Page 55 of Angel's Enemy Omega

Not like you and I at all,he wants to say.My body wants yours all the time. Your blood is the finest elixir to me, so much sweeter than his. I hate you and I love him, but my love for him was sweet and toothless and but my hatred of you is obsession.

But he says none of that. Instead he crawls up Arsene’s body and curls into his embrace, raging against the unfairness of fate

Chapter 31

ARSENE

Arsene sleeps like a stone.He wakes in the morning to Nur heavy in his arms and his heart whispers,Yes. The tent is full of Nur’s warm, spicy scent, more powerful than ever, a scent he now gulps down eagerly. He can’t imagine how he was ever repulsed by it. Nur grumbles and shifts, his elbow catching Arsene’s ribs and his horns skimming Arsene’s temple. His skin is hot as a flame. He glows in the dawn light, and Arsene devours the sight of him.

“You owe me a snack.” Nur’s eye cracks open.

To his horror, Arsene finds an impossibly fond smile rising to his lips. “I do?”

“Quit looking at me like that. You promised me demons.”

“Ah. So I did.” He tilts his head back to expose his neck. “Am I a good enough replacement?”

A brief shadow passes over Nur’s face, then he shakes himself. “Always.”

The pull has become familiar, settling over him warmly. Arsene almost lets himself drift away in it. But that shadow bothers him. The ritual of feeding has become normal for him, but what about for Nur?

He asked Nur to follow him as if he had a choice, but he doesn’t. He needs Arsene to survive.

Yet he saidno.

They separate to get dressed, maneuvering awkwardly around each other in the tiny space. Protectiveness sweeps over Arsene at the sight of Nur’s bare back when he bends to pull on his boots, the knobs of his spine so oddly vulnerable. The red brand around his neck is fading, and it’s in part because his pulse beats with Arsene’s blood underneath it. Arsene suddenly wants to destroy the one who gave him the scar. It’s an insane thought.

Nur doesn’t need his protection from anyone except Arsene himself.

Nur turns to give him a faint look of impatience when he’s done dressing. He seems brighter than usual, his eyes gleaming with a feverish brilliance. Arsene can’t help ducking down for a final kiss, relishing the way Nur’s scent rises and his body responds, in spite of his huff of annoyance.

The sandstorm has swept over everything with fine white dust. Arsene wraps a cloth around his nose and mouth and brushes the tent off carefully before dismantling it. Hummocks of sand are scattered across the camp, and it’s a long moment before Arsene realizes what they are. The buried husks of demons who succumbed to the song—or maybe were freed by it. Are they at peace now? It’s a strange thing to find himself hoping for.

He helps load supplies into the wagon and shovel sand over the fire pit after packing up their tent. Then he waits for the rest of the caravan to gather, not-so-subtly watching Nur corral the children with something that looks suspiciously like a smile on his dour face.

When—if, his primus growls—he finds his way back to the sentinel house, he’s eager to shake the seraphim empaths anddemand answers. How can a creature like Nur exist? He’s proof that vergis and primus are being born other lands even as New Yden itself slowly withers from war and infertility. Something must be wrong for that to be true. But these questions are treason. No one here can read his thoughts, but even thinking them feels dangerous.

“You look troubled,” says Irvin, coming up behind him.

“It’s nothing.” Arsene attempts to smooth out his expression.

“He likes the children,” Irvin says, jerking his chin at Nur.

“He’s a vergis,” Arsene says absentmindedly. “Of course he does.”

“Pardon?”

He grimaces. “Nothing. He’s, uh. Special.”

Irvin chuckles. He joins Arsene in the shade of the wagon, crossing his arms over his chest. “He seems better, your one. Happier. He was a mess not long ago, and now he even smiles sometimes.”

“He’s not mine,” Arsene grumbles.

Irvin gives him an odd smile. “I’d say he is.”

“He is better,” he admits. He isn’t ready to face that statement. Still, there are some wounds time can’t heal. He changes the subject, sensing the opportunity to ask something that’s not treasonous, exactly, but that isn’t something he’d say aloud within the borders of New Yden. “How did you know the demons wouldn’t attack? I’ve never heard of them just…going into the aether.”

Irvin hums. “To us, demons aren’t the enemy. They might not always be welcome in the cities, and of course, everyone knows about the war. But just like the rest of us, they get tired of fighting. Surviving. If they want to be free, the song frees them.”

---