Unholy (Dark Delights #2)

6. Luke

Chapter 6

Luke

Another week passed in a routine blur. Luke distracted himself from the memory of Malachi’s honeyed promises by throwing himself into his work. He trained during the day at the guild and patrolled at night, staying on the move to keep his mind from wandering. He found another crex demon in an old office building and a pair of white wraith-like things he would have to look up in the library to put a name to. But too many nights, there was nothing at all to fight. Nothing to distract him from the emptiness all around him where his squad used to be. On those nights, he spent far too long repeating Malachi’s words over in his mind: You don’t have to be alone. You don’t have to be alone.

Tonight, so far, had been one of those empty nights. The city lights were a distant glow, reflecting off the storm clouds overhead. Around him, the cemetery was abysmally dark, the headstones cold and flat slabs of shadow behind which anything could be lurking. The occasional raindrop hit his face and arms, as though the sky could open up at any moment. It was dismal. Just like his mood .

So far, none of the usual haunts had proven fruitful, and he wondered if he would go home tonight with clean blades and restless energy. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Malachi since the night he’d declared Luke his , and Luke dared to hope that maybe he’d given up and gone on to easier prey. Because that had to be what it was. He was playing some kind of game with him, trying to lure him away from the guild like that other demon had lured Hawk. But Hawk was young and new to the fight, new to the strange temptations that some demons could offer. Luke wasn’t so easily fooled.

The sound of something shifting behind him broke the silence, and he whirled around, raising his blade.

There was nothing there but pale headstones and whispering wind. He held himself still, waiting and listening. A handful of raindrops landed on his face, increasing in frequency. He slowly turned back around, tension leaching from him. Perhaps it was only the wind ruffling some flowers on a nearby headstone.

Something cinched painfully tight around his ankles, wrenching both feet out from under him. He just had the sense of mind to turn his blade away so he didn’t land on it. His own body weight crushed his elbow under his chest, and he rolled onto his back as something dragged him across the grass.

It was a monster of some kind, half-hidden in the dirt. He’d never seen anything like it. Many rotted hands and arms stretched out of the earth, snagging around his ankles and calves, dragging him closer to its impossible face. There were eyes—too many to count. Flat and round like a human’s, but all wrong. Gaping mouths with flat, blunt teeth opened and closed like they could already taste his flesh. It looked like something had melted a dozen zombies out of a horror movie together into one. Raspy whines left the mouths, all different pitches that clashed with each other, painfully shrill.

He swung his blade as he drew a bottle of holy water from his belt with his free hand. His sword caught on bone and glanced off. He couldn’t swing with enough momentum at this angle to hack through them. Desperately, he flung holy water at the thing. Its shrieks doubled as the holy water burned its mottled skin, but those fingers, if anything, only tightened. He was certain they were digging into him, ripping holes through both denim and skin. The pain blared like an alarm in his head— hurts, hurts, hurts.

When the bottle was empty, he abandoned it, flinging a hand out to grab onto the nearest headstone.

“Oh God, oh God,” he said mindlessly. He couldn’t get free, and those mouths were just shy of his boots. Was this going to be how he died? Eaten in a cemetery on a regular patrol? Would there even be anything left of him? Would anyone at the guild know what happened to him?

He thought of his squad. Would he see them on the other side after the pain was gone? He hoped they weren’t angry with him for surviving when they had all perished. He’d tried so hard to save them, but he wasn’t fast enough. Strong enough.

A dark figure swooped toward him, forcibly jerking the sword from his grip. He gasped, certain he was dead without it, but then the figure turned toward the monster, slamming the sword right into the middle of its many twisted faces. The hands all released him at once, the twisted body jerking and rolling. Just as quickly, the black-clad figure returned to him, grabbing him under the arms and hauling him a safe distance away .

They fell backward together, and it took Luke a few moments to realize the legs framing his own were clad in black skinny jeans with a rip over one knee.

“Mal—Malachi,” he breathed, knowing with absolute certainty despite not seeing his face yet.

