Misguided Angel: A Parnormal Romance Novella - Page 21

“Didn’t you?” Her eyes were dark, avid as an animal’s. “I can smell you all over her; I smelled you yesterday as soon as she walked past my door.”

“I wanted to help her,” he said.

“Of course you did,” she said. “Angels always want to help.” Her words were scornful, but she smiled. “Why can you never admit the truth even to yourselves until it’s too late?”

“Sylvia, darling,” the wizard said. “Enough.”

“Will you tell her the truth?” she said. She reached up and touched Asher’s cheek. Her skin was pale, showing a slight, otherworldly green at her temples and the hollows of her cheeks. “Will you tell her what you are?”

“Sylvia,” her husband repeated. “Come home now, darling, please.”

“Such a beautiful thing you are,” she said, her accent deepening, lilting the worlds like a song. The wizard took her hand, and she allowed him to draw her back away from Asher. “How will she resist you?”

“Come,” the wizard said. He smiled at Asher. “Good night.”

Asher locked the door behind them, then covered Kelsey with a blanket. He had no idea what he would say to her when she woke up, but he couldn’t leave her alone.

He felt a strange emptiness inside him, an ache that was entirely physical that had been growing for hours, and suddenly, he knew what it was. For the first time in his timeless life, he was hungry.

He went into the kitchen. He had no notion of cooking, but he could smell the food, and his stomach actually growled. Angels could eat food just as they could indulge in other mortal pleasures; it wasn’t forbidden, just unnecessary. And just as with other pleasures, Asher had always chosen to abstain.

He found the plate of brownies covered in plastic on the counter. He took the first bite slowly, sniffing it before he put it in his mouth. The deep, luscious flavor of the chocolate made him think he might swoon. He sat down on a barstool like a man in a trance and devoured the whole plate.

Hunger was dangerous. The more an angel indulged in human pleasure, the more susceptible he or she became to human desire. They developed human emotional responses, and not just the sweet ones like passionate love or empathy but uglier feelings as well. Jealousy, pride, and murderous rage, unhampered by fear or physical weakness, could infect them like poison. If these passions drove them to open defiance of their purpose, they fell, becoming the most powerful and cruelest form of demon, a guardian and prisoner of Hell. Lucifer had told him Kelsey would cause him to fall.

As he swallowed the last brownie, he realized he was thirsty. Licking the last crumbs from the plate, he went to the refrigerator, looking for something to drink.

He had watched his brother stray into this path. Asher had begged him to repent and give up the thirst for power. But he had failed. He had watched him fall. Now he watched him torment the mortals he hated so desperately, the creatures he had once so loved.

He opened the gallon jug of milk and sniffed it…perfect. Turning it up with one hand, he guzzled it down, ice cold and impossibly delicious.

“Hey.” He brought down the jug and turned around. Kelsey was standing behind him, the blanket he had put over her draped around her shoulders, her lips curved in smile. “Want a glass?”

The Angel in the Kitchen

Kelsey had been dreaming about the most horrible moment of her childhood. Her father was leaving, and her mother had betrayed her. “Tell him,” Mama was saying, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Tell him I’m not crazy. Tell him you can see them, too.”

“Stop it,” her father said. “Stop trying to drag your own child down with you. For God’s sake, Rowena, let her go!”

“Tell him!” Mama screamed. “They’re here right now, standing right there watching. You can see them, Kelsey, I know you can.” Her mother fell to her knees beside her and turned her toward the trio of figures standing in the doorway. “Be a good girl, baby. Tell your daddy the truth.”

“You promised, Mama,” the little girl Kelsey said, crying. “You promised me you wouldn’t tell.”

“Enough!” her father said, trying to grab her, but Mama snatched her away from him.

“Tell him!” Mama screamed.

She woke up on the couch in the now, covered with a blanket. Her rescuer was standing at her refrigerator. As she watched, he took out the jug of milk, opened it, and turned it up like it weighed nothing. “Hey,” she said, going to him. “Want a glass?” He turned around looking so shocked, she almost laughed. “It’s okay,” she promised. “Go ahead.” Seeing this man who looked like Michelangelo’s David swilling milk straight from the jug made everything in this strange, scary night seem easier to manage.

“Sorry.” He sounded like he meant it, and the sheepish look on his face was adorable. He turned t

he jug back up as she let the blanket fall behind her. She should be terrified, checking the locks, pushing furniture in front of the door, calling the cops, calling a priest. That thing at the door couldn’t have been human; it had said it wasn’t giving up. But somehow she couldn’t make herself care. She felt warm and comfortable, slightly sleepy. Even the horror of her dream had faded, leaving a child-like sense of well-being. I must be in shock, she thought. This must be a side effect of being scared out of my mind. But even that thought couldn’t dispel the cloud.

“You must have been thirsty.” She shrugged out of the coat and let that fall, too. “That’s probably the adrenaline. Didn’t you say something before about adrenaline?” Drunk, she thought. It’s like I’m drunk. She had tried marijuana a few times, and it had made her sleepy and irritable. This seemed more like what her friends had said it did for them, this mellow, slightly addle-pated calm. She watched Asher guzzle down the milk, not caring that he didn’t answer her. She was fascinated by the way the muscles worked in his throat as he swallowed and the trickle of milk that had run down over his chin. “I feel sort of weird.” She handed him a dishtowel as he lowered the empty jug. “I almost never pass out, and I always feel sick afterward. But this time I don’t.”

“Still.” He set the jug down to wipe his mouth with the towel. “You should lie back down.”

“No, I’m fine.” She took the towel and wiped his chin then dropped it to run her hand over the shallow scratches in his chest that should have been deep gashes from their attacker’s knife. “Let me see your shoulder.”

Tags: Lucy Blue Paranormal
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