until she saw Jon behind Michael’s shoulder clutching a knife in his hand. A black hoodie covered his head soliciting an ominous aura.
“Michael!” She sat up trying to see what had happened, but he had moved away from her, holding onto the wounded wing. “What’s wrong with you?!” she shouted at Jon.”Can’t you see that you’ve hurt him?! Are you insane?!”
Standing quietly behind him was Hope, nervously playing with a lock of wet hair as she gripped the handle of a black umbrella.
“He’s just like her, Lena! He’s not human!”
“What are you talking about?” she stood up trying to rearrange her torn dress as some of the fabric fell on the ground. Bringing her arms around her, hugging herself to keep the fabric from falling forwards and revealing her breasts. She blinked the rain out of her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“That’s how they take us, Lena. When we’re on our last breath, don’t you remember it from the book?!”
“Okay, now you’ve gone too far! Michael isn’t like Adriel!”
“How do we know? Have you read anything about them? Hope and I have been looking through various books about angels in these past two weeks. We’ve been doing extensive research.”
“So what are you now? Some kind of dynamic duo? Give me a break,” she muttered pushing him away, and rushing over to Michael who still seemed hurt by the onslaught.
“And where did you get that knife?”
“Hope gave it to me.”
“Great! You both need to be committed!” she shook her head, as she knelt down beside Michael, softly touching the injured wing. “Are you okay, baby?”
He was looking down at the ground, his wings surrounding him as though to close him off from the rest of the world.
“He’s right,” Michael whispered, “I could’ve hurt you…I…I’m sorry…This shouldn’t have happened….I shouldn’t have felt that…”
“That’s not true,” she insisted, but he got up, spreading his wings. The cut seemed to have easily healed in a matter of seconds. The feathers were interwoven back in their normal place, the sever completely gone.
“See? He’s okay, he didn’t even bleed,” Jon said in an arrogant tone, trying to prove his point that the creature was far more potent than Lena gave him merit to.
“I can’t bleed,” Michael explained.
“He’s right,” Hope finally intervened stepping forth, “He wasn’t created of flesh and blood, it’s why we can’t do nothing to stop Adriel. We don’t have that power. It has to be someone who’s just like her who can kill her.”
Michael’s wings fluttered, creating a slight gust of wind when he did so. “I know. I must be the one to eliminate her. It’s my mission.”
“I don’t understand,” Lena was beyond confused at this point.
“I’m a warrior, Lena. Whenever I come down to earth, it’s to kill.”
“But…Jon just said that you were like Adriel…that you were trying to hurt me.”
“Lena, what happened earlier…I…I couldn’t control it. It’s probably what has happened to all those that fell before me.”
“Fell?”
“Adriel’s a fallen angel. We were all created by the divine. The only difference between her and I is that she fell from grace many centuries ago. There’s no true good or evil…we are created a
nd then we’re given the choice to either serve or defy. She defied the divine, and fell into the depths of darkness.”
“How did she become a fallen?”
“It’s a long story,” he quickly fretted, cutting the conversation short as he began to elevate. She looked up at him, not understanding why he was leaving on such a whim.
“Where are you going?”
“I need to…get away for awhile…don’t come looking for me,” was all he said as he rose up into the air and began to fly out of sight.
“Wait! Don’t leave me!” she said in a tone that hinged on desperation. Suddenly, the daydream of romanticism shattered and she felt very pathetic, crying under the rain. Jon unzipped the hoodie, and placed it over her shoulder, pulling the hoodie down on her wet hair. She could sense that he wanted to embrace her, but she pushed him away, shouting, “Why did you have to do that?! He wasn’t doing anything to me! He wasn’t hurting me! I trust him!”
“You know nothing about what he is! How can you trust him? How can you love him?” he shouted back.
“Stop ruining everything for me! Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
“Because you’re making a big mistake with him!”
“So what?! Let me love my mistake!” she screamed, choking on her sobs, as Hope slowly walked forwards, placing the umbrella over her head. Lena fell to her knees in feebleness, unable to sustain herself on her feet any longer. Her heart pounded in her chest and head throbbed with a painful migraine.
“Don’t worry Lena,” Hope whispered, “He’ll be back.” But those words meant to comfort only made her cry even more, knowing that whether he returned or not, something had happened that day that proved that their love couldn’t blossom. The way he had touched her, she knew that in his gestures he had wanted her too, just as much as she did. There was no denying that. She almost didn’t care if being his would’ve meant to lose her life. Death would feel like a ballroom dance, if it meant that her body could easily mold to Michael’s. For them to finally become the one entity she so strongly felt they were, no matter their irrevocable differences. Her body ached for that kind of closeness and connection. She sobbed uncontrollably. Her usual composed self no longer strong enough to keep up the façade. Jon knelt down beside her, and when he hugged her, this time, she didn’t pull away.
Chapter Twelve
The bookstore was crowded with teenagers eager to meet their favorite author. Girls dressed in black lacy dresses, and boys wearing cut-up concert tees. It almost felt like it was the typical crowd for a industrial Gothic rock band. Madoka Yoshimoto was seated on a red velvet chair with her agent beside her. She peered at the world from behind a heavy set blunt fringe, whilst the rest of her glossy black hair was chopped in a stylish layered short cut. A stack of books were on her left. A huge poster was placed behind her. In bold red letters with a font that mimicked bleeding was the book title, CUT HERE Right below the title the poster read, Meet Japan’s bestselling author MADOKA YOSHIMOTO! By the time Jon and Hope had showed up at the book signing the place was packed with people and a couple of journalists and photographers. Dressed in black slacks and a white button down shirt, Jon looked unusually impeccable. The black Ray Bans almost gave him a sleek, modern look. Hope was wearing the school uniform’s tartan and white button shirt without the blazer. Her usual oily limp hair was clean. Jon was surprised when he saw her looking almost pretty.