“Yeah,” the halfling said in his ear, panting. “I’ve got you.” Arms came around him, and Luke closed his eyes, sagging against Malachi’s sturdy warmth. His body shook—with adrenaline or shock or some combination of the two, he couldn’t say. Maybe it made him weak, but he’d thought for sure he was a goner. So he just held onto Malachi and waited for his breaths to return to normal.

Eventually, he said, “I t… I told you I didn’t need your help.” He swallowed hard, embarrassed that his voice had given out.

Malachi huffed out a laugh, his breath puffing against the curve of Luke’s neck. “And I told you that when that stopped being true, I wouldn’t be far.”

Something fragile cracked in Luke’s chest, but he wasn’t ready to inspect it yet. “Have you been watching me all this time?”

“Every night. The crex demons. The dezrath pair you found. I watched, and you didn’t need me, so I stayed away. But you needed me this time.” His voice was soft, lips brushing the shell of Luke’s ear.

Luke squeezed his eyes closed, his breath shuddering out of him. One of Malachi’s hands was moving, pressing his knuckles into Luke’s palm, fitting their fingers together. He was wearing rings, and Luke told himself he didn’t wonder what they looked like. They clacked against his guild ring. He should pull away and stop thinking about how well their hands fit together. Get up and tell Malachi thanks but he could take it from here.

The rain peppered their heads. It would be coming down in sheets soon, but neither of them made any move to extricate themselves. He felt safe here in the cradle of Malachi’s legs. When was the last time he’d felt truly safe?

“I won’t let any harm come to you, my human,” Malachi crooned softly. His lips brushed the hinge of Luke’s jaw, just shy of a kiss. “The only place I cannot protect you is your guild.”

Because it was the one place he couldn’t follow. Because he was a demon. “I have to get up,” he said, as much to himself as Malachi. “We can’t do this. I have to get up.”

“We can do whatever we want, sweetheart,” Malachi whispered.

No, that wasn’t true. The guild would banish him for even sitting here with Malachi like this. They wouldn’t care that he’d just saved Luke from a very painful death. All they would see was a traitor cavorting with a demon.

Reluctantly, he pried himself away from Malachi’s body, though it felt like he left some skin behind, leaving him raw in a way he’d never experienced. Hands on his back helped him find his balance, and when he turned around, there was no judgment or disappointment in Malachi’s eyes.

“It’s raining,” Malachi said. “You should call it a night. Maybe get something to eat. There’s a twenty-four-hour diner just up the road from here. I hear they have good cheeseburgers.”

“Right.” When was the last time he’d eaten more than power bars and protein shakes? He’d been pushing himself so hard to forget Malachi that he’d been neglecting everything else .

Turning toward the hole in the ground, he inched closer. There was nothing left of the monster now, only upturned earth and the scratches that throbbed on Luke’s legs to remind him of his close call. He hoped they wouldn’t scar. He had enough scars. When he quietly retrieved his sword, he paused to stare down at the empty hole. That would’ve been his shallow grave if Malachi hadn’t been there, and his stomach twisted with nausea at the thought.

When he turned away, Malachi fell into step with him. At Luke’s questioning look, he said, “I can walk with you, or I can follow where you can’t see. And I think you could use the company right now. You look a little off.”

Luke swallowed hard. He hadn’t had a truly close call like that since he’d received the scars on his face. Some nerve damage and a dead squad later, he had a PTSD diagnosis from Doctor Maxwell and a prescription for antidepressants he stubbornly refused to take. The rest of his squad was dead. Taking medication to make their loss feel less painful seemed… disrespectful somehow. His refusal had been part of the reason Maxwell wanted to have regularly scheduled therapy sessions with him, so he could monitor his condition.

A hand closed around the back of his neck, drawing him from his thoughts.

“It’s rude to wander off,” Malachi said.

“What? I didn’t…” He glanced around. They were still walking in a straight line toward the cemetery parking lot. He hadn’t wandered anywhere.

