Matched With A Demon Page 8

  “I'm going to find you some clothes, and then I'll be back.”

  “My clothes are here,” the girl argued, reaching for his hand but he stepped back.

  Lucia knelt, tickling Delia's sides. “Let him go. When someone wants to shop for you, tell them your size, don't try to stop them.”

  Delia giggled, leaning into her.

  She knew. Somehow, the human knew it was too much for him, and he had to escape.

  “Show me your toys,” she added, distracting her further. “Do you have Barbies?”

  “No, but I have these dolls.” Delia left her side, rummaging in a chest at the foot of the canopy bed before glancing at Armaros. “I like pink and purple,” she told him.

  He felt his lips split into a smile and he stepped back. “Pink. Got it. What about you?” He didn't know what prompted him to ask Lucia, but it was worth the grin on her face.

  “Anything that sparkles.” She held up her hand and wiggled her fingers. “The bigger the better.”

  “Me, too!” Delia got in on the joke. “One for each finger!”

  His face hurt from smiling, but it didn't touch the pain in his chest. “Pink and sparkly.” He allowed himself to play along. “Your wish is my command.”

  Winking, he sent himself to the center of town. The wind whipped along the cobblestone streets, freezing the blood in his veins. There wasn't much here, a boulangerie, a small hardware store, a market for cigarettes and phones. The looming church.

  Even though he'd used shopping as an excuse to find space from the feelings Delia's room incited in him, now that he was gone, he wanted to find her something. He certainly wasn't going to find it in this town. Where he needed to go was north and west of where he now stood.

  Paris, it was, then.

  Hours later, Armaros stood outside the door to Delia's room. He could hear the two of them whispering and giggling. At his feet were bags upon bags of items. Clothes, toys, books.

  He couldn't say what came over him. One moment he was holding a stuffed wolf, this one black, and the next he was choosing a dozen pack mates.

  And Lucia. He hadn’t meant to buy her anything, but when he saw this necklace winking at him, he couldn’t help it. He imagined it around her neck, the dark red garnet contrasting with her olive skin. Before he knew what he was doing, it’d been nestled in a black velvet box and handed to him. Now he stood, like a fool, wondering if he had the courage to give it to her.

  It didn’t mean anything, he told himself. He was merely calling her bluff. She didn’t expect him to buy her something, and he did.

  The door opened, startling him.

  “You’re back!” Delia gasped. “And you brought presents!”

  Seating herself at his feet, Delia began to empty the bags, shaking out the tissue paper and digging through them.

  “Another wolf!” she cried. “And another one!”

  She held onto each one, screeching with excitement in a progressively higher pitch with each successive stuffed animal. When she beamed at him, he found himself beaming back, proud he'd made the child happy. What he’d done on a whim had resulted in his niece’s tangible joy.

  “What’s this?” she asked, holding up the velvet box. He reached for it, but she opened it. “Ohhh! It’s so pretty! Is this for Lucia?” she asked in a singsong voice, teasing him.

  “Is it for me?” Lucia knelt next to her, taking the proffered box and gazing at it. One finger traced the white gold chain, lifting the gem and turning it in the light.

  When she peered at him, waiting for his answer, he couldn’t deny it. “Yes. It’s for you.”

  Biting her lower lip, she smiled. “Thank you.” She took it from the case, placing it around her neck and fastening it. “How’s it look?” She settled it in the dip of her neck where her collarbones met. Standing, she fluffed out her hair and put her hands on her hips. “Okay?”

  “Beautiful,” he answered quietly, holding her stare longer than he meant.

  “Jewels for me!” Delia cried out, lifting the costume crown out of paper and seating it on her head. The glass jewels, blue and green, sparkled. “It’s perfect.”

  “It is,” Lucia answered, her fingers resting on the garnet. It was then Armaros saw the second strand, mother of pearl beads next to the white gold chain. A rosary.

