Unchained Desire

by R. C. Alvarez

  Her shoulders hurt. Gripping Ram tighter, she struggled to breathe. The wings came from her, attached to her body. How?

  The monstrous wings managed to hold her and Ram above the turmoil of the flooded river below. He had to weigh a couple of hundred pounds. The iron band of his arm around her waist didn’t loosen its hold, and she wasn’t letting go any time soon. The ability to make words vanished from her brain.

  She had wings. They dipped down.

  With his free hand, he forced her to look at him in the darkness with a gentle grip on her chin. “Breathe. Don’t panic on me now.” His voice vibrated down her spine, and the warmth of his body clinging onto hers smothered her immediate panic. At the same time, his intense proximity spun her senses into chaotic awareness. A stimulating thrill zipped through her limbs and heated her core.

  The great expanse of feathers lengthened again, pulling them back up. Her wings. They dipped down then hovered back up with uneven strokes. She concentrated on Ram, afraid to look anywhere else.

  “How…What’s going on?”

  “You need to get us down. Before someone notices.” He sounded so calm.

  Smoke rose from the river bank where his bike crashed. Not much farther away along the bridge, a big dump truck had flipped over on its side, spilling a long pile of salt across the road.

  Sirens blared in the distance, approaching the scene. If the crash hadn’t caught their attention, the gunfire definitely had.

  The attackers were gone. “Where?” She couldn’t form a simple sentence.

  “Salt. It scared them off.” Ramiel called out. “We gotta go before they come back.”

  “I wanna go home.” Her arms ached, the muscles in her back and along her ribs cramped. Trying to concentrate on keeping them in the air was getting harder by the second.

  Then it became impossible. Her wings disappeared, and they plummeted again. She screamed. Ramiel cursed. “Focus, now.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut again and pictured her father in the hotel room alone. He needed her. A scream ripped through her as her eyes popped open to see a black nothingness swallowing them whole.

  Chapter Seven

  The fast beat of a heart echoed against Kyria’s cheek. They were lying down, and she was on top of Ramiel, the heat of his body seeping into her. Lifting her head, she stared right into his eyes. They compelled her to shift closer to his warmth.

  “The demons. You’re not one of them, right? Why are they chasing us? He said he wanted to give me to…”

  His hand covered hers. “She’s not having you. I’ll get you to your father, and he’ll take you somewhere safe.”

  Shaking her head, she broke contact, but his arm held her in place. Ramiel grunted when she shoved her weight against his abdomen. There was not one soft place on this man…angel…demon? “What are you?”

  “Once an archangel. Now, less than nothing.”

  Sizzling apprehension shot down her neck and pulled down the back of her shoulders where her wings had manifested. What am I?

  His long body stretched out over the ugly carpet of the motel room. She twisted around. They were back. The digital clock struck midnight.

  “Oh my God.” This time she pushed hard and stood. Rushing to the side of the bed, she dropped to the ground where she had left her father.

  “How?” The rumpled blankets and pillow were abandoned on the floor, her father nowhere in sight. “Dad?”

  Ramiel slowly rolled over and rose with a rattle of chains as he grumbled at her. “You flashed. It’s like teleporting. It’s normal for a Nephilim.” He paused. “Come here.”

  Heart pounding as if ready to burst right out of her chest, she spun around to snap at him. He surprised her by pulling her necklace out of his pocket. Sucking in a breath, she touched the base of her throat. “That’s mine.”

  “I know.” He stepped toward her, strong fingers oddly precise and gentle as he fiddled with the broken chain until the little hoops connected again. Air abandoned her as he lifted it over her head and looped it back around her neck.

  “You got it back for me.” She grabbed the pendant. Cool to the touch, it was shorter now, but still soothed her nerves. Breathless, she grew flustered. “Thank you.”

  The calloused rasp of his fingers brushed across her cheek and heat flared. Her pulse fluttered with excitement.

  Then he stepped away as if she burned him, confusion crawling across his features. “How old are you?”

  One moment, unexpectedly tender, the next, distant and harsh. His inconsistent disposition was going to give her whiplash.

