by C. S. Wilde
“I don’t spend much time inside,” he said as if that justified the state of the place.
He hung his leather jacket on a coat rack behind the door, then unclicked the belt that sheathed his sun dagger and sword. He dropped his weaponry atop the kitchen counter—on the scarce free space he managed to find. The shoulder holster that kept the blessed gun followed suit.
Ava already missed her impeccably clean and welcoming quarters that always smelled like lavender.
“If you don’t like my ‘décor,’ you can fix it with your telekinesis,” Liam said.
Her nose wrinkled at all the shoes sprawled before his bedroom door. “My telekinesis isn’t strong enough for this. I’m not an Erudite, remember?”
Liam crossed his arms. “If you say so. But you did fling a table at that possessed man back at the pub.”
Ava shrugged. “I only pull energy from my essence and link it to my thoughts. It’s a trick Justine taught me.”
He frowned. “If it’s so simple, why don’t other Guardians do it?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. She had no idea. “Well, it’s not simple,” she finally admitted. “I can only use the skill for a few moments, otherwise it becomes painful.”
Liam gave her an absent “Hmm” before dropping on the couch and turning on the TV to a football game. He sprawled across the cushion tops, barely giving Ava any space to sit. She could probably touch the invisible wall rising between them—it was so evident it might as well be material.
“You don’t let people in easily, do you?” she said tentatively as she sat on the couch’s arm.
His attention didn’t flee from the game. “You’ve got sharp Guardian skills, princess.”
She ignored the irony in his tone—and that silly nickname. “There must be a reason why you do it,” she pushed.
He kept watching the screen.
Ava wished she could read a mind like a book, but she wasn’t an Erudite or a Virtue, so she had to settle with sensing Liam’s annoyance like a gray, sloshy mass going down her throat. The perks of being a child of the Goddess of Love and Life.
Well, Ava hadn’t become a great Guardian by letting her charges stay in their comfort zone. Reaching out to Liam wouldn’t be easy, though. She might’ve met him only a few hours ago, but she already knew he would be one of her most stubborn charges.
She sighed and rolled her eyes, praying silently to the Gods for patience.
“Why, Liam?” she pushed again.
He made the same gesture she did, as if he too were asking the Gods for patience. Finally, he said, “When you’re in my line of work, getting attached will only bring you pain.”
“And yet, you were attached to Archibald.”
He glared at her from beneath his eyebrows, finally turning his attention away from the screen. “Archie raised me. He made me who I am. He wasn’t just my partner, he was my father and my friend.”
Ava nodded. Silence was the only appropriate answer to his words, to his pain.
Time passed, but his eyes didn’t release hers. Finally, Liam rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck. “You haven’t met many Selfless, have you?”
“One,” she said. “He saved a charge of mine from a hungry vampire some thirty years ago.”
The memory of the bulky blonde man with kind gray eyes jumped to mind.
Her charge, Miss Schmidt, was unconscious but alive, the dead vampire by her side missing his head—decapitation: the only way to make sure an In-Between wouldn’t rise again. Angels and demons too.
“No harm done, sweet cheeks,” the Selfless had said when Ava arrived.
Sweet cheeks. Princess. Perhaps being condescending to angels was a habit for the Selfless.
“I’ve never met a Guardian before,” Liam said, pulling Ava from her memories. “Just Archangels.” He glanced at the sword he had dropped atop the kitchen counter. “They wanted to take the sword from me, but Archie had gotten it through all the proper channels. The look on their faces …” He snorted to himself. “You baby angels are different from second-tiers. Well, you are, at least.”
She frowned. “Different?”
“Nicer,” he countered, turning his attention back to the screen. “I’m not used to nice.”
Ava gaped at him, not knowing exactly what to say. Kind words didn’t seem to come easily to Liam, and yet, there they were.
“A little too naïve,” he added, “but we can change that.”
Ava blushed and looked at her feet. How did he intend on changing that?
Liam turned off the game and stood. He took off his shirt and threw it on the sofa.
