Chapter 17 - Charlie
Icook once we get home and Suriel stays close to me. He doesn’t touch, like that’s something he heard and is obeying. He also killed someone for me, so he’s not all talk.
And that woman …
Closing my eyes, I admit that belief in Revelations is creeping in. This level of insanity, not just in the city but across the world based on the reports, is not normal. It’s not close to it. And that woman’s broken smile. Her eyes, the way she and the chainsaw dude spoke.
I shiver.
“Are you cold?” Suriel asks immediately. “I’ll light the fireplace.”
He goes to take care of that and I realize I’m not tied up. Of course, after an early dinner, that changes. I don’t fight it, I just watch the way his hands work, looping knots, twisting the rope so it won’t budge, but won’t hurt me.
How can he be gentle while literally tying me in place on the bed?
When he looks me over, drinking in my arms stretched above my head to the bed frame, then over my body, something hot and needy licks at my core.
Sure, yesterday he was just hot, even if crazy.
This morning, I was sure he was the best option to orgasm, but that hint of desire, that hunger in his gaze …
It twists me up.
No one has ever looked at me the way Suriel has.
His emotions flash through his eyes, giving me a window to his soul, but it’s like he doesn’t care what I see or if it makes sense.
Grief, passion, the need to protect me, patience, understanding, and lust are always in play.
And I definitely want to play with each emotion I see.
But I want to ask him questions too. I want to figure out who he is beyond an angel (maybe) that’s a bit homicidal, but also willing to let me scream at him and kick him as long as I stay.
Who the hell is this man?
Why can I only stare when he tucks me in gently and asks if I need anything, if I’m warm enough, or if I want him to stay.
“If I sleep …” the words slip between my lips, too honest and real. “Will the nightmare happen again?”
He considers something, immediately rejects it before speaking, then sits next to me. “I’m not sure. I updated the runes, but the Devil is strong. He’s been in your mind once, it may be harder to keep him out.”
I hate the wording, but he’s not offering to ‘purify’ me or exorcise me.
“Will you stay? Wake me up the second you think I’m having a nightmare?” I ask, hating how vulnerable I sound.
“Of course I’ll stay,” he says, voice taut, but eyes gentle.
He glances at my wrists, debates with himself, then lays next to me.
He adjusts some pillows for me, then prays over my ankle and knee again.
I almost roll my eyes, but he settles beside me.
“I won’t touch you without permission. Your body is yours, just as your mind and soul are as well. ”
“If you’re my angel, does that make you mine, too?” I ask.
His eyes burn for a second, then it’s gone, like I imagined it. “In a way.”
“Super romantic. Great job,” I snort.
“It’s not about romance.”
“I know, but my brain needs something normal. We should actually get to know each other tomorrow. Maybe I’ll trust you more,” I hint.
He watches me for a long moment, the candles flickering around us since he turned out the lights. He’s so warm. The space between us crackles with possibilities, but he doesn’t close the gap.
“If that’s what you wish,” he says. “Sleep.”
“You too.”
“Angels don’t sleep,” he answers.
Which starts a whole trail of questions about angels.
I ask everything that comes to mind. Apparently, he’s learned about the current world by touching me (creepy), but physical touch with a human is new.
He lost his wings when he dove down to take this ‘mission.’ He talks about God in strange terms, saying we got the beard right, but little else.
Things get more interesting when I ask him about Lucifer.
He shifts uncomfortably. “Lucifer was a blight on us all. I was lucky that our few meetings were … scattered.”
“Scattered?”
“I’d rather not discuss it. Let’s guide your mind away from such negativity,” he says, eyes still darkened, his tattoos shifting across his skin again.
“You know, I looked up the name Suriel. I think you’re spelling it wrong. It’s supposed to be Uriel or Seriel. You’re not a very good religious nut if you got that wrong,” I goad.
He shakes his head, but I see a ghost of a smile on his face.
Is obeying him in a round about way how I get him to smile?
“Men don’t know how to interpret what they’re told. Whether it’s God or archangels. Names don’t do well in translation to the human tongue. Even my garrison used shortenings, though they shouldn’t have,” he murmurs.
I pick his brain about ‘archangels’ and learn they lead armies, kind of like legions in hell, I guess. But anytime I ask about it, the angels on his chest look like they’re ready to slaughter me, getting more aggressive and revealing weapons until I switch to other angelic topics.
By the time I ask about the whole ‘thousands of eyes’ thing, I’m so delirious from lack of sleep, I think I hear him say that it was a joke. Which gives me dreams of angels pulling jokes on people in the Bible. It actually explains a lot – like the whole burning bush things.
I almost wake up in a good mood.
Until I realize that Suriel isn’t with me.
I hear him doing something, but realize my wrists aren’t tied because he expects me to go through my morning routine.
I feel a pang of guilt at still wanting to leave.
Partially, because bad things happen when he’s around, and partially because I’m still not convinced this is real.
He remembered my schedule and my wants. He’s paying attention in little ways that make me feel … fuzzy. When I’m nice, he’s nice. He keeps me focused, even when I’m still trying to sort out what’s real and not.
