by Anne Conley
“I need to explain what’s happened…” he began.
“I know what’s happened, Damien. He came to see me.”
“The Boss?”
Her mouth quirked into a small smile. “I suppose, if that’s what you call Him. He explained some things, answered some questions.”
“Then you understand that I love you. That I can’t go back, I won’t go back.”
Her smile faded a little and with it, some of his hope dimmed. “I won’t say I understand, exactly. I know that’s what He told me, and based on your actions, I can assume it’s true. But this is all…” she waved her hands around vaguely, like she was scooping words through the air, trying to find the right ones. “So… intense for me. I never believed in all this stuff and suddenly, I’m embroiled in it. Not only was the existence of God and the Devil made clear to me, but I’m the chosen one for the Devil. It’s a lot to take in.”
“But I’m not the Devil anymore.”
“I know. And it’s because of me. At first, I didn’t think I was bad enough to be yours, now I don’t think I’m that good.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she stopped him with a finger. “I don’t think I’m the person who’s good enough to redeem Satan. I’m no Mother Theresa, Damien.”
He choked out a laugh at her joke. “I don’t want Mother Theresa.”
Her smile brightened considerably at whatever sound he’d just made, and it made the hope swell again in his chest. “It’s just going to take me some time, I guess, to get used to all this. I haven’t had the best time these past weeks.”
“I know.”
“Are you going to be with me forever, Damien? Even if I can’t do this with you?”
The answer was immediate, but he let it linger on his lips. “Yes. I can’t not be with you. Even if you choose not to be with me, I’m committed to you. To your safety, your happiness, your everything. You’re the good I’ve been looking for in my existence. I can’t give you up.” He leaned toward her, mentally cursing the distance between them. “If you choose not to be with me, I’ll still be there for you. Anything you ever need, you’ll have it.”
He saw the resignation in her eyes and it stung. He’d never known defeat. Sure, he’d been physically thwarted by his brothers and the occasional smarty pants, but he’d never felt this bone-deep disappointment that he wouldn’t be able to be with Cyn. As her eyes filled with tears, he realized she didn’t want to be there. Didn’t want him the way he wanted her.
He couldn’t stand it anymore, being with her but not touching her. There was one last weapon in his arsenal to try, and he would give her the space she seemed to need. He stood and walked over to where she sat, her eyes wide. “Come here, Cyn.” He held out his hand, and she reluctantly put her small one in it. Enclosing her soft skin with his, he tugged her gently. She stood but wouldn’t look at him.
“One kiss, and I’ll take you home.” Her lashes rested on her cheek as her eyes remained closed. He took that as a good sign. If she was afraid to look at him, she was in as deep as he was. He knew if he could get her to look at him, she would be as lost as him. Slowly, he put two fingers under her chin and tipped her face toward his.
Her lashes fluttered, and suddenly, bright emeralds sparkled at him before glazing over with lust and something else. Something deeper. He encircled her waist with his arm, pulling her closer, and lowered his mouth to hers as her lashes fluttered closed again.
When her mouth mashed to his, her warmth and softness took over his senses. Cynthia’s lush body fused into his hard one, her tiny fingers twined in his hair, tugging painfully as she tried to draw him closer.
He opened his mouth when she whimpered, trying to absorb the sound, managing a choked response. He desperately wanted to haul her into the bedroom but knew he needed to take things slower. That wasn’t on tonight’s agenda. When her fingers clutched at his biceps and she started grinding into his erection, Damien nearly lost it as lust pounded through his veins. She was his everything, and he tried to convey that with his kiss. She pulsed through his blood, filled his lungs, nourished him like water, and Cynthia needed to understand that. If nothing else made sense, that should.
His tongue slid against hers in an erotic dance, the melding of two souls entwined. He had to make her understand she was his, and he wasn’t ever going to let her go.
Cynthia’s resolve to take things slow unraveled with the taste of Damien on her tongue. The way he gripped her, held her close like she was his reason for being, was like wrapping herself in a down comforter. He was warm, he felt secure, and he gave her reason to keep walking around.