Ava’s cheeks burned when she saw his tight biceps and the small squares on his stone-hard stomach. Scars cut across his trunk, raw lines that denoted a lifetime of battle. Some scars were fresh and pinkish, others a shade darker than his olive skin⸺memories that wouldn’t fade. Perhaps she should find the marks disturbing, but to Ava, Liam was beautiful. Scarred or not, the Gods had taken extra time to carve him.
“W-what are you doing?” She cleared her throat as he started unzipping his pants, her heart climbing up her throat.
He frowned at her, clearly unaware of how inappropriate he was being. “I’m taking a shower.”
Liam took off his shoes, then dropped his pants on the sofa. When he touched the rim of his black boxers and began to lower them, Ava had to use all her strength to stand up and turn away, but not before noticing how his happy trail—she learned the expression from Justine—formed a chalice toward his crotch.
“Do you always behave so improperly?” Ava asked, pointlessly closing her eyes since she had her back to him.
“I thought you accompanied your charges at all times?”
“Yes, but I could return to my quarters at night unless my charges were in immediate suffering,” she snapped, her voice louder than intended. “Also, I respected their privacy.”
She heard Liam’s laughter from behind her back. “I take it you haven’t seen a naked man before?” He chuckled. “Princess, I thought you were pure … but a virgin?”
“I’m not a virgin. I’ll remind you I was human once,” she spat, forcing herself not to look back at him. “And I’ve seen naked men.” But none that looked like Liam. She cleared her throat. “I simply fail to understand the necessity of seeing you naked.”
“It shouldn’t bother you. After all, I’m your charge, right?” There was a sense of victory in his tone, almost as if he’d made a point she’d failed to understand.
She resisted the urge to turn back to him. “I suppose …” She shook her head and crossed her arms. “The human form is the Gods’ glorious work, and an underlying temptation at the same time. Angel, demon, or In-Between, we’ve all been human once; we’ve all caved to human needs. Angels especially are known for reacting rather passionately about their basic instincts.” She rubbed her forehead, suddenly feeling weary. “In any case, seeing one of my charges in that manner is … uncomfortable.”
Especially if said charge resembled a Greek sculpture.
“An underlying temptation, am I?” Ava couldn’t see him, but somehow she knew he was grinning. “Why princess, here I was thinking you were exclusive to that asshole Messenger. Is he also a temptation to you?”
Yes. A temptation Ava was certain would consume her sooner or later. Not that there was anything wrong with that. She only hoped she and Ezra were ready for it, whatever it was. And she should believe they were, wanted to believe, but deep down, Ava couldn’t.
Before she could say a word, she heard steps and then the bathroom door squeaking closed. She was about to turn around, but the door opened and Liam quickly returned.
The warmth of his body grew closer, and her heart pumped blood madly through her veins. She saw herself turning around and slamming into his hard chest, cupping his cheeks, and drowning him in deep burning kisses, their hushed breaths the only sound in the night.
Instead, she kept still, pushing such si
lly urges somewhere far and deep within her.
His stubble brushed the side of her neck, and he moved her hair out of the way. His breath was smoldering as it hit her skin. “You can sleep on the couch. If you want a shower later …” He handed her a scruffy green towel.
“Thank you,” she said, thirsty for something she couldn’t name, trying to steady her breathing.
Footsteps creaked on the wooden floor, and then the bathroom door clicked shut. The sound of rushing water came from inside.
Ava exhaled loudly, calming her beating heart. She took the towel and pressed it against her chest. For a moment, she wished she was pressing Liam’s body close to hers.
She looked at the dirty broken couch and at the dirty broken apartment as she listened to her slowing heartbeat.
She might not know what the Gods’ plan was, but this must surely be a test. The Gods were good with this sort of thing.
7
Liam
When Liam was seven, he found his mother dead on the living room floor, her mouth hanging open and dripping vomit, her body twisted in a way that made her resemble a broken twig.
