resembling a raven’s encased a heart made of twisted vines, each thick cord covered in countless thorns. The wings created a nest for the prickled heart to lie in, but neither design touched the other. Two separate but distinct markings, both beautiful and mysterious.
“The heart reminds us of the place we belong, of what we fight for.” His voice dropped low. “The wings represent our forefathers’ betrayal.”
“It’s stunning,” Chantal said. Nick withdrew his arm abruptly, his hand curling into a fist at his side.
“Warriors. Children of Angels and human women,” She repeated the words as if her mind had a hard time processing it.
“Yes. We are fast, efficient, and able to kill those that hunt their prey in darkness,” Nick said.
For some reason, Chantal couldn’t help noticing Nick was deep in thought. She used his distraction to really look at him. Though it caused her to blush once again, she concluded he seemed too magnificent to be so tortured. His unnatural skin tone did not deter her from noticing his toned chest. She had never seen such a gorgeous man up close and personal. This was all new to her; her own place, a neighbor who had become a best friend and a hot guy whose purpose was to protect her from some thing called the Evil One.
“And do you always fight half-naked?” she said. She covered her mouth when she realized she said what she was thinking out loud. At her comment, Nick seemed to come back to reality, looking at himself as if just realizing he didn’t have a shirt on. He glanced up, apologetically at Chantal before reaching behind him. His hands grasped something unseen from around his neck. He pulled what looked like a simple cloud of smoke over his head, and then it solidified into a black T-shirt.
“Is that better?” he asked.
“I don’t know if better is the right word, but way less distracting,” she muttered under her breath. The atmosphere in the room became less charged and she relaxed, ready for him to answer more questions. “What were those things you fought?”
“They are creatures who live in the shadows, able to do the will of the Fallen,” Nick said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“And why were they after me?”
A sudden knock on her door kept him from answering.
“Who could possibly be visiting you at this hour?” Nick said, anger coloring his tone. Chantal shrugged, heading toward the door. Before opening it, she paused, and said, “Just make yourself scarce.” If it was Monica, she didn’t want to answer questions about a strange man in her apartment, never mind the fact that he looked anything close to normal.
“Sure,” he said, and pulled back into the shadows as she looked through the peephole before opening the door.
“What the hell are you doing here? I won’t hesitate dialing 911!” she said through the door, as her late-night visitor seemed startled by her reaction.
“What are you doing here?” Chantal repeated as she glared at the dark-haired man with slight bruising on his left jaw line standing in the hallway of her apartment building. The diner must have just closed, meaning it had to be a little after two in the morning—way too late for any kind of decent visitation. “Do you know what time it is? I swear, I will call the cops!”
“I know, but I had to see you, to try and explain. You didn’t return my call,” he said through the still closed door.
Tony DeLuca, the creepy manager from the diner that she clocked had the audacity to show up at this hour to explain himself. She reached over and grabbed the phone in case she had to make good on her threat
“Are you crazy? You could’ve called again. You don’t show up at my apartment at this time of night or ever for that matter,” Chantal warned him.
He glanced around, seemingly noticing for the first time the late hour. His hands fiddled in front of him as if he suddenly didn’t know what or why he was there.
“Didn’t you
“The heart reminds us of the place we belong, of what we fight for.” His voice dropped low. “The wings represent our forefathers’ betrayal.”
“It’s stunning,” Chantal said. Nick withdrew his arm abruptly, his hand curling into a fist at his side.
“Warriors. Children of Angels and human women,” She repeated the words as if her mind had a hard time processing it.
“Yes. We are fast, efficient, and able to kill those that hunt their prey in darkness,” Nick said.
For some reason, Chantal couldn’t help noticing Nick was deep in thought. She used his distraction to really look at him. Though it caused her to blush once again, she concluded he seemed too magnificent to be so tortured. His unnatural skin tone did not deter her from noticing his toned chest. She had never seen such a gorgeous man up close and personal. This was all new to her; her own place, a neighbor who had become a best friend and a hot guy whose purpose was to protect her from some thing called the Evil One.
“And do you always fight half-naked?” she said. She covered her mouth when she realized she said what she was thinking out loud. At her comment, Nick seemed to come back to reality, looking at himself as if just realizing he didn’t have a shirt on. He glanced up, apologetically at Chantal before reaching behind him. His hands grasped something unseen from around his neck. He pulled what looked like a simple cloud of smoke over his head, and then it solidified into a black T-shirt.
“Is that better?” he asked.
“I don’t know if better is the right word, but way less distracting,” she muttered under her breath. The atmosphere in the room became less charged and she relaxed, ready for him to answer more questions. “What were those things you fought?”
“They are creatures who live in the shadows, able to do the will of the Fallen,” Nick said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“And why were they after me?”
A sudden knock on her door kept him from answering.
“Who could possibly be visiting you at this hour?” Nick said, anger coloring his tone. Chantal shrugged, heading toward the door. Before opening it, she paused, and said, “Just make yourself scarce.” If it was Monica, she didn’t want to answer questions about a strange man in her apartment, never mind the fact that he looked anything close to normal.
“Sure,” he said, and pulled back into the shadows as she looked through the peephole before opening the door.
“What the hell are you doing here? I won’t hesitate dialing 911!” she said through the door, as her late-night visitor seemed startled by her reaction.
“What are you doing here?” Chantal repeated as she glared at the dark-haired man with slight bruising on his left jaw line standing in the hallway of her apartment building. The diner must have just closed, meaning it had to be a little after two in the morning—way too late for any kind of decent visitation. “Do you know what time it is? I swear, I will call the cops!”
“I know, but I had to see you, to try and explain. You didn’t return my call,” he said through the still closed door.
Tony DeLuca, the creepy manager from the diner that she clocked had the audacity to show up at this hour to explain himself. She reached over and grabbed the phone in case she had to make good on her threat
“Are you crazy? You could’ve called again. You don’t show up at my apartment at this time of night or ever for that matter,” Chantal warned him.
He glanced around, seemingly noticing for the first time the late hour. His hands fiddled in front of him as if he suddenly didn’t know what or why he was there.
“Didn’t you
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