thirty
Vince doesn’t release me straight away. Instead he looks down his nose at me before surveying the archangel. My stomach twists harder.
He was going to kill me. I’m certain of it.
“Of course.”
Vince’s grip on me loosens and he steps away. His eyes don’t leave mine when he bows, the threat clear in his gaze.
I don’t watch the archangel as he approaches. I don’t dare look away from Vince. Not until the familiar warmth of the archangel’s safety surrounds me and his large body comes between us.
“Goodnight, Vince.”
The archangel looks at me as he dismisses Vince.
I’m grateful for the relief that begins to course through my veins. The feeling of my stomach settling. His eyes trail from mine down to my lips, to where the loose curls sit on the curve of my neck, and land where my hands fidget in front of me.
The music fades into the next song, moving to a slow tempo, the tune pleasant and melodic. And despite my relief, the air grows thicker and each breath fights its way out of my lungs.
I hear footsteps retreating, but I don’t dare look away.
There is no one but us in this room now.
No archangel, no human warrior.
Only a man and a woman who stare at each other in comfort, familiarity, safety. In this moment I see no wings; I see no monster.
For a second I think I see a flicker of relief in his eyes, but my focus is quickly drawn away when he holds out a hand for me.
Something deep inside me tells me to turn him down, that dancing with him would be going against everything that I believe in. So close to a man so powerful, so monstrous, when the man I love is fighting for his life against someone of his kind.
Jeremy would never offer to dance with me like this. He hates to dance, thinks it silly.
The rope around my waist tugs me in the opposite direction, tightens at the thought of being in the archangel’s arms.
“Take my hand.”
His voice is low, but softer than I’ve ever heard it. My eyes snap back to his. “Dance with me?”
I don’t realised I’ve moved until the warmth of his hand wraps around mine.
Before I can catch my breath, the archangel pulls me close and his other hand lands on my lower back, each fingertip burning its mark onto me. I instinctively use my free hand to grab his shoulder for support, to balance myself.
The archangel’s hand brushes each spot where Vince held me too tightly. The warmth of his touch erases the nauseating feeling of Vince’s.
My heart pounds in my chest as he stands so close, it’s overwhelming. The warmth of him, the power that lies dormant within – it consumes me.
I should be afraid, standing so close to a man who has caused unimaginable death and destruction. A man who is a weapon himself. But as I look into his eyes, his hand hovering gently on my back, I feel no fear. I see no weapon. That’s what makes him more dangerous than any blade I’ve ever wielded. The pretty package that masks the weapon beneath the surface.
The archangel takes the lead, stepping forward, then to the side, and back. Without warning, he lets go of my back and raises the hand locked with mine to spin me. I follow naturally, turning in a delicate way that I didn’t know I was capable of.
He holds me with a tenderness that I didn’t know he was capable of.
He pulls me back into position, but uses the hand at my lower back to pull me closer. A new kind of adrenalin burns through me at the sensation of his touch. The thrill that comes with being so close to danger. Being in the arms of a man who could kill me in an instant, yet is looking at me as if the world would end if he stopped.
“Thank you for saving me from him.”
My voice is tender when I break the silence.
His eyes don’t leave mine. “You’re welcome.”
My left foot snags on the hem of my dress and I stumble forward. The archangel catches me without hesitation.
“You’re quite the dancer.”
I shoot him a glare. “Save it. Jeremy already teases me enough about my lack of rhythm. I don’t need it from you too.”
I notice him try to suppress a smile, the silver in his eyes dancing wildly. “Hmm. But you dance anyway.”
“I love music. I love to dance. Since the war began, it’s the one thing that’s made me feel normal. Songs about love, lust, heartbreak, betrayal. Songs about humanity.”
I shrug, the confession making me blush as I realise I’ve told him something real about myself. “This is clearly not your first time dancing.”
The archangel stands tall, but the amusement vanishes from his face. “I was made to learn many formal dances as a child. If I were to be an archangel, I had to charm like one.”
His tone is cold, distant, bearing no fondness while speaking of his childhood.
