Matched With A Demon Read online

He rolled onto the bed, drawing her into his arms and kissing her face. He was desperate for her, and embraced her hard, wishing there was a way to shield her, to wrap her up and keep her safe forever.

  “I love you,” she whispered. An ache began in his chest, lancing him with pain, and he closed his eyes.

  “I choose you, Lucia. Forever. I choose you.”

  28

  Armaros

  Armaros had received less deadly glares from demons than the one he was currently wilting under. Albert, Lucia’s father, pinned him with a stare at breakfast and hadn’t looked away.

  There were some blinks, a grunt or two, but otherwise nothing except eyeball-to-eyeball stabbing.

  At a loss, Armaros tried small talk. Constanza, Lucia’s mother, answered when it became clear Albert had nothing to say. Even Zia Valeria took pity on him. Not Albert.

  He had as much mercy as Lucifer.

  “An angel,” Constanza began. “We go to church every Sunday, you know.”

  Across the table, Lucia choked on her coffee. Zia pounded on her back, an evil smile gracing her lips. “I’m sure Armaros doesn’t care if you go to church, Connie.”

  “He’s got a direct connection up there. It can’t help to put a good word in.” She turned her attention to him again. “You’ll put a good word in, won’t you?”

  “Armaros isn’t an angel, Mom,” Lucia began.

  If he needed to, he could make it to her in less than a second and poof them out of here. Silently, he begged Lucia to stop talking. He was in the unusual position of needing to impress his… what was she? Soul mate? Lover? Girlfriend? Human? Whatever-she-is’s parents. Her father was unimpressed with his current designation of angel. What would happen when he learned Armaros was the opposite?

  The giant fork and spoon were back on the wall. The fork could do some damage, especially as Armaros was unwilling to defend himself against Lucia’s father.

  “We all saw the wings, Lucia.” Her mother interrupted the image of Albert stabbing him with the fork and beating him senseless with the spoon.

  “He does have wings,” Zia agreed cryptically. “Doesn’t mean he’s an angel.”

  Albert’s narrowed his eyes, his glare passing to Lucia and back to him. “Lucia—” he ground out, all the while watching Armaros. The threat in the man’s voice caused his wings to prickle, recognizing the challenge.

  Face pale, she swallowed hard. Straightening her shoulders, she opened her mouth to reply, but Armaros cut her off. “I’m Fallen. I was an angel, but I chose not to remain in Heaven.”

  Pursing his lips, Albert nodded. “You don’t say.”

  “But I love your daughter.”

  “Lucia!” Constanza screeched at the same time as Zia yelled, “I warned you!”

  “You’re a demon,” Albert said quietly.

  “He’s not—” Lucia began but her father cut her off.

  “You fell with the devil. That’s what you mean. You turned your back on God and came to Earth to wreak havoc. You’re evil.”

  “He’s not—” she interrupted angrily, stopping when she caught Armaros’s head shake.

  “You have no reason to trust me, but I love her. I made a mistake once, a choice I can’t undo. A choice I never wanted to undo. I’m not even sure I would change anything now, if it meant I wouldn’t have met Lucia and Delia.”

  “Who the hell is Delia?” he boomed.

  “I told you, Dad. Delia is his niece. She’s the little girl I’ve been looking for.”

  “His niece.” Armaros saw the moment her father realized what that meant. Chair flying back, Albert stood, pointing a finger at Lucia. “No. No. I forbid it.”

  “What do you forbid, old man?” Zia challenged.

  “You were always the normal one, Lucia.” He dropped his hand, shaking his head and gripping the back of the chair, suddenly looking tired. “The smart one. I didn’t worry about you. You’re going to be a doctor, for crying out loud.” His blue eyes filled with tears and Lucia jumped up, wincing in pain.

  “Dad—”

  “This is insane. Angels and demons or whatever he is… You’re smarter than this. I had bigger hopes for you than tarot and frozen meatballs, husbands or bake sales.”

  “Hey!” her aunt replied, affronted.

  “Albert!”

