Touched by Death: (Sins of The Fallen book 3)

Any moment now, the lone candle in the corner will burn out. It’s almost to the bottom, the dying flame flickering low. I don’t know how long has passed, but I do know that if darkness descends to swallow me whole, I’ll break. I can’t face it again, the oppressive silence that seems to scream to be heard over my thundering heartbeat. Shivering, I wrap my arms around myself and rest my chin on my knees. My eyes fall closed as I exhale a rattling breath. I need to wrangle the panic that has its talons in my ribcage, as if it wants to pry me open any moment now.

A whimper escapes me when a soft hiss alerts me to the candle’s demise. Darkness descends on the room. I shoot my head up and push to my feet. As I take a small step back, the chain drags across the damp concrete floor. I’ve tried everything to free my ankle. Nothing works. I’m stuck here—a prisoner of the darkness, chained and broken.

My breaths saw out of me as I press my palms flat against the wall behind me. Inside my chest, the panic flares, throbbing and pulsing with its own heartbeat. I curse myself for succumbing to it.

Just then, a silent creak has my head whipping to the side, ears pricked for any sound. There’s a rustle, followed by a small flame that flares to life, dancing and flickering on my stalker’s fingertips while he watches me from behind the mask. Bending down, he lights a new candle on the metal tray, and I stiffen when he straightens up.

Black wings peek up from behind his shoulders. As I inch further away, they flex restlessly.

“Please, let me go. You can’t keep me here.”

The way he stares at me from behind the mask has me breaking out in a cold sweat. His gaze probes, slithering over every inch of exposed skin like a slick tongue.

Crossing the room, he grabs my chin in a bruising grip and shoves my head hard against the wall. My skull explodes with pain, and blinding, white spots dance and swirl before my eyes. I let out a cry. The world spins in and out of focus, the floor tilting up to greet me.

Holding up a vial with a blue liquid, he flicks the cork lid with his thumb, sending it scattering across the floor. I clamp my mouth shut when he puts it to my lips and keeps me frozen with his other hand. Nostrils flaring, I fight him the whole time. With a hard yank, he forces my eyes to his, then digs his fingers into my cheeks to pry my mouth open.

I try to knee him in the balls. He sees it coming and dodges out of the way before ramming my head into the stone wall once more. I let out a pained whimper, the world spinning around me. I’m vaguely aware of a bitter taste in my mouth as the liquid slips down my throat, followed by intense burning. My soul has been set on fire. At least, that’s what it feels like when my body begins to jerk and convulse.

As I slide down the wall and collapse in a heap on the floor, drugged and dazed, he strokes my hair away from my brow and says in a voice that’s vaguely familiar, “So pretty.” His fingers stroke and stroke. “So very pretty.”

I try to sit up, but my body won’t obey. I end up sprawled on my side instead.

“Shh, don’t fight it. We can’t let you set fire to the place.”

More whimpers escape past my lips when his touch trails a path up my bare thigh. Pausing at the short hem, he stares down at me. Nausea churns my stomach. I’m going to be violently sick if he doesn’t get his filthy hands off of me.

His fingers slip underneath the fabric, burning a path across my mud-streaked skin. With the skirt pooled around my waist, he takes a moment to study me.

“Please, no,” I whimper.

He bends over me and pulls at the ropes holding my wings to ensure they’re secure. Then his hand returns to my hip, exploring me in ways I don’t want to think about. The haze in my brain is a welcome one as his hand dips between my thighs.

He mumbles something incoherently and pulls my hair with his other hand. While he takes and steals, I swim in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of the flickering candle’s hazy glow. Dark, ominous shadows dance across the concrete walls, threatening to smother the only light source in the room. My heavy arms feel like lead as I drag my fingers through the grit on the floor. No matter what I do, they refuse to obey.

Lifting the black mask above his chin, he sucks on his fingers before reaching forward again to caress my raven wings. At the sensation of his fingers sliding through my feathers, I snarl weakly. He pauses for a beat, head cocked as he listens to the feral sound.

