by Liza James
“You’re an asshole,” Luna spits out. She’s feisty, I’ll give her that.
“One second your jealous of my non-girlfriend and the next your angry with me for how I treat her. Sort your feelings out, sweetheart. They’re quite a pain in my ass.” I turn my back on them, picking another ripe apple from the large wooden fruit bowl on my counter and sink my teeth into the flesh.
“If you think I’m staying here, you’re out of your fucking mind.” I hear her foot hit the floor in what I can only imagine is a childish stomp, but truly sounds more like a gently defiant refute.
Frustration fills my gut at her words. She has no idea what she’s getting herself into if she stays away from me for that long. Twenty-four hours and she’ll be sick as a dog and crawling back on her hands and knees.
On her hands and knees. The image sends a kick straight to my cock as I force it back.
Don’t even go there.
“Get out, Nathanial,” I demand as I place the half-eaten apple in the sink and turn back around.
“Brother, I—”
“I said, get the hell out. You can wait for her in the living room,” I grind out the words and see Nathanial quickly turn and step out of the kitchen with a groan.
The instant he’s gone, I feel a wave of fear roll through my chest—easily Luna’s. I know how to separate her emotions from my own.
“Did you expect my brother to stay and protect you?” I say, closing the distance between us in two large strides. She shifts back and I follow suit, caging her in with my wide stance until her back hits the wall behind her.
“No. I’m not afraid of you.” She tilts her chin up, bravely meeting my eyes. But I know the truth, I can literally feel her uncertainty, the fear lacing her blood and infecting my own.
“Try again, sweetheart.” I dip my head down, my face hovering only inches above hers.
“Stop calling me sweetheart.”
“Fine. Mo dheaman beag,” I savor the words as they roll off my tongue.
My little Demon.
She has no idea how fitting the term is.
“What does that mean?” She speaks quietly, her words a breathy whisper. Her arousal courses through the air between us. I feel it in my blood, on my skin. I can smell it on her, every sense acutely attuned to her need. Like she was created for me. I choose to ignore her question— she isn’t ready for the answer.
“Tell me, do you hate me? Or hate the way I turn you on?” I pause, “Do you hate how wet you are for me, without even knowing me?” My voice is low and rougher than I intend but it quickly breaks her from her own intrigue as she furiously shoves me away with her small hands.
“Fuck you, very much. Have a great life.” Heat floods Luna’s cheeks and I feel the embarrassment rush our connection. I laugh, sliding my hands casually into my jean pockets as I watch her hurry out to Nathanial.
“See you soon, sweetheart.”
On the drive home, Nathaniel handed me a new phone that was already programmed with his number as well as Elijah’s. I lost my phone in the midst of the abduction, so this was a godsend. After repeating himself no less than sixty times, I reiterated that I was to call immediately if I noticed anything suspicious. Nathanial finally dropped me off at the small apartment complex where I live. He also gave me one of Elijah’s black sweatshirts that he luckily found buried in the back seat of his car after one of their outings. My bloody tank top was too obvious a sign for anyone passing by that something was incredibly wrong.
I finger brushed my hair and cleaned up the blood as best I could in Elijah’s bathroom before we left. His sweatshirt was so large it fell to my knees, effectively hiding the mess underneath. I refuse to acknowledge the fact that it smells like him.
The sudden aching pain in my chest was becoming all too familiar of a feeling, and the shortened breaths I maintained while I was away from Elijah were increasingly mundane. But the rush of relief and comfort that washed over me at the sight of my own home was unmistakable. I walk forward, waving Nathanial off as he speeds away and turn my attention back to the small black gate that’s hidden under the large staircase leading up to the building. My apartment is nestled in the very bottom, so I have access through the wrought-iron gate and door underneath the stairway.