  Guilt was a new emotion for Armaros. In the past, he easily pushed away his responsibility for the hurt or pain of others. Blissfully, he did his own thing. Took what he wanted. Played the game the way he wanted. But his decisions had bigger consequences now. The life Lucia had made for herself was gone; he could see it in her face.

  In the blink of an eye, she’d pushed aside all her dreams and made new ones. Ones that included him and Delia. Even if he left now, found Delia and never saw Lucia again, she wasn’t going back to her old life.

  Staring at her in wonder, he realized, she wasn’t worried or upset. She was happy, and would be more so when they finally found Delia.

  “Dad.” She’d limped around the table, warily laying her hand on his arm. “This is what I want.” Her gaze caught Armaros’s and she smiled reassuringly. “He’s what I want. And when I find Delia, you’re going to love her, too.”

  His face softened. “You always had to be contrary.”

  “I thought I was normal.”

  “Normal and contrary.” Her father set her away from him. “I’m not done being upset about this.”

  “I know, Dad.” Lucia crossed her arms. “You can ground me.”

  “Smart ass,” he muttered, gave Armaros one more glare, and left.

  “I think that went well,” Zia remarked as the door swung shut. Switching her attention to Armaros, she went on, “Why don’t we talk about what all this means. Since, you don’t have a direct line to God, and my sister is disappointed she can’t have you knocking years off limbo for all that premarital sex—”

  “La la la la!” Face red, Lucia covered her ears.

  “I do not have the Creator’s ear. I apologize for your disappointment.” Struggling not to smile, he bowed his head.

  Removing her hands from her ears, Lucia peered at her mother and aunt. “Are you done?”

  Her cheeks were still red from embarrassment. He couldn’t help himself, he needed her to be close again. Picking her up, he placed her in his lap. “Stay with me,” he whispered. “The other end of the table is too far.”

  Glancing at him from under long, coal black lashes, she blushed deeper. “Okay.”

  “Back to the subject at hand," Zia interrupted. “Eternal damnation. Lucia. Your niece.”

  “So, nothing big.” Lucia’s whisper tickled his ear and he smiled, kissing her gently.

  “Lucia is a good person. Her soul is in no danger.” Armaros kept his gaze on the woman in his arms as he answered her aunt.

  “Except from other demons.”

  He winced. “Except from other demons. I should have expected Belias, or something like him. I’ll be more careful from now on; I’ll protect her. Lucia will be safe, not only from demons and Fallen, but from everything.”

  “From everything?” her mother cut in. “What ‘everything’? What is everything?”

  “Oh, crap,” she whispered again and wound her arms around his neck. “I got this.” Getting louder, she continued, “Mom. He means from things like runaway buses or rabid dogs.”

  “Sure, he does,” Zia muttered as she poured another cup of coffee.

  “You’re not helping,” she snapped.

  “Lucia.” Her mother sighed and rubbed her forehead. “You exhaust me. I’m going to check on your father. Don’t leave without saying goodbye.” Reaching for Lucia, she squeezed her arm and let go. “Promise me.” She focused her attention on him. “Promise me you’ll keep her safe.”

  It was an easy pledge to make. “I swear it.” Placing his hand over his heart, he bowed his head.

  Constanza patted his cheek, surprising him. “All right. Don’t forget,” she reminded Lucia. “Say goodbye.”
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  “I will, Mom.”

  Her mother left, glancing once at her sister. Armaros intercepted their loaded but completely silent, exchange. The three of them sat in silence, watching the kitchen door swing back and forth, listening to footsteps tramp up the stairs and across the ceiling.

  Sighing loudly, Lucia dropped her head to his shoulder and he stroked her back, feeling each ridge of her vertebrae. It reminded him how fragile she was. These small bones held her stubborn body upright. They should be made of steel, not this stuff that turned to dust. He wished he could make her stronger. If only there was a way to imbue her with his power, build her armor, and shield her from anything daring to hurt her. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he latched onto it. He wanted to keep her forever; if there was a way to do it, he’d find it.

  As soon as he found his niece.