I give him a teasing smirk, hoping to lighten his mood. “You might still need some practice in that area.”
Before I can process what’s happening, the world spins around me. The ceiling rushes into view. The archangel leans over me, one hand supporting my back as he dips me low. I hold my breath.
“Are you sure?”
His lips hover above my ear, each word a cool vibration that tickles my skin.
Then the moment is gone and I’m on my feet once again.
He returns us to the same rhythm, his smile wide. I ignore the satisfaction in his eyes and say, “You know that’s the first thing you’ve told me about yourself.”
Left, forward, right, back. I slowly find my rhythm, but the archangel stiffens. “I didn’t think you’d want to know.”
He pauses, contemplating something I can’t decipher. “Me being a monster and all.”
A monster. I called him that, didn’t I? I thought it only moments ago. The archangel, the deadliest of them all. I can’t help the regret that tugs at me as I spot a sliver of hurt on his face.
“Perhaps monsters are just creatures created in our minds by the fear of the unknown.”
His lips twitch. “Very poetic, Slayer.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes, doubling down instead. “So, tell me something real about yourself.”
“One for one?”
I nod in response.
“My mother loved humans. She was fascinated by them, spent many years on Earth amongst them. It’s said that that’s why she died giving birth to me. Humanity made her weak, and so my birth became her death.”
My stomach drops. “I’m sorry.”
Perhaps monsters are born out of the heartbreak they endure.
We stay silent for a while. His eyes haunted by thoughts of his mother, mine watching closely as an emotion so human travels across his face. Grief.
He clears his throat, the ghosts in his thoughts apparently slipping away. “Your turn.”
“My parents died when I was two.”
“I know.”
I falter. “How do you know that?”
“I looked at your file while you were on the phone.”
He shrugs as if it’s not a personal violation. “Now tell me something that I wouldn’t have found.”
I scan my mind for something that remains hidden. Something I haven’t admitted to anyone.
“The morning Jeremy was taken, he asked if I’d marry him.”
The memory floats through my mind. “It was hypothetical, of course – if there was no war getting in the way… and I said no.”
The archangel’s hand tightens ever so slightly on my back. “Why?”
“I don’t know.”
I shake my head. “Everything in me just screamed no.”
My chest aches at the thought, at the knowledge that Jeremy may die thinking that I don’t love him. “Then he was taken, and now...” The rope around my torso wraps itself tighter. A sharp pain shoots through my abdomen, but it’s fleeting.
“Would it have changed anything?”
My eyes lock with his. “What?”
The word comes out small and timid.
The archangel tilts his head. “If you’d have known what was going to happen, would your answer have been any different?”
I think it over, though I already know the answer. I still give myself that moment, just one moment longer of it not becoming a reality.
“No. It wouldn’t have changed anything.”
The archangel’s eyes never leave me. They burn with blue and silver fire as we dance.
His hand leaves my lower back and he spins me again. This time he pulls me back in with my back to his chest. I can feel his breath on my ear, and I suck in air. His hands come to either side of my hips and he gently guides them to the music.
The archangel is a flame, and I’m standing close enough to get burned.
In one swift movement, he turns me around to face him again. He stills and stares into my eyes for a moment. Too close. I’m too close to danger. Too close to the man who hates my kind.
One hand returns to rest on my lower back and the other slips into mine again. We dance for the rest of the song. He spins me again and again, but always pulls me back. We laugh, we tease, we taunt, but when his eyes lock with mine as the song begins to fade, he dips me without warning. I gasp at the sudden movement, gripping his shoulder for support.
His lips are so close to mine that I can feel our breath intertwine.
Too close.
For a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me. For a moment, I itch for the knife in my dress.
When the next song begins, he pulls me back up slowly. He doesn’t move away; he holds me near as we stand, but we’re no longer dancing.
His hands move to either side of my hips again. His lips remain close to mine, his breath warm and sweet. My hand twitches at my side. I wonder if I’d be able to move quick enough to grab my blade if I needed to.
Footsteps sound in the doorway, then a voice.
“Vince asked us to escort you back to your rooms.”