I lift my brown nylon, “I hope you brought wine” door mat, searching for my extra house key and am thankful to find it exactly where I usually leave it. The little silver trinket sits in the exact same place, leaving a clear outline of dirt and dust that has collected around it. I quickly unlock the two deadbolts on my door and step inside. I attempt to inhale a long, deep breath, trying to absorb the familiar scent of my favorite Lavender Marshmallow candle and my usual Tide laundry soap. I’m always burning candles, so the scent has naturally become a part of the small space, a little reminder of home that I appreciated. But my breaths are a short and ragged disappointment, not fulfilling me to the depth I need.
“Luna?” My reprieve is quickly shattered at the sound of my sister’s voice yelling from inside my home.
“Stella? What the hell, how did you get in here? The key wasn’t touched,” I say as I rush forward, feeling both excitement at seeing my sister and worry that something may have happened while I was gone.
I hastily round the entry way and find Stella nestled into the corner of my light grey, linen couch. She has a heavy throw blanket wrapped around her small frame but quickly jumps from her seat at my arrival. She rushes towards me, her long fiery red curls bouncing with each movement. The second she’s close enough, she wraps her arms tightly around my neck and pulls me to her.
“Where the hell have you been?” she asks, her voice laced with anger and relief.
“Stella, it hasn’t even been a day. I got caught up last night, stayed with a friend.” I’m not ready to explain everything to her yet. I’m having a hard-enough time holding her up right now with my own lack of oxygen and physical pain. I feel dizzy as I hug her back, resting some of my weight on her before subtly tugging us down to the couch.
“You didn’t show up to your shift today, your boss called me to ask where you were and when I tried calling you, it said your line had been disconnected. What the hell, Lun? You should have gotten a hold of me and your boss. It isn’t like you to miss work for nothing important.” She places her hands on my shoulders, gripping lightly as she pulls away and studies my face for any clues.
“I’m sorry. You’re right, I should have told you both I wasn’t going to be around today. I’m not feeling too well, I overslept, and I look like shit. Everything is fine though, promise.” I was actually abducted and almost killed by some psychotic supernatural beings, who are supposedly Fallen Angels. Oh, and by the way I’m also eternally linked to an asshole for the rest of my life. I can’t really breathe without him and also—I fucking hate him.
I caution a smile, knowing she can read me better than anyone else. Well, almost anyone else now. I can see the apprehension in her features, but she seems to buy it as her body visibly relaxes.
“Why are you here? Don’t you have a shift to catch? Also, how the hell did you get into my apartment without a key?” I don’t miss the fact that she intentionally ignored my question earlier.
“Sweet sister, you should know me well enough by now to realize I have my own key. I got it made right after you put down the deposit for this place and started moving in. You didn’t even notice when I took your key to go grab our pizza while we were unpacking your things.” Her mischievous smirk pulls at her lips and rises into her pale blue eyes.
“It freaks me out how much of a planner you are, you know that right?” I lean away from her, casually trying to disguise the heavier breaths I’m attempting to draw in.
“Hell, one of us has to be. You run around like you have no care in the world. You scared me, Luna. Don’t pull that shit again. I came over this morning and decided to stay here until you showed up before my shift.” She stands, leaning down and kissing me quickly on the top of my head. I swear
, sometimes I feel like she is the older sister. She’s always had an older soul, always been more compassionate and understanding. She’s an artist at heart, a truly beautiful person.
“Speaking of, I need to leave. I was already late to a shift two days ago. Thankfully the excuse that I had to pick up a stray kitten I found hiding behind my apartment is actually a valid reason for an animal shelter.” She laughs as she steps away and begins collecting her things. As she picks up her phone, she glances back at me. “Wait, your phone. Why is it disconnected?”
Shit.
“I broke it last night after leaving the coffee shop. I accidentally dropped it and it shattered, but I got a new one today. I’ll text you so you have the new number.” It’s a stupid lie, one that holds no weight or validity. But it’s simple enough to do the trick and honestly, I’m ready for Stella to leave so that I can really try focusing on my breathing and take a shower.
She pauses for a moment and turns to study me, clearly reading the odd tension in the room. “All right, text me your new number. I’m not kidding, Luna, don’t pull this shit again.” She steps away, “And call your boss.”
