Touched by Death: (Sins of The Fallen book 3)

Ankles crossed in the air, I look up from the textbook in front of me when there’s a knock on the door. Dmitriy pokes his head through, spots me sprawled on the bed, and clears his throat. “Mind if I come in?”

Removing the half-chewed rubber end of my pen from my mouth, I shoot him a small smile in response. “It’s fine.”

The hinges creak as he opens the door further and enters my room before closing it behind him without taking his eyes off me. His dark hair is wet from a recent shower, and his dark gray T-shirt is damp at the collar. He points at my textbook. “What are you studying?”

I’m back to chewing on my pen while I watch his approach, the way his muscles bunch beneath the cotton fabric. “I have a hellfire exam this week.”

“Practical?”

“Written and practical.” I’ve spent the last three days with my head buried in books, learning everything I can. It’s the only way I can distract myself from the maelstrom of thoughts in my head. No matter how much I try, I can’t erase the look on Daemon’s face when I told Dariana that I wish I could forget them, or the disappointment in Alaric’s dark gaze before he followed Daemon. Worse yet, Dariana’s words. “You want to forget us? Then you need to be okay with us forgetting you, too.”

The words play on repeat in my head until I wish I could claw my brain into pieces to erase those words. Fuck, I hate myself. I hate my heart even more for the yearning tugging at my soul. They lied to me about everything, and I can’t move past the hurt I feel.

I shake off those thoughts when the mattress dips.

“Are you okay?”

“I will be when I pass this test,” I mutter, feeling strangely vulnerable. Sympathy is the last thing I want or need right now.

“You know you’ll knock the test out of the ballpark, right?”

His heady cologne tickles my nostrils when I shut the book and sit up. I scan my eyes over him and curse myself for checking him out, yet he reminds me so much of Daemon. The ache in my chest can’t unsee the similarities. Some weird, corrupted part of me wants a taste of him, if only to put a plaster over the festering wound left behind from the other night. “What makes you so sure?” I ask, eyes lingering on a stray drop of shower water on his neck, near his collarbone. I want to lick it away.

“Because,” he replies, wetting his lips before gesturing to my wings. “You’re the most powerful female angel around. Who else can burn down pubs with a thought command?”

Frowning, I flick my gaze to his face. “You think I’m powerful?”

He snorts at that and laughs lightly. When he looks at me again, the darkness inside me stirs, caressing the fringes of my consciousness with delicious, depraved intent, and I flinch.

Dmitriy doesn’t notice, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s obvious.”

My interest is piqued by the slightly impish look on his face, as though he’s embarrassed. “Why are you here?”

“My father asked me to check on you. You’ve barely left your room for the last three days.”

My brows fly up. “Amenadiel asked you to check on me?”

His soft nod makes me laugh under my breath. Amenadiel cares about no one but himself, so I find it highly amusing that Dmitriy believes I’ll buy his excuse.

“Let’s pretend I believe you,” I start, lips twitching with amusement. “What will you say to him? What did your little mission reveal?”

“That you’re still moping around.”

Taken aback, I frown. While I know I’ve spent the last three days fighting back tears and keeping my head down, it feels like a slap to the face to be outright accused of feeling sorry for myself. No one gets to admit my own truth except for me. But here he is, studying the fragmented pieces of my broken heart beneath a microscope and coming to his own conclusions. It makes my skin crawl.

“I’m not moping.” I sound like a whiny toddler.

His lips curve into a smile. “Then prove it to me. Stop hiding.”

The look I give him is anything but impressed, causing his smile to widen even more. Chewing my lip, I stare at his mouth, admiring the sharp points of his fangs. A thought occurs to me. “Wingspan is linked to power. Is it the same for incisor teeth?”

His smile slips as his brows pull together. “Why?”

“Well…” I stare at his mouth, mesmerized by how the hint of teeth seems to speak to something feral and dark inside me. “Your incisors are longer than other male angels.” So are Daemon’s.

“You’re observant.”

“Is it true?”

“I think so.”

I make a mental note to study his father’s next time I see him. Better yet, Lucifer’s.

