"I caught a fallen one last week," I say smoothly. The best lies contain at leastsometruth. "Didn't report it because it was a routine termination. Nothing outside of the normal."
Kris follows Veron inside, both of them scanning the room intensely. "And yet you've been absent since then. Unlike you, Malcolm. You're one of our most reliable hunters."
"I needed a break." Another lie containing a trace of truth. I close the door, tracking their movements. They're getting too close to the stairs. "Even demons need vacation time."
"A break," Veron repeats, his tone making the words sound filthy as they roll off his tongue. "Or perhaps... adistraction?"
I force a laugh. "And what kind of distraction would I find out here?" I ask, raising my hands upward as I look around.
"That's what we're going to find out." Kris starts up the stairs, his boots heavy on the wooden steps. "Command sent us to check on you, but personally? I think you're hiding something. Orsomeone. It reeks of holiness."
I trail them closely, my mind racing at the possibilities of what comes next. I could kill them both. Probably. But then there would be bodies to dispose of, questions to answer, more soldiers would come here in search of them...
They reach my bedroom, and my muscles coil tight, already preparing for a fight. Veron runs his hand along my bed, smirking. "Your sheets smell interesting, Malcolm."
"I wasn't aware you made a habit of sniffing other demons' beds," I say, letting disgust color my tone. "Should I be concerned?"
Kris laughs, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He's moving toward the closet. My tattoos heat with suppressed power, ready to strike. Just a few more steps and he’ll be there.
Fuck.
A crash sounds from inside the closet, making my heart drop into my stomach.
Time freezes. Kris's hand is on the doorknob. Veron's blade is already drawn. And I...I make my choice.
My tattoos explode with power as I lunge for Kris’s throat. He's dead before he hits the ground, neck snapped by hands that have killed thousands before him, and will kill thousands after him. Veron roars in response and swings his blade, but he's too slow. He’s always been too slow. Stepping forward, I catch his sword arm, then drive my fist through his armor and into his chest, grasping his beating heart between my fingertips before tearing it out.
It's over in seconds. They never had a chance. Blood soaks into the carpet as I stand over their bodies, breathing hard. Not from exertion—it was an easy fight—but from the realization of what I've just done. I've killed my own kind. I’ve committed treason. All for...
I rip the closet door open, breaking it off its hinges in a panic, and Elysia rushes out the moment she sees it’s me. Her eyes are wide and she’s breathless as she takes in the scene, but she doesn't scream. She doesn't run. She simply looks at me with an expression I haven’t seen from her, and I can’t get a good read on it.
"I'm sorry," I say, though I'm not sure what I'm apologizing for. The violence? The fact that I'd do it again in a heartbeat? "I didn't know what else to do. I wasn’t thinking?—"
She crosses the space between us, avoiding the still-warm bodies, and touches my face, her fingers gentle against my cheek. I freeze, caught between the instinct to pull away and the desperate need to lean into her touch.
"You saved me," she whispers, and I get lost staring into the golden pools that are her eyes as she steps into my arms. "Again."
Heaven and Hell help anyone who tries to take her from me.
Chapter 5
ELYSIA
Fresh blood stains Malcolm’s shirt where I press against him, but I don't care. I can't care about anything except the way his mouth moves against mine when I completely close the distance between our lips, desperate and gentle all at once.
"Elysia," he breathes my name like a prayer. "Your wings. We shouldn't?—"
I kiss him again, cutting off the doubts he's about to voice. Haven't we both had enough of "shoulds" and "shouldn'ts"? Those rules led to my best friend breaking my fucking wings and shoving me out of Heaven. Perhaps it's time we play by our own rules.
Malcolm groans against my mouth as he lifts me off the ground, and suddenly I'm in his arms, my legs wrapping around his waist while he carries me toward his bed. Toward the bed he’s let me use all week while I’ve been healing. My wings ache at the movement, but the pain is distant, unimportant compared to the heat of his skin against mine.
He lays me on the bed with impossible tenderness, hovering over me like he's afraid I'll break again. Like there aren’t twodemons he just killed with his bare hands lying lifeless on the ground on the other side of the room.
"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice rough. "After what you just saw?—"
"I saw you protect me," I say before he can finish the thought, running my fingers along the lightning tattoos covering his arms. "I saw you choose me over your own.”
"I'll always choose you." The words seem to surprise him as much as they do me, but I can feel the truth of them in both his touch and his tone.