  29

  Lucia

  “Zia.” Lucia breathed deeply. Damn, Armaros smelled good. This close to his neck, the scent came right off his skin. She stuck her nose into the crook of his neck and breathed in again.

  “Stop sniffing the boy, and finish your sentence.”

  “He smells really good.” Her aunt leaned over, but a glare from Lucia stopped her. “Anyway, we need to find Delia, and each time Armaros tries, he gets blocked.”

  “What do you mean, ‘blocked’?”

  “Can you explain it?” Lucia asked him, and he nodded.

  “Delia’s mother, my sister, had a certain aura. I could always find her, no matter where she was. It was like a light shining through the darkness. I found the right light and I followed it. But now when I start, the light winks out. If I go to the place I think it might be, there’s a wall between me and the place I want to go. I can’t get there.”

  Her aunt dropped her chin into her hands, watching him. “Huh.”

  “Help us, Zia. You found her before. You could find her again.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t,” her aunt pondered.

  Spinning, she faced her aunt. Armaros’s hand gripped her hips to keep her from tumbling off his lap. “There is no should, only do…” She shook her head. “That’s not it…What I mean is, it doesn’t matter.”

  “What are you talking about, Lucia? Stay on topic, please.”

  “It doesn’t matter what’s stopping him. We’re her family and she should be with us.” Behind her, Armaros let out a breath. She faced him and he smiled. It happened a lot more lately, she realized. The smile. Without thinking, she leaned back and kissed him.

  Her aunt made a sound of frustration, something between a sigh and throat clearing. Reluctantly, she pulled away from Armaros and faced Zia. “Will you help us?”

  When she didn’t answer right away, Lucia narrowed her eyes. She had no doubt of her aunt’s willingness to do what she asked, so her silence disturbed her. “I don’t know, Lucia.” All humor and frustration had left her, and now she stared at the table. “I’m not sure if I should.”

  Armaros tensed, arm slipping around her waist, squeezing her. Her fingers dug into his arm as she struggled to understand what she was hearing. “Why the hell not, Zia?”

  “Because I don’t know if she should be found. I don’t know if it’s the right thing. I need to think about it.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Pressing her fingertips against her temple, she tried to process her aunt’s words. “She’s a little girl. She needs us.”

  “What if she’s better off wherever she is now?”

  “No matter what, she needs to be with us.” But what about the dream? In it, Delia had assured her she was safe. That was only in your head.

  “Think about it, smart ass.” There was the tone Lucia was used to. “What if Delia is with someone, or in some place, that offers her more protection than what you can give her?”

  “Impossible. She told me, when she found me, I was safe. She chose me.” She punctuated each statement by pointing to her chest. “I need your help, Zia. We need your help.”

  “I need to think about it, piccola. I’ll let you know.”

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she shook her head. She patted Armaros’s arm to let her go and she went to the cupboard. A bowl, water, oil, a candle. One by one, she placed the items on the table in front of her aunt. “We don’t have time to think. Do it, now.”

  Zia pushed the items toward the center. All the while, Armaros stayed silent, though, he stared at the divining tools. He reached for the candle, weighing it in his hand before carefully placing it back.

  “I’m sorry, Lucia. I can’t do it. It doesn’t feel right. I need to go.” Walking to the back door, Zia took her coat off a hook and pulled a kerchief from her pocket to wrap around her head.

  “Zia.” Lucia tried to stand in her way, to keep her from leaving. “Zia. I need you.”

  “It’s okay, Lucia.” Armaros stood and held out a hand. “Let her go. She might be right.”

  “No.” She shook her head. Her heart began to pound in her chest and she placed both hands out, a line her aunt couldn’t cross. “She’s not right. We need to go.”

  “Lucia.” Armaros’s voice was deep and serious. “Let her go.”

  Letting her arms fall, she stepped aside. Her aunt paused, hand on the doorknob. “I know you don’t understand, piccola. But the time isn’t right.”

  “I understand there’s a little girl somewhere, all alone when she shouldn’t be.”

  “Like I said,” Zia whispered, opening the door. “You don’t understand.”