Stella waves a quick goodbye and hurries out, locking the door behind her with her own key.
Relief washes over me at finally being alone and I stand, immediately moving to the bathroom. I shut the door quickly and turn on the shower, twisting the silver knob until it’s practically scorching. I undress as the steam heats and fills the small space around me. I take several shallow breaths, forcing my mind to relax and the achy tension in my limbs to settle. It doesn’t work, but I relish in the feeling of hot steam lingering on my skin, sinking in and finally giving me some warmth away from Elijah.
I step into the water, letting it burn and redden my flesh. It distracts me from the painful throbbing growing in my chest. I’ve been home all of twenty minutes and I’m already feeling a bit worse. I hate how true all of this is quickly turning out to be. Everything Nathanial told me is coming to fruition and while it seems absolutely ridiculous, I can’t ignore the fact that I’ve changed over the last twenty-four hours. My body has adapted, and my mind has warped into something new, something a bit angrier and more confused but also intrigued and attracted to this unfamiliar life.
I lift my sore hands and rake my fingers through my long hair, watching the red and pink stained water rush over my body and swirl across the white ceramic floor of my shower. The water slicks my skin as I draw my fingers across my shoulders, down my arms, rinsing and washing away the evidence from my own abduction. I reach for the soap and lather it my hands, skating them across my body again when a flood of heat quickly builds in my stomach. My mind naturally drifts to Elijah as I close my eyes, envisioning his broad bare chest and the piercings that decorate his tanned skin.
Fucking hell, he is abnormally attractive. Truly otherworldly.
I can’t stop my own thoughts as my mind conjures up images of his hands on my waist. His long fingers snake under the edge of my top and climb higher until his thumb brushes against the underside of my breast. His mouth falls to my neck and I physically release a moan as the blazing water slides across my lips and my own hand slips between my legs.
Pale green eyes pierce through my rapidly drifting thoughts and suddenly I need his lips against my own. My body is urging to claim his and be claimed by him in the same moment. I try to force my thoughts elsewhere, literally anywhere else. But the only slight relief I find is when my own slim finger circles my clit while the water flows over my naked body. My breasts are heavy, and my nipples are peaked, sensitive to the delicious sting of water as it falls over my skin. My finger continues working over me, playing and pinching until I finally slide inside myself on a breathless moan. I’m exhausted and physically in pain but this short reprieve is something I’m craving.
In my mind, Elijah tugs my bottom lip into his mouth as he devours me with both anger and that same need that I seem to feel for him. We’re both furious. We’re in a position neither of us wants to be in, but we find relief in each other. I see my own fingers scrape across his strong, tattoo covered back as his hips roll into mine. The long, jagged scars of his stripped wings sear my hands as I touch them. I feel his long, thick cock grind into my stomach. I need him inside of me, my pussy is agonizingly wet and slick between my thighs.
I slide a second finger inside myself, stretching and filling in a way that isn’t nearly as satisfying as I’d like to be, but it’s enough to send me over the edge with a shattering orgasm. Truthfully, it’s far stronger than what it should have been and as my knees weaken when I fall to the floor of my shower, a terrifying thought flashes in my mind.
Could he sense that?
Through our connection, would it possible for him to feel or know what I was thinking over the last few minutes? Surely, we’re far enough apart that it wouldn’t be an issue. If so, however, I realize I’ve got absolutely no privacy and the insight throws my mind into a panic.
I rock back on my heels, securing my hands on either side of the shower walls to steady myself. My shallow breaths kick up as my heart rate skyrockets and I struggle to remain calm in the tight space. That painful ache is ten times worse and I furiously rub at my chest in hopes to relieve some of the sting.
Uncomfortably too soon, the water turns cold and it gives me the shock I need to get my ass moving again. I stand up, shivering as I turn the water off and slowly step out of the shower. My limbs seize and strain with each movement. I assumed a steaming shower would help my physical state, hell even an orgasm should have at least loosened me up a bit. But instead, I’m feeling even worse as anxious thoughts overtake my mind.