  What was he playing at? He wasn’t an uncle, this wasn’t his family. Whatever his sister had done, he couldn’t take care of her child. Stepping back, he cleared his throat. “I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.”

  “Wait!” Delia called after him, but he stepped into the darkness and disappeared from the monastery.

  He went back to his penthouse, standing amid the broken glass and rubble. Empty and destroyed. Perfect.

  He thought about the warmth he left, the way Lucia's eyes lightened when she saw him and the feel of Delia's arms around his legs. Anger welled inside him, directed as much at the two he left as himself.

  All the kindness, whatever instinct made him buy gifts, it needed to disappear. Walking toward the mirror, one corner of glass still attached to the wall, he stared at his appearance, and slowly, let his human features drop away.

  First his skin. The pale smooth expanse darkened, rippling until he was as black as his wings.

  His eyes. They weren't blue. Hadn't been blue since he’d seen his sister's broken body on the sandy ground next to him. The pupils bled to black, expanding to cover all hints of white.

  And his teeth. Delia wasn't the only one with a sharp bite.

  Finally, he stared at his true form. His back prickled and he released his wings, savoring the tearing and rendering, his flesh giving way painfully.

  Their weight hunched him forward, but all he could see in the mirror was his face. His horrible, twisted face.

  There he was. How would Delia and Lucia look at him if he appeared to them in this form? Perhaps, it was time to do it. Show them what a nightmare he was.

  He spun, wings knocking into furniture, sending it flying through a window. Freezing wind whipped from one side of the penthouse to the other. Beings like him didn't deserve to exist in the clouds. He made his choice so long ago, time hadn't even begun. No more hiding, no more trappings of humanity. He'd never been human.

  “Wallowing?” Spinning, he met Lucifer's amused gaze. “I've been waiting for you to return. France not to your liking?”

  One step toward the First shook the building, cracks appearing in the floor beneath his massive clawed feet.

  “Can you at least form a mouth that can speak so I can have a discussion with you?”

  A thought was all it took to return to his previous form, but it didn't fit anymore.

  “You're almost there.” Lucifer watched him carefully. “I've been waiting and waiting. No one has amassed more power than you. The demons you created are nearly as evil as me, but you've remained...distant. Not anymore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  For a second, Lucifer's eyes darkened to black, then returned to the golden brown he preferred. “You're feeling more comfortable in your natural form. It’s the last choice. Soon you'll be what you were always meant to be, what you've been becoming since the fall.”

  “What you are?”

  “What I've always been. But even I choose to maintain the form in which I was created. Call it nostalgia.”

  Was he trying to throw him off-balance? Lucifer had a reason for everything. There was a deeper purpose to what he now shared.

  “Worried I'll put you out of a job?” Armaros smirked.

  In response, Lucifer laughed. “Hardly,” he replied, straightening the cuffs of his coat. “There's plenty of evil for both of us. I'm letting you know, Armaros, as one of my earliest brothers, what you're headed for.”

  “Soon,” Lucifer continued. “You're not going to want to be what you were. You're going to forget your original form and purpose and you'll become everything you've created. You'll let your demons take over and you'll hide in the flames.” Lucifer di
dn't look away, every drop of falsity gone. This was the truth, and a warning. “Have you ever wondered why you don't see the other Fallen? Even I have trouble leaving our home. More of us have forgotten where we came from, our original purpose, than remember.” Suddenly, he chuckled. “What is it you call me? The Devilgator? You think I delegate, but the truth is, Armaros. I no longer give a shit.”

  “Then why murder my sister?”

  Rolling his eyes, Lucifer stepped away. “I didn't murder your sister. I admit to following, or stalking, whatever you want to call it. But I didn't take her life. Don't look down for your murderer.” He winked and began to fade out of sight. “Look up.”

  Alone in his den of destruction once more, Armaros sat. The hard marble floor froze his skin and the wind continued to blow from one broken window through another. A wave of his hand would be enough to return everything to its original state, but he didn't. He left it.