He called—cried, bellowed—for help, and then came the neighbors, followed by the police and the state people. Soon enough, Liam found himself part of an adoptive family in which the woman was always angry, and the man looked at him in a funny and far from fatherly way.
He stayed there for a week. Then he ran and ran, and even when the air burned his lungs, and his body begged to stop, he kept running.
One day, a stranger with sandy blond hair and kind gray eyes picked him up from the streets, saying Liam was actually an angel reborn as a human. The stranger claimed he’d been looking for Liam for a long time.
Liam had laughed—and nervously looked around for either an escape route or someone to help. But the man offered food and shelter, and it was raining, and Liam was so hungry he was sure his stomach chewed on itself.
The man was good on his word, though. He gave Liam a roof and food as promised, and he didn’t look at him funny. The latter was the only reason why Liam had the deepest sleep of his life during his first night at Archie’s.
When Liam told him about his adoptive family, Archie said nothing. His eyes merely grew a shade darker, and then he left.
A day later, Liam saw the man who looked at him funny dead on the TV. Apparently, he’d been funny to a whole lot of foster kids.
When Archie came home later that night with take-out, Liam knew. He just knew. As he stared at his own plate, he muttered, “Aren’t angels supposed to be good?”
“No, kid,” Archie spoke through a mouthful of food. “We’re supposed to slay monsters.”
And that was that.
As Liam grew up, he knew he wasn’t exactly holy. His entire life—and charming personality—were proof. If anything, he might actually belong to the other side.
He was good at killing evil creatures, though. Archie had told him this gift was holy in a way. So maybe Liam was an angel after all.
He grinned at the demon standing ahead of him, a dark silhouette surrounded by a swarm of angry flies. Liam knew the “flies” were remnants of darkness, buzzing around the source. He had read it in the Selfless schoolbooks and experienced it in practice—even if he didn’t fight demons all that often.
Lower demons could be a box of surprises. They were much harder to assess than werewolves or vampires. For werewolves, Liam could check the size of their canines, their muscular build, and then he’d know whether to run or fight. Usually he fought. Strong blood-suckers were also easy to assess, since they reeked of old leather. But demons? Not so easy to read. Bigger risk.
Fire swirled in a sphere where the demon’s heart should’ve been. The creature looked faintly human: it had black thorny limbs, and a human face shaped by smoke. It had also come looking for a fight. And maybe the demon would be more than Liam and Archie could handle; maybe it wouldn’t. There was only one way to find out.
“Gods, I hate those things,” Archie grumbled beside him.
“Well, we are paid to kill them.” Liam licked his lips and removed his sun dagger from the inside pocket of his black leather jacket.
Archie was quicker, though, and already jolted at the demon.
Liam knew the series his partner was about to try: attack, dodge, swivel. But the mess of shadows and fire opened its jaw in the way of a python—its chin almost touched the floor. A sphere of darkness burst from its throat, sucker-punching Archie mid-way and flinging the old man back against the alley wall.
The harsh thump made Liam wince. His heart tightened, but he knew Archie had withstood worse than this.
“Demons in the Hells,” he grunted under his breath, and the thing’s attention locked on him.
The demon clawed the space before it with its shadow hand, ripping the air between them with fiery gashes. A front shield.
Liam grinned as he remembered the series Archie had taught him when he was only fifteen.
“Bad thing about front shields, kid,” Archie had said, “is that they only protect the front.”
Liam lunged, and right before he met the demon’s shield, he stepped back, turned left, and cut the thing’s left ribs with his dagger. The demon shrieked as sparks of fire bled from the cut.
Liam didn’t wait for the demon to turn toward him. He swiveled again, circling the creature, and slashed another cut on its right rib. The thing’s shrieks exploded throughout the alley.
The demon might’ve been human once, like most supernatural creatures, but its black beady eyes and pointy shark-teeth showed exactly what it had become. A thing of nightmares.
