Razael

I can't believe what a bloody fool I am.

Perched on the rooftop of the university's library, I have a clear view of the campus as the first fingers of dawn claw at the horizon. It's silent around me, the town below just stirring. The only sound is the distant rumble of traffic and the pounding of my blood in my ears.

I haven't slept. The memory of Meg's lips on mine, the taste of her, the feel of her soft curves pressed against me. They're all seared into my mind with agonising clarity. The echo of it all lingers; a phantom sensation that does little to ease the hunger burning hotly in my gut.

What the hell am I doing?

I should never have gone to that party. Shouldn't have kissed her.

It was nothing but a momentary lapse in judgement. The primal need to claim her—to lose myself in her—must be a reaction to the bond; the mark I accidentally placed on her.

But even as I think it, I know it's a lie. I wanted to kiss her. Hell, I want to do a lot more than that. Over the centuries, I've had my share of dalliances, but none compare to the intensity of what I feel for Meg.

And that kiss has done nothing to sate it. If anything, it has fanned the flames. Pushed me even closer to giving in. To slake my desire in her supple body the way I yearn to. The way I crave to.

Kissing her was like nothing I've experienced for millennia. Like I came alive for the first time since I fell.

I close my eyes and tilt my face to the dull glow of the sun, grinding my jaw as I try to resist the urge to seek Meg out. To continue what we started with that kiss. What my body so desperately wants.

But I cannot. Will not.

I only seek out women to satisfy my base urges—sex or skimming—and I know without a doubt that with Meg it would be different. It would be more. Too much for someone like me.

I don't do attachments. Especially not after...

Kiera's face flashes in my mind. Two centuries have passed since her death, and yet the pain feels as fresh as if it happened yesterday. Like my heart has been carved out of my chest. We have lost many of our fellow angels since we were first banished from Heaven, but losing Kiera was the one that broke me.

They say time heals all wounds, but they lie. The sharp, blinding agony may dull with passing years, but the ache—that bone-deep, soul-searing ache—never leaves. You just learn to live with it.

I don't know if I'm strong enough to endure that again. Losing someone I care about so deeply. Other than my brother, Kiera is the only one I've ever truly loved. I've always kept myself apart, not getting too close. My reaction to losing Kiera only proves I made the right decision about not forming close attachments to anyone else.

And yet...I can't seem to stop seeking Meg out. Protecting her. The need to keep her safe outweighs even my self-preservation.

I groan. Focus. I need to think about something else. Anything else.

The runes. The demonic markings Meg showed me on her phone, and I found another in her garden. That's a mystery that needs solving. A distraction from the woman who haunts my thoughts.

Leaving the rooftop, I make my way down the fire escape, my boots silent on the metal steps. It's still early, but the campus is coming alive. Students are stumbling out of dorms, bleary-eyed and clutching coffee cups, probably hoping to chase away the remnants of last night's revelry. Some are still wearing clothes that were obviously what they wore to whatever party they attended.

I blend into the background, my movements fluid and silent. I've been doing this for centuries, moving unseen, a silent predator in a world that doesn't know I exist. Where Luce is the light that draws everyone's attention to him, I am the darkness that operates in his shadow.

The warden's office is my first stop. It's locked, naturally, but that's hardly an obstacle. A flick of my wrist, and the lock clicks open, the door swinging inward without a sound.

There's nothing of interest in the warden's records. No mention of unusual activity or missing students. As I'm about to leave, voices drift down the hall from two students passing by.

"Did you hear about Bradley?"

"From Programming?"

"Yeah. Gone. Vanished."

"What do you mean, vanished?"

"No one's seen him for almost a week. Someone said he's left, but everything is still there in his room."

That lines up with what Meg said about students going missing. I had hoped it was nothing, but if someone dropped out of Uni, they'd clear out their room.

"Think he just decided he couldn't hack it?"

The other student snorts. "Bradley? He practically lived in the library. No way he just left."

"Maybe something happened. Family emergency?"

"Maybe." There's a beat of silence, and then, "It's creepy though, right? He's not the first one to just...disappear."

Indeed. I quickly find the student dorm records and look up Bradley's room number. If he's left everything behind, maybe there will be some clue to his whereabouts. There's a note next to his name to clear the room out. So, the warden knows he's not returning. Interesting.

After making sure the hallway is empty, I close the door behind me and head towards Bradley's room. It's not long before I find his door. Unlocked. That doesn't seem right.

Stepping inside, I'm met with the stale smell of instant noodles and unwashed laundry. The room is small, with clothes and textbooks strewn across the floor. A half-eaten pizza sits on the desk next to a laptop with a dark screen.