Malachi tapped Luke’s temple. “You wandered up here.”

“How do you—” He cut himself off, certain he didn’t want to know.

“How do I what? ”

Luke scowled. “How do you read me so well? Is it a demon thing?”

Malachi let out a helpless little laugh. “Would you believe I don’t know? I’ve never been particularly good at understanding humans. But something about you… I wasn’t kidding when I said you were mine. I think that’s why. I think something in me recognizes something in you.”

Warmth bloomed in his chest, and Luke stubbornly tried to stamp it out. He didn’t care. He didn’t care .

When they stopped beside his guild-issued sedan, he reached for the door handle without saying anything, but Malachi’s hands appeared in his line of sight, guiding his head up to meet his eyes. Luke parted his lips to protest, but no sound came out as red eyes studied his expression carefully.

Malachi’s thumb—or at least he thought it was a thumb—was stroking one of the scarred slashes on his jaw, but… “I can’t feel that.”

Malachi blinked. “Can’t feel what?”

Luke swallowed hard, tapping Malachi’s stroking thumb. “Nerve damage. I can’t feel anything in that area. If one of them had been a quarter inch to the left, it would’ve severed an artery, and I’d have bled out in minutes.”

A low growl tumbled from Malachi’s chest. “Don’t say that.”

One corner of his mouth raised, but there was no real humor to it. “Just repeating what they told me when I woke up.”

Long fingers slid up, curling around the back of his head and reeling him in until their foreheads pressed together. “I don’t like it. ”

“Neither do I,” he admitted. This was far closer than he should allow the halfling to get, but for a moment, it felt too good to care.

Biting his lip like it was the hardest thing in the world, Malachi drew away from him. “Are you okay to drive? I hear humans are fragile while they’re processing trauma.”

Luke blinked in consternation. Where had he heard something like that? “I’ll be fine. I’ve had a lot of practice processing trauma.”

It was the wrong thing to say, but Luke still got a tiny thrill out of the way Malachi’s hands tightened into fists at his sides. It was nice, he could admit to himself and only himself, to have someone feel that kind of emotion for him. Even if that someone was a demon.

He swooped into the driver’s seat, and when he looked out the window, Malachi was gone.

As promised, there was a diner not far from the cemetery. The mostly empty parking lot was brightly lit, reflecting in pools of black rainwater. Luke parked as close to the building as he could manage and darted through the pouring rain to the door, which jingled cheerfully as he opened it. The smell of fried food made his mouth water.

He’d changed into a spare shirt from his car, but his jeans were still grass-stained and streaked with dirt. The middle-aged waitress didn’t comment on his appearance, just told him to sit anywhere he liked. He’d covered the scratches on his legs with fresh gauze from his first-aid kit. With his torn jeans tucked into his boots, the gauze wasn’t visible .

His wet boots squeaked on the faded tile floor as he claimed a red booth by the window. He slid a laminated menu toward himself, propped his hand on his fist, and yawned. Outside the window to his left, the rain was falling hard, trickling down the glass in rivulets.

“Hey, sugar,” a familiar voice crooned, and a dark figure slid into the booth opposite him. “Come here often?”

He blinked over at Malachi. “Did you—why am I asking? Of course you followed me here.”

Malachi sniggered. “You catch on quick. I was feeling peckish. Thought I’d join you.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Luke said, but it sounded halfhearted at best. He was in the middle of an adrenaline crash, and he was too tired to argue. Maybe the food would perk him back up.

“Yes, yes, yes, I’ve heard it all before,” Malachi said dismissively, picking up a laminated menu. “What are you having?”

Luke cleared his throat. “I hear the cheeseburgers are good.”

Malachi grinned. He looked far too good to be sitting with the likes of Luke. With his sleeveless band T-shirt and glossy black hair, he looked like he belonged on a rock n’ roll stage rather than sitting across from a dirty man in a grungy diner. His red eyes were strikingly beautiful against his pale skin, and his teeth were straight and pearly white.

