by A. K. Koonce
But a better question: why the fuck are fallen angels wasting their time on me?
The white-winged man has a glowing sword that’s slung over his back by thin, but apparently strong, golden threads barely visible in the sunlight. The man who made a late appearance to my party this morning, his wings are gone. Charred wounds burn against his back where they once were. He’s almost done with his beautiful angelic life.
Poor fuck.
“I doubt that she’ll even want to waste their time on her,” the wingless man says as he shakes his hands below his waist in front of him. Once, twice . . . Well, guess it’s just twice. Can’t spare a good show for a woman who hasn’t seen a man’s body in over three years.
“Stop talking so much. We just have to get her back without making her look worse than she already fucking does,” the man with the messy brown hair growls, turning my way as he zips his dark jeans. Smoky tattoo lines angle down each of his hips as if they’re suggesting something just below his lean waist. I follow the ink to find Latin words etched higher on each side of his ribs.
It’s an old language, but not any older than the dark fae. I read each passage with ease.
Without Remorse. Without Forgiveness.
Interesting.
I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a fallen angel with tattoos.
I don’t know why I care, either. He fucking destroyed my only friend. Even if she was electronic. And he did it without remorse. Clearly.
“You two done circle jerking?” I ask with an arch of my eyebrow, biting back the breathless pain in my tone as I sneer up at them.
“Why? Did you want to join the circle?” The blond says in a quiet, rasping tone with too much smoldering sex appeal for someone sent from up above.
Hmm. I like him.
You would, Catherine says.
“Get up,” the other stranger, the bastard, demands. His big palm brushes along my arm before a soft clicking sound tells me he’s unchained me from the lamp pole.
He really thinks I’m going to make his life easy after what he did.
“I rather like it here. I think I’ll stay.” I take the time to cross one leg over the other, making me slouch awkwardly into the sidewalk, but really letting them know who’s in charge here.
“The whole world can see your panties. Stop being childish.” The golden-haired one slides his hand around my upper arm, but I make my body go slack like a rag doll.
I’ll show him childish.
“Actually, I’m not putting a lot of power into my magic right now. With this glamour, only other supernaturals can see my panties. So, enjoy the show, boys.”
Golden Boy grapples to get me to a standing position as my knees purposely give out and send me right back to the ground in a heap. My skin stings against the harsh concrete, but I refuse to grimace against the pain.
I think it’s safe to say I’m getting the upper hand here.
He and I flop around on the dirty sidewalk, his body skimming mine so much, I feel like he should take me on a date first before grinding his dick on me like this. Totally ungentlemanly. He’s still fumbling to get a hold on my arms when two big hands grip my hips in a way that no one has in a long time. I shift beneath that firm press of his hold.
And then the air leaves my lungs as the other man flings me over his shoulder and white wing.
“You are the worst fallen I’ve ever fucking met,” he grumbles as he starts walking . . . somewhere. My long silver hair clings to my lips and lashes, and I can’t see a damn thing other than how his jeans hug his ass with every striding step he takes.
“You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet,” I say breathlessly.
“Stop talking,” he growls.
But it seems like we’re going to be spending a bit of time together.
“What are your names?”
“I said stop fucking talking.” My head hits his soft wing hard as he jostles me and adjusts my weight so his warm palm is gripping my thigh.
“You’re kind of hot when you get mad, Remorseless.” My long finger follows the swooping letters along his muscular sides and every part of him tenses at the endearing nickname.
He stops and tosses me down. Water sprays up around me. My palms slide in the mud, and my body tenses as I realize he tossed me down in a puddle.
Steady fingers slip beneath my chin with light roughness, and he tilts my outraged attention up to meet those deep blue eyes.
“That mouth of yours had better learn to fucking close. Fast. Understand?”
Hate burns through my chest, but my mouth is the only weapon I have right now.
So of course, I keep on using it.
I lift my chin to him, my voice a breathy wanting whisper that I didn’t even know I was still capable of. “You keep talking about my mouth like that, and Golden Boy is gonna get jealous.”
Mr. Tall, Dark, and Annoying glances over at Golden Boy from beneath his permanently lowered eyebrows. A moment of glaring frustration passes over his face before it’s broken.
“She’s right. I am starting to feel like I’m getting the shaft in our three-way relationship here, Zav.” Golden Boy’s deep amber eyes shine with haunting amusement.
“I fucking hate Fridays,” Zav whispers on a tired exhale before he harshly releases my chin, turns, and strides down the street like he isn’t associated with us at all. “Grab our luggage. I’m not dealing with a fallen this early in the morning,” the asshole hollers back over his white wings.
The sweet one looks down on me like I’m a piece of toilet paper littering the road.
“I’ll carry you and answer your questions if you don’t let that creepy shadow thing rip out of your face again,” he bargains.
I consider him for a minute. His smooth chest is California sun-bronzed, lined with solid strength and too much perfection for a girl to ever whine about being carried by him.
But I’ll give it a good effort.
“Fine, but I want to be cradled, not manhandled.” I flick my lashes, staring up and down his body like my demands are to be met without rebuttal.
