by LJ Swallow
“What?” My anxiety shifts up a notch. Does she mean time to leave? I unlock the door and hold it open for Dahlia to walk in. She doesn't look at me and my heart rate turns haywire. She is leaving.
Pushing the door shut with my rear, I rest against it. “Are you leaving?”
“No. I mean it’s time to tell you something.”
Relief forces air from my lungs, but she's hurting. I hate seeing Dahlia’s eyes full of barely concealed pain. “Do you want to leave? Is that what’s wrong?”
She turns her head, eyes brimming with tears. Dahlia always holds back tears, never lets them flow, and when the first one spills down her cheek, all I can do is take hold of her and hope she understands I’ll always be here.
“I know, being here, it's not right. They shouldn't make you do this...” I murmur, into the top of her fragrant hair.
I stumble as she pushes me away with the strength I forget she has.
“No! You have this all wrong. I want to stay.” She scrubs at her face, reddening her cheek where the jacket button scratches her. “I think they knew that!”
“Who? Your boss? Or whoever?”
“They agreed I could come back here if I retrieved one soul from one particular demon, but now there's a fucking Nephilim here.”
What the...? This makes no sense. Nephilim. I know the word, but in my limited understanding of demons and angels, I don't know if this is a good or bad thing. Her language and tone suggests bad.
“And now I don't know if I can capture the soul, and if I can't then... Then I don't know! They'll take me back and send me god knows where, and even if I do capture the soul… I don't know.” Dahlia sinks to the floor, and I stare down at her in alarm. “I don't know anymore!”
I freeze. Guys always freeze at moments like this. I don't think I'm off the mark to say emotional breakdowns are not something we cope with well. With Dahlia, this is worse because she's normally so together.
Dahlia’s arms are wrapped around her knees, and she rests a cheek on her leg, tears soaking her jeans.
Kneeling down, I tentatively touch her shoulder. “Dahlia, you need to tell me what's happening. Can I help?”
She rubs her face into her legs, braid shaking behind her. “This was such a mistake! Why did I do this?” I can barely hear the words, spoken into her clothes.
“What?”
Dahlia's back rises up and down, and I wait for her breath to slow before I speak again.
“Tell me about the Nephilim, then? I've never heard you mention one before. What is it?”
Lifting her head, Dahlia shuffles back to lean against my bed and wipes her eyes with the edge of her sleeve.
“I don't know who he is. Or if he definitely is one, but he looks like one. They're the worst kind of demon. They used to be angels; then they were humans, and now their angel souls are trapped in the human/demon form. And they are powerful with it; there is no way a soul hunter can take one on.”
I rub my eyes. “Soul hunter? Is that what you are? I never heard you describe yourself.”
“Does it matter? All that matters is the Nephilim will stop me taking this other demon’s soul, and then I'm in so much trouble.” She snorts softly. “Understatement of the year.”
“If you fail, will they...” I don't know how to say it. “Will they punish you?”
“Failure isn't acceptable. I have to do this or...”
“Or?”
“Or nothing. I have to do it.”
Then silence. A vacant Dahlia lays her head back on her legs and stares into space. Her I don't want to talk about it stance and a tiny voice reminds me why I never bothered with girlfriends.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask eventually, because I sure as hell need one.
“No.”
I'm lost. Does she want me to comfort her? Well, she's sitting on my floor and not running out of the room. I grab two beers and plonk my butt next to her.
Opening both, I pass her one. “Here. I think you need this.”
Dahlia takes it, shaking her head with a small smile.
“What?” I ask.
“It's funny. You all have so much freedom you take for granted. I never thought I'd slip into this so easily.”
“This?”
“Human life.”
Dahlia isn't human. I repeat this mantra every day, and it never entirely sinks in because she becomes more human, the longer she stays with me. And I think the problem is sitting crying on the floor in front of me—Dahlia's too human now.
