Matched With A Demon Read online

  “This is nothing compared to eternity in flames.” The sharp tip paused between her breasts. “‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire.’”

  Somewhere along the way from here to Heaven, this lady got her wires crossed because Lucia wasn’t evil. If she was about to die, she was definitely lodging a complaint when she got wherever she was going. Purgatory, probably. Her life had neither been pure nor perfect.

  Fire. Everything was on fire. Her skin, her blood. Her gaze was glued to the angel holding the blade, but she could feel the push, the slide of metal against bone. Something tugged at her, like the blade was a magnet and it wanted to end her as badly as the being holding it.

  Deep inside her mind, she heard a voice. If she had to guess, she’d say it was her own. A prayer her mother had taught her, said with her each night before she went to bed until she had it memorized. It had been years since she’d thought of it, but now it came to her. Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom his love entrusts me here…

  Eyes widening, the blade halted its progress, and the woman stumbled back, her golden wings fluttering. Slowly, the blade left her body and Lucia regained control over herself. Her hands moved of their own volition and she struck out, knocking the hand holding the blade. Whatever held the angel back left her when Lucia’s skin touched hers.

  Teeth bared, blade raised to the sky, she came at Lucia again.

  “Stop!”

  Delia, no! Able to move again, Lucia threw herself in the direction of the voice, but she needn’t have worried because one glance was all it took for her to see Delia had everything under control. The girl had frozen the angel as the being had frozen Lucia a second ago.

  “She is mine,” Delia told the angel. “I chose her. I chose her and I chose my uncle. They are matched. And they are mine. Now that I’ve declared it, it will be.”

  For a moment, Delia’s words confused her. She’d said something similar when she first found her huddled in that wintery alley. “I saw you and I wanted you.”

  I was safe. It was the reason Delia chose her, but her uncle? What did she—A second later, she felt it. Armaros was hers, Delia’s yes, but hers. Lucia’s. The annoying, beautiful, stubborn fallen angel was hers.

  Her body was jerked forward and then she was gone, surrounded by snow and the cold night air.

  Armaros stood in front of her, chest heaving, blood dripping in rivulets from his forehead and along his neck. His shirt was torn in places, revealing ribbons of porcelain white skin.

  “You were supposed to run!” He dropped the shield and sword he held in his hands. The moon, hidden beneath a cloud, suddenly shone brightly on the snow and she saw black splatters in snow.

  “I did,” she whispered, scanning their surroundings for Delia. Who was very much not there. “Delia.”

  Armaros whipped his body around, kicking up snow. “Delia!”

  His voice echoed across the white fields where they found themselves.

  “Poof us back,” Lucia demanded. “She needs us.”

  Scooping her into his arms, she felt the moment when he tried to throw them through space, back to Delia. Felt its potential and felt when it was denied. He tried again and again, her body jerking with each attempt.

  “Armaros.” Growing desperate, his efforts came faster, and with her injuries, her body threatened to tear itself apart. “Armaros. Please.”

  When he fell, the snow caught her. Together they lay in the cold, staring up at the crystal-clear sky and the infinite stars. “She could be anywhere.” Each star mocked her, like it was a place to hide or be hidden.

  “I know,” he whispered. “I know.”

  16

  Lucia

  Armaros had found them a place and it fit Lucia’s mood. Dark, gloomy, wintery.

  “Where are we?” she asked, listening to the wind howl and batter the shutters on the cottage doors.

  “Cornwall,” Armaros muttered, wiping away more of the blood covering her arms and chest.

  The angel had left her with quite a road map of injuries. Her blade had traced Lucia’s veins, from her wrist to her shoulder, across her collarbone to stop between her breasts. Armaros had healed it, a not unpleasant experience of heat and his utter focus. But it had been clinical, and while she appreciated the fact he was still without a shirt, she couldn’t give it the attention it deserved. Not while Delia was missing.

  “Finished,” he told her, standing.

  “You can’t heal yourself?” she asked, eyeing one particularly nasty slice along his rib.