  “I’m twenty-two. You said Nephilim. As in born of angels?” Someone was playing an elaborate joke on her, but it wasn’t funny. Because she had seen the wings. On her attackers…and on herself. Which meant one of her parents was celestial.

  “Is my dad an angel?” But that wasn’t possible—she’d never seen wings on him. Maybe her mother, then. That made more sense, since Kyria had never met her.

  She went to the laptop to see if her father had been on it, but lay on the ground, screen cracked. She tried to turn it on, but it was dead. Not that it would have done her any good without knowing his log-in.

  “He’s a betrayer.” Each word a harsh snarl. “He was exiled before humans crawled out of their caves. I have no idea who your mother was.”

  That gave her pause. He’d used that word before, calling her father a betrayer. It didn’t register at first when they met in the bar, but now something stirred her memory.

  “I’ve never seen my father with wings. Or fangs. You don’t have wings, but you do have fangs.” She reached behind her. Her shoulders were still sore, but no sign of wings. She shook her head. There were no other signs of activity besides the computer lying on the ground.

  “I don’t know what to tell you. He either has his wings, or they were taken. They stay hidden unless called forth, like yours. Mine were taken. That’s why I couldn’t flash. As for his fangs,” he shrugged. “He probably files them down.”

  Ramiel wasn’t even looking at her. He pulled the orange curtain back and stared out the window. “Nephilim develop at thirty-two. You seem too young, but close enough. You got any thirst for blood?” Two fingers dipped into the row of salt mix her father left on the window sill. He brought it to his nose then rubbed it against his thumb.

  “W-what? Of course not.” Her cheeks burned. Oh, God. Maybe that was the weird cravings she was having around him. She parted her lips to press a thumb to her teeth. No fangs.

  Like her father?

  Did he really grind them down, just to hide them from her? Nausea threatened.

  Finding her dad was the most important item on her list, then she would freak out about Nephilim wings, blood, and zapping through space.

  “Wait. Can I flash to my dad if I—?”

  “It has to be a place, not a person. You would have to know where he is.”

  She stood next to him, studying the parking lot outside the window. “Why didn’t he flash to you in the bar the first time?”

  Ramiel stalked his way across the room. “If he was sick, he probably couldn’t.”

  “Like when you said you were out of juice.” She turned and ripped through the hotel room, looking under pillows and blankets. “Do you see a note anywhere?”

  Ramiel’s black eyes darted over every surface. He dug into a broken cabinet.

  She stopped her search and stood straight. “What are you doing?

  “I need a drink.”

  “Alcohol? My dad is somewhere alone, maybe dying. Oh, God.” Her hands flew up to cup her forehead. She had to keep calm. “Every time I think I’ve done something right, it just gets worse.” She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. “We have to stay sober and find my father.”

  “I don’t have to do anything, and being drunk is better than the alternative.” Without explanation, because apparently, he had better things to do, Ramiel jerked open the door and stepped outside. He paused with his back
to her.

  “Where are you going?” She didn’t even know where to begin, who she could trust. But he was all she had right now.

  He didn’t turn around. “His scent is out here. In the parking lot. Fresh.” He turned his head and sniffed. “A couple of demons, too. He must have stepped outside the salt barrier he made and—”

  Mid-sentence, he disappeared.

  “Ramiel?”

  Hadn’t he told her he couldn’t flash or whatever because he didn’t have wings? She rushed to the door, searching the lot for demons he mentioned.

  Something tapped against her shoe and she jumped, looking down. Buddy. Relief swamped her, weakening her knees. Bending down, she carefully cradled the hedgehog in her palm, thankful he had not vanished along with her father. And now Ramiel.

  Do not cry.

  As she turned in and locked the door behind her, all the scenarios flipped through her brain. She didn’t have a plan B, let alone a plan M, N, O or P. Filling her lungs, she held her breath to the count of five then forced all the air out.

  Maybe it was time to go to the ranch. But she didn’t have a way to get there. My wings!