16
DAHLIA
Why do I have to think about things? Feel things? Why can't I be like other soul hunters who just do. Robotic. Drone-like. Accepting. Because if I could be, I wouldn't be in this mess.
The walls I built around were once concrete with no cracks to let in warmth and humanity, or to let out my pain. Then the dreams started. The same dream, the same guy, every day for months.
Last winter, the day I saw Jack across the campus hit me like lightning striking from nowhere, blinding me. I blinked back to reality, and my shock was reflected in the eyes of the guy standing across the road. A human. I dreamt about a human? So I ran.
After the day I saw Jack, I decided the dreams came from my entrancement by the human world, encapsulated in this beautiful guy. They intensified, and some mornings I would wake and feel as if I'd spent the night with him—not in his bed, but in Jack’s life, in our own world and not in my dreams.
The assignment I was on last year called for me to hunt on campus for a few weeks longer. I saw Jack two more times, and once he began to approach me, I ran again, confused by the dreams and the emotion stirring. Ironically, now I know him, I don't think he'd have managed speaking anyway.
On last year's mission, I was lucky; it was short. I hung around, did my job then left, regarding the students around with curiosity and an increasing jealousy.
And dreaming of Jack.
Now I'm back, and every day I stay here, I'm sucked further into a world I don't belong in and a world I increasingly know I don't want to leave. But I asked to be here... Recently I started forming a crazy idea, one burrowing into my head as I lie next to Jack in the evenings. I could ask them, request they send me here instead of rewarding me with my Will. I could keep hunting demons; surely they'd like me to. The sensible, realistic Dahlia scoffs at this idea, but this is how I cope with the aching pain growing.
I don't want to leave Jack.
Gentle, loving Jack whose life I'm exposing to demons and danger. To a Nephilim. I ache, desperate for the need to be closer to him right now. I could crawl into him, burrow into his soul, and it wouldn’t be enough.
Everything will be over if the Nephilim takes Alexander’s soul, and either could kill me first.
The thoughts run through my head so rapidly, I don't notice Jack tipping his head towards mine. He moves towards me and strokes my cheek.
“In my dreams, I used to catch you,” he says softly.
“Do you still have the dreams?”
“Not since you came back and we... connected.”
I smile at the memory. Almost connected. “Me neither.”
“Do you know what happens next?”
All I want is to be crushed against Jack's chest and kissed until I can't think. The awkward tension between us from months ago seeps back in, and I won't let it. This can't spoil the rest of our time together. He shifts, sits opposite, cross-legged, and studies me, the anxious Jack, unsure around girls. Unsure around our future.
“No, I don’t know.” I place my hands either side of where he's sitting and place my lips on his. “I want to be with you,” I say against his mouth. “I want to stay. And if I can't stay, I want to spend every moment of my time left here with you.”
The tiny space between us constricts to match the tightness in my chest, and I move further towards him, fighting back the fear he could push me away.
Jack pulls me onto his lap, and rests against the leg of his desk, then smoothes his han
ds down my back. “I don't want you to leave. The world never made sense until you arrived.”
“I think I made your world a lot more confusing.” I smile at him and kiss his forehead.
I'm pulled forward into Jack's chest as his grip tightens on my back, and his steady breathing deepens. Jack’s heart thumps with the same rhythm as mine where our bodies touch, a connection beyond anything I ever imagined.
“No, the world makes perfect sense when I'm with you,” he whispers.
The tears I've pushed back fight to the surface again, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Don't think. Be here. Now. His shaggy hair tickles my face, and I grab the back of it, pulling his face closer, and trace my tongue along his lips. Jack groans and his fingers dig into my legs, but I hardly feel it. Jack's breathing intensifies with his kisses, his hands sneaking beneath my jacket and top. I shrug off the jacket and catch his hand as it moves across my stomach. He looks up in alarm, and as Jack opens his mouth presumably to say sorry, I frown at him.
This time we can make it work. Thinking has to stop.