He was different now, but still the same. Cynthia felt the remorse, tasted it on his tongue. He knew he had done things wrong—with her, with his existence, with everything. But the danger was still there. And Cynthia couldn’t resist it. She missed him too much. Loved him too deeply. Wanted too much to be with him.
Just when her restraint had passed the breaking point and she was about to whisper for him to take her to bed, two rough hands yanked her out of his grip and threw her onto the sofa behind her.
The abrupt change startled her, and Cynthia’s first thought was that Damien had pushed her onto the sofa, until she realized there were two men in the room—Damien, and the quiet, angry angel from her vision in the classroom.
Michael.
And he didn’t look any less angry now.
Silver eyes shone in the dim light of the room while Damien’s body tensed, coiling in readiness. He glanced over to Cynthia, who nodded to him that she wasn’t hurt, and he refocused his attention on the interloper.
“How did you get in here?” Damien roared, fists clenched at his sides.
A menacing noise rose from Michael’s throat. “You left your door unlocked.”
No words were spoken as the two men circled each other slowly, each sizing up the other. Finally, Michael broke the silence. “I vowed never to let you do this again. You’ve been released for some reason. You don’t need her.”
Shock registered in Damien’s features, but his body stayed coiled, ready to fight. “I’m not deceiving her. This isn’t a trick.”
A harsh bark of laughter rose from the silver-eyed angel. “Right.”
He wore a black t-shirt, just like Damien, and faded jeans, also like Damien. They were dressed the same. In fact, aside from their eye color and skin tone, they could easily have passed for brothers. Cynthia guessed that’s what they were, in a sense. Except one had been accepted and the other had been cast down.
Watching the two of them move together, she couldn’t understand why Michael was so mad. In her mind, Damien should be pissed off, but he circled with a wary resignation, as if this was a fight he knew was inevitable and wasn’t looking forward to it.
She couldn’t take it anymore. Watching them circle each other like cheetahs going in for the kill was tearing her up inside. “What’s going on?”
Not taking his eyes off his brother, Michael answered through clenched teeth. “You’re just the latest in a line of women he’s tried to trick into spending an eternity with him. I’m saving your soul, here, Sugar. Can we have some quiet?”
“That’s not what this is, Michael.” Damien’s voice was low and controlled, with a desperate tinge to it. “She really is mine.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Then you know what I’m talking about.” Damien stopped circling and stood there, hands outstretched, palms up. Damien trembled in his entreaty. This wasn’t something he was accustomed to, but he was doing it with Michael for some reason. His palms reflected the overhead light, almost glowing. They were big hands, and seeing this posture of supplication did something to Cynthia. Her vision blurred slightly, and that’s when Michael pounced.
He launched himself at Damien, and a scream rose from her throat as the two men grappled on the floor, rolling around, each struggling to gain the upper hand. Grunts filled the air, each one a display of dominance she watched helplessly.
&
nbsp; “Tell him, Damien! Tell him you’ve changed! Please!” She needed this man, angel, whatever, to get off him. To stop trying to kill him.
When Michael landed on top and rested his forearm on Damien’s neck, her hands flew to her mouth. Her heart pounding, she watched as Michael leaned down, his mouth next to Damien’s ear.
“This is the last one, Deceiver.” Damien seemed to have given up, resignation filling his eyes as they drifted over to Cynthia. When their eyes locked, she saw a wealth of emotion there, and she knew this was wrong. That he loved her. That he was good.
Michael reached into his back pocket and pulled something out while holding Damien down. With a click, the blade flashed open, and Cynthia screamed, “No!” just as Michael plunged the blade between Damien’s ribs and into his heart.
Damien’s door burst open and his living room was suddenly full of people just as the gleaming blade was withdrawn, covered in blood. Michael stood, spat on Damien, and turned his back on him.
Oblivious to the people, Cynthia launched herself across the room, pressing against the wound. Screaming unintelligible words, tears streaming down her face, panic overtook her. All she could think to do was cover the hole in his side, put pressure on it.