  Naively, he thought things couldn't get worse. He thought he'd lost his original purpose as soon as he fell. Something broke inside him again. Like he was falling for a second time, but now, he had perspective. He wasn't falling to the unknown—he knew what Hell was like, and he knew what he'd done. What Lucifer predicted, an eternity of staring into flames, uncaring, alone, wallowing in evil, it wasn't a future he wanted.

  Or did he?

  Did he even care?

  He was already damned, and he'd already lost everything, everyone.

  Not Delia. Deep inside him, in a voice not his own, the idea repeated—you have Delia. She needs you.

  Lucifer intimated something else murdered his sister. Was it an angel? One of the warriors still worshipping their Creator?

  Suddenly anxious, he flashed to France. The monastery was dark, quiet. It was the middle of the night and no sounds came from Delia's room. The tissue paper and bags were stacked neatly at the end of the bed, and the pack of stuffed wolves surrounded the two sleeping figures.

  Lucia and Delia slept in the huge canopy. Lucia sunk into the feather mattress, and Delia resting higher, like two people on a teeter-totter at a playground.

  They held hands, fingers clasped on the fluffy comforter. He cared.

  Perhaps, enough to save him.

  13

  Lucia

  Lucia awoke slowly, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling. This was not the cracked and stained acoustic tile of her apartment. Her hand was asleep and she slowly disentangled herself from Delia, shaking it out until circulation returned with pins and needles. The girl slept on, cheeks rosy and sharp teeth visible with each breath.

  Lucia closed her eyes, trying to fall back to sleep, but her mind raced. Every doubt and fear she had bubbled to the surface, most of them in Armaros’s voice. When fully awake, she was stronger, more sure of herself. But now, with his disdainful tone echoing in her mind, questioning her ability to take care of Delia, it held more weight.

  The truth was, she was probably fired. With amazement, she realized this was the first time she even thought about her job since happening upon Delia in the alley. Her doctoral position was tenuous to begin with since she was a lecturer/student. There were plenty of candidates waiting in the wings to steal her position. Not like there was a dearth of people with a history degree who wouldn’t love to step into her shoes. She shuddered to think of the sheer number of rivals laughing their asses off. They were probably boxing up her office right now.

  Forget it. Sleep was definitely not happening. Rather than toss and turn and wake Delia, she slid out of the bed, tiptoeing out of the room and down the hall toward the fur-bedecked study where Delia found her toy wolf.

  The halls were freezing, the stone icy under her bare feet as she rushed along. Throwing open the door to the room, she realized she was in for a chilly night. The earlier crackling fire had long since died.

  Lucia peered out the window, hopping from foot to foot as her toes became increasingly numb. The clouds were gone, and the moon nearly full. Turning, she studied the room, wondering if she could throw a fur on the floor without Armaros’s ire raining on her head.

  Sighing, she decided it wasn’t worth the risk. Anxiety sat heavily in her stomach. She needed a plan to solve her problem, but she was stuck. Despite the room having the appearance of an office—there was a desk, books, chairs—it had nothing she needed. No phone, no computer, nothing to distract her from the dark turn of her thoughts, and the realization she’d given up everything and hadn’t even known she was doing it.

  God, the student debt alone.

  She was going to lose her apartment, and disappearing like this…She would never be hired anywhere else. What did she have to show for a decade of post-graduate school? A half-finished thesis on the Canaanites expedition to modern-day Cornwall, England. If she wanted to teach high school, she’d need more schooling, and a license. How depressing.

  Groaning, she gripped the mantel with both hands and banged her head. Armaros, smug handsome bastard, was right. How was she supposed to take care of Delia?

  Enough. No more pity party. First things first, she needed to secure her job, and for that she had to find a phone. Wrapping one of the fur blankets around her shoulders, she examined the room from top to bottom for a landline, but saw nothing.

  There was an entire monastery to explore, and she refused to believe not one room would have what she needed. If it didn’t, she’d just make the hot jerk with flawless taste in jewelry take her to town and a payphone. Or maybe he could magic a cell phone out of thin air.