It's a mess, but even in the chaos, I can see the signs of the boy who lived here. A worn copy of The Lord of the Rings on the bedside table. The framed poster of some band is on the wall, their name unfamiliar to me. A student's room. Ordinary. Except for the faint hum of power that sets my senses on edge.

On a whim, I pick up the well-thumbed book, flipping through the pages. There are notes scribbled in the margins; observations on the story and highlighted sections. Nothing out of the ordinary.

I'm about to move on when something catches my eye. A small, leather-bound journal tucked under the mattress. It's old, the leather cracked and worn, and the faint energy emanating from it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

It's a familiar energy. Dark. Ancient.

Demonic.

I flip open the journal, my gut clenching as I recognise the symbols inked on the crisp pages. Demonic runes. Pages and pages filled with them; some meticulously copied, others scrawled as if in a frenzy. And then I see it. The same symbol from Meg's garden. The one she'd found in school. It's there, reproduced perfectly in Bradley's hand.

How did this whelp come across demonic runes? Is he the one who carved it into the desk where Meg found it? In her garden? And most importantly, where the hell is he now?

The sound of the door creaking open makes me whirl around, my hand instinctively going to the blade concealed beneath my jacket. My body coils tight, ready to strike.

But it's not the warden or some nosy student standing in the doorway.

It's Meg.

"What the hell?" Her eyes are wide, taking in my presence, the messy room, and finally landing on the journal in my hand. "Raze? What are you doing here?"

I could ask her the same question. What is she doing in this boy's room? I thought we agreed she wouldn't be looking into the missing students.

"That's a bit hypocritical coming from you, wouldn't you say?" I can't help the mocking edge in my voice.

Her surprise melts into irritation and her chin lifts in that stubborn way that both frustrates and arouses me. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Being somewhere you shouldn't." I smirk. "Don't tell me you're just here to borrow a textbook."

"No." She steps into the room and closes the door. "I heard Bradley's gone missing, and I wanted to see if I could find any clues."

Damn it. She's going to get herself killed with this insatiable need to play detective.

"Meg, this could be dangerous. Go home." I shove the journal into the back pocket of my jeans.

"No. Not until I know what happened to him." Her gaze flicks around the room, taking in the chaos. "He wasn't very tidy, was he?"

"You shouldn't get involved in this." I try to keep my voice even, but my irritation seeps through. "I'll handle it. Leave it be."

She spins around to face me, fire in her eyes. "You can't tell me what to do. Especially not after kissing me like that and then buggering off. Rather rude, don't you think?"

I stiffen, and my jaw clenches. "Let's not talk about it. It was a mistake."

Hurt flashes in her eyes before it's replaced by steely determination. "Bullshit. That kiss was..." She trails off as if she's struggling to find the correct word.

Everything.

That kiss was everything. And that's why it's so fucking terrifying.

"You can't pretend you felt nothing after that kiss," she continues. "I know you did. No one can kiss like that and not feel something. Anything."

"It doesn't matter. Nothing can happen between us."

"Why not?" She steps towards me until she's so close I can feel the heat radiating off her body. It takes every ounce of restraint not to reach for her. "And don't give me some rubbish about protecting me or not being good enough. I want a genuine reason."

"For one, my brother would kill me." I try to lighten the mood even as frustration and longing war in my chest. "And your sister would cheer him on. Probably join in."

"Cass means well, but this is a part of my life she has no say over." She crosses her arms over her chest. "You're not giving me a proper answer. You can't kiss me like that and expect me to accept when you tuck tail and leave."

"Tuck tail?" I'm not a bloody puppy.

"Yes. I deserve a proper answer."

She's angry now, and I latch onto that. Anger, I can deal with. It's familiar, comfortable almost. Far safer than the alternative of acknowledging the electricity crackling between us. The way my body and whatever remains of my tattered soul seem to ache for her.

"You're too young to understand," I say, knowing it will fan her ire further.

"Don't patronise me, Raze!" she snaps, colour high on her cheeks. Her whole body trembles with barely contained fury, and she's stunning. "I'm not some naive child. I know my mind and what I want."

"You don't know what you're asking for!"

"Then explain it to me instead of being a cryptic asshat!"

Hell and damnation! This woman. Raking my fingers through my hair, I pace the small confines of the room like a caged animal. I want to throttle her as much as I want to kiss her senseless.

She's right, in a way. She does deserve more than my half-truths and evasions. But how do I make her see? How do I paint a picture grim and gruesome enough to scare her away for good?

