Page 3 of Angel I Am Not

I had them clipped a few times for them only to grow back impossibly darker, a few more feathers darkening at my feeble attempt to rid myself of them. In the last month, I had gained several more patches, some a dull gray, and others a rough cream that offset the paleness of my wings. The tips had started darkening as well, but a few snips every few days had kept anyone from asking questions.

Miel’s fingers brushed the linen covering my shoulder. “You clipped them again.”

I went still. “No, I didn’t.”

“Ariuk.”

“You saying my entire name doesn’t magically make me honest.”

His hand started toward my back, and I caught his wrist before he could pull the fabric aside. Wings were status here. Size, strength, color… angels compared them the way humans compared expensive cars and whatever else they used to prove they were better than everyone around them. Mine had started growing midnight feathers in places nobody else’s should.

“They’re getting darker,” he said quietly.

“Thank you. I hadn’t noticed while cutting pieces off my own body.”

“You should tell Uriel.”

I snorted and released his wrist. “Absolutely. Then he can tell the council, the council can decide whether to pluck me bald, and Parisa can finally have something interesting to talk about.”

“They wouldn’t do that.”

“Comforting.” I pulled my wings tighter beneath the white linen, wishing I could stay in my shifted human form permanently and pretend the damn things didn’t exist.

My attention drifted back to the purple flowers, my toes closing around one of the stems until it snapped with a soft crunch. The poor thing bent toward the ground, hanging there uselessly as Miel glanced down between us.

“Did you just kill that?”

“It was leaning,” I said, although we both knew it hadn’t been. His sigh brushed against my temple as I nudged the broken flower farther into the grass with my toes. Apparently, growing black feathers wasn’t my only argument against being angel material.

Miel wrapped his arms a little tighter around my waist and I instinctively tilted my head to the side so he could press his lips into the curve of my neck. He didn’t take the bait. His mouth landed chastely against my temple instead, which was about as exciting as I should have expected.

“You could kiss me like you mean it once in a while,” I muttered, settling back against his chest when it became obvious I wasn’t getting anything better.

Miel’s gaze flicked toward the path Parisa had disappeared down. “We’re in public.”

Of course we were. Heaven had rules for everything, including how much affection promised partners were allowed to show before somebody decided it was inappropriate. Even holding me this openly was enough to draw attention. Touching each other’s wings was worse, intimate enough that most promised couples saved it for behind closed doors.

Miel knew touch mattered to me, so he tried in the restrained little ways he considered acceptable. I might have appreciated the effort more if I hadn’t spent enough time on Earth to discover that humans managed to enjoy the people they slept with.

“Humans have this fascinating concept,” I said, dragging one of his hands higher across my stomach. “Apparently, you’re allowed to want the person you’re fucking.”

His entire body went rigid behind me. “Your fascination with humans is concerning.”

“Your fascination with missionary is concerning.”

That earned me the exact offended silence I wanted. I smiled and let my head loll further to the side against his shoulder, thinking about everything I actually wanted from a lover. Someone who lost control occasionally. Teeth, nails, filthy words, maybe a little begging if I was feeling generous. Instead, Heaven had given me Miel and his commitment to making sex feel like another sacred ceremony.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Miel asked, tangling his fingers with mine across my belly.

I lifted our joined hands toward the sunlight, his pale skin stark against mine as his essence bled faintly into my own. “Just wondering whether you’d still put up with me if Uriel wasn’t an archangel.”

His fingers stiffened between mine before he pulled our hands back down. “That’s ridiculous. You’re my promised.”

“That wasn’t a no.”

Miel sighed like I was exhausting him on purpose. Maybe I was. He followed every rule, kissed every important ass placed in front of him, and had spent most of our lives expecting me to eventually inherit Uriel’s seat. I might have been Heaven’s giftless little embarrassment, but being promised to me still kept him close to one archangel now and potentially another one later.

“Not everything is about status, Ariuk,” he said.