“Like what you see?” he asked, tilting his head as though inviting Luke’s gaze.

“More than I should,” Luke admitted, then flushed. He shouldn’t say things like that out loud. He shouldn’t even think things like that.

But it was too late. Malachi was fairly preening, sucking his lower lip between his teeth in a way that did nothing to hide his smugness.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Luke said.

“Like what?” Malachi said, far too innocently.

“Like you’ve won .”

If anything, the smugness worsened. “Haven’t I?”

“No,” Luke said stubbornly, staring with determination out the window. When he felt sneakered feet hook around his heel and drag his leg closer, he didn’t try to move away, his stomach fluttering. The wounds around his ankles throbbed in time with his pulse, a low-grade reminder of his close call, and Malachi’s feet carefully avoided them. It was a thoughtfulness Luke didn’t expect.

The waitress appeared then, taking their orders with a pen and notepad. Luke ordered a cheeseburger and fries with a glass of water. To his surprise, Malachi ordered the exact same thing but with a soda.

“Did you treat your wounds? You don’t smell like blood anymore,” Malachi said when she wandered away.

“You could smell my blood?”

Malachi smiled faintly, like that was amusing.

Luke shook himself. “And yeah, I have a first-aid kit in the car. They were shallow enough. Shouldn’t scar.”

“And you don’t have to rush back to the guild and tell them about what happened?” he asked curiously.

He shook his head. “I do my reports in the morning.” He heaved a sigh. It wasn’t wise to be giving sensitive information about anything regarding the guild’s inner workings to a demon. Why was he letting his guard down so easily? “Tell me something about you now.”

Malachi’s foot flexed, pressing against his calf, above the edge of his boot and safely away from his sore ankle. “Me? ”

“Yes.” He cast about for something to ask, something that took the attention away from him and his work for the guild. Something that would make him feel less like he was betraying them. “What’s the club like? I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard stories.”

His dark brows rose. “The club? In Extremis?”

“Mm-hm. Is it as bad as the paladins say? They recommend we don’t go there alone.”

His red eyes were brimming with amusement. “Hawk went there alone. It worked out well enough for him.”

“He was kidnapped off the street by our people and banished for all time for doing that. I wouldn’t say it worked out,” he deadpanned.

Malachi shrugged. “He seemed happy enough when I saw him there with Talon the other night.”

Luke blinked. “You saw him? He’s doing okay?”

“Of course. What’d you expect?”

Luke shrugged. “You hear about a guy being tempted by a literal demon, you expect there to be some regret later. Fire and brimstone or something.”

Malachi rolled his eyes. “I can’t speak to the fire and brimstone, because I don’t remember Hell, but I’m pretty sure they fucked in one of the VIP rooms that night. Didn’t look like much regretting was going on.”

Embarrassment flushed through Luke at the frank statement and the images they conjured. What did sex with a demon look like?

No, stop it. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t care.

Malachi moved his foot back and forth in a slow, soothing stroke, and the heat of embarrassment turned into a low burn of something else entirely .

The waitress arrived with their food, and when she flitted away again, Luke asked, “You don’t remember Hell?”

Malachi shook his head, picking up his soda. “Nope. A brief, incredible pain, but mostly nothing. I think…” He tilted his head back thoughtfully, and Luke’s eyes trailed down the pale column of his exposed throat. “I think the pain was when I became a halfling. There’s this… sense that I’d made some kind of choice and expected what was coming.”

Luke blinked in surprise. “Made the choice? You chose to become a demon?”

“We all did. Supposedly. Like I said, I don’t remember much about it. Others remember more than I do. We weren’t forced into this. We wanted to come back to Earth, and this was the price of admission.”

“Why?” Luke asked, leaning forward with interest. “What’s the point of making you all into demons?”

He shook his head lightly. “I don’t think we can come back otherwise. Something about crossing back over is impossible unless you’re demonic. The veil only goes one way for human souls.” He nudged Luke’s plate. “Eat.”