He never agrees, but his slow smile and the shine in his amber eyes say more than I think he ever will. He bends at the waist and scoops me up in all my muddy glory. “Most fallen angels I meet don’t have much bite left in them, but I guess you didn’t earn your hellacious wings for nothing.”
His warm breath fans across my cheek as he carries me down the quiet street. He’s focused on his friend’s back, but I can’t look away from him or ignore the strange words he just said to me.
“You think I’m a fallen . . .”
He glances down at me, studying me before staring deeply into my eyes.
“Your eyes are incredible. Like actual silver at the edges,” he whispers, heat coating his words. They wash through me like it used to when someone admitted how pretty I was.
No one’s complimented me in years, and instead of preening the way I once did, I look away from him. The pavement holds my gaze, and I try to think through the mess I’ve made.
Again. Catherine chimes in.
God. I thought she’d dozed off.
At least now you’re getting out for a bit, my parasite scoffs.
Yeah . . . I’ve been arrested. This doesn’t exactly count as a fucking field trip, Catherine.
My jaw clenches, and the warmth of the hard body pressed against me shifts beneath my thighs and arms.
“What’s your name?” he asks. This time, when he looks down at me, his dark watchful gaze slips to my lips for the briefest moment. I feel the attention burn along my skin.
“Aries.” My spine’s stiff, and my arms are straight down at my sides in the most uncomfortable position. It’d be easy to melt into him, lean against his shoulder a little.
But that’s not going to happen.
He might be carrying me, but I’m not weak.
Okay, I’m really tired from our struggle and need to get a nap in today, but I’m not that weak.
“I’m Damien,” he says in that delicious rasping tone, as if I asked.
I probably should have. But I’m apparently shit at talking to people now. That’s what happens when your best friend lets you lead the conversation all the time. Alexa is follower. A little quiet, too. I guess I’ve lost touch with how to communicate with regular society.
You think? A snarky voice at the back of my mind chirps.
God, I hate her.
“Your wings are seriously heavy. Maybe I’ve just forgotten how heavy they should be since mine have been gone for six months.”
Six months? He shed his wings six months ago and hasn’t made the final transition into a demon?
How is this possible?
Generally, fallen make it a week before becoming as dark-hearted as I am.
Not that you can compare dark fae to demons. My father would kill anyone who suggested such a thing. Fae are more powerful. Trickier, of course. Crueler by far. But . . . we are alike. In a way.
The light fae will always be the innocent opposites of the dark fae. Demons are so damn similar to dark fae and yet, they’re deemed monsters in my father’s eyes. They’re not blessed by the gods like fea are and so, they’re not good enough for his kingdom.
But the real issue here is why the fuck are these two searching for fallen angels? And . . . what fresh hell are they taking me to now?
It all makes sense when Zav turns down a quiet alley between two tall buildings. The shadows lick at his footsteps, and my dark fae magic stirs to life just from being in so much darkness.
A tabby cat with vivid green eyes peers at us as it paws a sack of trash near the backdoor of Italy’s Finest. Puddles litter the cobblestones, but Damien’s smooth pace never allows his shining black boots to collide with the dirty water.
My entire body hums to life just being here again.
Magic is a prickling thing that I think humans are sometimes aware of. It’s a cold chill chasing down your spine and lifting the hair along your arm. A sense of silence that rings in your ears. It’s the most casual thing that isn’t casual at all if you really pause to think about it.
And I feel those telling sensations crashing into me like a freight train right now.
Ahead, a brick wall coated in heavy spray paint is our destination. This is it. This is the veil between the fae realm and the human realm. I came through that portal three years ago, and I’ve come back a hundred times, usually in the middle of the night, and yes, usually disgustingly drunk.
But it’s never opened for me. Not since my father shoved me out of it without looking back. Some days, I think he did it to protect me from my brother’s violence. And somedays, I think he did it to protect my brother from me.
I feel it now, though. I feel the fae realm calling to me, sizzling through my veins and pressing into my chest, like it needs me as much as I need it. The way I glance toward Damien out of the corner of my eye feels suspicious.
Can he really bring me back? He can take me home?
I want that to be true more than anything. The pounding of my heart feels like I’ve already been let down. It feels like he’s already failed, and I’m fucked all over again.
Zav waits in the darkness and gestures carelessly for Damien to go first. His big white wings ruffle behind him as his cutting gaze slices over our surroundings like he might lash out at that cat if he feels too terribly threatened.
Damien strides forward. Magic claws at my body. His fingers dig into my arm and thigh as he holds me closer to his chest. He takes a single step. And bright white light floods over us, wrapping around us so tightly, it feels like we’ll never be unbound from one another for as long as we both shall live.
When my eyes open, quiet nature is all that surrounds us. Trees as wide as my king-size bed spiral up into the deep blue sky. Their limbs cascade down from above to tickle against my cheek. Their enormous leaves brush against our bodies as Damien walks deeper into my homeland.
Wet tears sting my eyes, and the breath in my chest physically hurts, but I can’t seem to release it. I never thought I’d see this place ever again. Not even when I died. I thought I’d die in that loud Bin of a realm. I thought I’d ruined my chances at a final sleep beneath the meadow as my mother liked to call it.
