Chapter 2
MALCOLM
Ishouldn't be doing this.
The fallen angel lies unconscious in my arms as I carry her through the storm, her skin far too pale against the dark stains of ash and blood.
Every soldier's instinct I possess screams at me to end this now—it would be a mercy, really.
Quick. Clean. Better than watching her suffer through the night.
But I can't bring myself to do it.
There’s something about the way they broke her wings before throwing her out... it isn't right. Fallen angels typically crash into the earth with their wings intact, usually scorched by Heaven's lightning but still whole. This is different. This is cruel.
Lightning flashes overhead as I approach my home, illuminating the stone walls and thick wooden beams. It's my sanctuary, and it's secure—hidden deep within the forest where other demons rarely venture.
Perfect for a soldier who prefers solitude.
Or, apparently, for hiding the fallen angels they were supposed to kill.
The angels have always thought of themselves as the superior beings, looking down upon us from their thrones in Heaven.
When angels are cast out, it’s up to us to maintain the balance between all things good and evil.
It’s impossible to have balance if we allow angels to walk freely amongst us, and since we can’t send them back up, our only option is to kill them, eliminating the threat entirely.
My cat, Shadow, meets me at the door, her black fur standing on end as she senses the angel's presence. She lets out a low growl, but I silence her with a look. "Not now," I mutter, shouldering open the heavy wooden door.
The angel—I still don't know her name—shivers in my arms despite the intense heat I'm generating. Shock, probably. I need to get her warm and treat those wings before infection sets in. Demon magic will burn her, so traditional medicine will have to work.
I carry her to my room, passing the guest room on my way.
She’d probably be more comfortable in that room, but I’ll be able to keep a closer eye on her if she’s in mine.
Shadow follows, her tail twitching with curiosity as I lay the angel on my bed.
In the soft lamplight, I can finally see the full extent of her injuries.
Her wings are even worse than I thought—the right one has a compound fracture, white bone visible through burned feathers.
The left is dislocated at the joint where it meets her back.
Both are still smoking slightly from the fall.
"What kind of monster did this to you?" I whisper, though I know she can't hear me. Angels are supposed to be creatures of mercy and light. All I see here is pure malice. Pure fucking evil.
I gather medical supplies from the cabinet—bandages, antiseptic, splints I usually keep for my own injuries, and a healing salve. As I work, I try not to notice how delicate she is, how her white-gold hair fans out across the pillow, or how something in my chest tightens when she whimpers in pain.
Shadow jumps onto the bed, sniffing at the angel's face. To my surprise, she starts purring and curls up next to the angel's head. "Traitor," I mutter, but I'm secretly relieved. Shadow's always been a better judge of character than I have.
The next few hours are brutal. She comes in and out of consciousness, screaming for mercy and then passing out when I reset her wing.
Even when she’s unconscious, she cries out, her face contorting in pain.
Each sound she makes feels like a knife in my gut.
I've caused plenty of pain in my years as a soldier, but this. .. this is different.
By the time I finish cleaning and bandaging her wings, dawn is breaking.
I've managed to clean most of the ash and blood off her skin, though what’s left of her dress is beyond saving.
Her breathing has steadied, and some color has returned to her cheeks.
She's going to live, assuming she heals more quickly than infection can set in.
I sit back in a chair across the room from her, running a hand through my dark hair while watching her chest rise and fall with each breath. Now I have to figure out what the hell I'm going to do with her.
I should report this. The right thing to do would be to tell my superiors about the unusual circumstances of her fall.
But that would mean handing her over, and something tells me she wouldn't survive an interrogation in her current state.
Besides, the thought of other demons touching her, hurting her more.
.. my tattoos flare with heat at the very idea, responding to my anger.
Shadow stretches and gives me a knowing look, as if to say I'm already in too deep. She's right, of course. The moment I caught this angel instead of letting her fall, I committed treason. If anyone finds out I've brought her here...
A soft moan from the bed interrupts my thoughts.
The angel stirs slightly, her brow furrowing in pain or bad dreams, I can’t tell.
Without thinking, I rise from the chair, crossing the room to sit beside her on the bed.
I’m reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face before I can stop myself.
Her skin is impossibly soft, and my rough fingers have no business touching something so pure.
I snatch my hand back, cursing myself for being such a fool. This isn't some stray cat I can nurse back to health and keep. She's an angel—fallen, yes, but still my natural enemy. I was created to hunt and kill her kind. The sooner I remember that, the better.
But as I turn to leave, she makes another small sound of distress. I pause, torn between what I should do and what I want to do. Shadow meows at me impatiently, clearly having decided the angel is staying.
"Fine," I growl, dragging the chair closer to the bed. "But just until she wakes up."
I tell myself I'm only staying to make sure she doesn't try to leave and hurt herself worse. That I'm watching her because she's a potential threat. That the odd protective feeling in my chest is just basic decency, and nothing more.
I'm lying to myself, and I know it.
Shadow knows it.
The morning sun slowly fills the room as I keep my vigil, counting her steady breaths and wondering how one broken angel could so thoroughly destroy centuries of certainty in a single night.