“Michael! What the fuck did you do?” Cynthia looked up to see a tall blonde woman getting in Michael’s face. His downcast eyes told her this woman was a force to be reckoned with. “What. Did. You. Do?”
“I stopped him.”
The petite blonde woman let loose with a volley of angry punches, yelling and railing about his own immortal soul. When she jumped up and landed a roundhouse kick on the side of his head, he reeled back, shaking his head.
Cynthia tuned out the noise, focusing on Damien. His black eyes slit open and his lips curved into a weak smile.
A nudge from her side distracted her as the auburn-haired man leaned down. “I’m shit at this these days, but let me try something, okay?”
“What the fuck are you doing, Rafe?” Michael rumbled from the corner, rubbing his jaw.
“Trying to fix your mess, Michael. Now shut up a minute.” Cynthia leaned back on her heels and cradled Damien’s head in her hands. “Don’t leave me, Damien. Please. You said you wouldn’t leave me. I love you. I want to be with you. Do you hear me? I’m yours, nobody else’s. I’m yours.”
His smile brightened, and Cynthia was vaguely aware everyone around them had gone quiet. The silver-eyed Michael stared at her, his mouth wide open. “Seriously?” he choked out in a tortured gasp as the implications of what he’d done sank in.
Rafael, the healer, had slipped his hand over the wound and a faint green glow was covering the hole in his side. A tall, dark-haired man, one of her kidnappers, touched Michael’s shoulder. “The Boss said he’d be getting his. This is her.” His fingers tangled in his hair, smoothing it out before resting on his hips. “Apparently, we all messed up.” A loud exhale blew from his lips. “Especially if she’s chosen to be with him.”
“What are you doing?” Cynthia whispered to the one with the green glow coming from his fingertips.
He smiled at her grimly. “I’m trying to make up for killing you.”
She looked around the room and saw all the angels and a few women standing around, staring at her, mixed emotions on their faces. When her eyes landed on the largest, friendliest looking woman in the room, the woman managed a weak smile.
“They say there’s someone for everyone. Can’t say I disagree anymore.” The other women looked at Cynthia with various mixes of distaste and revulsion on their faces, and she realized they’d all had some sort of personal experience with Damien. She wondered what he’d done to them. The woman who’d spoken was wrapped in the man who’d spoken to Michael, saying they’d all messed up
Cynthia wondered if she’d ever get this entire story. Then she wondered if it would even change things.
She didn’t care, though. Her limbs grew heavy with the sorrow of what she was losing. She had something good with Damien, then tossed it away. Now that she’d tried to find herself with him again, he was ripped from her by these… people… whatever, who seemed to think they knew better.
Who were they to judge? Tears slipped down her cheeks as she looked from one to the other before finally deciding they didn’t matter. Her future was slipping away from her right here on the cold floor.
She gripped Damien’s hand in hers, willing some life force to pass from her to him, her eyes glued to his slack face which grew grayer by the minute.
“Damien! Stay with me. Stay, please.” He opened his eyes, the usual sparkle replaced with a dull sheen. “Please…” He smiled at her grimly as his hand cupped her face. She leaned into it, desperate for this to end, for him to jump up and beat the shit out of somebody.
They all watched, wordlessly, but she paid no attention. When he opened his mouth to speak, it was a weak whisper she had to lean close to hear. “I’ll be with you always, Cyn. I love you.”
His grip weakened, the light went out of his eyes, and he was gone.
Gone.
Cynthia collapsed on his chest, hearing someone murmur behind her.
“Michael, that should be our final clue… He’s dead, which makes him human.” Uriel, the blond one, wiped a tear from his eye, and the dark-haired beauty next to him clasped her hand in his. “We messed up, big time.”
That was what she needed to remember others were here. Others were the cause of this.
She stood and turned. “You.” She pointed at Michael, then swung her arm around. “All of you!” Cynthia launched herself at Michael, who caught her effortlessly but didn’t fight back as she pummeled him with slaps. “You did this! You took him away!” She kicked out, lashing out with arms and legs in an exhausting display of temper, wishing she could unleash the fury the blonde woman next to him had. “All he ever wanted was to be like you! You are so much worse than him, but you’ll never, ever see it!” She stopped, heaving ragged breaths, the only thing to be heard in the deathly silent room. “He only did what he was made to do. You are the ones who took this too far.”