The creature charged, trying to strike Liam with its shadow claws that ripped flames from thin air, but Liam was faster and dodged, slashing a deep cut across the demon’s back with his sun dagger. Sparks and lava burst from the long cut. The demon let out a piercing scream, its hands desperately trying to reach the wound.
This thing was powerful but way too slow. Liam didn’t wait before swiveling again and facing the demon. In a swift move, he cut half of its throat open with his sun dagger. Lava flowed from the cut, and ripped flesh fluttered like a flag as the demon’s head bent unnaturally to the side. The demon couldn’t shriek anymore.
Life—if one could call it that—left those beady eyes as the creature fell limp on the floor.
The shadows disappeared, and the lava turned into black liquid oozing from the cuts. Without the darkness, the demon looked like a human covered in pitch-black soot. The man’s face was the only feature that remained uncharred. His black beady eyes stared at the sky, a question trapped inside them.
Liam made the sign of the sphere and kissed the thin golden pendant hanging from the necklace tucked under his shirt, as he always did when a mission went well. Thanking the Gods didn’t hurt, and deep down, Liam knew they watched over him. Or maybe Archie had hammered those ideas into him for so long, he had started to believe them.
His partner limped toward him with a pleased grin. “Well done, kid.”
Liam ran toward Archie and draped the old man’s arm on his shoulders. “You scared me back there.” He felt Archie’s ribs with the tips of his fingers. They shouldn’t be pointing inward toward Archie’s organs. “Let’s go. We need to get these wounds fixed.”
Archie chuckled as they walked. “No biggie. Been through worse.”
Liam shook his head. “You’ve got a broken rib, and you’re probably bleeding internally.”
“As I said, no biggie.” Archie knitted his bushy eyebrows. “Who am I kidding? Guess it’s time to retire.”
Liam’s jaw clenched with disapproval, but he managed to keep his voice dry and polite. “You don’t get to retire unless Cap says so.”
Archie winced, and Liam slowed down, following his pace. “The Captain said so yesterday, kid.”
Liam halted, his mouth hanging open. “Fuck, no. You’re my partner. I’ll watch over you, all right?”
Archie shook his head. “Tr
ust me, I don’t like this either. But I’m not as fast or strong as I used to be. At some point, I’ll become a liability to you.” He winked and attempted a smile. “Besides, a condo in Florida stops being a bad idea once you cross the big six-o.”
A condo in fucking Florida?
In the Selfless precinct, Liam had found a purpose and a family. He wasn’t keen on losing the most important part of it. No fucking way.
Archie stopped and cupped Liam’s cheeks with his hands. “Son.” He only called Liam that when he meant business. “The time has come. They’ll assign you a good partner, you’ll see. But first, you need to let me go.” He chortled. “Come on. It’s not like you won’t be able to visit me. I’m still your father, you know.”
Liam leaned his cheek against the palm of the man who had raised him, the man he’d looked up to all his life. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, all right?”
Archie smiled and nodded.
Liam had planned to blend in quietly as they walked into the precinct. He would sit Archie somewhere and fetch Kevin to heal him, and with any luck, the Captain would never know.
Cap was maybe around sixty, but no one knew for sure. Her dark silver hair was cut razor short, and she dressed a blue suit filled with pins that spoke of honorable mentions. And she’d got them for a reason. The woman was fucking relentless.
She was also the first person to spot them. Liam grunted a curse.
Epic shitstorm on the way.
The Captain yelled for Kevin, their healer, as Liam sat Archie down on a chair near a desk towered with papers. The Captain pushed him aside and kneeled so she could look Archie straight in his light-gray eyes.
“You old fool,” she grumbled.
Archie winked at her. “Missed you too, sweetheart.”
The Captain shook her head and turned around. “Where’s Kevin?” she bellowed to no one in particular, a certain desperation in her tone.
The Captain and Archie had history, this much was obvious to the entire precinct. But what it exactly was, no one could tell. Liam had tried prodding Archie about it, but he’d never gotten an answer other than “Mind your own business, kid.”