I stand and the alarm in his eyes increases, until I sit on his bed and slide my top over my head. Then his eyes widen, as his look fixes on my breasts. A silent yes passes between us, and Jack pulls his t-shirt off, crosses the small space, and takes hold of me.
“Dahlia, I don't ever want to lose you to your world again.”
The tears threaten again, but the sensation of skin against skin, his smooth hard chest squashed against my breasts sends my mind flying in another direction. Jack's mouth covers mine, and he pushes me gently onto the bed, pressing into me. I hold his hair back with both hands and look into his face.
“Ever since the day we spoke in the snow, I knew,” he whispers.
“Knew?”
“I knew you. Knew us. A piece of me I didn't know was missing came back.”
I don't want to talk. I want to kiss, touch, lose myself in him. I slide my hands to his hard biceps and grip them.
“Just kiss me,” I whisper.
He grins. “As if you need to ask.”
Jack kisses me, tongue delving into my mouth tearing the breath from my lungs. My nipples harden against his warm skin, sparking thrills through my whole body. His kissing progresses down my neck, every touch of his mouth increasing the desire flooding into every inch of me. Jack breathes heavily, and reaching my breasts, he runs his tongue across the flesh. The warmth of his mouth overloads my senses and jolts me into a new place, a place where I belong to Jack. I hold his head, in case he has any doubts whether I want him to continue. Suddenly stopping, Jack moves up and looks down at me. The longing is shared, but I can see he’s beginning to waver. I want to yell at him not to stop this time.
“Are you okay?” His lips hesitate a tantalising distance from mine.
“Don’t think, Jack,” I whisper, and undo his belt.
He sucks in a breath, and closes his eyes. “Okay.”
“I’ve never wanted anything in my life more than I want this now,” I tell him, sliding his hands down to the top of my jeans. And it’s true; the incomprehensible mix of emotion and arousal coursing through my body switches off everything, but the focus on us.
With trembling hands, he unzips my jeans and I wriggle free of them; eyes on mine, he does the same.
We’re together. Finally.
Jack slides his hands along my side and holds me to him by my hips; he presses his body against me and the feeling of his arousal against my stomach pools heat between my legs. I never knew how this would be; how I would feel, and I’m shaking to match him. He rubs his hand around to my rear and then pauses. Inhaling as if readying himself, Jack slides his fingers between my underwear and skin, the touch maddening me. He pushes down the thin material, his warm hands smoothing down my legs as he does.
I tremble in a mix of desire, arousal, and apprehension; apprehension at what we’re doing, and fear he might stop. When he crushes his mouth back on mine, hands urgent and holding me to the bed, I know his body finally has taken charge of his mind.
I whisper his name, and he breaks from his roughening kisses. “You’re beautiful, Dahlia. My whole world and I want you so bad.”
“I want this too.”
His breath mingles with mine as he brushes my mouth with his. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want...”
God, he’s so Jack. “Then don’t stop!”
We lose ourselves, and find each other, as we push our worlds aside. The connection of his body with mine when he held me to him is nothing compared to the feeling of Jack moving inside me. Loving me. Hesitant, caring, Jack who finally agrees to risk himself. His worry was never about the physical, but the open access he’d allow me to his heart if we took this final step. In this moment, I know losing Jack will change me forever; the happiness of joining body and soul to him could never happen with anyone else. Without Jack, I think I'll die inside.
JACK
I don't know what the hell I worried about, and I'm angry about the lost opportunities with Dahlia. I spent my teenage years obsessing about and worrying about sex, without realising being in love would change the meaning. Yeah, I wasn’t perfect, but now we’re there, hopefully we can practice.
I love her, and the acute need I had to be with her when we first knew each other now engulfs me further. Before Dahlia, I was half of who I am; loving her completes me.
We lie on my bed, and I pull the sheets over us, pull my beautiful, sexy Dahlia into my chest. Her hair is loose now, slightly kinked from being braided, and tickles my skin as she rests her head against my heart.
I kiss the top of Dahlia's head. “I love you, girl from the stars.”
