Page 46 of Conflicted

All these questions were ones I shouldn’t have cared about. Ones I shouldn’t need answered.

I didn’t want to get to know Micah on a deeper level. I didn’t want to worry about his feelings or his broken heart.

I wanted to be the uncaring demon he believed me to be.

Fuck, I wanted that.

His head turned in my direction as he swooped over. He didn’t descend or give any sign that he’d seen me, just continued on his journey to wherever he was going.

The pull itched beneath my skin.Just open your wings and follow him.

Instead, I turned my back and went inside the house.

Over the next few days, I waited for Micah to seek me out. We’d said we were going to continue having sex, but maybe he’d changed his mind. Maybe the callous way we’d both spoken had made him think this whole thing was more trouble than it was worth.

He obviously wasn’t feeling the same pull that I was. When the first twenty-four hours passed without any sign of him, I decided to see if I could tempt him out by going to a club again.

I’d waited all night, even tried dancing with a couple of guys, but nothing. For hours after the club closed, I’d walked the streets of London, hoping desperately that I’d hear his clipped footsteps behind me.

But there were none.

After that, I sat on the roof, trying to catch him flying overhead. I watched the sun rise, set, and rise again.

He didn’t show.

“Still no sign of your angel?” Quill asked as I stomped into the kitchen. He was eating Weetabix this morning, leaning against the counter.

“Micah’s notmyangel.” I banged a cupboard door closed. Next was the kettle, filled with water and slammed onto the base. I was a little gentler with my mug, not wanting to have to clean up crockery.

“Could’ve fooled me with how you had him moaning your name on Tuesday.”

I pulled a chef’s knife from the block, pointing it menacingly in Quill’s direction. “I told you to forget about that.”

Quill smirked. “Wow, you’ve got it bad. Does it bother you that I now know what he sounds like when he comes?”

The knife found its home in Quill’s gut.

A few minutes later, I was sat at the table with my tea,feeling calmer. Jeremiah shuffled in, bleary eyed and hair in disarray. He paused at the sight of the blood pooling under Quill’s body before stepping over it and clicking the kettle back on. “Guessing Quill didn’t know when to stop.”

“As usual.” I sipped my tea. “Doubt he’ll learn from this either.”

“Probably not.” Jeremiah yawned.

Sure enough, after coming to with a groan, the first words out of Quill’s mouth had my temper rising again. “Amazing. You say he’s not your angel, then gut me for talking about him.”

I glared at him menacingly, my fingers twitching against the knife that was next to me on the table. “Carry on and I’ll chop you into little pieces. Let’s see how long it’ll take you to reincarnate after that.”

Quill sighed. “Fine. I’m just saying though, you’re completely gone for the angel. Wouldn’t hurt you to admit it.”

He trailed from the kitchen, blood dripping in his wake. His wound was healed, but the blood didn’t magically disappear.

“You need to clean up too,” I called after him. “It’s the rules.”

Our house rules didn’t prohibit us from murdering each other—there was no way any of us would be able to stick to that. Instead, the demon who instigated the argument was on cleanup duty.

The only exception was when Quill and Dahlia got into it. With them, it was often too difficult to determine who the perpetrator was. Given the carnage the two of them would leave in their wake, we often made them both do it.

Jeremiah sipped his own tea. “Want to talk about it?”

---