Touched by Darkness: (Sins of The Fallen Book 2)

“Oh, my God, Daemon,” I cry out when he collapses forward on top of me, blood gushing from a stab wound on his back. “What do I do?” My tone is panicked, desperate.

Daemon grunts with pain as his broad, powerful shoulders shift. His skin has broken out in a cold sweat, and his dark eyes lock with mine.

“What do I do?” I blurt again, even more frantic now. Daemon lies on his front, and the blood that pours from the wound soaks the sheets. I need to stem the bleeding somehow while I get myself together. I’m freaking out, and that’s never helpful.

I wriggle out from underneath Daemon and snatch up the towel from the floor. I ball it up and use it to press down on the wound, but all it does is stain the towel red. The blood is everywhere—on my hands, beneath my nails, and streaked on my forehead after I swiped away strands of my hair.

“Please,” I beg, “Please…”

I spot Daemon’s cell peeking out through the pocket of his jeans, so I dig it out while keeping pressure on the wound. Blood coats the screen as I bring up the first number in his contact list.

Alaric answers on the third ring, “It’s about time, fucker. We were about to send out a search and rescue team—”

“Alaric.” I hold the phone in a fierce grip and try to steady my breath. “I need help. Daemon has been stabbed.”

I’m met with silence on the other end before he blurts, “Fuck… Where are you?”

I wince. “Kinsale.”

“Kinsale?”

“It’s a small town in Ireland.”

Daemon grunts and attempts to roll over, but I force him back down on his front.

“Ireland?!” Alaric all but growls. “You’re in fucking Ireland?”

“Yes, it’s a long story. I need help. He’s bleeding heavily, and it’s soaking through the towel.”

“Is that Daemon?” Ronan calls out in the background. “Tell him to get his ass—”

“He’s been stabbed.” Alaric is on the move. I can hear his heavy footsteps pounding on the floor and the distinct click of Dariana’s high heels as she asks, “What happened? Is Daemon okay?”

“He’s been stabbed. Get your stuff. We’re going to Ireland.”

“Ireland?”

A sob escapes me, and I toss the phone down onto the bed, using both hands to apply pressure on the wound and putting all of my weight behind it.

“Who was that man?” Daemon grunts.

“I don’t know. I didn’t see his face.”

“Shit, little angel, I’ve known you for two minutes, and you have already managed to get me stabbed.”

“Can we please not joke right now?”

“It’s quite comical if you think about it. Wait, is this part of your elaborate plan to have me killed? He should have gone for my throat.”

More sobs and pathetic tears. I keep applying pressure, but it doesn’t take long before the towel is soaked through. “You need more blood.” My eyes dart around the room and land on the door. After leaving Daemon on the bed and getting dressed, I exit the room and come to a stumbling halt in the dark hallway. What if my stalker is out here? Lurking in the shadows?

“Think, Aurelia, think,” I whisper to myself before darting across the hallway to bang on the door opposite.

No one opens.

I try the next door, my hand smashing against the wood.

Either the occupants are smart enough not to open the door when a crazed woman, covered head to toe in blood, bangs on it, or they’re out.

I try the next door in line. The TV is on, and I can make out the advertisements before the door opens to reveal a woman in her late thirties. Her eyes widen when she takes in the state of me.

“Please, my boyfriend has been stabbed.”

“You need to phone the police.” She goes to retrieve her phone, but I seize her arm and haul her into my room.

The old me who recoiled when faced with death is nowhere to be seen. I push her inside, lock the door, and let my wings sprout behind me.

She takes in Daemon on the bed. He’s on his side, his face twisted in pain. She looks back at me, at my wings and the red mist in my eyes.

“Baby,” I say to Daemon while the woman takes a single, careful step back, “you need to feed.”

The response I get is labored breathing and a pained hiss through his teeth. He’s lost too much blood, and it makes me worried in case the knife hit vital organs. He’ll be able to heal if he drinks the human’s blood, but I can’t make him drink it. He has to do it himself.

The woman tries to dart past me, terror oozing from her, but I’m faster. I block her way and tilt my head sideways, stimulated by the hunt.

“You really shouldn’t entice a predator like that,” I tut.

These humans never learn. If you run, you seal your fate. That makes me a hypocrite since I ran from Daemon.

I see the moment she decides to scream. In a blur of motion, I close the distance between us and throw her up against the wall. I slam a hand over her mouth as I bare my incisors. “Make another sound, and it’ll be the last thing you do.”

I’m losing control over my darkness. I can feel it slipping from my grip the more frightened she becomes. The redness intensifies until my vision begins to ebb away, and the snarl in my throat becomes more animal than angel. If I’m not careful, I’ll lose myself completely.

