Chapter 9 Suriel
Charlie squirms and glowers at me as I lay her back on the couch.
Her hands are bound behind her back now, so she can’t use them.
I tried to be gentle, but she’s making this impossible and she knows it.
She twists ever so slightly to keep glowering at me, obviously biting the inside of her cheek like she knows whatever will come out of her mouth will be poison.
I turn around for a second, trying to decode God’s message about trusting my instinct because it hasn’t steered me wrong. It feels like my instinct is doing just that. Because the more she fights me, the more she threatens me and challenges me, the more I want to unravel who she is.
The need to make her something I can categorize and fix burns through me.
The need to crack through the fury she uses like a wall to get to whatever she’s hiding feels necessary, but that’s a threat to my sanity.
Already, feeling her body against mine, slowly undressing her – it was supposed to be clinical, yet something stirred inside me, new and hot. It was demanding.
I have five remaining days to pry the corruption from her soul, to get her back on the path she must be on so she can do what she’s meant to do, play the role she’s meant to play. Looking at her now, flushed, frustrated, ready to cry …
I hate that she’s my job.
I hate that someone so broken is who I’m meant to save.
She’s a dying hope, and yet there’s something about the embers of what’s left of her purity, her kindness, her compassion that make me want to stoke the flames and see what’s beyond the paranoid fury she clings to.
How am I to separate the job from the woman when she’s the focal point?
She looks softer than any angel I’ve ever seen with the temper and cunning of the fallen all wrapped up in a temptation that I feel, but don’t understand. She’s meant to ruin and destroy and I alone have to stay immune to that to succeed.
“I’ll be good, Suriel. Just untie me,” she whispers, a pout slipping onto her lips.
“I attempted to trust you and you proved that to be a mistake, Charlie,” I say, clinging to patience and graciousness. “We need to take care of your ankle and your knee.”
“No, I need you to let me go. I need to get to a doctor or a hospital. I need to be somewhere that I recognize, or my anxiety will eat me. You’re supposed to keep me safe or protect me, right? Protect my mind, too. It’s as important as a soul.”
She’s not wrong, but she’s too cunning for her own good. If she hadn’t run, I’d almost consider what she’s saying. She’s revealed that lies slip from her tongue easily, that everything she offers comes with a price.
“Suriel, I told you how to get me here and I’m standing by my word,” she says.
Turning, I see her sitting innocently, but based on the way her shoulders are moving, she’s trying to get free.
I push her back on the couch, so her head is on the pillow.
I grab the other two pillows and gently lift her calf.
Her thigh is right there, leading higher and higher, temptingly soft like her body is begging me to explore her, to touch her, to sink into her with more than just words and divinity.
No, no. We watch, we guide, we touch when we need to protect and only to protect.
The last time that rule was forgotten, the earth was flooded.
Closing my eyes, I set her ankle on the pillows and force myself to pull away before I can get drawn in.
Sin clings to her, that’s all.
And sin loves to spread.
Charlie squirms, but she can’t get out of this position without her hands. She glowers at me. “Give me a fucking reason, angel.”
I exhale slowly. Maybe we can focus on what we need to do and nothing else. That requires trust. Trust that could lead to respect and partnership. It could make things easier. Five days left to steer her in the right direction.
“Trust is earned,” she hisses. “So, earn it. Give me something to hold onto. Some kind of justification for all this manhandling and kidnapping”
“The world will get worse. The worthy will be saved, others will be subjected to the horsemen’s power.
They’ll be the worst of themselves and won’t hesitate to hurt you in every way possible,” I say softly.
“Right now, with the runes, we’re invisible to the possessed, to the horsemen, and to the devil himself. ”
“See, that’s not a reason. That’s a prediction steeped in religious fantasy,” she says, her voice softening.
“I know how the Bible can be twisted. I know how it can be used to punish and to beat a person down until they’re compliant and thankful for whatever pain someone delivers, as long as it keeps the devil away. I outgrew it. You can too.”
What is she talking about?
