Page 63 of Touched By Darkness

“Of course it scares me.”

My breath hitches when he circles his hand around my throat from behind and steps up close, his chest warming my back.

“Do you doubt yourself? Your own strength?”

“What does that mean?”

His grip on my throat tightens, and he leans down to whisper in my ear, “Do you doubt your ability to master the darkness inside you?”

“What are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking on the last few vowels.

“I’m feeding on your darkness, Angel.” His hand splays on my stomach, and his lips curve in a smile against my ear before he drags his nose down the column of my neck. “A little whore like you deserves to be fucked properly.”

At his crude words, I whirl around and shove him back, but he crowds me against the wall, wrapping his fingers around my throat.

“You lost him, Angel.”

Daemon…he means Daemon.

“No,” I whisper, my voice barely audible in the silence that seems to stretch on forever.

“What are you doing to get him back?”

His hand slides higher, over my chin, and steals my response when it clamps over my mouth. I whimper as his other hand snakes beneath the fabric of my skirt.

Amenadiel cups my pussy, brushing his thumb over my clit. “Instead of focusing so much on Lucifer’s son—a lost mission—you should welcome the darkness inside you. It calls to me, keeping me up at night.” He pushes his hand inside my panties, whispering, “We can explore it together.”

I fly up in bed, breathing harshly as I brush my hair away from my sweaty forehead. One look at the clock on the bedside table confirms that I have overslept. I struggled to fall asleep last night after the incident in the woods with the stalker.

That’s what he is, right? A stalker? The first time, I could brush it off as a prank, but that’s twice now that he has stalked and chased me.

And the dream? What the fuck was that? They stopped after I defeated Amenadiel, so why is my mind conjuring him now? Is it because he locked me in a room with a human man?

I’ve wondered about his reasons behind that, mulling it over but coming up blank. The darkness is directly linked to my powers, or rather, my ability to wield them to their fullest potential, so maybe he’s trying to help me?

I snort as I slide my legs out from beneath the quilt. The thought is absurd and shouldn’t be entertained. Amenadiel serves only himself. No one else. If he wants to teach me how to master hellfire, then it’s for a reason that has very little to do with my well-being.

After taking a quick shower, I pull on a dress and then dry my hair before applying a thin layer of mascara and inspecting the results in the mirror attached to the door.

My raven feathers reflect the light overhead as I turn in a slow circle, marveling over how pretty they are. How different they look compared to white wings.

I look so different, yet the same.

But the biggest difference is in my eyes.

And not the eye color.

The innocence that once shone bright is now dull, replaced by corruption, nefarious intent, and mischief. My eyes sparkle like the stars in the night sky—alluring and dangerous.

All it takes is one look to ensnare prey.

One look to lure them to certain death.

And one look to feast on their light.

With one final spin in front of the mirror, I leave the room and walk down the long hallway toward the dining room.

The air smells of freshly brewed coffee. When I enter the room, I find Amenadiel seated at the head of the table.

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