“I have noticed yours are sharp as fuck,” he says, his voice pitched low as he cups my chin and slides his thumb along my lips, grazing the sensitive tip. It elongates in response, and he draws back.

Acting on instinct, I move in and press my lips to his. I don’t know why the fuck I do it, but I need… something.

His hands fly up to my sides as I nip at his lips, seeking entrance, but he doesn’t touch me. Instead, he kicks his head to the side and puts his hands on my shoulders as if to hold me back. “I’m sorry.”

Confused, I blink. Sorry for what?

“You’re hurt, and I…”

My throat jumps as he looks at me, eyes shining with regret. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

“I’m not thinking clearly?” I echo.

“No…” Breathing in a deep sigh, he releases me to scrub at his face, then focuses back on me. “I have to be honest. My plan at first, when I realized Daemon was into you, was to flirt with you to piss him off. I wanted to steal you from him. Aggravate him enough to make him attack me. Break the treaty.” A sheepish look heats his cheeks, and he clenches his jaw. “But then I got to know you.”

“You got to know me?” I sound like a stupefied parrot. “I thought angels were selfish in Hell. You take what you want. You steal…”

He winces. “I like you, but as a friend.”

My mouth opens to say something but soon snaps shut. Dmitriy rejected me. Heat burns my cheeks when the truth slams into me. I move to climb off the bed, but his fingers curl around my arm to stop me. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

The initial embarrassment turns to anger. I grit my jaw as I pull free and stand up. “Take advantage of me? This is Hell, Dmitriy, unless you’ve failed to notice? Ever since I got here, I’ve been told at every turn that it’s a cruel, vile place filled with selfish people who make bad decisions.” I swallow down the clogged lump in my throat and place my hands on my hips. “How can you take advantage of me? I kissed you.”

Moving with the lethal grace of a panther, he rises to his feet and towers over me. Why does he have to remind me of Daemon? It only pisses me off more. I can’t unsee the similarities. It’s fucked up.

“I’m not him. I’m not my cousin.”

Frowning, I take a step back, but he moves with me, refusing to let me escape until I’ve heard the truth.

“You’re hurting and looking for ways to forget. Trust me when I say I’d love nothing more than piss my cousin off, but it’s not fair to you for me to use you like that.”

“That never stopped you before.”

He draws to a halt, and I hold my breath when his brows furrow with confusion. As he searches my face, I see the question in his eyes, but I refuse to admit that we fucked once—in a different reality.

Silence reigns between us. Thick, heavy, and oppressive. A whirlwind of thoughts flickers in his eyes, countless questions battling it out, before he seems to make his mind up. He grabs my wrist and pulls me closer with a sharp yank. Stumbling forward, I collide with his hard chest and release a surprised yelp.

His big hand encircles the back of my neck, and he leans down to press his lips to my ear. “When I finally kiss you, I want it to be for the right reasons.”

“I thought you liked me as a friend. Nothing more.”

His heated breath fans the column of my throat, and he tightens his grip on my neck as he shifts impossibly closer. “I lied.”

Fisting his T-shirt, my heart thrashing madly in my chest, I tip my chin up to his mouth. I’m dying for his kiss. Thirsting for his touch. And maybe he’s right; maybe I’m trying to soothe an ache inside me. Maybe I’m seeking Daemon in their striking similarities, but all thoughts of Daemon are gone now. Vanished into thin air.

His stubbled chin slides across my jaw, closer to my parted lips that seem to tingle with anticipation. I hold my breath, eyes falling close when he hovers, inches away from my yearning mouth. He’s going to kiss me.

There’s a knock on the door, and he stumbles back. Rubbing the back of his neck, he avoids my gaze as Amenadiel pops his head inside. Eyes flicking between us, the line between his brows deepens, and he enters the room, looking from me to his son and back. “Everything okay in here?”

“Yes,” I manage to choke out, chancing a look at Dmitriy, unsure what just happened. The angel in question clears his throat, shoots me a weak smile, and bows like this is a historical fairytale, before slipping out of my room.

I blink after him, lips pursed. Did he admit he likes me? Everything is such a damn clusterfuck.

