The Demon of Angels (Bk. 2)

A GASP PARTS my lips, cracking the dry skin. I inhale a deep breath as if my soul was restored to my body suddenly. My body quivers; my eyes frantic as it roams the room that suddenly felt unfamiliar. Hugging my knees to my chest, I began rocking my body back and forth as tears silently stream down my pale cheeks. The terror that seized my limbs felt like shackles around my body, holding me in its vice-like clutches.

The weight of my skull felt heavy as it dropped to my knees. I don’t wince at the sharp ache that immediately follows, and I don’t realize I’m screaming until a body barges through my bedroom door.

Reality began to settle deep within my bones, tormenting me as it seeped through my pores and cut through me from the inside out. My father wanted me alive, but he’d make damn sure I was tormented first. That way, when he finally came for me, there would be nothing left of me to fight him off. I was useless, unable to pick myself up, weak, and a disappointment to everyone around me.

The body skidded to a stop at my besides on their knees. Large gentle hands encircled my waist, pulling me away from myself. My head throbbed from where I continuously banged my head against my knee caps. I let them pull me from the bed, eyes squeezed shut and still sobbing as they placed me in their lap. Arms wrapped themselves around me, and small soothing strokes over my hair quickly followed in rhythmic motions.

At some point, I had stopped streaming, and any time I raised my hand to further cause harm to myself, the person holding me gently grabbed my wrist and tugged it down and away from my head.

“Shh,” they said, running their hands up and down my arms. “Breathe Celeste. You’re home; you’re safe.” The voice infiltrated my ears in a smooth-smokey vibration, calming the erratic beat of my frantic heart. But it did nothing to stop the images or the voices that began pounding themselves through my brain.

Blood-curdling screams echoed in my brain, all a cry for help or pain. The guilt that weighed down on my shoulders dragged me down into an endless pit, drowning me in its oblivion. The Death Scythe was blaming me for the deaths of many, showing me images of myself at his side with his wicked grin plastered along my lips.

You did this, Death whispered in my ear. You let them die; you let them suffer.

“Celeste, focus on my voice,” the familiar male spoke again. My body shied away from the loud noise, whimpering. His words struck a chord within me, but it was quickly clouded over with Death’s shadow.

You’re not strong enough, he taunted me. The scratchy vibration that poured from my father’s lips made crimson pour freely from my ears. It was strong enough to bring me to my knees, but my body stayed upright from the man that held me.

“You’re strong, Celeste. Fight it.” The voice spoke again, louder this time with a slight growl reverberating through their chest. It was strong yet gentle, demanding me to obey but it felt as if I were too far gone. A waste of space, and an utter useless attempt at salvation.

“Focus on my voice,” they tried again. “What you feel; what do you smell?” When I didn’t respond, the arms around me loosened, I immediately whimpered at the cold that seeped through my clothing at the loss of their touch. The arms tightened once more, “Fight it, Celeste,” they murmured. “Remember who you are,” he growled, his arms tightening and holding me impossibly closer.

I let my head fall back against their chest, sweat pasting my hair to my forehead. My breathing was shallow, the hollow point of my chest aching as nothing within myself felt right. I swallowed the lump of emotions clogging my throat, gritting my teeth. I willed myself to push through the fog that clogged my mind, even if it was desperate to drown me.

Slowly, I took a deep and shaky breath, obeying the man that held me safely in their arms. Despite the strong feeling of a brain bleed, and the urge to scream until everything around me was gone, I held steady and began to answer his questions.

“I feel your chest, your arms...” I croaked, squeezing my eyes shut. I whimpered as the fog began to shatter around me, attempting to shove me back into the hole I was crawling out of.

“Now what do you smell?” they whispered, their lips brushed up against my ear. It sent tingles through my head, shocking the fog back and away from my soul. The hold it had on me suddenly vanished, and the bleakness clouding my thoughts slithered away as if it were afraid of who had spoken.

I inhaled slowly, then breathed it out as familiar scents wafted my senses. My eyes fluttered open suddenly, the body behind me stiffening. Turning my head, my gaze clashes with a pair of haunted silver orbs. A storm cloud of emotions swirled within them. I was too caught off guard, too comfortable to comprehend anything other than the fact that Zeke was holding me. He pulled me out of my panic attack; told me I was safe and soothed me until the pain that threatened to drown me scurried away into nothing.

“Zeke?” I murmured, brows furrowing.

His adam’s apple bobbed, his gaze never wavering from mine. “Yes,” he whispered.

Without consent, tears began blurring my vision once more. I blinked them back, but one escaped and without hesitating, Zeke’s thumb brushed it away from my reddened cheeks. “Why are you here?” I croaked. My heart and head were torn, but I pushed everything to the back. It was peaceful here, in this blissful moment where I could pretend I didn’t know what he was, and that he was here purely for my benefit. To help me, and save me from myself.

“You were screaming, Celeste,” he told me softly. An emotion I would have associated with fear passed quickly through his irises.

“And you came?” My head tilted, soaking up every little thing he did as he answered.

Zeke didn’t remove his gaze, didn’t breathe, but the heart in his chest was pounding so hard I could feel it as it rattled against his arm. “Yes,” he breathed.

“Why?” I asked immediately. If he were working for my father, shouldn’t he be enjoying my suffering? My pain and torment? Why wasn’t he helping destroy me until nothing was left? Why was he taking care of me?

His eyelashes fluttered, a frown marring his lips as his brows furrowed and a flash of hurt and anger flashing through his eyes I nearly missed it. “I’m not the monster you think I am,” he growled.

Without another word, Zeke rose from his knees, lifting me with him until we stood on our feet. His arms didn’t move from around my waist, so I used the opportunity to turn and place my hands on his chest. For the first time since meeting, I parted my lips and spoke the honest truth as our eyes collided once more. “You’re a weakness I can’t have, Zeke,” I murmured.

Zeke stiffened beneath my touch, but he recovered quickly, lowering his head until his lips brushed against the crown of my head. “Right back at you, Sweetheart.”

Once the words had left his lips, he was gone. I shivered, hugging my arms to my chest as my mind reeled at what had just happened and its meaning.

“Celeste?” a voice called from down the hall.

“In here,” I replied. The Archangel stepped into my room a moment later. I turned toward the doorway, wobbling slightly on my feet. A groan released itself from my lips as the pounding against my skull shot to the forefront of my mind, no longer forgotten.

“Are you okay?” Michael asked, his eyes full of worry and apprehension.

I gave a weak thumbs up. “Yeah, just had a nightmare,” I swallowed, not intending to tell him the rest of it. It felt too private.

Michael nodded slowly, eyeing me. “What was your nightmare about?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

I shrugged my shoulders, not wanting to lie but I also didn’t want him to freak out on me either. “I don’t really want to talk about it,” I muttered, suddenly avoiding his gaze.

The Archangel nodded in understanding. “Well, when you are ready to talk, there’s food downstairs. We need to have a chat.”

My eyes instinctively narrowed as they swiveled back around to him. “Chat about what?”

Michael gives a solemn look, the hesitation returning. “What comes next.”