Luke leaned back, belatedly realizing how obviously he’d been hanging on every word. “Right, yeah.”

“But anyway. You asked about the club. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but nobody dies there. Paladins probably aren’t allowed to go there alone because they know we’d fuck with them. Try to get them to have a drink and mess around. The real fun for us is in the temptation. I don’t think anyone’s ever been killed there.”

Luke cast him a dubious look at that.

“It’s true! They wouldn’t be able to stay in business if the cops were getting involved. Or you guys were getting involved. Sure, the people who go there may not always know what they’re getting into, but they either get with the program or leave. Most of us aren’t in the business of forcing someone to do something they don’t want.”

“Most of you?” Luke asked.

Malachi inclined his head. “Some of us are worse than others. Lilith, the owner, turns a blind eye to whoever rakes in the most money. Sometimes that means shitty people have a lot of sway. It’s no different than with humans, though. There are plenty of shitty humans out there who do bad things and get away with it.”

Luke sighed. “True.” He picked up his burger and took a bite. It was, unfortunately, as good as Malachi said. He was disappointingly honest about everything . How was Luke supposed to hate him if he kept this up?

“People drink, they smoke, they fuck. We’re a little fonder of blood than your average kink club, I guess, but everybody has their vices.”

Luke choked on a chunk of bread at that, chugging his water until he could breathe again. “Jesus, Malachi.”

Malachi laughed brightly. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were such a prude.”

“I’m not a—it’s just not something you hear in everyday conversation.”

“Especially not with the folks you hang out with.”

“I don’t hang out with anyone,” Luke said derisively, ignoring an insidious little voice, which sounded suspiciously like Doctor Maxwell, that said that was exactly part of his problem. He’d isolated himself to the point that a demon seemed like good company.

“You’re hanging out with me,” Malachi said, capturing his foot again.

“And I should not be. If anyone sees us together, I’m going to tell them you approached me and I told you to leave.”

Malachi pouted. “Rude.”

“I don’t really want to get chloroformed and banished.”

“They chloroformed him?” he repeated, like this was a juicy piece of gossip he’d never heard before.

“Yes,” Luke said matter-of-factly. “I’d rather avoid going through something similar.”

Malachi leaned back, spreading his leanly muscled arms out on either side of the booth. “Hawk was banished for fucking a demon. We’re not doing that , are we?”

Luke’s eyes lingered on his pale arms, the shadowed muscles of his sides that were exposed by his ripped T-shirt. The edge of one brown areola was just barely visible, and Luke looked away, his mouth dry.

“Right.”

When he finished eating, Malachi wordlessly slid from the booth and went to the counter. Luke drained the last of his water, his eyes falling to Malachi’s plate. He hadn’t touched his food.

Malachi returned with a receipt and a styrofoam box. He slapped the receipt down in front of Luke and then transferred his food into the box. Luke pulled the slip of paper closer, going blank with surprise when he noticed both meals had been paid for.

“You paid for my food?”

“Of course. I want you to be happy. That means feeding you and telling you you’re pretty. ”

Luke flushed. “You didn’t tell me I’m—” He broke off. He didn’t care, didn’t care, didn’t care.

Malachi didn’t miss it. Malachi didn’t miss anything . He leaned in, bracing one hand on the booth behind Luke and one on the table in front of him. His nose skimmed Luke’s temple, and Luke inhaled the scent of clove and citrus.

“Luke,” Malachi breathed, the words tickling Luke’s cheek, “you’re beautiful.”

Luke’s throat clicked on a dry swallow. No, he wasn’t, but he’d never heard a more genuine statement. There was real emotion in Malachi’s voice, longing and conviction. He tipped his head back to meet crimson eyes, and Malachi’s smiling lips brushed his own.

A jolt of panic went down his spine. “No, no, stop it.” He planted a hand on Malachi’s chest and pushed him away, relieved when Malachi didn’t resist. “We can’t .”