At the sound of Amenadiel’s heavy footsteps, I look away from the door to find him watching me wearily. He’s done that a lot lately—skated around me, like he’s unsure in my presence.

“What?” I question, a strange, defensive sensation washing over me when he flicks his eyes to the door.

With a slight shake of his head, he scans my room while walking closer to me. “I sent my son to check on you, but it didn’t feel right not to pay you a visit myself.” His dark eyes land on me, and I frown. Everyone is acting weird around me lately, and it’s confusing as hell.

Ridding myself of the odd sensation, I cross my arms, forcing myself to hold his gaze. Boldly. “Have you visited my dreams again?”

With a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders, hands clasped behind his back, he circles me in that unnerving way of his. “What’s the deal with you and my son?”NôvelDrama.Org holds text © rights.

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“What do you remember of the night when you found out about my nephew and Dariana?”

Cocking my head to the side, I follow him with my eyes. “What’s with the interrogation, Grandpa?”

His lips twitch, as if he’s holding back a smile. “Grandpa, huh?” Surging forward and grabbing my jaw in a punishing grip, which sees my wings flare behind me, he stares into my eyes, searching for God knows fucking what. This man gives me whiplash with his mood swings. Wrenching free is futile against his bruising grip.

My nostrils flare with indignation, and a vicious snarl rips from my throat while he continues to flick his curious eyes between mine.

“I know you’re in there, Genesis. Leave my son out of this!” he says tersely before dropping me like a sack of potatoes.

Rubbing at my sore chin, I sneer. “Do I even dare ask what that was about? You’re crazy, Amenadiel. Fucking crazy!”

His eyes flicker with regret, and he sets his jaw and shoves his hands into his pockets. It’s only then that I realize he’s forgone his suit jacket and removed his tie. His maroon shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, and I hate to admit that my eyes snag on the exposed skin and muscle. His wings are bigger than his son’s, and as he turns away to leave, I admire their impressive size. The way they seem to reflect the flames that flicker in the fireplace.

“Is there something I should remember from that night?”

At my question, he slows to a halt at the threshold of my room and looks at me over his shoulder. His powerful body follows, swinging around, and he approaches me carefully, studying me with his dark, expressive eyes. “You don’t remember anything out of the ordinary?”

Confused, I purse my lips. “Lucifer told me about his plans for his son.”

“Anything else?”

My eyes bug out. Anything else? The fact that the people I love have lied to me is bad enough without whatever this is. “No,” I reply, stumbling back when he comes for me.

“Seen any more doors lately?”

“What is this?” I ask, alarmed, as the backs of my legs connect with the bed.

With a growl, he grabs me by the throat, and I yelp, clawing at the prominent veins on his forearm, where his sleeve has been rolled up.

If it stings, he doesn’t let on. “Hurt anyone I care about, and I’ll slaughter you so fucking slowly that by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging for death. And even then, I won’t grant it to you. Not until I’ve peeled your skin from your bones.”

A splash of ice scatters over my skin at the sound of squeaking hinges behind me. Darkness descends on my soul. My eyes fall shut. I don’t even need to look to know what’s coming. It crawls, writhes, and groans across the dirty stone floor in a bid to grab hold of my soul and yank it back into the shadows. Pale and wrinkled fingers with cracked, brown nails, grab hold of my ankles in a bruising grip that steals my breath from my lungs. I open my mouth to let out a panicked scream, but it’s already too late. A red mist clouds my vision, and the fear in my eyes morphs into amusement as a sinister tinkle of laughter slips unbidden from my lips.

I’m yanked to the floor, and icy hands pull me back toward the open door behind me. I scream, claw, and sob. My nails break off in my struggle, fingers dragging across the gritty stone floor. No one hears me. No one saves me. My stomach recoils at the stench of rotten flesh and grabbing hands. They pull at my hair and catch in my clothes.

With a final cry, I latch onto the doorframe, letting loose a hoarse, terror-filled scream for help. One by one, my fingers slip from the distressed wood.

“Amenadiel!” I scream, my breaths sawing through me. “AMENADIEL!”

With a final hard tug on my ankle, I disappear into the darkness, the door slamming shut before my eyes.