Page 38 of Her Fallen Angel

"I said get out!"

She nods, taking a step back, steady as a flame in a storm, and I've never wanted anything more in my life than to claim that light for my own. Instead, I watch her go out into the courtyard.

It's not too much later that I go looking for her. I'm truly addicted at this point. Even as I shove her away, I can't help but pull her back in and I hate all of it. I hate my lack of control and I hate that I don't have her.

Once I'm bathed, readdressed, and at least moderately calmer - for now - I head back downstairs to look for Aren. I'm not sure what it would take for her to see that I'm not the man she hopes I will be.

Or maybe she does and that's what scares me.

I drift in darkness,surrounded by shadows that writhe and pulse with my own magic. Through the void, a familiar voice calls - her voice. Aren kneels before me, her dark hair pooling around her like spilled ink, lips moving in prayer. But these aren't her usual devotions.

"Take my light," she whispers, reaching for me with open palms. "Let me carry your darkness."

Her touch burns cold against my skin. Where our flesh meets, shadows crawl up her arms like living tattoos, seeping into her veins. She doesn't resist. Doesn't pull away. Instead, she welcomes each tendril of darkness with a soft gasp that sets my blood on fire.

"Little flame," I growl, gripping her wrists. "You don't know what you're asking for."

Her deep brown eyes meet mine, filled with that damned serenity. "I know exactly what I want, my lord."

The shadows respond to her words, surging forward to consume her. But instead of extinguishing her light, they merge with it. She glows from within, a perfect fusion of shadow and flame that makes my magic roar in response.

She presses her lips to my chest, right above my heart, and I feel her taking in more of my darkness with each breath. My wings spread wide, casting us both in deeper shadow as she accepts everything I am - monster and man alike.

I jerk awake, sweat-soaked and hard. My wings slam against the headboard, sending splinters of wood flying. Magic crackles beneath my skin, demanding release.

"Fuck." The word comes out as a snarl.

At the foot of my bed, Aren sleeps peacefully on her pallet, unaware of the violence churning inside me. Her chest rises and falls in steady rhythm, dark hair spread across her pillow like an offering.

I want to wake her. Want to make her take my darkness like she did in the dream. Want to possess her completely, body and soul.

The desire claws at my insides, making my magic surge hot and dangerous. I slam my fist into the wall, leaving a scorched crater in the stone.

This has to end. She's nothing but a slave, a possession. Not this... whatever she's becoming in my dreams.

But even as I think it, I know it's already too late.

20

ARENWEN

Irun my fingers along the dark wooden shelves, gathering dust as I move methodically through Kai's library. The leather-bound volumes stand at attention, their spines a testament to centuries of tactical knowledge. A smile tugs at my lips as I notice how he's arranged them - not alphabetically, but by battle strategy. Even his books must bow to his need for control.

The morning light filters through the high windows, catching dust motes that dance in the air. I've already polished the weapons in the training room until they gleamed, arranged the scrolls in his study just so, and ensured the kitchen sparkles. My hands never stop moving, driven by an urge to make everything perfect.

"He's changing," I whisper to myself, remembering how his violet eyes had softened when he sought me out yesterday afternoon after snapping. I don't think he really wants to push me away. He just doesn't know how to handlemydevotion. True submission where I don't break, I just give.

I pause at his favorite chair, smoothing the dark leather. The size of it emphasizes how small I am in comparison, yet latelyhe's been careful with that strength. Not gentle - Kai will never be gentle - but different.

Moving to the dining room, I arrange the heavy curtains to let in just enough light to catch the polished surface of the table where I serve his meals. My reflection stares back at me from the wood - waves of dark hair falling loose around my face, the simple dress he provided clinging to my frame.

"Little flame," I mouth his words, testing how they feel on my lips. The nickname used to feel like another chain. Now it warms me, even as I recognize the danger in that warmth.

I straighten a candlestick that's barely out of place, my movements becoming more precise as I sense the approaching hour of his return. The wards around the townhouse hum with protective magic, and I've learned to feel their rhythm, to know when they shift to admit their master.

Every surface gleams, every item rests exactly where it should be. Like a shrine waiting for its god - but I'm no longer sure if I'm preparing this perfection for his satisfaction or my own need to draw him closer.

A courier delivers a small scroll while I'm arranging flowers in the dining room. My fingers tremble as I unroll the parchment, recognizing Gabriel's precise handwriting immediately. The words blur before my eyes.

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