4. Malachi
Chapter 4
Malachi
Malachi spent the day dreaming about his human, and when night fell, he made his way to In Extremis. It was the most popular demon club in the city, run by a halfling named Lilith . Storm, a white-haired brick shithouse, stood by the front door. His crimson eyes appraised Malachi as he approached. Malachi gave him a fist-bump as he passed.
“You look cheery,” Storm remarked.
“Life ain’t half bad, brother.”
In Extremis was a riot on the senses, as always. It was almost as black as the night behind him, save for streaks of low, multicolored lights through the smoky air. The only point of true light in the room was that of the bar. It was a beacon of white, the glass shelves and mirrored back wall gleaming. Wolf was behind the bar, as usual. Malachi made his way there, slipping through the undulating crowd like a shadow himself.
Wolf, almost as tall and broad as Storm but with ash blond hair that he kept tied back, set a glass tumbler on the bar as he approached and poured something from an unlabeled bottle. It was reddish brown, like someone had poured red food dye into whiskey.
He idly scanned the room as he handed over the appropriate amount of bills. Wolf said nothing, but then he rarely did, simply taking the money and depositing it in the register. Talon and Alex were sitting at Talon’s usual booth at the back of the room. It was fairly unusual to see them. Malachi assumed the human didn’t care much for the demon club, but that didn’t seem to be the case right now. He was leaning into Talon’s side, his head turned and moving languidly back and forth in the curve of the demon’s neck. One hand disappeared suggestively below the table, and Talon’s gaze was heavy-lidded, his head tilted back in bliss.
A burst of unfamiliar jealousy coiled in his gut. Would he ever have that with his own human? If someone as unholy as Talon could manage it, surely Malachi could. Perhaps last night’s success at the hospital was his first step toward ingratiating himself in Luke’s good graces.
He turned away to find Wolf studying him. He nodded toward the pair and asked, “What do you make of them?”
Wolf shrugged. “Not really my business.”
“Come on, Wolf, you’ve got to have an opinion somewhere behind that stony exterior of yours.” He dragged the glass closer and took a sip, leaning his forearms on the bar.
Wolf shrugged one muscled shoulder. “I think Talon’s more settled than I’ve ever seen him. He actually does shit like smile . Alex is perky and human and everything he’s not. Somehow they work.”
Malachi hummed. Alex was dragging Talon from the booth with a cheeky smirk now, pulling Talon’s arm over his shoulder and leading him into the VIP hall. Little wonder what they were going back there to do. He wondered if there might ever come a time when he could get Luke in one of those rooms, his naked body bathed in smoky red light.
He cheered Wolf with his glass and wandered into the middle of the crowd, moving his body to the sinuous beat of the music. He ignored the people around him who were gyrating together. Humans came here often, thinking it was just a particularly kinky club. Most of them didn’t know the people who feasted on them were demonic. It felt good, so they kept coming back. Halflings made a point not to kill anyone here. It was bad for business, and Lilith had most of the demonic population scared enough to follow her orders. It was beneficial for everyone, anyway. The halflings wanted blood and sex, and these humans often offered both.
Malachi ignored the ones who propositioned him, letting them be drawn away by others. He didn’t want anyone else. All he could think about were whiskey eyes, steely with conviction. Watching Luke for the last few weeks had been delightful. Every glimpse only fed his addiction and made him crave more. It wasn’t enough to watch anymore. He wanted Luke to see him , too.
He wondered how Talon had done it. He’d been here when Alex first arrived on the scene. A paladin coming alone to In Extremis was unheard of. Going to a secondary location alone with a leviathan was madness. When they’d questioned Malachi about the mozgoran, Talon had looked ready to snap Malachi’s neck for interrupting whatever they’d been doing in that booth. Alex hadn’t looked entirely comfortable, but as Malachi understood it, that was still very early in their… relationship. How had Talon gone from Alex squirming with nervousness at his proximity to feeling him up under the table without a care for who was watching?
And how did Malachi replicate it with Luke ?
When a sharp tugging sensation cut through him, he went still, his focus turning inward. Demons didn’t get sick, so it couldn’t be that. His breath stalled in his throat. His vision dimmed, the club disappearing before his eyes, and he saw a flash of—headstones? A cemetery?
“What?” he said to himself, inaudible over the sound of the music. He wheeled away from the dance floor. The white light of the bar was blurry, and he could barely make out Wolf frowning at him.
That sensation yanked through him again, sharper this time, like a meathook through the breastbone. His teeth snapped together on a startled snarl, and the glass slipped from his fingers, shattering on the floor. His free hand rose to his chest as he doubled over, gasping for breath. There was no wound, but he felt like something was ripping .
Hands touched his shoulders. “Hey, Malachi, you okay?”
He straightened, grabbing Wolf’s wrist. Part of him was endeared the man had come out from behind the bar to check on him. “No, I’m not—something’s wrong.”
“What’s happening?”
“I’m—” He cut off. The meathook was tearing through him now. His hands clenched into fists, and a cry spilled from him as the club disappeared entirely. He squeezed his eyes shut as streaks of color flew past him, and when it all came to a whirling stop, he collapsed to his hands and knees on scratchy grass, heaving in the cool night air.