  There was a way for her to get there. Closing her eyes, she imagined the old ranch house that had been her home for the past six years. Nothing. Holding Buddy closer, she tried again.

  When she opened her eyes, she was still in the shabby, ugly motel room. A deep ache grew from her core. Wrapping sweaty fingers around her necklace again, she prayed Ramiel was okay, wherever he was.

  Chapter Eight

  Ramiel landed on his face on the cold hard floor of a familiar chamber in hell. With a groan he pushed himself up onto his knees.

  Nema sat, waiting patiently, her long, polished nails tapping away at the hollow skulls that made up the armrests of her throne. Her other hand tossed aside an empty glass vial, her fingers coated in blood. My harvested blood.

  Nervous imps and lesser demons loitered in the shadows of her chamber, whispering their usual pointless gossip.

  Surrounded by towering slats of ice and frosted pillars carved from hellish glaciers, every annoyed breath that left Nema’s lips created a plume of crystalized air. But it wasn’t warmth her presence radiated. Icy rage crept just beneath the surface of her calm veneer, oozing in his direction.

  She grinned. “It’s been a while since you’ve challenged me, Ramiel. I had to waste some of my best ingredients just to call you here. What took you so long, pet? I have things to do. People to torture.”

  Glancing down at the computer in her lap, she frowned. “I was just looking at my Wikipedia page. It always manages to sour my mood. My odious sister has more pages, more information, more cult following websites for her fucking fanboys. Always more.”

  This sob story again?

  Everybody knew of Lilith, the powerful demoness with a baby fetish. But her sister, Nema, was hardly a scratch on mythology. It was one of the only things that gave Ramiel a bit of pleasure.

  Nema checked her nails. “Lilith has her territory in Africa, forever trying to outshine me in every way. It sucks living in her hourglass shadow. But soon I’ll have my own army in the Americas, if my new partner in Peru honors his side of our bargain. Oh, how the tables will turn.”

  His eyes wandered, sickened by the sight of her, and he lingered on the frozen pillars fogged up by his body heat. Inside each cold cylinder floated the evidence of his torture and the dark magic she experimented with using his blood.

  Disgust tightened his face. “My seven days aren’t up. Put me back. Now.”

  Her teeth elongated. The flawless skin over her form boiled with rage. With a flip of her blond hair, she collected herself as she set the laptop aside and stood.

  The evil queen approached. Running her finger over his broad shoulder, she leaned down to lick one of the scars on his cheek.

  Her familiar looming shadow ignited the memory of the night she ripped the wings out of his back, all the way to the bone. Looking up, he glared at the display of iridescent feathers and bones decorating the air above her morbid throne like a chandelier.

  “Your blood gives me power that my sister could never come close to. Your holy DNA, once properly multiplied, will ensure my dominance. If only the experiments would work.” She raked her nails over the back of his leather jacket, which covered the scars of his removed wings. He fought not to recoil, closing his eyes as sweat dotted his face.

  “The mass-produced Nephilim army crafted from the powers of a demon lord like me and an archangel like you would be an unstoppable force. Don’t you think?”

  “Seven days. That’s the bargain.” A deep, guttural hostility layered his voice.

  She pulled away. “Maybe I want to renegotiate.” Sharp footsteps signaled her retreat. He opened his eyes just as she sat in that damn throne. Her pride and joy. It took several lifetimes to collect all the delicate skulls of infants that adorned it now.

  “Send me back. Now.”

  “Now, now, pet. Yelling won’t get you anywhere. When I pull your chain, you come. No hesitation. No fighting. Sit.” Her hand flicked out, and a telekinetic blast shoved him back onto his ass. With a grunt and a curse, he bowed. Panting, he struggled under her power.

  “So, where have you been, my pretty boy?”

  His eyes narrowed. “You don’t know?”

  Ire spiked again, and she snapped at him, “Don’t answer my question with another. Just tell me where you’ve been hiding.”

  Kyria’s pendant. The warding on it must have blocked his presence. A powerful warding, if it could keep a demon lord like Nema from sensing him. She definitely didn’t need to know that.