It’s infuriating, confusing, but I decide to dig in. Strictly for the mission, not because I’m curious. “Charlie, I am an angel. This is the end of times. And you are …” No. I won’t say it. It will push her deeper in denial. “Would you like the news back on?”
“You mean the radio … yes,” she finally says. “What am I, Suriel?”
“Mine to protect,” I say as I bring ice to her and settle it on her ankle.
I brush my fingers over her knee and say a quiet prayer to Raphael to heal her, to take care of her mind, body, and soul. She squirms again, but doesn’t look away from me.
Even injured, angry, and untrusting, she’s beautiful.
In a violent, dangerous way.
I keep my hand on the ice to cool the growing curiosity I feel. The same curiosity I should be far above. Perhaps I’m feeling because I’ve lost my wings. Hard to be above anything without them.
“Okay, can you protect me somewhere else?” She asks. “Or protect me from losing circulation in my hands by tying them in front of me?”
“No,” I answer directly, then massage her calf.
She bites her bottom lip as she watches my hands work.
I get more information about this world, trying to avoid her painful memories, and only diving into things like treating injuries, what ‘normal’ is here, the basics.
“We have the same goal and that’s all that matters right now. ”
“Really? Because my goal is to escape you. I don’t think your goals have anything to do with orgasming, either, because I was denied at the morgue and-”
“That’s unimportant. You will survive.”
Her eyes shine with something that’s almost like grief, but she looks away. “If you’re an angel, then why were you dead on my slab? If you’re an angel, then why didn’t you kill those guys to protect me or stop Clay from trying to force me to blow you?”
Something hot and angry laps at my skin. My fingers curl into fists. “Excuse me?”
“Well, if you’re an angel, then you weren’t dead.
You must have been aware that I was blowing Clay, and how he wanted to fuck me.
He kept ripping off your body bag, then told me to suck your cock.
He was even trying to get you hard enough that I could, so I’d shut up while he fucked me since I was really close to saying no and-”
I take a step forward. “I wasn’t conscious, Charlie! My dive from heaven has side effects. It’s why angels aren’t everywhere. Without wings, I’m weaker! If I would have known, I wouldn’t have let him touch you! I would have …”
“Killed him?” She asks, eyes on me.
Yes.
It’s not the honorable answer, or one Heaven would agree with, but it’s true. Because she’s mine to protect, mine to redeem. That’s it. She’s not mine in any other way. She can’t be. Even if she could, I wouldn’t want her. She’s unpleasant, sarcastic, blasphemous.
But I wouldn’t have hesitated to kill the human that wanted to use her and me so selfishly. Even if it ensured my wings would never be returned. I want to punish myself for the thought all the same.
“Allow me to get you a full meal. You like cheese and I believe I saw something called ‘mac-n-cheese’ in the pantry,” I decide.
“Suriel, this is insane and you know it.”
“You saw what happened in the morgue. The horsemen have specific influence. War encourages conquering, violence, the selfish desire to claim. Pestilence affects the mind and the body in equal measures, letting infection take root. Famine makes a person starve for more than food. Anything they’re aching for becomes a need that must be satisfied.
Death … he’s self-explanatory,” I press, focusing on anything other than my misplaced rage.
“Okay … so why am I fine? They touched me. They touched you. If you’re an angel, fine. Whatever. But what about me?”
“You’re important,” I say, seeing the panic in her eyes. I gently lift a lock of her hair and watch it slip between my fingers. “Too important to damage, too much for them to handle. Together we will make sure you survive, Charlie. All you need is me and your sanity.”
Her eyes focus on me as she swallows. “Thank you, but-”
“Listen and think on it,” I command, motioning to the radio.
“But we’re having a conversation and-”
“Thinking can only be done with silence. You don’t prefer the way I encourage that,” I hint.
She swallows, gives me a lingering look I understand and feel, but refuse to name, then huffs and lays back, staring at the ceiling. I have to know her to change her. That’s the only purpose here.
Keep to the plan, but change the ending.
Nothing else matters, my feelings included.