His body trembled in the aftermath as he pushed himself upright, feeling like a wrung-out dishtowel. He was sitting on his heels in the middle of a cemetery. The city lights were distant, and around him was only comforting darkness.
“What the fuck?” he croaked.
“Malachi. ”
He turned his head. Luke stood before him, holding a creased piece of copy paper in hand and looking contemplative.
“You know, I wasn’t sure it was possible to summon a halfling. Good to know.” He folded up the paper and stuck it in his back pocket.
“You did what?” Malachi asked. The words didn’t compute. Luke had summoned him? He glanced around, realizing he was kneeling inside a ring of salt—which he wouldn’t be able to cross until Luke let him. This had never happened to him before. “Why?”
Luke stopped just outside the salt line, his hands on his hips. “That’s what I want to know. Why did you tell me about that demon? Why help me save those kids?”
Malachi stood, dusting himself off. The pain was fading rapidly now that the summoning itself was over. “Because I wanted to. And I’m used to doing whatever I want.”
Luke studied him for a long, inscrutable moment. “That’s it? You wanted to? You ratted out another demon for me to kill just… because?”
Malachi eased closer. The salt line might prevent him from touching, but this was even better than being separated by the hospital wall. He could see Luke now. Rake his eyes up and down his body. Smell his scent on the breeze, like cedar wood and citrus. He’d come here to speak to Malachi? Out to a cemetery in the middle of nowhere to summon Malachi and tell him he’d followed his lead? Malachi hoped so. He hoped Luke had been so eager to tell him the good news that he couldn’t wait to see him again.
“I may be a demon,” Malachi said, “but even I don’t like those things. They’re nothing more than mindless beasts that crawled out of the pit. ”
“And you’re not?”
He shrugged. “I was human once. Those monsters you kill in the dark places, they’re like… animals. I’m no more like them than you are like a wolf.”
Luke’s gaze trailed down his face, as though cataloging his features, and Malachi fought the urge to preen under his perusal.
“Then why me?” Luke asked.
Malachi smiled. “Because I like you.”
Confusion crossed his face. “Why?”
“I would be happy to tell you,” Malachi said softly, enticing Luke to lean in to hear him properly, “but you’ll have to let me out of here first. It’s not nice to hold someone hostage.”
“How do I know you won’t attack me? Or just leave?”
“I just told you, I like you. I won’t attack you, and answering your questions is more entertaining than wasting another night at the club—although the abrupt summoning wasn’t very nice. You made me break a glass.” He affected a pout.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Luke deadpanned.
“It’s okay. You can make it up to me.” He looked down pointedly at the line of salt between their shoes. Luke wore sand-colored tactical boots under his cargo khakis, a stark contrast from Malachi’s scuffed Chuck Taylors.
Luke took a long, slow breath. His chest expanded with it, and Malachi could feel the heat of his body, not quite close enough to touch. It was such exquisite torture.
Luke’s boot slid through the salt, fitting into the gap between Malachi’s sneakers for a moment before moving away.
His body thrummed with need. It would be so easy to reach out, drag Luke in. But Luke wasn’t ready yet. He would fight back. Malachi couldn’t screw this up by being too hasty.
Unable to resist entirely, he curled a hand around Luke’s muscular shoulder and guided him from the circle. Luke’s body buzzed with tension under his palm. “All right. I promised you answers. What do you want to know?”
“Why do you like me ?” Luke asked, like it was the craziest thing he’d ever heard. “How do you even know me? That night at the warehouse was the first time I’d ever even seen you.”
“Ah, but it wasn’t the first time I’d seen you.” Malachi pulled himself up to sit on a headstone.
“That’s disrespectful,” Luke said, pointing at the grave.
“Demon,” Malachi reminded. “Besides, they don’t care. They’re long gone.”
Luke crossed his impressive arms over his chest. “Fine, tell me how you know me, then,” he challenged.
Malachi turned his head to hide the depth of his amusement. “It was weeks ago. I was standing outside a club—a normal, human club, I’ll have you know—and I saw you. Swaggering down the street with purpose, confidence in every step. You have conviction in what you do. A moral code. I confess, I find it intriguing. I’ve never had a moral code—at least, not that I remember. It’s fascinating to watch how you work.”
Luke frowned like that didn’t compute.
Malachi leaned forward. “Most of you holy men function in a squad, like you’re afraid to go anywhere alone. But not you. You only work alone. Why is that?”
His expression shuttered. He tapped his scarred jaw, angling his head for Malachi to see—as though Malachi hadn’t spent weeks imagining what they would taste like.
“I used to have a squad. Now I’m all that’s left,” he said coldly. “I appealed to the council to let me work alone after that. I was distracted by a team, too worried about losing anyone else, and it was putting both them and me in danger. I can focus when I’m by myself. Better to be alone than to lose anyone else.”
Those were practiced words, and based on the coolness of his shuttered expression, words he was forcing himself to believe. Inexplicable fondness welled within Malachi.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Malachi crooned, sliding off the headstone and into Luke’s space. “You don’t have to be alone.”