Her anger swells in the air around us, enough that I can positively taste it. My skin flushes with the heat of it and longs to feel the press of her hatred. That oh-so-beautiful blonde hair whips through the air as she spins to face me with the fires of hell in her eyes. It strikes to the center of my being. A dagger more potent than any angel’s blade. Those blue eyes water with unshed tears and agony.

She can hate me all she wants.

The words hover on the tip of my tongue. The truth the pretty little nun refuses to admit. The demon in her own household.

“You have no right!!!” Her voice ricochets through me and awakens the long dead sympathy within me. Humans are so fragile. So short lived.

Little stones. Hands hammer against my shoulders as she launches herself across the room at me. The top of her head brushes my nose, her strikes aren’t even strong enough to cause me to waver. Glamoured away from the world my wings lift only the smallest amount, just enough to balance the added weight of her body thrown against mine. Heavy with want my heart bashes within my ribs.

“Gabby,” my voice whispers over the whirlwind of her hair. Fly-away strands tickle at my nose.

“No!” The dulcet tones threaten to break. They waver with the tears stuck in her throat and something deep inside of me shatters. My hands rise without thought. They slip under the thrashing length of her slender arms and brush against the soft curve of her waist for a moment before settling there. 

Her movements stall.

So does my heart.

My motions freeze.

Barely a breath spans the distance between us. Her heat flutters over the surface of my skin. A small sob breaks from her lips. My throat bobs as I attempt to swallow the need pressing forward from the pit of my stomach. The ages-old sensory receptors of my body feel full to bursting for the first time in my existence and it's enough to send shivers down my spine. Why here? Why her?

“I didn’t mean…” My voice trails off when she lifts her gaze to mine.

Ocean depths pierce through me. Volatile, blue-green-grey, and overflowing with secrets unknown, her eyes threaten to rip me to shreds and swallow me strip by strip. The tip of my tongue darts out to whet my lips against the sudden desert, and her gaze drops to catch the movement. It doesn’t raise to meet my eyes again. Her eyes rest nearly on level with my mouth...maybe that’s why she’s staring at them so intently. The hammers that were once her hands soften, they flutter like the softest of butterflies as they land against my shoulders.

I pull in a shaky breath and her head tilts.

Her fingers trace the neckline of my scarlet dress and promise to unwind me if she so much as slips to press against my skin. Every inch of me hesitates. Poised on a precipice. Those ocean eyes slowly meet mine again. That breath of distance shrinks as she sways. I find I can’t pull back. My mind screams at my body, it rails against the possibility I can taste on the tip of my tongue and offers up countless images of times past when such a thing went wrong. Lovers burnt at the stake. Lifetimes torn short by whispers of the Devil. Darkness chasing every shred of happiness away from my grasp.

Then suddenly her lips are against mine. And there’s no longer a chance to pull away. My body reacts with an insurmountable hunger. The hands at her waist slip down. Catch at the hem of her deep blue blouse. Teasingly touch the barest slip of skin revealed at the bottom edge. Around us the world stalls out. Blush pink blends with scarlet red and forms a husky new shade I can’t help but know I’ll search for the rest of my days.

Her gentle curves soften, they close that slip of distance between us and, as our tongues battle for dominance in a delicious dance, my hand slides up to cup the curve of her cheek. Warmth from her skin pools in my palm. Her head tilts to open under mine and her emotions swirl around us, they press against my senses and beg for recognition. 

Longing. Need. Pain. Anger. The last adds a bitter tang to our kiss. She doesn’t even know the truth. Her hands slide around to rest against my shoulder blades--barely missing the protrusion of my wings--and warm me through the thin silk of my dress. Soft as anything, her nails press into my flesh and tug a low groan from the depths of my lungs. It swirls over our tongues, distracting me from the weight of my mind. My deception.

Gentle and warm and pliant, her body moulds itself to me. Softness to softness, her slightly more generous curves press devilishly against the fast-failing walls within my mind. Each second a new brick crumbles as her hands drift and trace over the lines of my back. Hunger gnaws at the tightly leashed control I’ve held for so many millenia. Sharp white teeth catch at the edge of my lower lip and the growl that issues from my body is far from human.

She doesn’t know.

I break from her lips with a gasp. Blown wide, her ocean eyes are eclipsed by the black of her pupil. Heat bleeds from my skin at the sight. My breath comes in rough wobbles, anything to get in a little more air. I press her away. Just a little. I just need space. My mind whirls. Whiplashed as the walls she started to crumble re-craft themselves with supernatural speed. My own blue eyes harden as I turn them back to her.

There’s no blocking the hurt that flashes in her in response. I can’t weaken to it.

“Gab, you don’t even know me.” My voice almost wavers. Almost.

Her brow furrows. A whisper of that anger reawakens behind their volatile depths.

“I know you like the same coffee every morning. I know that you take care of the homeless on the weekends. I know that you take other people’s pain more seriously than your own.” The words spiral into that dark place forged when I fell. “I know that you aren’t the self-absorbed, kicking ass every time someone looks at you wrong, party girl that you want everyone to believe you are.”

My hands drop from her waist. Surprise and fear war within me. With a curl of my lips I let out a gritty scoff.

“Exactly. Even the fact that you think that could be true shows just how little you know me. No one who knows could ever claim me as some ‘savior for the downtrodden.’ I wouldn’t have even been there that weekend if it wasn’t for a court order.” The lies drip from my lips as easy as honey. Thick with a thread of truth, just enough to make them easier to swallow than the impossible truth. 

What kind of nun would she be if she believed the Devil capable of good?