A small, traitorous part of my mind whispers that maybe I don't want to scare her away. That maybe, just maybe, I'm more afraid of her accepting me, of wanting me despite my monstrous past. Because then I might have to confront the growing suspicion that this is more than an obligation or a passing fancy. That this is more than me accidentally marking her, and that she's burrowing deeper and deeper into my blackened, hardened heart with every infuriating toss of her hair and teasing quip.

But I can't think about that now. Won't allow this weakness. This distraction. Not now, not when there's evil creeping in on her. Those demonic runes spell nothing but doom.

Watching her now, glaring up at me, I'm so bloody torn. Torn between the impulse to pull her close and shelter her from the horrors of the world, and the urge to push her away for her own good. To keep her pure and unsullied by the shadows of my past.

And yet, the way she looks at me sometimes, like she sees me. The real me, beneath all the posturing and the walls I've erected. It's unnerving. How I both long for and dread her uncanny ability to slip past my defences as if they were made of nothing more than gossamer.

We're at an impasse, the silence stretching taut between us, heavy with words unsaid and emotions barely restrained. There's a distinct sense of unfinished business, and I know this is far from resolved. The air crackles with it, electric and alive like the charged moments before a summer storm.

I drag my hand through my hair and inhale deeply. "I'm sorry, but I can't do this with you right now." My voice is rough with the effort it takes to keep my distance. She doesn't understand how hard I have to fight not to pull her into my arms right now. Allow her light to soothe the aching void left after my fall from grace. But how could I when I would risk my darkness seeping into her life, tainting everything that is so good about her?

"Why not? When will be a good time for you, Raze?" she taunts. "When will you stop running from this? From me?"

"I'm not running," I snap, my frustration bubbling over. "I'm trying to protect you!"

"From what? From you?" She scoffs, shaking her head. When she takes a step closer, I instinctively back up, my legs hitting the edge of the desk. The room suddenly feels too small, too stifling. Meg's proximity is intoxicating, her warmth radiating towards me in waves.

"Yes, from me." The words taste bitter on my tongue. "I'm not a good man, Meg. I've done things. Crossed lines that shouldn't be crossed. I'm not like the other Forsaken, I'm tainted."

Her brow furrows. "What do you mean? How are you different?"

"I've tasted blood, Meg. Your blood." My eyes flick to her neck, to the faint, silvery scars left by my teeth. I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry as I remember the sweet taste of her. Unconsciously, I lick my lips, and I see Meg's eyes follow the movement. "And you weren't the first."

But she's the only one I've accidentally marked. The only one whose presence continues to call to me.

Mine.

I instantly push away the thought, refusing to give in to it, even though it's ever-present in the back of my mind since the moment I met her. Maybe that is why I marked her, even without realising it. Maybe she's my soul mate.

No. I cannot allow that notion to take root. Even if it were true—and it's a real possibility I have no intention of telling her—I can never be with her. Something I need to make her understand. Somehow.

"By willingly drinking from humans..." I continue, trying to keep the self-loathing from seeping through. "It's changed me, corrupted me in ways I cannot even begin to understand. After we fell from grace and lost our divinity, we skimmed human souls to access our powers. Drinking blood is a much quicker way, but Luce and the others find it distasteful, and it's a forbidden practice. Only the Hellbound stoop low enough to do it. And me."

She cocks her head to the side. "Is this supposed to scare me?" Reaching out, her fingers graze my arm. Even that slight touch sends a jolt through me, and I jerk away as if burned. Her hand falls to her side. "I already know you drink blood. Kind of hard to miss."

When she makes a vague gesture towards her neck, I look away. I remember all too clearly the taste of her clean skin, the fluttering of her pulse beneath my lips...the power of her soul flooding into me as I gorged myself on her beautiful essence.

I can't risk being with her. If we truly are soul mates, they say our souls would entwine, and merge on a fundamental level. It might heal the poor excuse for a soul left in me after the fall, but what would happen to Meg? How would my darkness—my sin—affect her? The remnant of my soul is tainted beyond salvation.

"What if I corrupt you?" I meet her gaze, trying to make her understand without telling her my deepest fears.

"It's hardly contagious."

"Meg, this isn't a joke."

"Does it look like I'm joking?" Her voice is sharp, her eyes narrowed as she stares at me unflinchingly.

Just then, we hear it. Muffled voices on the other side of the door.

"Room 304. This is the one." The warden's here to clear out Bradley's things.

Meg's eyes widen in alarm.

Fuck. We're trapped.