She turns her face to me, eyes glistening, and places her fingertips on my mouth. “I love you too, Jack.” She pauses. “I don't ever want to leave you.”
I can't reply, because I have no idea what to say. Talking about the future would burst the bubble of happiness we’re in.
“I'm going to ask them.” She brushes her nose against my chest.
“Ask who what?”
“Darius. If he'll let me stay.”
Nephilim. Soul hunter. Darius. Dahlia never told me names before tonight; our new closeness brought me further into her world. Her words fill me with hope this won’t end. “Do you think he will?”
Dahlia rolls off me and stares at the ceiling. “I can't ask him for anything until I retrieve this soul.”
“So, when you have this soul, you’re leaving?” I whisper.
“Yes. And when I return the soul, Darius agreed I could have freedom in return. Maybe I can ask for this to be my freedom. Staying here.”
The concept confuses my post-sex brain. “And if he says no?”
Dahlia twists her head towards my chest. “I don’t come back.”
The quicker she finds this demon, the sooner she can return and ask. But if they say no, then the sooner I lose her forever.
“Can we not talk about this ending when we’ve just taken such a big step?”
Dahlia doesn’t reply so I shift to look at her, resting my hand against my head.
“Ouch, Jack.” Dahlia pulls her hair from where I've caught it under my elbow.
“Sorry...”
And she smiles—we're back to the human world again where I’m forever saying sorry, and she always forever telling me to stop.
17
DAHLIA
I don’t think Jack understands how difficult I find spending time with his friends. Every step I take further into his world increases my desire to stay here, and ramps up the anxiety of leaving. Jack finds it easier to live in the now and not think about the future. Maybe that’s a human thing, or perhaps the refusal to confront reality is his way of coping. We haven’t spoken about the future since the night in bed. Instead, we’ve thrown ourselves into each other body and soul, and wrapped ourselves in a world of our own. But Jack’s continuous insistence on socialising is annoying, and I agree to a day out. Here I am, in the seaside town o
f Whitby with Jack, Kyle, and Faith.
The journey is awkward, squashed in the back of Kyle’s beaten up blue hatchback with Jack and Faith. Faith plugs into her music in order to avoid conversation, and I gaze out of the window, hyperaware every time Jack touches me. The last thing I want is to be an overly demonstrative couple in the company of sour-faced Faith.
When we left Leeds, the heat of the sun predicted a sticky day, but by the coast, the stickiness is blown away in the wind. We walk along the street, goose bumps growing on my arms; there’s nothing gentle about the summer breeze in this town. Jack wraps his warm arms around me and rubs my skin.
“Are we doing the Dracula tour?” asks Kyle, smirking.
I glance at Jack, hoping he picks up on the fact I have no clue what Kyle is talking about. Jack shrugs. Great.
“Dracula?” I ask.
Faith snorts at me. “You’re kidding, right?”
Kyle lurches towards me, hands held in claws as he leans towards my face. “‘I vant to suck your blood!’”
I stumble against Jack. I’m used to Kyle’s games and stupid accents, but this is freaky. Jack catches my elbow, as Kyle frowns at me and drops his arms.
“You don’t get out much, do you?” asks Faith. “Did you live in some kind of cult with no TV or books when you were growing up?”
My heart races and I grip Jack’s hand. Times like this, I’m painfully aware how on the fringes of their lives I am and have nothing to say.
“The most famous vampire in fiction?” continues Faith, scorn in her voice.
“Vampire?” I squeak, then clear my throat. I look desperately at Jack, willing him to intervene before I say anything else wrong.
“She doesn’t like horror films,” he says and pushes Kyle.
Kyle decides we will take the Dracula walk, and I hang back with Jack as we climb steep stone steps towards the cliffs above the town.
“This is why I don’t do the time with your friends thing,” I mutter to Jack.
Jack pulls me close. “Yeah, I forget. Thought a trip to the coast would be fairly neutral. Forgot about the Dracula thing.”
