Chapter 49
Micah
Dakota was asleep on my chest now, her back moving steadily, her cheek pressed flat against my skin.
I shouldn’t have done it, but her mind had been so overwhelmed by all the information I’d just fed her about angels, and I hated seeing her stressed like that.
She needed time to digest everything, needed to rest. She’d eventually learn everything.
So I took away the anxiety and panic plaguing her, leaving only an innocent sleepiness.
She wasn’t well enough acquainted with my aspect to recognize the subtle feeling of me erasing her emotions.
For that very reason, it was immoral of me to use my power on her.
But I’d never felt particularly strongly about my own morals.
And she’d needed to learn at some point. Mason wasn’t happy about it, but I didn’t exactly give a fuck how he felt about anything with regards to Dakota. He could suck my fucking dick. And go cry about his aspect elsewhere—not in my house.
I’d done my best to give Dakota an overview of the three angelic aspects, but I needed to keep things at a certain level of vagueness to prevent her from putting the pieces together on too many facets of my life and personality.
It was also just a lot of information to take in, and I could recognize that.
I’d told her that my own power was quieter—the power of absence.
Sigeians didn’t dazzle or burn brightly; we drifted like ghosts.
I could remove things: sight, sound, smell, taste, even the feel of a hand against skin.
But I didn’t explain the way emotions bent under my touch, dulled or sharpened until they no longer belonged to the person of my interest—because I’d been bending her own emotions at the time.
If I wished, I could blur people’s memories until they forgot the color of my eyes, the shape of my voice.
That was why I never seemed to age; people simply forgot to notice.
Dakota seemed to have some experience with this phenomenon, though she hadn’t known the explanation at the time.
I assumed it had to do with her friend she’d pretended to be roommates with.
I could also make myself entirely invisible, or make her entirely invisible, but I didn’t tell her that yet.
After the Sigeian explanation, I’d given a brief overview of Aiglens—which I didn’t care much about. I didn’t know any Aiglens anymore. Any that made it to Earth were instant targets for ichor-hungry demons, and I didn’t associate with that. Aamon was enough of a problem on his own.
Then I moved on to Thrausians. The broken ones.
Explaining Mason’s aspect was more difficult, because I’d never experienced it.
I would never know what it felt like to have absolutely zero survival instinct, and no gauge for the approach of my own death.
If I held my breath underwater, my lungs would begin to burn with the lack of neon, and my body would ache.
Mason wasn’t like that. He got stronger when he held his breath—and he’d never know exactly how long it would take to kill himself. He couldn’t feel it.
And he would always crave that rush of power. For the rest of his life, however long that was.
So I’d told Dakota that Mason’s power was not subtle. That it was the kind which chewed through him as fast as it burned the world around him.
She listened to me talk about how the closer Mason drifted toward death, the stronger he became. About how electricity curled at his fingertips, strength surging in ways that were never safe, never steady. His power was broken, uncontrollable.
I’d explained that his real power only came when his mind fractured, splitting under rage or grief, sometimes spurred on by his own neon-deprivation habit.
Then the world cracked open around him, violent and explosive, until nothing could stop the collapse.
Almost all of his kind chose to fall from Heaven, and most didn’t live long after that.
He had already outlasted his fate, though it was always chasing him.
Him being alive was due, in large part, to me.
I didn’t tell Dakota that, either.
She shifted in her sleep, a soft sigh tumbling past her lips, long eyelashes fluttering on her cheeks, and I wrapped my arms more tightly around her body, relaxing into my mattress. Spending such vast amounts of time with Mason again was torture, but Dakota was a salve for every wound.
Unpredictable, volatile, angry, violent. He hadn’t changed at all over the years.
He knew as much.
Seeing him again on Blackpine’s campus that one day had thoroughly shocked me, because I hadn’t expected him to still be alive.
I figured he would’ve fractured long ago, and without a way to pull himself out of the darkness on the other side of that, he would’ve only gotten worse and worse.
Fracturing further, chasing neon deprivation like a drug addict in the final stages.
Once a Thrausian got to that point, they were as good as dead.
And I’d assumed that was what happened to Mason.
I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and sent a message to him.
Me : She knows now. I didn’t have a choice.
It was only thirty seconds later that my phone buzzed with his response. I snatched it off the comforter, eyes skimming over the disdain in his words.
Mason : You should’ve been more careful. This is why she never should’ve started sleeping here. Fucking stupid if you ask me.
Me : I didn’t ask you. I’m just informing you that Dakota knows about us.
Mason : About us?
Me : That we’re angels. Don’t be dense.
Mason : Eat my ass
Without thinking, I threw my phone across the room, sending it slamming into the wall. Dakota startled with the loud noise, her eyes squinting open. Gently, I held the side of her head, keeping her against my chest, soothing her back to sleep.
Sorry. Just thinking about rimming my ex.
Wish I wasn’t.
My tongue has been in places a lot filthier than your pussy.
I tilted my head back, stretching out my neck, adjusting my hips on the mattress. My dick stirred in my sweats, half-hard now. Didn’t help that Dakota was laying on me. None of this was helpful.