  As soon as the idea occurred to her, she embraced it. Why scour an unfamiliar place when she could get what she needed right away?

  Also, she wanted to see Armaros again. If he really didn’t like her plan to take care of Delia, maybe he had one of his own. Perhaps, they could work together, figure out the best way to move forward. He cared about Delia, and she suspected his concern for his niece was the reason he attacked her so viciously.

  Like a mama bear.

  She liked that image. Only someone as strong and…different as Armaros could truly protect her. They had that in common. Even if Lucia wasn’t as powerful and strong as Delia’s uncle, she wanted to protect her, as well.

  Her stomach clenched in nervous anticipation as she knocked on doors, waiting for an answer, hoping Armaros’s face would be the one she saw when it opened. But at each door, there was no one. She opened them, glancing inside quickly before pulling her head out again and shutting it.

  Inside the rooms, time had stopped. There were small signs like the people who left them thought they’d be returning, a bottle of water, a towel on the back of a chair, a pink hooded sweatshirt.

  She found what she thought was Delia’s parents’ room, and closed the door gently. It was too sacred. The bedclothes were folded down. Clothes scattered the floor. It was lived in, despite the fact that the people who once slept there would never return.

  She didn’t belong here. At another point in time, maybe when Delia was older, this would be her place to explore. Her history was inside, not Lucia’s.

  The next rooms were empty, and finally, she admitted to herself it was time to give up. Armaros wasn’t here, and in no place did she see a phone. It frustrated her to be stuck, to have a plan but not be able to go forward with it.

  “Son of a bitch,” she muttered, when she turned the corner and ended up where she began.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Jesus Christ!” Jumping in the air, she clutched her throat.

  Armaros smiled and crossed his arms. “You’re way off.”

  “Ha, freaking ha,” she mumbled, hitching the blanket higher. “Can’t blame someone for jumping when you poof at them.”

  “I didn’t poof, I turned the corner.”

  “Oh,” she replied, her heart beginning to return to a normal rhythm. “Then this is good luck. I need a phone.”

  “For what?”

  “I need to make sure I still have a job.”

  His pale face grew rosy, a wrinkle ap
pearing between his eyebrows projecting a growing level of tension and he opened and closed his mouth searching for a reply. Lucia observed him with interest. He was even more beautiful upset, a hint of color appearing on his porcelain skin. “What’s it like to look like you,” she wondered aloud. “People must do whatever you want. You probably get upgraded seats on planes, and free drinks.”

  She shocked him out of his anger, and he stared at her before throwing his head back to roar with laughter. “I don’t fly,” he finally offered, stunning her with a wink. “In planes.”

  “Wings?” Her voice came out breathless and she cleared her throat before saying more steadily. “Wings?”

  Nodding, he smiled.

  “Can I see?”

  Immediately, he grew serious. “No. Of course not.”

  “I saw Lucifer’s wings, unless. Is it private? Like—” It was her turn to blush, maybe seeing someone’s wings was like seeing a guy’s junk. Though, nothing about Armaros suggested junk. If anything, jewels was probably a more appropriate term. He was probably as beautiful there as he was everywhere else Lucia could see.

  God, I hope he can’t read minds.

  “It’s not like that,” he corrected, though, his cheeks were stained pink.

  “You’re adorable when you blush.” She had no brain to mouth filter in the middle of the night. “Ignore me. I’m sorry.”

  He stepped closer to her, one long finger picking up the necklace. Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought she saw the deep red gem reflect on his skin. “It looks good.”

  “You have good taste,” she whispered. “I love it. Why—” she stopped herself.

  “Why did I get it?” he whispered in reply.

  Could he read her mind? His eyes made it hard to stay on track, and she found herself nodding.

  “It seemed to fit you.”

  “Thank you.” Somehow, they’d ended up a breath away from each other. She reached toward his face, wanting to feel his skin under his fingertips, but he hastily stepped away.