ELYSIA
The scent of coffee pulls me from sleep.
For a moment, I'm disoriented by the warmth pressed against my back, the strong arm draped over my waist. Then memories of last night flood back—Malcolm's kiss, his touch, the way his tattoos glowed like captured lightning as we made love. Heat rushes to my cheeks, but I can't bring myself to regret any of it.
Malcolm mumbles something in his sleep, pulling me closer. His skin radiates heat like a furnace, and I realize the coffee I'm smelling is from the automatic coffee machine he keeps set on a timer. I’ve only been here for a little more than a week, but I know by now that that machine goes off at 6:00 every morning.
Carefully, I slide out from his embrace. He stirs slightly but doesn't wake, and I take a moment to study him in the grey pre-dawn light. Sleep softens the sharp angles of his face, making him look too peaceful to be a demon. The lightning tattoos ripple faintly with each breath, like a distant lightning storm on a summer night. A lock of black hair rests across his forehead, and I resist the urge to brush it back.
My wings ache as I slip on one of Malcolm's shirts, the fabric falling nearly to my knees. The right one is healing well, thoughit will never be as straight as it once was, which is concerning if I ever want to fly again. The left still twinges when I move, but at least I can fold them now without screaming. Small victories, I suppose.
Shadow appears from nowhere, as is her habit, and circles around my ankles. "Hungry?" I ask quietly, and she trots toward the door with her tail held high like a flag. I follow, padding silently through the beautiful house that's become home in just a week.
Morning light streams through the massive windows in the living room, painting everything in soft gold. The coffee machine on the kitchen counter has indeed been set to brew automatically, the rich aroma filling the air. I find Shadow's food in the cabinet—I know where nearly everything is now—and feed her before pouring myself a heaping cup of coffee.
The massive armchair by the window calls to me, and I curl up in it with my coffee, tucking my legs beneath me. From here, I can see the forest stretching endlessly in every direction, the trees swaying gently in the morning breeze. Mist clings to the ground between the trunks, giving everything a dreamlike quality.
Movement catches my eye, and I lean forward. A pack of wolves emerges from the trees, their varying shades of grey fur almost silver in the dawn light. They move with fluid grace, clearly on the hunt. A wounded deer breaks from the treeline, and the pack splits seamlessly, some wolves driving while others circle to cut off escape routes. Blood coats the rear of the deer, clearly where the wolves have been nipping at her. It's alluring to watch, in a primal sort of way.
One wolf—larger than the others, with a scarred muzzle—pauses in the chase. It turns its head toward the house, towardme, and our eyes meet through the glass. Blood stains its jaw,but there's nothing evil in its gaze. It's simply doing what it was made to do, hunting tosurvive, tofeedits pack.
Sort of like Malcolm.
Like an epiphany, the thought hits me out of nowhere. I've been thinking of him as different from other demons, special because he chose to save me. But maybe that's wrong. Perhaps he'sexactlywhat a demon should be—powerful, dangerous when needed, but capable of loyalty and love so fierce it defies everything I was taught in Heaven.
The wolf holds my gaze for another moment before turning back to the hunt. The deer's fate is already sealed, but isn't that the way of things? Life and death, predator and prey, all part of a dance as old as creation itself.
Shadow jumps into my lap, startling me from my thoughts. She settles herself imperiously, and begins licking her paws. The wolves disappear back into the forest with the deer, leaving only disturbed mist in their wake.
I sip my coffee, letting my mind drift. A week ago, I was an angel in Heaven, secure in my place and my understanding of the universe. Now I'm fallen, utterlyobsessedwith a demon, and nothing makes sense except the certainty that I don't want to leave.
My wings shift restlessly, and I examine them in the morning light. The black-burned feathers are starting to molt, showing new growth underneath. Not white, as they were in Heaven, but a deep, iridescent blue-black, like a raven's wing.
Like the sky just before a lightning storm.
"Everything changes," I whisper to Shadow, who pauses in her grooming to chirp at me. "Even angels. Even demons."
The sound of movement upstairs makes me smile.Malcolm, awake and probably terrified to find me gone. I needed a quiet moment alone, to process everything that's happened, and he’llunderstand that when he finds me down here, cuddled up in a chair with Shadow.
I hear his footsteps on the stairs, deliberately heavy so I know he's coming. He appears in the doorway, wearing only low-slung, gray sweatpants, his hair adorably mussed from sleep and the moments we spent tangled up with one another. His tattoos are quiet now, just dark lines against his tan skin.
"I thought..." he starts, then stops, taking in the sight of me curled in his chair, wearing his shirt, Shadow purring in my lap.
"I needed coffee," I say, lifting my mug. "Your machine is very thoughtful."
A relieved smile tugs at his mouth. "The machine, huh?"
"Mm-hmm. Very considerate piece of equipment." I take another sip, watching him over the rim of the mug. "Someone must have programmed it well."
He crosses the room in those fluid strides that remind me of the wolves, all contained power and grace. "Someone might have hoped you'd stay long enough to appreciate it."
My heart flutters at the implication that he's thought about keeping me around. "Someonemighthave been right,” I smile, biting my bottom lip as I look up at him.
Malcolm crouches beside the chair, his eyes serious despite our playful tone. "We need to leave and figure out our next move, but I need to know—are you okay with what happened last night?"
I set my coffee aside and touch his face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw with my fingertips. "I feel like I've landed exactly where I'm meant to be."
The tension leaves his shoulders, and he turns his head to kiss my palm. "You landed in my arms," he teases.