  “I don’t need to,” he dismissed, walking away. “These wounds are inconsequential.”

  A flash of white from the corner of her eye had her spinning and snagging the shirt he’d thrown her way. She stuffed her arms in the sleeves and stood, buttoning it as she examined their new hideaway.

  A snug cottage, it was made up of one large room with a living area, dining, and kitchen, and a small bedroom with an even smaller bathroom. Crossed with heavy beams, the ceiling was low, so low that Armaros had to duck as he made his way from living room to sink. The walls were stone, black and grey, and the floor, fieldstone. While the place was definitely dark, it wasn’t depressing. It felt cozy and safe, and with the wind howling outside, literally howling, Lucia was perfectly comfortable.

  Except for this nagging terror for Delia.

  And her growing feelings for Armaros, who continued to do his best Mr. Darcy impression with his scorn and sneer. Ohhh, a little known Austen, Scorn and Sneerability. “Ha!” she laughed at herself and heard a snort of derision.

  “There’s nothing funny about our predicament, Lucia.”

  Immediately, all sense of humor left her and she nodded, silently agreeing. She’d laugh after she found Delia.

  “Are you ready?” she asked, standing. A wool blanket draped across one of the chairs and she settled it over her shoulders, tucking it around her elbows.

  “Yes.” His fingers raked his blonde locks from his face. He was tense. Actually, he left tense back in France. His movements were so controlled, so careful, he looked as if he would shatter apart with too rough a jostle. He was as terrified as she was.

  Holding out her hand to him, she reveled for a moment in the touch of his skin against hers. His fingers were strong and his thumb rubbed a tiny circle on her hand. A gust of wind crashed into the cottage, sending a burst of air down the chimney and fanning the flames in the fireplace. For a moment, shadows played over Armaros’s white face, little human figures whose arms lifted in the air as darkness crashed over them, muting their forms.

  Her body jerked, distracting her from the image, as the telltale pull began in her chest, harkening the jump. Like earlier, though, when he tried to take them back to the monastery, something blocked them. Something snipped the rope he’d thrown into the cosmos until it recoiled on them, keeping them firmly in place.

  “What happened?” Lucia asked once she was sure she could speak again.

  Ignoring her question, Armaros dropped her hand. “Fuck.” The word was a whisper. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

  “Could you sense her? Were you taking us to her?”

  He gripped the mantel, shaking his head slowly from side to side. “For a moment, I had her and then…”

  “Try without me,” Lucia said. “Maybe it’s me. Go get her and bring her back.”

  “Maybe.” His broad shoulders flexed and stretched beneath his shirt. “Yes.”

  Closing his eyes, he concentrated on something. Within the room, there was a hum, like power welling. The floor shook and she stumbled, grabbing a chair to keep from falling. It reached a peak, vibrating the entire cottage, but there was no release. And Armaros stayed in place.

  “Something is stopping me,” he whispered in disbelief.

  “You have no idea where she is?” No way. “Take us to the town, or the city where she is. We’ll figure it out once we get there if it’s too hard to land us right next to her.”

  His eyes opened, b
lazing at her, shining in the darkness like a wild animal caught in headlights. “Something,” he said through his teeth, “is stopping me from sensing her completely. I used as much power as I can, and I cannot find her.”

  Stomach twisting, Lucia fell into a nearby chair. “You can’t?”

  “No.” Admitting a failing was clearly not something he wanted to do.

  “Okay.” Don’t panic. “Okay.” There was still someone who could help them, someone who found her once before. “I have an idea. I think I know someone who can help us.”

  “Who can you possibly know who has greater abilities than me?” Great. Back to sneering.

  Lucia struggled not to lose her patience. “Not greater abilities,” she retorted. “Different. My aunt found her before. With you. And can you please come a little closer, you’re freaking me out with your night-vision eyes.”

  “Oh.” Surprised, he came forward, and she was immediately filled with guilt. His hair, perfect even after a battle with a warrior angel, was mussed from constantly running his hands through it, and his mouth was tight, lips drawn into a white line. They were both worried messes, and for all the world, reminded her of her own parents when she had come in past curfew.