It’s different from every half relationship I’ve been in, where I was measured by my use or what good arm candy I was or how good I was in bed. Which leaves me twice as confused and suspicious of him.
People are only kind when they have something to gain.
All the same, we manage to have a good morning and early afternoon. I’m just about to ask him what he wants to do on Earth when the radio crackles, since there’s only mumbling, I ask Suriel to grab the peanut butter and fumble with the station until I hear a disgusted sound.
“Suriel?” I ask. I walk in and see his face twisted in disgust and his finger sticky with peanut butter. “Did you just … violate the peanut butter?”
“I need to make sure it’s actual food for you.”
I stare at the finger shaped hole in the peanut butter jar. “If you want to finger something, there are other options.”
He snorts.
I pull out a spoon and offer it to him. He considers it, then sucks the whole spoon clean. He makes a face as he realizes his mistake. It’s about the same time I realize I can tease him while he struggles to talk. Since I’m not entirely heartless, I offer him some milk to help.
“What do angels eat?” I ask.
“Nothing. We have no-” He tries to unstick his mouth by drinking a bit. “No need.”
“So, you have cocks you don’t need and mouths you don’t need?”
He tries to answer, but is struggling.
I grin and move closer. “I’m figuring it out. You might not have needs, but you have wants. I mean, come on - you have a mouth, lips, a tongue, nipples, and you have a cock. Not very angelic.”
I think he tries to say my name, but it comes out sticky and raw.
“And you don’t have a halo,” I tease, staring over his head. “Maybe you’re just a crazy person who thinks he’s an angel.”
“My halo doesn’t hover above my head,” he finally says.
“Then where is it?” I ask, my smirk growing. “Not around your neck like a collar. I’ve seen every inch of you, well except a few just behind your-”
“Enough,” He says sharply, but looks away.
I lean in closer and let my fingers trail over his chest. “Is it an erogenous zone? Is that why you hide it? Touching your halo makes you-”
“We are not diving into lust.”
“I think we should. If you let me starve for something, who knows what I’d do.” My hands stroke lower, over his perfect abs.
He exhales slowly, watching me with indecision. A familiar song plays on the radio and I tip my head in that direction. “Is dancing too lusty for an angel to enjoy?”
“No,” he answers slowly.
I take his hand and guide him to the living room. I hum to the lyrics as Suriel debates how to touch me. I guide his hands to my hips and pull myself closer to him while singing the lyrics in his eyes. “I never dreamed I’d meet somebody like you…”
“Charlie,” Suriel says in my hair. “How can you find the will to dance with everything going on?”
I think about it while taking his hand and spinning under his arm. I twist so my ass rubs against his hips as he moves with me. “If I can’t find something to enjoy in the worst situations, then …”
I think of the marks on my wrist and spin under his arm again. I finally meet his eyes. “Then living would be pointless.”
He studies my face intently, then quickly spins me, pulls me tightly against him. I gasp as he dips me back, my back arching as he leans over me, his nose nearly brushing mine. His voice is low, a soft whisper just for us. “Where do you find the strength to do that?”
“Humans live by pretending. If we pretend enough, then it’s real enough to hold onto. It’s why I’m pretending that you and I can get along,” I breathe.
Suriel slowly guides me back up, his face so close that I can feel his breath fanning over my face.
I suck my bottom lip as he twirls me, then cradles me close to him.
Something zings across my body, igniting every nerve ending I have until my head feels electrified and the need pulsing in my body radiates out.
He tightens his hold on me, drawing me closer as his hand moves up my back, following my spine and to my nape. His fingers grip, then release my hair, scratching my scalp in a way that makes my mouth water. “You don’t have to pretend.”
“You say that like you just might like me, angel,” I rasp in a breathy voice I don’t recognize.
“I might just understand you enough to respect you,” he admits. “Among other things.”
My heart thuds in my ears and I’m sure he has to hear it too, or feel it since my chest is pillowed against his. His fingers slide deeper into my hair and I stand on my toes, expecting him to kiss me, to tame the tension between us with something soft and not obviously sinful.
Suriel dips his head slightly, his nose brushing mine. Then the radio crackles and some yelling, slurring voice takes over.
“The antichrist walks among us! Like the Romans killed Jesus for our sins, the Antichrist will sacrifice us all to the Devil to condemn us! The human form of evil must be near Yellowstone. Find the Antichrist, find the Devil’s mark, and burn them!
Kill them! Open the slaughter and uphold God’s will to bring Holy peace to the world again.
If we do nothing, we are as guilty as those who sin! ”
“Damn small town preachers,” I grumble.
“Find the abomination and …” He actually sounds drunk. “And snuff it as witches of the past were snuffed! Just like God commanded Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, we too must sacrifice for the greater good!”
I scoff and almost ask Suriel if it would work, but he releases me and grabs the radio. He flings it across the kitchen with fury in his eyes. It shatters against the wall while he pants. I blink at him. “Um … I thought you sided with preachers.”
“Men are not fit to speak of God’s plan or interpret his word when infested with sins and selfishness,” he says darkly, his eyes flicking towards me in a way that reminds me that this man is a capable killer, this is a man who kidnapped me, who has held me hostage.
A man that doesn’t have to be gentle.