Page 15 of Her Fallen Angel

My jaw clenches as I watch her tend to my belongings with the same care she gives her morning prayers. No disgust at the blood. No fear of the violence these clothes have seen. Just those steady hands moving with quiet purpose.

"The tear will be stronger now." She holds up the mended section, showing clean, even stitches that blend seamlessly with the leather. "The double reinforcement will prevent it from splitting again."

Something twists in my chest at the sight of her small fingers smoothing over my battle-worn gear. This isn't the reaction I wanted. She should recoil from the evidence of brutality, should shrink from handling clothes soaked in violence.

Instead, she treats each piece like it deserves her full attention, her gentle touch at odds with the savage purpose these clothes serve. It sets my teeth on edge more than her quiet defiance ever has.

I turn away, wings rigid with tension. "Just finish cleaning them."

Her soft "Yes, sir" follows me across the room, along with the whisper of fabric as she continues her work with that maddening care.

I know I'll need to take it up a notch if I want to shatter this girl before she truly destroys me. But when I spend the afternoon watching her, I realize that might already be happening.

Especially when she sets out my dinner table without instruction and then kneels beside me. The sight makes my cock jerk, and I don't know how to stop myself from wanting more. But the sight of her submissiveness is going to be my undoing - even though I know that I haven't broken her soul.

But if I were a deity, her on her knees is all it would take for me to bless her with divinity. Maybe it's time to become her god instead.

"Recite your evening prayers while you serve." I lean back, wings settling against my chair. "Let's hear what devotions you offer to your weak gods."

Her hands don't falter as she pours the wine. "As you wish."

The first words fall from her lips in that clear, steady voice. Not the frightened whispers of a broken captive, but the unwavering tone of true belief. My fingers tighten around the goblet as her prayers fill the space between us.

She drops her head, holding still while her voice rises and falls in familiar rhythms. The cadence wraps around me, seeping into my bones like smoke. I drink deeper, letting the rich wine burn down my throat.

"More." The command comes out rougher than intended. She refills my cup without breaking the flow of her prayers.

Her words paint pictures of light and mercy, of forgiveness and grace - everything I've spent centuries destroying. Yet something in her voice pulls at me, makes me drain cup after cup just to keep listening.

The candles burn lower as she continues serving, continued devotions spilling from her lips. Her hair falls forward as she leans to place another dish, creating a dark curtain that catches the flickering light. My wings shift restlessly as I track her movements.

"Again." I gesture for another refill, though the wine already burns through my blood. Her prayers shouldn't affect me like this.Sheshouldn't affect me like this.

But her voice wraps around me like silk bonds, each word both challenge and caress. The more I drink, the harder it becomes to remember why I wanted to mock her faith in the first place.

The room spins slightly as I drain another cup, but I can't seem to stop drinking, can't stop listening to the quiet strength in her prayers. Her voice has become a drug more potent than the wine flooding my veins.

Everything about her is becoming far too distracting for me.

8

ARENWEN

Istudy Kai's tense shoulders as he paces the training yard, his ash-gray wings twitching with each turn. The morning sun catches on his battle scars, highlighting the maps of violence etched across his skin. His jaw clenches, muscles rippling beneath stubble.

These signs have become a language I've learned to read. Three weeks of watching, learning, anticipating. The way his fingers drum against his thigh means he'll want wine with dinner. The slight narrowing of his violet eyes signals incoming frustration with recruits.

I pour the deep red liquid into his goblet before his hand reaches for it. His gaze snaps to mine, searching for defiance or mockery. He finds neither.

"Your training gear is laid out on the bed," I murmur, keeping my eyes lowered. "I noticed the leather strap on your vambrace was wearing thin, so I had it repaired."

His wings rustle. "Playing the perfect little servant now?" His tone drips with suspicion.

I fold my hands in front of me. "I serve as I choose."

"And you choose to anticipate my every need?" He stalks closer, predatory grace in each step. His shadow falls over me, but I don't flinch.

"Would you prefer I didn't?"

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