Demons really are a fucking nuisance.
Disgusting. Every last one of them. And they definitely don’t belong on Earth.
I’m still reeling a little from the several surprising turns this evening has taken as I stride toward the angel’s collapsed form.
I suspected from the moment she stepped into my office this afternoon that she wasn’t human. Supernatural creatures have a certain power about them that they can’t quite hide from others of their kind. But that she was an angel?
Well. I didn’t fucking see that coming.
She managed to take out more of the invading demons than I would’ve expected, but then she turned her focus to closing the portal, letting the creatures overtake her as she did.
Several of their dark forms hunch over her body, howling and tearing at her.
I should just leave her. Leave this entire mess, go back home, and have a glass of whiskey.
But for some reason, I find myself continuing on the path toward the collapsed angel. The moment I reach her, I grab one of the demons by the throat, yanking it away from her. Blood tips its claws, and it slashes out at my arm.
Motherfucker. I tighten my grip until I can feel its throat give way under my palm. Bones snap. Muscles collapse. Then I drop the dead demon and go after the other ones, letting greed for their deaths fill me until the last one falls.
My suit jacket is torn in two places, and blood seeps from the slash marks in my forearm. Sirens wail in the distance, and I look up, cursing under my breath. Most of the humans in the area fled when the angel began battling the demons, but someone obviously called the cops.
The last thing I need is to be associated with this fucking mess in any way. My business relies on my human counterparts trusting me, and evidence of the supernatural has a way of spooking people. That’s why the government usually covers up these kinds of incidents, finding ways to brush them off with a thoroughly dull, completely false explanation.
I have no doubt they’ll clean this all up and blame a broken water main or something wrong with a subway line.
Still, I certainly don’t want to be here when the police arrive.
Turning on my heel, I begin to walk quickly toward the mouth of the alley. But once again, my body seems to have a mind of its own. My footsteps slow, and then stop. I glance over my shoulder at the small figure lying ashen-faced on the ground.
The girl. Or rather, the angel.
She looks so small and helpless like this. She was beautiful in my office. I could smell the desire on her. It made me want to walk across the room, seal my mouth over those pert lips, slide my hands over those curves, and steal every ounce of innocence in her.
But that was before I knew she was a creature of Heaven. Believe me, I have just as much disdain for the angelic as I do for the corrupted. I want no part in their pointless fucking war, and I don’t trust any of them.
Besides, there are plenty of beautiful women in the world. My brothers and I have had many of them, but there are always more—an endless supply. And those other ones won’t be angels.
My lip curls as my hands clench into fists. She came to me. Masquerading as a human, with a thinly veiled excuse for being in my office, she barged into my life. Why?
I want an answer to that question.
And as much as I despise all Heavenly creatures, she doesn’t look like an annoying angel right now. She looks human. Bloody. Weak.
Dying.
Damn it.
I scoop her up and carry her from the alley as the sirens grow even louder.
As I step out into the street, I ooze a bit of extra charm. My brothers and I are all quite gifted at getting people to listen to us. To fall under our spell. Business deals? Convincing someone to commit murder? Urging them to lie or cheat? It’s all the same. We just pluck on that particular sin of ours.
When I dial the strength of my sin up too much, utter chaos will break loose. But if I ratchet it up just enough… it will charm the people around us into focusing on their own greed instead of wondering why I’m cradling a bleeding woman to my chest.
The angel is very small in my arms. Fragile. She weighs next to nothing, except for her wings. Those droop down to the sidewalk and drag a bit over the cracked cement as I make my way quickly toward my building.
They’re… I wouldn’t say they’re beautiful. They’re just fucking wings. And yet, I find myself running a finger over a single white feather in the elevator on the ride up to my apartment.
Once I reach my floor, I lay the angel down on the couch, ignoring the bloodstains that immediately decorate the white fabric. I’ll get a new couch tomorrow.
What did she say her name was?
Oh, right. Olivia fucking Pope.
She’s still out cold, and she looks worse than she did in the alley, the gaping wounds in her flesh more obvious now. I want her to wake up, if only so I can tell her what a ridiculous fucking fake name she picked.
I shouldn’t have brought her back here. I can practically hear my brothers admonishing me in my head. You took in an angel? Like some kind of stray kitten off the street? What kind of fucking moron are you?
Deciding not to answer that question, even in my own damn head, I rise smoothly and stride into my office. I have several safes hidden around the apartment, and I don’t just keep money in them. There are things much more valuable than that.
After opening the safe near my desk, I pull out a small green vial that fits easily in my palm. It cost me an arm and a leg to get this from the witch I knew. Witches don’t give up their potions easily, and most of them don’t take cash as payment.
My fist closes around the vial, and I grit my teeth. It goes against everything inside me to give up something I worked so hard for. Something that’s mine. But I’m greedy for answers too, and the only way I’m getting those is if the angel lives. If she wakes up.
Decision made, I head back into the living room, ignoring the strange twinge in my chest as I take in the girl’s limp form. I kneel down beside her and gently prop her up, cradling the back of her head in my palm. She’s warm. Warmer than humans. Her angelic blood, probably, rushing through her veins as it tries to heal her.
Nearly all supernaturals have heightened healing abilities. We heal faster than humans, but we’re by no means invulnerable. Her blood’s magic won’t be enough to save her—not without intervention.
Quickly, I pop the small cork from the vial and pour the healing potion into her mouth then tilt her head back, making sure she swallows it.
The effect is almost instantaneous. Her back arches as she sucks in a large gasp of air, and a strange glow emanates from her wounds as they draw closed, the dark flesh knitting itself back together. The ashen color leaves her cheeks, and her eyelids flutter.
Then, slowly, she blinks up at me.
“Wh-where am I?”
She sounds like she’s frightened but trying to hide it. I can admire that. Fear itself isn’t a weakness, but letting it rule you is.
“My apartment.”
Her eyes widen, a little more clarity returning to her brown irises. “I can’t be here! I have to—”
She tries to sit up, but I push her back down with a hand on her shoulder. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. No you don’t, little angel.”
She bats my hand away. “I’m not little.”
“Compared to me you are.” There’s a good foot of height difference between us. At least. “You’re going to stay here. And you’re going to tell me what the fuck is going on.” I stand up. “Do you want anything?”