Page 1 of His Angel

ONE

IVY

Idon’t know if it’s the shakes, or the racket, that wakes me from the emptiest sleep I’ve ever known. It’s not deep in that vivid dream kind of way, it’s just void of anything, and as I slide my phone off the nightstand and look at the harsh numbers that flash back at me, I can’t believe it’s been so long.

“What the…” I start, the words echoing around my head causing me to wince, only exacerbating the tremble in my extremities.

Curling back up under the covers with my phone is the only option as I will the contents of my stomach to stay put, not sure I could make it to the bathroom if I had to.What the hell is going on?The rest of the girls laugh outside the room, a million miles away, and yet it’s loud enough for me to hear over the sound of blood rushing around my body.

What the hell is this? I didn’t even drink, did I?

Attempting to rack my brain through what happened the night before gets me nowhere.

A party, with Tamsin. I think.

Turning over stops the shivering momentarily, until it starts back up again, the noise in my head easing slightly as I try to focus my mind.

The party with Tamsin.

The moment with Leo.

“I don’t want to take anything. I want it to be given, freely and willingly.”

Heat rushes through my veins, his tone practically reverberating through my body as I try to push further through my memory.I came home.Or as far home as this place has come to be. But I didn’t stay here.

The memory hits me like a freight train, the message from Tamsin, the panic as I rushed from the house and into the night. Quickly, I flick to my messages, checking the chain with Tamsin, but it’s not there. The last message reads:

T: Staying with Taylor, see you tomorrow x

There’s no mention of me turning up afterwards, nothing of the panicked message that had me rushing there in the first place.

Oh, God.

The shorts. Leo’s face. And then… the masks.

Shooting up out of the covers, my stomach rolls but holds, the shakes almost gone and the blinding headache finally receding. It’s not a hangover, I’m one hundred per cent sure I didn’t drink, so this must be the after-effects of whatevertheygave me.

I look around the room, attempting to work out what’s different, what’s moved, but everything looks the same. And as I physically check over myself, all my fingers, toes, arms and legs are attached. I’m still alive.

The rush of relief is unexplainable.

Surely, if I’d been somehow maimed, or killed, I’d have realised it before now? Unless I was dead, I suppose. Fuck, clearly my head is more messed up than I gave it credit for.

The familiar scent of my favourite dark roast finally registers, and before I fully realise it, I’m rolling myself out of bed and dragging on the closest dressing gown, heading to the bathroom. The room wobbles slightly as I get up, using the edge of the doorway and the counter to catch my balance.

I use the toilet and wash my hands, and that’s when I notice it; sleek black leather wrapping around my wrist.Where did that come from?There’s no buckle, no stud to pop open, and as I push it, it won’t fit over the curve of my hand.

The coffee just a few steps away is completely forgotten as I run my fingers over the logo, the crest familiar, the lions on either side distinctive, as is the gold rivulet that runs around the band. The Devils.

My stomach rolls again as memories flash infront of my eyes.

The car sliding to a stop, the black figure outlined against the darkness of the night.

The glass.

The black mask. The gold slash running left to right.

“You’re mine now, sugar.”

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