As he bends over, the cold mask brushes my skin. “You ruined my life, little angel. You shouldn’t have come here. Hell isn’t a place for an innocent little angel like you.”

“Fuck you,” I choke out in a croaky whisper, trying to focus my gaze on him. He’s a blur through the drugs swimming in my system.

“Fuck me?” He chuckles, sliding his fingers over my slit. “You’re not in a position to make demands. As for now, you’re my toy and nothing more. See, that’s what happens when you escape Eden; you cause trouble.”

My tongue feels too big for my mouth. Too big and too dry. “Please, let me go.”

“Not until I’ve got my revenge.”

“Revenge?” I slur my words as he grips my shoulder and rolls me over onto my back. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to understand,” he says dismissively, brushing my hair away from my cheeks. My own scent lingers on his fingers. I want to hurl. “I know from watching you closely these past weeks that a certain someone will go to great lengths to get you back.”

“Your voice…” Why is my throat so dry? “I recognize it—”

“Shh.” His weight descends on my body, muscles bunching beneath the fabric of his robe as he crawls on top of me. “Tell me, little angel, has he fucked you yet?”

A sob claws its way up my throat. I place my hands on his chest to push him away, but I’m too weakened by the concoction. No matter how much I will my body to obey, it won’t.

“Please, stop,” I plead, knowing he won’t.Content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

Securing my wrists overhead, he buries his nose in my neck, the cold plastic biting into my skin. With a sharp inhale, he breathes my scent deep into his lungs before releasing a shuddering groan. “You’re his weakness and my very own little weapon. As long as I have you in my possession, he can’t take everything from me. I have to admit”—he breathes me in again, his dick twitching inside his pants—“you smell exquisite, the tempting scent of innocence lingering like a sweet aroma.”

“Please, stop,” I beg as the candle flickers out. But he doesn’t stop. He never stops.

“He wants you.” His hot breath tickles my ear now that his mask lies discarded somewhere on the gritty floor. The stubble on his cheek prickles my cheekbone when he enters me. “And that makes me want you, too. Claim the angel who travels through doors.”

“When Daemon finds me,” I manage to choke out as I struggle against his tight grip on my wrists, the chain rattling loudly in the darkness, “he’ll tear you to shreds.”

Invading my body, over and over, he breathes heavily in my ear. I hate him. I hate him so much. My body vibrates like a live wire about to implode.

“He won’t find you, little angel. No one will.”

AMENADIEL

The candle on the desk is burning low, its soft glow flickering across the page in front of me. Beside it sits a half-empty tumbler of scotch. I can’t focus, and it’s pissing me off. Slamming the book shut, I ease back in my chair and stare mindlessly at the desk, at the tall stack of books and scattered papers. Where the fuck is she? And I don’t mean Genesis.

Where is Aurelia? I can’t find her when I enter through the tear in the veil. But then again, the girl’s mind was always a mystery. A fucking maze that seems to have swallowed her whole.

I’ve studied the information contained within the countless books on my shelves, but I can’t find anything about tears in the veil.

Maybe because only the most powerful angels can enter through them.

Fucking typical that I happen to be one of those lucky few.

Rubbing my tired eyes, I run a hand through my hair. I’m not getting any further with this tonight. Not when I’m this exhausted.

Standing from my chair, I shut the book I’ve been reading before snuffing out the candle with a wave of my hand. Magic pours from my fingers with ease, without me even thinking about it.

Silence greets me in the hallway. Without Dmitriy and that bothersome female around, the house is quiet. Too quiet.

The torches on the walls burn brighter in response to my magic as I pass, their shadows chasing mine. I ascend the large staircase to the upper floor, then take a left toward the wing where my bedroom is situated.

A flicker of light spilling out from beneath my bedroom door to chase away the night is the first sign that something is wrong. As I near, I draw to a halt, listening for any sounds that might tell me who’s paid me a nightly visit.

Irritation flares up inside me. I don’t like surprises, and there’s only one person who knows the extent of my dislike for uninvited midnight guests.

Upon opening the door, I’m greeted by the sight of my brother sipping scotch in the armchair near the fireplace. With his foot kicked up on his knee, he’s the epitome of relaxation after a hard day’s work.