“Baby,” I say to Daemon again, not taking my eyes off the woman, “I caught the rabbit for you.”

I’m in a precarious situation. I need to put pressure on his wound to stop the bleeding, but unless he feeds, he won’t heal, and I can’t both put pressure on the wound and ensure he feeds. I’m not superwoman, no matter how much I wish that was the case right now.

Wait…

Coercion…

My eyes widen.

How have I been so stupid?

The only problem? I’ve never been taught how to use it effectively. Renting a room and saving someone’s life are not in the same ballpark. I was relaxed, curious even, when I put the lady at reception under a spell so she’d let me have this room, but now I’m panicked and two seconds away from losing myself to the darkness, unable to focus on anything besides ripping out her larynx.

“Please,” the woman begs as I follow the tears trailing down her cheeks. “Please, let me go. Let me phone an ambulance. We can get him help.”

My wings flare with agitation behind me. “You think human paramedics can help him?”

I inch closer and she turns her head, whimpering pathetically when I lean in close to breathe in her scent—blood, fear, terror.

Ah, heck. Why does she have to smell so good and tease me with her whimpers? She makes it impossible to keep the darkness leashed.

And then she does the last thing she should ever do.

The one thing that snaps my grip on reality.

She screams.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Amenadiel whispers as he steps out from the shadows in the corner of the room. The moon sits high in the sky, and its silvery glow reflects off his teeth when he smiles coldly.

I scoot up in bed, careful not to wake Daemon, who snores softly beside me.

“I had to save him.”

He tuts, and a cruel, taunting smirk grazes his lips. “Don’t use that as an excuse. You enjoyed torturing the human and dragging out her fear until she was begging for death.”

“Please, stop,” I plead, shame coloring my cheeks.

“You enjoyed tearing her to bits, limb by limb. The monster inside of you is growing stronger every day.”

I press my hands to my ears as if I can shut out his taunts, but instead, it draws my attention to my trembling hands.

My very bloody, trembling hands.

Even in the moonlight, I can make out the congealed blood beneath my nails, between my fingers, and dried to the ends of my hair. The air reeks of copper and death.

Amenadiel crosses the floor while I inspect my hands. His fingers tangle in my hair, and his touch is almost soft, as if he’s trying to soothe me. “You don’t need to be ashamed of your darkness. Not around me. I welcome it.”

My throat jumps as I peer up at him from beneath my lashes. “Why?”

“Why, what?” He trails his touch down the curve of my jaw before cupping my chin and lifting it gently.

“Why do you welcome it?”

“Because no one else will. I once walked out of Eden too, remember? I know you struggle with the darkness. Especially now the light in you is gone. If anyone can sympathize, it’s me. Not Daemon, or any of your other friends.”

I draw in a shuddering breath as his thumb brushes over my bottom lip, back and forth, back and forth.

“Let the darkness in.” He leans down—slowly, so slowly—and I know I should stop him.

But I don’t.

I let him whisper against my lips, “Don’t fight it.”

And I don’t pull away when his lips press against mine.

With a gasp, I shoot up in bed, pressing a palm to my chest. My heart is hammering, and sweat coats my skin.

Sweat and blood.

So much blood.

It takes me a few seconds to remember where I am. The memories from last night are hazy.

Nerves swell inside me when I scan the room, taking in the body parts that lie scattered over the floor and the blood that has soaked through the thin carpet.

Sunlight pours in through the window, birds tweet in the trees outside, and a door shuts somewhere in the hallway. I’m in the human world. I try to breathe through the panic threatening to suffocate me.

Beside me, Daemon stirs, then his heavy arm drapes around my waist. He pops his head up and looks around before growing eerily still.

I hold my breath while he scoots up in bed. His shoulder is healed, but he still winces as if he’s in pain, or maybe it’s the sunlight that bothers him. They always hunt at night in the human world.

Shame clogs my throat as he takes in the blood and carnage. The severed hand in front of the chest of drawers, the heart on the bedside table, the girl with the empty eyes that stare at the ceiling. I can’t even look at her torso—or what’s left of it.

“Shit,” he whispers quietly.

So quiet, in fact, I almost miss it.

But I don’t. The shame and self-hatred threaten to drown me as I shield my face with my stringy, crimson hair.

Soft fingers find my chin and guide my eyes to his brown ones. “Hey, look at me.”

I can’t. I just can’t bring myself to let him see me like this.

“Little witch, look at me.”

My eyes slowly meet his.

“You saved my ass.” He ducks, capturing my gaze when it drifts down to my bloody fingers. “I’m alive because you thought to lure that woman in here.”

“I’m a monster.”

“We’re fallen angels.”

I shake my head softly, tiredly. “You’re a fallen angel, Daemon. I was born of the light…”

“But you’re a fallen angel now. The darkness is a part of you.”