  30

  Lucia

  The door closed, and Lucia stared at it in disbelief. Zia had said no and left. Armaros placed a hand on her shoulder, and gathered her into his arms.

  “What do we do now?” Closing her eyes, she burrowed into his chest.

  His arms tightened, cheek resting on her head. “We try again.”

  “I’m so happy, and then I feel so guilty. How can I be happy when I’ve lost my kid? She could be anywhere. We’re talking dimensions here, Armaros.”

  A chuckle rumbled through his chest. Noisily, he kissed her ear and ran the tip of his nose along the shell. “I know.”

  “And I’m so mad! Zia could help us. It’s all right there—” She gestured to the table. “All she has to do is pour the water and di…” Silently, she considered the items. They were all there: water, oil, candle. Squeezing once, she released Armaros and went to the table, drumming her fingers on the Formica top. “Huh.”

  Two hands gripped her shoulders, massaging gently. “Have you ever done this?”

  Glancing back at him, she smiled. He knew her plan without her having to say anything. “No. But I watched Zia do it.” Once. There was a system to it. A procedure. “Remember everything I say. My aunt talks through scrying; we’ll put the clues together after.”

  Everything began with a prayer for protection and guidance. Lucia didn’t know if there was a specific prayer, so she sent out a general one. Dear God, don’t let me fuck this up, or bring evil here or to Delia. I want to find her. Help me find her. The candle came next, but she’d forgotten matches. There were some next to the sink, so she prayed while she picked them up and lit candle.

  Picture the girl in your mind. When her aunt searched for Delia, she’d told Lucia to imagine her. Then she’d dripped the wax into the bowl of water.

  Red eyes, delicate chin, bowed mouth, floating pale blonde hair. Bones so fragile, she felt like a bird. In her mind, Delia’s form appeared. The kitchen disappeared. She forgot about Armaros and fighting with her aunt and father.

  Chocolate ice cream dripping down her chin. Her voice, “I knew I picked right.”

  Like trick or treating on Halloween, all she could see was what a beam of light illuminated. A path opened in front of her and the rest of the world blurred and darkened. This was the way to Delia. She knew it. Lifting a foot, she got ready to walk, but something jerked her back.

  “Lucia!” Armaros’s arms gripped her upper arms. They trembled, but squeezed her so tightly she could
barely fill her lungs with air.

  “I saw it,” she forced out. “The path was right there.”

  “You were leaving, fading away. You tried to leave.” His deep voice was strained.

  “My aunt…I thought there would be impressions. Maybe a map. But Armaros—” She needed to see his face. It was hard, cheekbones standing out in sharp relief against his skin. His blue eyes had darkened to black, and his brow looked heavy, all precursors of him losing control of his form. “Oh!” she cried. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him. His hands went around her waist, lifting her while he spun her around. The wall pressed against her back, and she heard something clatter to the floor.

  Each kiss was desperate. Teeth clacked, their tongues tangled. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she forced his hands where she wanted them, palming her breasts, gripping her ass. He grazed a bruise, but the sharp pain made her hungrier. In return, she bit his lip, harder than she meant to. Jerking his head back, his eyes blazed down at her.

  A tiny bead of blood welled on his lower lip. Lifting her finger, she swept it away. “Sorry.”

  He shook his head, dropping it so they touched forehead to forehead. Her hands went to the back of his neck, running down his back. At his shoulder blades, a hard ridge formed. His wings.

  “I want you,” she whispered, cupping the ridges and stroking them firmly. “But my parents are upstairs.”

  There was a flash of light, and Armaros slowly lowered her to the floor. Staring up, she recognized the heavy timbered ceiling of the monastery.

  The thick, heavy mattress cradled her back. Above her, Armaros’s features morphed. She could see him fighting his form, willing back what he believed would repel her. “Don’t hide.” Leaving his back, she traced his heavy brow and cheekbones. “You don’t frighten or repulse me. I think you’re beautiful no matter what you look like.”

  “How?” His eyes lightened, becoming the intense icy blue which had first frozen her in place.