  “Hiding? You’re not making any sense.” He faked annoyance for a brief moment. As if she bored him.

  “Tell me!” A gust of sleet and ice shards slammed through the chamber. The skeletal foundation broke through her beautiful mask again.

  She writhed and relaxed, patting at her features with tender strokes until the face of a model returned. “Don’t make me angry, Ramiel. I hate it when we fight.”

  Like a rabid animal, he sneered and struggled to get back to his feet.

  “I didn’t feed yet. Send me back.” Each word was a hateful stone falling out between clenched teeth. “I need a real woman with real human blood, not a dried-out bag of maggots.”

  “Don’t forget you belong to me. And what about my demons? I sent some of my favorite pets to your usual area, but they haven’t checked in since they called about sighting some Nephilim.” She waved a hand, dismissively.

  Ramiel glowered. The demon that attacked Kyria, and the ones who might have kidnapped her father. Nema could very well have the missing angel. Dammit, I don’t smell him.

  “How the hell should I know? We’re wasting time here, Nema. I need human blood to hold my physical form, remember?”

  She sighed, pretending boredom now. “Fine…” With a lazy wave of her hand, she sent Ramiel back to Earth. But he knew she’d be keeping a close eye on him.

  Even if she couldn’t sense him because of the protection around Kyria, Nema’s trackers could always manage to find his physical trail, with or without his harvested blood to help them. He’d just have to make it as difficult as possible.

  Chapter Nine

  “Fucking bitch.” Ramiel pushed himself off the pavement of the abandoned street. Natural light pierced his eyes. One hand did very little to protect his hazy vision.

  The way the sun hung in the air, apparently a whole day had passed on earth when he’d spent no more than thirty minutes in hell. Typical. At least Nema had dumped him with his clothes on this time. That wasn’t always the case. Still…that meant Kyria had been left alone.

  A quick check of street names and familiar buildings reassured him that he was still in Houston. Unfortunately, the boilermakers he’d downed earlier had worn off. Blood hunger chewed on the lining of his stomach. Using holy light on the damn demon had weakened him, so alcohol and blood took priority now.

 
; He’d have to keep away from her until then, or he’d do something he’d regret. The scent of her blood just beneath the surface of her skin stirred the senses he buried long ago. They rose from the dead, reaching for Kyria, and he didn’t like it.

  So much easier to be numb.

  Scanning the buildings, he searched for a liquor store. Breaking and entering were the least of his sins nowadays.

  Slipping into a back alley, he stopped at the first liquor store he found and picked the lock. Then, just enough angel heat left to fry the alarm.

  He curled his fist around the handle. The door came off its hinges when he pulled it open. Damn. Didn’t mean to do that.

  Dropping the destroyed metal onto the floor, he stepped over it and into the storage room. If he had his wings, he could have just popped in. The loss of his feathers was old history, out of his mind, until tonight.

  He tore open a box of whiskey. The first bottle, he gulped down in seconds, but the burn wasn’t enough to forget. He lifted a second bottle. Cheers to the demon bitch. Without her deception, the truth wouldn’t have been exposed. He’d still believe the fucking lie that God cared about him, that he had a family. Tucking a box under his arm, he tossed a few bills on the counter. The bottles rattled as he stepped over the door.

  One boot hit the sidewalk, and a scraping sensation crawled up his spine. He turned and grabbed his stalker by the neck.

  “Whoa, hey. It’s just me.” Eli threw his hands up.

  Ramiel stared at him. “I know.” He tightened his fingers around the man’s throat and leaned in closer, baring fangs. “Stop following me.”

  Uncertainty flashed in Eli’s clear blue eyes before he relaxed his muscles and attempted a grin, flashing his own teeth. Dull. He filed them down. Sick.

  The smile faded, and his throat contracted to swallow. He took another breath. “Good to see you, too. But I’m here looking for another friend of mine. She said she found you, and I told her I’d come get her. I’m running super late. Took me longer than I expected to deliver some rebel demons to my father.” He glanced around. “Where is she?”