  “Look at us,” she whispered without thinking. “We’re parents.”

  Her words caught him off guard and he stumbled back like she’d physically tripped him, but he didn’t argue. He stared at her, eyes studying her face before he had to glance away. “She’s my family.”

  Without letting herself think too long about it, Lucia went to him. Cupping his face in one hand, she waited for him to meet her gaze. “We’ll figure this out together.” Part of her delighted in the touch, the feel of his skin beneath her hand, and the other part of her hoped he didn’t smite her for taking the liberty.

  “Yes,” he whispered before he ran the back of his fingers down her cheek.

  His touch warmed her skin. He was always so icy, who knew he could heat her so quickly. Wanting more, she stepped closer, her free hand reaching for his chest. He leaned his head into her hand, closing his eyes and she sucked in a breath.

  His eyes opened at the sound, staring down at her.

  “God, you’re tall,” she whispered without thinking.

  His smile was immediate, and then she stopped thinking because he kissed her. It was as if once he made the decision, he fully committed to its execution.

  Lucia didn’t have a lot of practice with kisses. Like dating, it wasn’t something she liked to do unless she was really, really sure about the guy. Yes, it made her old-fashioned, but she always made up her own mind about things. Her mother never had to worry about her giving into peer pressure.

  Under the onslaught of his kiss, though, there was only him. It wouldn’t have mattered how many guys she kissed, there was only Armaros, and in her heart of hearts, like Delia implied, there’d only ever be him.

  Winding his arms around her body, he lifted her. Higher, he had better access to her mouth. She wanted to taste him more than she’d ever wanted anything. His mouth was warm, and his lips so firm, pressing and releasing against hers. She loved it. His tongue would sneak from between his lips, teasing her, and when she tried to respond, he would retreat.

  Growling, she reached for his head, holding both sides before she licked his lips. Turnabout was fair play, after all. When he sought to reciprocate, she pulled away, kissing the sides of his mouth, sucking his plump lower lip into her mouth to nip hard before laving it softly.

  “Lucia,” he warned before moaning when she curled her tongue, tracing the cavern of his mouth.

  “Yes,” she breathed, moving away slightly.

  It was his turn to growl, and he yanked her forward, arms tightening. “Lucia.”

  Her tongue teased the roof of his mouth, just behind his teeth, and he lost control. There was a whoosh of air, her skin tingled like static ran along her body. The skin beneath her fingers cooled, and the shape of the mouth she kissed changed, lips growing plumper and teeth…sharper?

  Her eyes opened in confusion, but the eyes staring back at her were not the blue she expected, but black. And Armaros’s familiar face, carved and lovely was gone, leaving in its place features somehow the same, but magnified. Each angle was harder, the bones larger.

  They continued to hold each other, and the shock she knew was on her face was mirrored on Armaros’s. In a flash, he set her down, spinning away, his black wings curling around his form, as if to hide himself. Her shock dissolved, and her irritation grew. I don’t think so. You don’t get to run from me.

  His body, when she touched it, was cool and hard, but not unlike his skin. His head bowed, and even when she tried to force him to face her, he remained firmly planted. When she walked in front of him to get his attention, he flinched, spinning away, and she sighed.

  “Armaros.” Her head pounded, being exhausted and kind of revved up resulted in a weird combination of stomach clenching nervousness. “Please. I know who you are.” When he stayed curled in on himself, she tried again, “I know what you are. I don’t know why you look like this right now, but it doesn’t bother me. I didn’t even mind kissing you. You’re still you.”

  Slowly, like the head of a flower, he began to unfurl, shoulders straightened and wings went back. “You don’t know what I am.”

  Impatience building the longer she stood on the hard floor, she snorted. “Oh, I know what you are.”

  “Do you?” Standing even straighter, he glared down at her, black eyes flashing like heat lightning. Somehow, he managed to grow taller. People staring down at her was a pet peeve of Lucia’s. Throughout her life, her size had often worked against her. Professors, academic rivals, many of them tried to use their height to intimidate her, towering over her.