I’m here.
I’m home.
3
Home
My head keeps swiveling to take in the long vines and leaves, the moss and the dirt, every minute detail.
“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Damien whispers.
Then I realize he thinks I’m in awe of the fae. Because he thinks I’m a fallen angel instead of someone who should have been here all along.
I made sacrifices, and maybe it was a stupid, stupid choice to snort demonic remains, but it’s a choice I’d make all over again if given the chance.
We all have our reasons. Mine just had life altering consequences.
“Wait till you see the fae.” There’s a small smile lining his full lips, and he’s still talking in that calming gravelly voice he has.
I’m addicted to the sound of his words, but more so, I want to know how he feels about fae. Because I know how fae feel about him and his kind. They’re beneath us. Literally, they should be beneath us. Not here in our realm.
I don’t agree with that entirely. They have a demon realm, but if the fae can come and go in the demon realm, the human realm, and our own realm, why can the others not do the same? Centuries ago they could only leave their realm if they were called upon. If they were summoned then they could finally leave their hellhole.
It’s not like that anymore. But I can’t say it’s any better for them.
“What about the fae?” I finally ask him.
Faint lines crease around his amber eyes. His gaze is like warm honey, and I’m all too aware of how handsome my captor is.
Have you ever considered seeing a therapist? Catherine chimes.
My eyes roll, and Damien gives me a confused look. I mask my weirdness with a tense smile. It doesn’t seem to change the perplexed thoughts he’s clearly having about me.
“The fae are . . . enchanting.”
“Conniving. You mean conniving,” I correct.
His laughter rumbles out of him in a delicious sound that I want to taste.
Ther-a-pist, Catherine the Cunt enunciates.
“I don’t know how you know that, but yes. They’re conniving. They like promises, and they force those promises.”
“You were stupid enough to make an agreement with a fae, huh?” I bend the fingers of my hand that’s smooshed between my body and his. It arches at an awkward angle to skim up and down the hard, cracked lines of his abdomen.
His dark eyes glance down to where I’m liberally touching him, but he doesn’t comment on it. Every step he takes through the twisting forest is an easy, fluid move. I’m not jostled as we travel, and when he jumps and leaps, he holds me closer in the sweetest way.
I never agreed with my father and his adamant hate. Not all demons are monsters.
Damien isn’t bad.
He hasn’t shifted fully, though . . .
“Well, a promise is a promise,” he says. “And it’s a good deal. I get something out of the agreement.”
My eyebrow lifts at that.
Fae don’t give anything for nothing. And whatever they’re getting in return, it’s nothing good, I’m sure.
“Stop talking,” Remorseless growls, storming by us. He holds back a branch for his friend, but gives me a glare as he searches my face.
If I could flip him off right now, I would.
Instead, I keep stroking my fingers along his friend’s chest, and that seems to be just as offensive to him. To be a real pain in his ass, I lean my head against the bronze god-like man’s chest, and I hear his throat clear, his big arms tensing around me.
Guilt drops through me as I realize how he must feel. I stop immediately. My hand drops, and I pull away as Zav storms off.
Damien’s kind dark ga
ze meets mine.
“Sorry,” I whisper in the smallest voice.
I’m his prisoner, bound in his arms in nothing more than a thin shirt and panties, and I’m the one apologizing to him. It’s weird, I know. But I remember the way men used to paw at me. I remember the way they used me to get closer to my father or even my brother. And I know how fae treat demons like they’re an object at every chance they get.
I hate it.
“It’s fine,” he says with a tiny smile pulling at his lips.
“It’s not fine. Never let anyone make you feel uncomfortable or used.” The words snap out of me before I can stop them.
His brows dip as he stares down at me.
“Trust me, you didn’t make me feel uncomfortable,” he says, his words fanning along my jaw.
I blink a few times before meeting his shining eyes.
“What do you mean?”
His lips part, that smile clinging to his sexy mouth as he looks away from me with the slightest hint of a blush kissing his cheeks.
“I mean if I thought you were coming on to me for a reason other than to piss Zaviar off, I’d let you go right now. Maybe you’d run or maybe your hands would drift down my body some more, but I’d absolutely let you go just to find out.”
He’s smiling so hard that I can’t help but smirk right back at him.
“So you’re telling me you’re an idiot.”
“An idiot?” His voice raises, but his smile never falters.
“You’d unchain your prisoner for a simple hand job. That’s . . . not exactly smart.”
His head dips, and his lips graze my ear for a single second. “I said I’d let you go. I never said I’d unchain you. You don’t need your hands for what I had in mind.” His dark, sinful rasping words shiver right down to my core, and I shift slightly in his arms.
It’s always the good ones you have to watch out for. The quieter they are, the filthier their mouths are when no one’s around.
And fuck me, I want to hear everything this man might want to whisper to me.
I lick my lips slowly as we stare at one another for several pounding beats of my heart.
“Let’s fucking go already,” Zav yells from several yards ahead of us.