We can continue to coexist without knowing a thing about one another for the rest of my life for all I care. But I have to admit, their realm is safer than my own. Sure, we mock it, call it the Bin like it’s nothing more than trash to us, but the humans try. They live together in the best attempt at harmony I’ve ever seen.
While the fae realm is filled with demon hate that’s building to the brink of war.
These strangers remind me of that. They’re alluring. Good looks, big white wings, and incredible strength can only mean one thing.
Fallen angels.
And fallen angels, they turn into demons real fast. You’re one or the other. There is no in between. If you’re booted from above, you’ll shed your glorious wings, and you’ll be nothing more than a demon in no time.
The shift hasn’t happened fully to these two yet, but it’s just a matter of time. Hours, really.
But a better question: why the fuck are fallen angels wasting their time on me?
The white-winged man has a glowing sword that’s slung over his back by thin, but apparently strong, golden threads barely visible in the sunlight. The man who made a late appearance to my party this morning, his wings are gone. Charred wounds burn against his back where they once were. He’s almost done with his beautiful angelic life.
Poor fuck.
“I doubt that she’ll even want to waste their time on her,” the wingless man says as he shakes his hands below his waist in front of him. Once, twice . . . Well, guess it’s just twice. Can’t spare a good show for a woman who hasn’t seen a man’s body in over three years.
“Stop talking so much. We just have to get her back without making her look worse than she already fucking does,” the man with the messy brown hair growls, turning my way as he zips his dark jeans. Smoky tattoo lines angle down each of his hips as if they’re suggesting something just below his lean waist. I follow the ink to find Latin words etched higher on each side of his ribs.
It’s an old language, but not any older than the dark fae. I read each passage with ease.
Without Remorse. Without Forgiveness.
Interesting.
I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a fallen angel with tattoos.
I don’t know why I care, either. He fucking destroyed my only friend. Even if she was electronic. And he did it without remorse. Clearly.
“You two done circle jerking?” I ask with an arch of my eyebrow, biting back the breathless pain in my tone as I sneer up at them.
“Why? Did you want to join the circle?” The blond says in a quiet, rasping tone with too much smoldering sex appeal for someone sent from up above.
Hmm. I like him.
You would, Catherine says.
“Get up,” the other stranger, the bastard, demands. His big palm brushes along my arm before a soft clicking sound tells me he’s unchained me from the lamp pole.
He really thinks I’m going to make his life easy after what he did.
“I rather like it here. I think I’ll stay.” I take the time to cross one leg over the other, making me slouch awkwardly into the sidewalk, but really letting them know who’s in charge here.
“The whole world can see your panties. Stop being childish.” The golden-haired one slides his hand around my upper arm, but I make my body go slack like a rag doll.
I’ll show him childish.
“Actually, I’m not putting a lot of power into my magic right now. With this glamour, only other supernaturals can see my panties. So, enjoy the show, boys.”
Golden Boy grapples to get me to a standing position as my knees purposely give out and send me right back to the ground in a heap. My skin stings against the harsh concrete, but I refuse to grimace against the pain.
I think it’s safe to say I’m getting the upper hand here.
He and I flop around on the dirty sidewalk, his body skimming mine so much, I feel like he should take me on a date first before grinding his dick on me like this. Totally ungentlemanly. He’s still fumbling to get a hold on my arms when two big hands grip my hips in a way that no one has in a long time. I shift beneath that firm press of his hold.
And then the air leaves my lungs as the other man flings me over his shoulder and white wing.
“You are the worst fallen I’ve ever fucking met,” he grumbles as he starts walking . . . somewhere. My long silver hair clings to my lips and lashes, and I can’t see a damn thing other than how his jeans hug his ass with every striding step he takes.
“You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet,” I say breathlessly.
“Stop talking,” he growls.
But it seems like we’re going to be spending a bit of time together.
“What are your names?”
“I said stop fucking talking.” My head hits his soft wing hard as he jostles me and adjusts my weight so his warm palm is gripping my thigh.
“You’re kind of hot when you get mad, Remorseless.” My long finger follows the swooping letters along his muscular sides and every part of him tenses at the endearing nickname.
He stops and tosses me down. Water sprays up around me. My palms slide in the mud, and my body tenses as I realize he tossed me down in a puddle.
Steady fingers slip beneath my chin with light roughness, and he tilts my outraged attention up to meet those deep blue eyes.
“That mouth of yours had better learn to fucking close. Fast. Understand?”
Hate burns through my chest, but my mouth is the only weapon I have right now.
So of course, I keep on using it.
I lift my chin to him, my voice a breathy wanting whisper that I didn’t even know I was still capable of. “You keep talking about my mouth like that, and Golden Boy is gonna get jealous.”
Mr. Tall, Dark, and Annoying glances over at Golden Boy from beneath his permanently lowered eyebrows. A moment of glaring frustration passes over his face before it’s broken.
“She’s right. I am starting to feel like I’m getting the shaft in our three-way relationship here, Zav.” Golden Boy’s deep amber eyes shine with haunting amusement.
“I fucking hate Fridays,” Zav whispers on a tired exhale before he harshly releases my chin, turns, and strides down the street like he isn’t associated with us at all. “Grab our luggage. I’m not dealing with a fallen this early in the morning,” the asshole hollers back over his white wings.
The sweet one looks down on me like I’m a piece of toilet paper littering the road.
“I’ll carry you and answer your questions if you don’t let that creepy shadow thing rip out of your face again,” he bargains.
I consider him for a minute. His smooth chest is California sun-bronzed, lined with solid strength and too much perfection for a girl to ever whine about being carried by him.
But I’ll give it a good effort.
“Fine, but I want to be cradled, not manhandled.” I flick my lashes, staring up and down his body like my demands are to be met without rebuttal.
He never agrees, but his slow smile and the shine in his amber eyes say more than I think he ever will. He bends at the waist and scoops me up in all my muddy glory. “Most fallen angels I meet don’t have much bite left in them, but I guess you didn’t earn your hellacious wings for nothing.”
His warm breath fans across my cheek as he carries me down the quiet street. He’s focused on his friend’s back, but I can’t look away from him or ignore the strange words he just said to me.