  Gauging the distance between herself and the nearby chair, she leapt, landing on top of the cushion. Like she expected, Armaros reached out an arm to steady her when the chair wobbled beneath her weight. With the added lift, she was almost nose-to-nose with him. “I do. You don’t frighten me. You’re a fallen angel, but you’re also a newly minted uncle who nearly crippled himself fighting to keep his niece safe.”

  While he continued to glare at her, something softened in his face, confusion muting his earlier anger.

  “See?” she boasted. “You know I’m right.”

  His eyes lightened further. A sunrise. Blue again in his monster’s face. Leaning forward, she kissed his black lips, feeling them mold to hers. His breath left him in a shudder and then his arms were around her, lifting her and mashing her against him. Without a second thought, she wound her legs around his waist and arms around his shoulders, noting the shredded fabric clinging to his body in places.

  “Oh, my god, your muscles ripped your shirt,” she wondered aloud. “That totally does it for me.”

  He chuckled, his chest rumbling and sending delightful tingles through her body. Lucia could feel the shift come upon him. His waist shrank and the room brightened as his wings receded and the flames from the fire were unshadowed.

  His lips left her, moving gently. “How do you do this?”

  Not quite ready for the kiss to stop, she gave him a small, lingering press. “Do this? Kiss?”

  “No.” His tongue snuck out, licking her lower lip. Suddenly he froze, and Lucia drew away, waiting. Hands, which a moment ago had stroked her shoulders and neck, holding her close, fell to her waist, setting her away from him. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

  “Armaros.” Was that her voice? This whining, needing thing? She tried again. “Armaros, what the hell are you talking about? You’ve left two pretty big statements hanging. Help a girl out.”

  “You make me feel things,” he answered after so long a pause, she thought he’d decided not to talk. “Things I don’t want to feel. I shouldn’t feel. We need to focus on Delia. Find her, and move on with our lives.”

  “What do you mean, move on with our lives?” Her legs dropped onto the chair and she sat, coming face-to-
crotch until he stepped back and sat on a footrest. “My life is with Delia.”

  “It’s not,” he growled. “It can’t be. Look at us, Lucia, and then look at yourself.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” he said shortly. “I know you aren’t. Delia and I are one way, and you’re another.”

  “I don’t care what you look like,” she countered.

  “It’s more than that. Delia has impulses, urges, someone like you can’t understand. What do you think she’s doing when she’s hungry, huh? She’s taking your energy, yes, but it’s more than that. It’s the essence of you.”

  “Well, it refills, so what’s the problem?” she scoffed. He was being deliberately hardheaded.

  “It refills?” His face darkened, a trick of the light and shadows and not a sign of losing control. “Refills?” Standing quickly, he kicked the footstool across the floor where it hit the wall and shattered. “You’re not a cup of coffee! One day she could take too much! She’s going to want to. It’s going to get harder to resist.”

  Understanding dawned. “Like it is for you?”

  A blur of movement and he was in front of her, gripping her upper arms tightly. “Yes, like it is for me! You have no idea what sort of power I could take from you. I can feel everything you’re feeling, I can taste it. Your desire, your kindness, your worry for Delia, and for me. It tempts me more than anything I’ve ever experienced.”

  “What would you do with it?” she asked, watching him closely. Her eyes met his narrowed glare.

  “I’d horde it. Keep it inside me to grow stronger. I’d use it against my enemies or anyone else who displeased me.”

  “Sounds frightening.”

  He gave her a little shake. “It’s not a joke, Lucia! If you appeal to me, how do you think you would appeal to…”

  “Not you?”

  Dropping his hands, he stepped away and raked his fingers through his hair. “You’re impossible.”

  “I’m sorry.” Taking a risk, she threaded her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his naked back. “But I’m not sorry. I like you, Armaros, and I think you like me, too. There’s nothing wrong with that.” His ribs expanded as he sucked in a breath, but she continued to hold him. “Armaros, we’ll figure these things out. But you were right about one thing.”