Malachi inclined his head, unbothered. “As you wish.”

Desperate to put some distance between them, Luke slid out of the booth and walked around Malachi to the door. He didn’t care if the demon followed. He didn’t care .

He shouldn’t care.

But he did.

Malachi was an explosion of color in his black-and-white world. He couldn’t pretend to be unaffected by his presence when he bloomed like a flower in the sun every time those red eyes turned toward him. It was too dangerous to be around him.

“God,” he breathed into the cool night air. The rain had stopped while they were in the diner, leaving the scent of wet asphalt behind. He splashed through the wet parking lot to his car.

“Luke! ”

Another fresh wave of panic crashed through him, and he sped up. He couldn’t turn around and look at Malachi again. There was too much temptation to lean into him, to let him keep telling him wonderful things that no one else dared to say to him. He was too scarred, too scary, too old and broken. It was better to be alone, because no one wanted him, anyway. No one but Malachi, the worst choice in the entire world. The only choice that would upend his entire life.

He threw himself into the car and drove away without looking back.

He berated himself the whole way home. Maybe he was lonely, but he didn’t hate it. He liked hunting demons; he was good at it. Every moment he spent in Malachi’s presence put his standing with the guild in danger. No amount of loneliness would be cured by spending time with a demon. In fact, it would do the opposite. He would be banished, and he’d never be able to see anyone from the guild ever again.

Not that he saw them much anyway , since he’d stubbornly worked alone for five years now.

He shook himself, pushing that sinister little voice away. He would not upend his entire life to spend time with a halfling, no matter how charming or handsome he was.

It started raining again before he got to his apartment, and he rushed from the parking lot to the squat, U-shaped building. He continued to berate himself up the stairs and in his apartment and in his shower. When he emerged in a cloud of steam, he opened the medicine cabinet and stared at the contents. The antidepressants were right there on the middle shelf, staring back at him.

He was an idiot. A lonely idiot. He’d forced himself to be alone for so long that a demon was beginning to catch his eye. It was fortunate that he had a therapy session with Maxwell tomorrow. He clearly wasn’t thinking straight. Maybe he was depressed. It couldn’t hurt to actually try the medication. With a sigh, he popped one of the pills into his mouth and swallowed it with a drink of water from the sink.

But he couldn’t steer his thoughts away from Malachi as he turned out the lights and collapsed into bed. Malachi, falling back on his ass with his arms and legs around Luke, cradling him like he was something precious. Fingers sliding between his own. Malachi’s easy smiles and smug red eyes. His glossy hair, like spilled ink, and his canvas-white skin. His corded forearms and long legs. The pressure of his feet around Luke’s under the table.

What would those long fingers feel like on his cock? Would he wear his rings? Would that wicked tongue tease his tip or paint a long, wet stripe up his shaft?

Luke growled in frustration, slipping a hand into his pants and wrapping his fingers around his hard length. He thought of the way Malachi’s lips pursed around his straw, the way his pale teeth looked biting into his lower lip. His hand stroked quickly, too eager to make it last. He imagined what Malachi would look like as he came, if his dark brows would draw together, if his mouth would open wide, if he would scream Luke’s name. He swiped his thumb across the head, gathering the precum there and spreading it down his shaft.

He imagined what Malachi’s lean, porcelain body would look like naked. He was obviously muscled—lithe, like a swimmer. He could’ve been carved by Michelangelo himself. Perfection incarnate. He fucked up into the tight ring of his own hand, imagining it was Malachi’s tight hole. Or better yet… He slipped his other hand into his bottoms and spread hi s legs wide, curling it below his sac to press against his entrance. Was Malachi big? Would he stretch Luke wide? He pressed the tip of his finger inside. It had been years since he’d done this, but his body remembered the burn. His cock jerked in his hand as he began to move his finger, and ropes of cum splashed his stomach and chest.

With another frustrated groan at himself, he went lax. This wouldn’t help things at all .