I can’t go back. I have a shift tomorrow and I need to get back to work.
Somehow, this has to work away from him.
I’ll make it work. I have no other choice.
After calling my boss, Frannie, and profusely apologizing, I’d successfully secured my job for at least the time being. She wasn’t happy I missed my shift but was quite forgiving when I mentioned not feeling well. She knew I never asked for time off and felt like it must have been serious for me to pull a no-show.
The bad news? It’s 6:00am and I’ve spent the last four hours hovering over the toilet while dry heaving after puking everything I had left in my stomach up. Or I’ve been on my side with my arms tightly clutched around my stomach and my chest in pain. Everything hurts.
Everything fucking hurts.
Call me a believer, all right. I’ve never experienced something like this before in my life. That hypothetical addict? I’ve become a full-on user, wasting away without her fix and going through withdrawals. I couldn’t sleep last night. I tossed and turned the second I got into my bed, discomfort pricking under my skin and settling behind my ribs. Things continued to get worse and sleep continued to evade me until I felt so nauseous, I had to race to the bathroom and throw open the toilet.
I’ve been here ever since, sitting up and laying down on the cold tile, in cruel cycles that wrack my body. Every once in a while, my mind uncontrollably drifts to Elijah and I briefly consider calling him or Nathanial, but I don’t. I can’t face them or put myself in a position to lose everything. My job, my sister, my little life I’ve built here. I settled for putting Elijah’s sweatshirt back on and finding the only comfort I could in his faded woodsy scent.
I slowly brace myself on shaky arms and reach for the small counter in my bathroom, pulling myself up. I take deliberate steps to my room in order to find a comfortable—not fashionable, lord knows I can’t do fashion right now—outfit to wear to work.
I pull on my very used, only pair of black, Lululemon leggings and decide to throw on a sweater. It’s large and loose, my preferred shade of terra cotta and hangs off one of my shoulders. It’s slouchy in that hipster chic way, and as I tie up my hair in loose buns on the top of my head, I know it’ll appear as if I’ve tried to look decent today. When in reality, I chose the comfiest clothes I could find and pulled my hair up and
out of my eyes in case I needed to make a quick run to the bathroom. Convenience would be my only friend today.
In the name of said convenience, I opt for an Uber driver instead of walking the seven blocks to work. It isn’t far, I know that, but with how weak and exhausted I am both mentally and physically, I selfishly take advantage of the cab.
After driving the short distance and listening to the driver vent endlessly about how he had to wait an extra five minutes in the Starbucks line—ironic, I know—I climb out of the Uber as quickly as I can manage and slowly make my way inside the small shop I call work.
Barista.
Simple, classic, minimalist. The walls are covered in white subway tile and long, light wooden shelves. Each ledge houses countless plants, some long and green like ivy trail down the walls. Others, such as fiddle leaf figs or colorful ferns, are bigger and bask in the light from the corner of the little shop.
Frannie is currently behind the counter, knocking her grounds into the trash and preparing to pull another shot of espresso. She has a small line of customers, but they are all regulars and patiently wait as she tends to each of them.
I smile and nod a few polite hellos before rounding the counter and dropping my bag on the dedicated shelf underneath. Just as I’m about to take the next order, I feel Frannie’s hand drop to my elbow and gently pull, urging me to look at her.
“Hi, I love you, but you look like shit,” she says as she continues making drinks like it’s second nature.
I meet her concerned gaze as it rakes over me, taking in whatever appearance I thought I really had done a good job of hiding today. Her short blond hair is pulled up halfway, her long bangs swept off to the side. She wears a cozy, floor length, olive green dress which is knotted tightly at the ankles. It shows off her brown leather slides and tiny gold ankle bracelet.
“So nice to see you too.” I give her a sarcastic smile, one that doesn’t reach my eyes.
“You look like you’re going to die…beautifully?” She tries and we both laugh at her attempted kindness. Her giggle is infectious as it falls around us. Mine is weak at best, quiet and hoarse through my throat, but it’s there.