The quiet blonde was the only one who spoke. “You don’t know what—”
“I don’t care what he did! I get it! He’s the fucking Devil! What he was supposed to be! Just like you are who YOU were supposed to be! He was just doing his job. And you killed him.”
The four angels, men now, shuffled their feet and looked at the floor like chagrined toddlers, every single one of them. The women met her gaze, but she saw no more hatred, only pity. And it pissed her off.
“Get out,” she murmured. When no one moved, she started yelling, “Go! Get out! You don’t deserve to be here!”
Cynthia collapsed on top of Damien, willing him to be alive, to wake up. When he didn’t, his gray face growing a waxy sheen, she dropped her face to his chest, inhaling, memorizing his scent.
“I love you,” she whispered. She kissed his lips, ingraining the feel of his lips in her memory. Eventually, she got up and left, unable to feel anything more.
Cynthia didn’t go to work the next Monday, or the day after, or the day after that. She couldn’t see the point in work anymore. Her career was nothing to her, where it used to be everything. She had faced her death head-on, been given a second chance and discovered what it was to live. But without Damien in her life, she was nothing again. Her job didn’t even do it for her.
Her boss, Mr. Burkhalter, eventually gave her an Extended Leave of Absence, which Cynthia couldn’t even care about. She never wanted to go back. Evelyn had been nearby, encouraging her to do things with her, to go to church with her, to do anything.
But Cynthia didn’t even want to get out of bed. Bed was where her memories of Damien came to her full-force—his smile, his hands, his laugh. She would wrap herself in her blankets and pretend they were Damien’s warmth, his security. Sometimes, she could even bury her nose in her pillow and pretend she smelled his slightly burnt scent. She knew now why he smelled like that. Brimstone. But
she liked it. She missed it.
Every morning she woke up, remembered, and felt the tears slope down her cheeks. Sometimes, it took longer to remember, until she’d made it to the coffee pot. Then she’d see she was out of coffee grounds, remember she hadn’t bought any in a month, and remember why. Then the tears would come. And she’d go back to bed.
She hurt so badly.
“Today’s the day, Cyn.” Evelyn’s false cheer sent her burrowing under her covers again, wishing she’d never given her friend a key to her apartment. “You’re taking a shower, first, and then we’re going out. I don’t care where we go, just out.” Scents of take-out turned her stomach, and Cynthia groaned.
“I don’t want to go out, Ev.”
“Wanna get drunk?” her friend asked hopefully. Not one typically to go out just to get wasted, the offer actually sounded tempting. Maybe all the alcohol would make her forget. At least for a little while. Because the memories hurt.
But she was still reluctant to leave them. She looked at Evelyn, who’d sat on the edge of her bed, a warm look on her face. She was trying, and Cynthia was pushing her away. She sighed. Cynthia could always come back to her bed afterward. The memories would still be here.
Slowly, she swung her legs out of her covers, admitting defeat, hopeful for something different.
The club was packed, music pounding on her frayed nerves. She and Evelyn squeezed through sweaty bodies to the bar, where Evelyn ordered drinks for the both of them. Cynthia drank blindly, motioning the bartender to keep them coming. She yearned for numbness, for the alcohol to dull the pain gripping at her every nerve ending.
Men came and went, but she was oblivious to them, focused solely on the drink in front of her. Evelyn gave up and went onto the dance floor, leaving her alone. She ignored requests to dance, hands on her wrists to get her attention, muttered curses as the men left. All she cared about was that her drink was refilled and her reality blurred.
By the time Evelyn came back, Cynthia was in a stupor. Clutching her friend’s hand, she allowed herself to be led out, stumbling every few steps, grateful for the fresh air of outside. She’d achieved numbness but hadn’t forgotten Damien. She smelled him. Inhaling deeply, his odor lulled her, and she wondered if it was a side effect of her inebriated state.