Shutting the door behind me, I wave a hand toward my bed, injecting an air of boredom into my voice. “Is there a reason why there’s a naked, dead girl in my bed with her wings removed?”

“Don’t you recognize her?” Lucifer asks, lowering the tumbler.

Sucking on my teeth and fighting the urge to throw him out, I lift my gaze to the wall behind my bed, where her small wings have been mounted like a fucking trophy. “Should she ring a bell?”

Lucifer doesn’t even attempt to wrangle the amusement in his eyes as he watches me remove my suit jacket. “The female angel from the club. You missed quite some party.”

“Why is it that you felt the need to kill this one? Boredom?”

He takes a long sip. “Since when did you become such a bore? It was just a bit of fun.”

With a disgusted snort, I discard my suit jacket on the end of the bed, annoyed by how close it lies to the dead girl’s foot. “It goes without saying that you need to keep your playthings away from my bedroom.”

“I was hoping you’d join us.”

“You’re tidying this shit up before you leave.” I point to the wall. “And take her wings with you.”

After draining his scotch, he stands up and places the empty tumbler on the mantlepiece. “Makes you feel powerful, no? To have their wings mounted to your wall?”

I don’t even bother with a response. My brother has always been power-hungry. I am too, but torturing angels for sport and keeping their body parts as trophies is not my thing.

I stiffen at the feel of his hand on my shoulder.

“I’ll let you have her ass as a peace offering. She’s dead, sure, but those holes are still warm. Come on, brother, when was the last time you let loose a little?” He jostles me, mouth too close to my ear. “Had some fun?”

“Why are you really here?” Shrugging him off, I turn to face him. “You haven’t bothered to pay me a personal visit in what? A century? What brings you here now?”

His lips curve into a dark smile. With a shrug of his shoulders, he walks past me to stroke his hand through the dead girl’s dark hair. She’s face down, propped up on her knees with her ass in the air. Congealed blood dots the mottled skin around the severed stumps. I’m no innocent angel—the sight of her ruined body, the bruises and cuts, stirs no emotion inside me. I don’t feel sympathy or disgust. I’m just annoyed that my pesky brother had to bring her here. Now I’ll have to change the sheets.

“Do I need a reason to see my brother? My own flesh and blood?”

“Yes,” I reply, deadpan.

Reaching out and tracing his fingers down the girl’s spine, he stops at the top of her ass, where his cum has yet to dry. “I recently had to teach my son a lesson.” With slow strokes, he smears his semen, tracing swirls and patterns. “But something tells me it’s not enough.”

“Your son is not my problem,” I respond, stepping past him and making my way over to the minibar across from the fireplace. After pouring myself a drink, I turn to face him again. “Why are you here?”

“I want your son to keep the girl busy.”

I nearly choke on my drink. “Did you not listen to a word I said the other day?”

He steps away from the bed and pretends to peruse my bookshelves. “You spouted some bullshit about Genesis being back from the dead.”

“My son is on his way to warn Daemon.”

His head swivels my way. “I won’t be held accountable if Daemon kills your son. Not when Dmitriy seeks out trouble by approaching him.”

With a shake of my head, I kick back the last of the drink and revel in the delicious burn as it travels down my esophagus. “Maybe you need to teach your son some self-control. He’s a hothead and a liability more often than not.”

Lucifer smirks, as if his son’s violent nature is something to be proud of. “He’ll take my place one day. He needs his dominant nature, or the world will eat him alive.”

Snorting, I place my tumbler down on the bar counter. “Your son will burn this place to the ground before he’ll ever let my son near Aurelia.”

“Aurelia,” he says, tasting the name like a fine wine, one he’s not entirely pleased with. Maybe because it doesn’t belong to him. “What’s so special about this one? A true fallen angel, like us.”

I stay silent, not liking his train of thought. The way his mind schemes.

“Interesting,” he says finally as he walks past me. “Tell your son to keep the girl busy.”

As he walks out, I call after him, “Take the dead girl with you… and the fucking wings!”

Does he? Of course not.