“How are we ever going to get a chance to talk to her? Alone. There’s more than two hundred people in this room and more people waiting in lines outside!”
“You really do underestimate me, don’t you?” he said with a smug smirk as he pulled out a laminated card that read, “Press: Slick Decay.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s our press pass.”
“I see that but this is foolish that they’re going to believe that we’re really journalists of a bogus magazine. It’s the internet era, they’ve probably googled it and saw that it doesn’t exist.”
“Wrong, I made sure a site was set up before I contacted Madoka’s agent and he agreed.”
“So what do we do now?”
“We just need to go up to them. The agent will know that we’re here for the interview after the book signing.”
“You make it sound so damn simple. It can’t be that easy.”
“Calm down. What’s the worst that can happen? Throw us out? Live a little.”
Hope rolled her eyes at his last statement. “Jon, you can’t charm these people just the way you do with girls.”
“Who says that I charm girls?”
“Everyone knows that you’re a player.”
“Is that what they say? I didn’t realize I had a reputation.” He idly played with the mirror pendant that used to belong to Amelia.
“We all do.”
“They’re all false. We’re not what we seem.”
The line was getting progressively shorter as each person walked up to get their hardback copy of the book signed by Madoka. Jon looked down the line, seeing if more people were entering the jam-packed bookstore. A can of sardines had more elbow room than they did at the moment. He was shocked to see Lena making her way into the store. The first thing he noticed was her luminous blonde hair and the distinctive black bow. She was wearing a black tulle petticoat skirt, with a black and white checkered corset bodice. The silver rosary beads gleamed against her pallid skin like shimmery pieces of glitter. Adorning her wrist was a black lace cuff with black silk ribbons tied around it, and a silver charm in the shape of a crown hanging from it.
“What the hell is she doing here?” he murmured.
Hope looked down to see where Jon was looking and shrugged her shoulders, “Probably the same thing we’re both doing here, minus the part where we’re pretending to be avant-garde journalists,” she made a hand signal for Lena to approach them.
He nudged Hope’s arm, “Why are you calling her over?!”
“Because, she’s your friend, and she knows why we’re here.”
“So? We don’t need her! I thought that we were doing this together.”
“Why are you so against her being with us?”
“Because she loves that thing and nothing we tell her really gets through to her.”
“That thing you’re talking about is Michael, and he may not be human but he’s still a divine creature.”
“Whatever,” he muttered as Lena walked up to them.
“I thought you were going to call me about coming to the book signing.”
“I forgot, but it looks like you still made it here.”
“Yes, but that’s not the point…”
“We’re going to get a chance to be with Madoka alone thanks to Jon,” Hope interrupted showing the laminated cards.
Lena looked over the cards in skepticism. “That’s supposed to ensure you two that you can talk to Madoka?”
“It should.”
“It will,” Jon insisted, “Now don’t bring bad karma to this.”
“I didn’t know you were so superstitious.”
“You guys, just knock it out!” Hope, usually quiet, interjected stopping their bickering. “You sound like an old married couple.”
“Who’d marry this creep?” Lena scoffed.
“Speaks the Stepford wife.”
“What are you trying to insinuate?”
“Nothing,” he walked forward as the line got shorter. He was nervous, and having Lena there wasn’t helping him at all.
“Can you stop being a jerk?”
“Sure.”
“Okay.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
“Go to hell.”
“Been there, got the t-shirt.”
“Guys! Stop it!”
Their banter went back and forth for the next thirty minutes, until Hope nudged Jon, saying, “We’re next, so knock it off.”
Jon stood up straighter trying to feign importance as he placed the laminated card in prominence around his neck trying
to look like an authoritative journalist. They approached Madoka’s table, and he quickly went to speak to her agent, Fumio Mamoru. The girls stood behind him, as he explained that he had spoken to him earlier via e-mail a couple of weeks ago about how he wished to interview Madoka for his magazine. Fumio took them aside, and tried to get a better look at the three of them. He questioned Jon over who was going to conduct the interview, and then asked who Lena was, eying her suspiciously, to which Jon quickly replied how she was an intern and had come along with his assistant (Hope), to help him take notes. Fumio nodded, explaining that they wouldn’t be able to speak to Madoka until after the book signing, and it would only be a brief interview, twenty minutes maximum.
A lifetime seemed to pass before Fumio returned with the okay that Madoka was available for Jon to interview. They were escorted to limousine that was parked nearby. Fumio told both Hope and Lena to wait outside, and that Madoka would only speak to Jon. Hope and Lena looked at him in a way to suggest that they wanted to accompany him, but he didn’t want to risk losing this opportunity to speak with her if he argued with her agent, and simply replied with, “Okay, girls, I’ll be back in a few.”
Fumio opened the limousine door, and Jon entered. The inside was dark, with petite red lights partially illuminating the interior. Jon sat down next to Madoka. He felt a little nervous now, and swallowed trying to think about what he was going to say but decided to break the ice.
“Hi, Madoka. I’m Jonathan Russe. I wanted to ask you a few questions about your novel, Cut Here.”
“Ask,” she peered at him with a languid gaze. Jon couldn’t help but notice that she was wearing a thick black velvet choker around her neck.
“On your website it says that you used to be ill with leukemia before penning your novel and it was only after overcoming this illness that you began to write Cut Here. But your novel isn’t filled with hope, but rather death. Why is that?”