Page 95 of Dark Angel

Charles leads the way inside the canvas tent, dropping the wooden crate on the ground with a thud. The tent is just as dirty inside as it is on the outside. Crates upon crates of who knows what are stacked up in random piles. Rotting plants and fruit are dispersed throughout, giving off a foul odour, and a single floating candle hovers at the top, illuminating the cramped space.

“Emmett, I think you need a housekeeper in here.”

The man chuckles at Charles again, slapping him on the back with so much force Charles nearly flies forward onto his face. “You make me laugh, Bladesmith.”

Emmett stalks over to the table set up on the other side, his head knocking into the floating light. He’s a stocky man of great height, towering over everyone he comes across. That’s one of the reasons why people are so afraid of him. That, and the fact that he has absolutely no remorse when people double cross him, even in the slightest.

“Where did you want the crate?” Charles asks, kicking it with the tip of his leather boot.

Emmett thinks for a second, stroking his vivid red beard the colour of chilies. It’s an unnatural red, but it makes sense for him due to his fire summoning abilities. “Leave it there. I will be sending it out later this morning.” He grunts.

Charles leaves it, waiting for Emmett to focus back on him.

He seems to be scrounging around underneath the table where he has mounds of old tomes, broken machinery and jars that look to be filled with all sorts of dead insects.

He turns around, almost startled by the fact that Charles is still waiting. “What is it, boy?”

Charles grimaces at the wordboy. “Aren’t you forgetting my enchantment?”

Emmett blanches before strolling over and placing his hands on Charles’ shoulders. This is the plan. The enchantment increases his abilities, making him the most skilled out of every Seraphim his age. A heating sensation runs through him, the hairs on his skin lift and tingle as Emmett repeats the charm in a different language under his breath. The feeling lasts a full minute before the waves slow, and Charles forces his eyes open. He didn’t even realise they had closed. He should be used to the feeling by now.

“Done.” Emmett chimes, releasing his hands and returning to the pile of stuff he was sifting through.

Charles continues watching him, his body hot and bothered as the enchantment works its magic underneath his flesh.

Emmett looks over to see Charles still waiting for him. “Anything else you need?”

“I wish to ask you something.”

Emmett’s eyes narrow on his. “Well, what is it? I don’t have time to dilly dally today.”

“I want to know how to make someone fall in love with me.”

His words cause Emmett to stiffen. “Why would you want that? Do you have no luck with ladies?”

Charles’ teeth grind loudly, “I didn’t ask for you to question me. I just want to know if you have a spell or something I can use?”

“It’s not like spelling someone to sleep. It requires a lot of effort, and most times it doesn’t work properly. I would suggest you wait until you find someone. If you mess too much with magic, then it will begin to mess with you.”

“But I need a wife.”

“And no woman is offering?” Emmett snorts an obnoxiously loud laugh. “Do you have trouble speaking with them? Offering your intentions?”

“No!” Charles cries out angrily.

Emmett scratches his head. “Then I don’t understand why you would need one. Do you have your eye on someone who is courting another man?”

“No. You know what? Forget it.”

Emmett grins proudly at him. “Very well, off you go then. I have a stall to set up. Your next shipment of pints will be needed in two weeks.”

Charles, who’s already walking towards the tent opening, spins around on one foot. “Wait, wait, wait. Two weeks? It’s usually every four.”

“What can I say, Seraphim blood is highly sellable now. The Marked ones are wanting it now more than ever.”

“But two weeks is not enough time for me to collect that many pints.” Charles argues with him.

Emmett steps closer, his gigantic body exceeding Charles’s. “Two weeks is an ample amount of time. If you fail to bring me ten more by then, you will find yourself the talk of the town when I expose the illegal business you and your father are a part of. So, I suggest you follow my orders and bring me the pints before I tear your limbs off,one by one, and take all of your blood to sell. Do you understand?” his voice getting lower and more aggressive with each word.

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