Page 45 of Conflicted

Our route took us over a certain house. Over a roof where, earlier that day, I’d let myself be selfish.

I tried not to look. I did.

I failed. I really fucking wished I hadn’t.

Because standing right where I’d left him was Nox.

I was too far away to see his face, but he was looking into the sky. Was he still searching for answers? Berating fate for lumbering him with me as his eternal mate?

Or was he hoping I might fly over?

Banking hard, I flew in the opposite direction. I tried not to think of him. Of what we’d shared. Of the vile things we’d said to one another.

But once again, I failed.

Even as I flew further into the distance, I swore I could feel him watching me.

10

Nox

“Did that boxing bag do something to you personally, or are we working through somefeelings?”

“Fuck off,” I said to Jeremiah, smacking the bag a few more times. “What are you doing here, anyway? I haven’t seen you in days.”

“I’ve been around.” His amber eyes flashed in amusement as he stepped behind the bag. I grunted at him in thanks; with him holding it steady, I could really put my strength into it. “Think you’ve been too preoccupied to notice, to be honest.”

I scowled, smacking the bag again. That was true. I’d thought of little else since Micah had flown away from me two days ago. Part of me had wanted to chase after him, but I’d stood my ground, remembering how he’d shoved me away. The callous words he’d thrown at me.

Cruel. Selfish. Uncaring.

He wasn’t wrong. I was all of those things. I’d certainly been cruel in what I’d said to him, even if I knew it to be true. But knowing that Micah thought that about me? It fucking sucked. I might not think we’d be a good match,but I had pride. He thought I was good enough to sleep with, but that was as far as it went.

Which meant there was a reason why he was lowering himself by letting me fuck him, and it wasn’t my skills in the bedroom.

It was my resemblance to the angel he loved. It had to be.

That knowledge was a sucker punch to my ego. My fated mate only wanted me as a replacement for the guy he couldn’t have.

It made sense, really. The list of crimes I’d committed in Hell would have needed several libraries to hold it. It didn’t matter that I’d been forced to do them. Nor did it matter that those I’d used my skills on were sinners.

At the end of the day, they were people. People I’d hurt. I’d ignored their pleas to stop. Denied their offers of bargains to take the pain away. Pushed them beyond their limits.

I was a demon. It was what I did. It was what I was born, raised, and instructed to do. Exacting justice went hand in hand with my very nature.

But it also meant I’d never be worthy of an angel like Micah. I needed to remember that. Fate giving me the promise of someone like him seemed like an appropriate karmic response for the life I’d led in Hell.

I’d waited on that roof for hours last night. For what, I couldn’t tell you. Was it for a sign from God that I was being a moron? For Micah to return for another round? Or to maybe remind me again how much he hated that fate thought we should be together?

I had no idea. Whatever it was, it had kept me there for longer than it should.

The moon was high in the sky when I heard the telltale sound of wings in the distance. Not just one set either, but two.

I tensed but didn’t raise a shield. My instincts were telling me I was safe, that whoever was approaching didn’t intend me any harm.

Micah came into view, another vaguely familiar angel flying on his right. I knew enough about angelic battle units to know that was the position occupied by his second.

Up until recently, it must’ve been Dimitri flying there. I didn’t know much about his unit, but everyone and their uncle knew Dimitri had held the role of second. Did Micah find it strange, looking over to see another in his place? Did it make him miss him more? Or was he relieved to not have him so close knowing he couldn’t have him?

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