“Yet you don’t lose yourself to it for hours while tearing your victims to pieces.”

His throat jumps as he stays quiet.

Daemon is disgusted by me, I know it. How can he not be when I’m a monster who kills for enjoyment? This part of me is terrifying. Where does it end?

Just when I think he’s going to push me away, he tucks my hair behind my ear. “It’ll be alright.”

I look at him then, my eyes flicking between his. “Will it, though? This darkness inside me is growing, and I have no control over it. What if I lose myself completely? Or what if I hurt someone I love?”

Like him.

“I think,” he starts, his eyes sliding down to my lips, “that you need to trust in yourself more.”

“Have you ever lost yourself to the darkness, Daemon?”

His dark wilderness clashes with mine. “No, not like that.”

My head slowly nods, and then I slide out from beneath the quilt and place my bare feet on the floor, careful not to step on any body parts. The congealed blood sticks to the soles of my feet as I pad to the bathroom.

“Little witch?”

I turn at the door.

“What’s your name?”

A breath escapes me as pain, unlike anything I’ve known, tears at my heart like that of countless hands, clawing, grabbing, piercing. Even now, Daemon doesn’t remember my name, and that realization hurts more than I can put into words.

Instead of replying, I offer him a gentle smile that I don’t feel on the inside. “I’m glad you’re healed, Daemon.”

Then I escape into the bathroom and shut myself inside. I can’t allow myself to fall apart. Not now. Not when Daemon is on the other side.

I press my forehead against the wood of the door and let my eyes fall closed. A few steadying breaths later, I turn to switch on the shower. While the water heats, I get undressed.

I take in my face in the mirror above the sink. There are streaks through the dried blood on my cheeks, and strands of my dark hair stick to my forehead and temples. I reach up and brush away the crusty strands. I don’t recognize this monstrous version of myself, this heinous, abominable creature that stares back at me.

Pushing off the sink, I step into the shower and tip my head back as the water pours over my face.

Maybe I should disappear before the darkness swallows me whole?

Before I hurt someone I care about.

A gasp leaves me when Daemon’s muscular arm slides around my bare waist and pulls me into his hard chest. His lips come down on my neck, kissing, biting, and punishing me until I can barely breathe. My nipples pucker as his scratchy beard marks my sensitive skin.

His dark voice rumbles in my ear, “You never told me your name, little witch.”

I slam my lips shut. For reasons unbeknownst to me, I want to keep that part of myself locked away.

Away from dangerous boys with sin at their fingertips and erotic promises in their dark gazes.

Boys with the power to destroy me if I’m not careful. Especially now when I’m already a victim of his love while also being a stranger to him. It’s a combination that’s hard to swallow. His touch is so familiar, so safe, and yet, his fingers explore my body as if for the first time.

As if he’s never lost himself in me.

As if he’s never brought me to my own destruction before gluing me back together.

“Tell me your name.” He shakes me.

“You once knew my name,” I whisper shakily.

Daemon stiffens behind me, but then he slowly turns me around and backs me up against the tiled wall, his hands on either side of my head. The water cascades over his broad, tanned shoulders, and more drips from his lips as he stares at me from beneath his dark lashes.

My wings flutter behind me as he leans in to whisper in my ear. “You know I like the hunt.”

Shivers splash down my spine.

“You want me to hunt you, little witch?”

I hold my breath when he leans back to look me in the eye. My heart smashes against my ribcage with closed fists that bang and slam and plead to be freed.

Daemon holds my gaze until my lungs burn and prick, and then he pushes off the tiled wall and cups my chin in a possessive grip. The kind of grip that lets me know he’s nowhere near done with me.

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but know this: you won’t win. Not against me. All you’ll achieve is to catch my attention, and trust me when I say you don’t want it. Scratch that, it’s already too late. So if you’re working with my uncle, I suggest you run to the ends of the Earth and don’t let me catch you this time.” He leaves, and the sound of the shower rushes back into my ears as I inhale deep, ragged breaths into my oxygen-starved lungs.

I both love and hate being back in Daemon’s orbit. I love it because I need his attention directed at me like a spotlight on this empty stage, where I strut and dance like a broken ballerina. But I also hate it because I might lose for the first time in my life.

While the darkness frightens me, Daemon is the true monster hiding in the shadows. Why? Because he holds my beating heart in the palm of his hand. He holds all the power.

I will get lost in this sea. Either in the clutches of the darkness or in Daemon’s intense presence.

Little Red Riding Hood will step off the path, but the question remains: will she catch the eye of the wolf or the hunter? Sometimes the safest option is the deadliest. Sometimes the one who saves us ends up being our destruction.

And Daemon?

He’s the missile to my heart.