Bite Me 2: All Angels go to Heaven

By India Taylor

Paranormal, Romance, Fantasy, New adult fiction

Paperback, eBook

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446
16 mins

Chapter 1

He went to the nearest rooftop and watched as the guards killed off the sorry creatures. Of all the strange and crazy beings he’d met over his lifespan, they were the least worthy of life and possibly the most unfortunate. He was no stranger to politics, but they had fallen hard under their government’s greed. He knew so little about the assignment he was working that it was nearly impossible to make the right move. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t stay in the fey world, and that’s where the kids were; he needed intel before he made another wrong move that would increase his sentence.
He felt the warm wind before he saw her. She stood beside him in her slinky dress radiating warmth. He kept his eyes faced front and waited for her to speak.
“Good work, Barbatos,” Laylah said.
“What do I do now?” He said, facing the beautiful angel.
“There’s a new assignment for you,” she smiled.
“Have I finished this one?” He asked, rubbing his arms against the bitterness of the Norwegian wind.
“No,” she laughed. “Think of this one as an interim project.” She snapped her red tipped fingers in front of his eyes, and he braced himself for what was coming. He was whipped into the ancient tunnel and raced along at a sickening speed while Laylah gripped his body like a vice. Eventually, he fell from her grasp onto sharp gravel and lay there, his stomach heaving and head spinning.
“I fucking hate that,” he spat blood from his mouth and sat up. He was in the car park at the marina where his little Seat sat sporting a brand-new parking ticket. He ripped the ticket off and threw it to the ground. The keys were in the ignition, and the doors were unlocked, which was not how he’d left the car. As he sat in the driver’s seat, he saw the manila file and knew that was his next assignment, but he made no move to open it. The past few days, weeks had been a nightmare, and he needed to let his weak little meat suit sleep.
He drove along the coast until he reached the next town; it was bigger than the previous one and had more options. He found what he was looking for, well almost. The hotel was more of an inn than a spa, but it was the best he could do in the small Scottish town. He booked a room using the cash left over from the owner of the suit he was wearing. He ignored the curious stares; a bullet had torn the suit to shreds, which was a shame because the suit had been a good fit.
Once he was in the room, he ordered a bottle of cognac and a sandwich from room service. He downed the first glass too quickly, but the next he enjoyed with his sandwich; the third was taken to the bathroom where he relaxed in a tub of hot water. Humans had taken a long time to be convinced into bathing; Jameson swore by it.
He was on his fourth glass when he finally opened the folder. Inside was a glossy photograph of a beautiful woman. She had red hair and eyes the colour of brandy; he liked her already. She had the curves that he liked to see on a woman. He put the photo aside and picked up the profile. Her name was Melissa Goldsmith, aged twenty seven; she was an herbalist and lived in London. She was passing as human, but her species was undisclosed, and she needed protection.
He had her home address, which was also her business address and her telephone number. The file was short but incredibly sweet; he was going to enjoy this assignment. A little vixen, femme fatale; what was Laylah thinking, he’d never get back into the Kingdom if she gave him assignments like this? He shoved the file aside and switched off the light, time to rest the meat suit.

He ate breakfast, then bought a sweatshirt at the small boutique nearby before filling the car up and taking the route south. It was going to be a long drive, but he didn’t mind; it was better than being scooped up and spat out by a sadistic angel. Laylah had her perks; a body to die for, and many men did, a fiery temper and a sense of danger. The woman knew exactly when to leave so she wasn’t around when you got caught. He’d sensed lately that she’d lost interest in him, whether it was because he was stuck doing community service or not he didn’t know.
The drive south was uneventful, no run-ins with human authorities or the Council. When he finally pulled onto her street, his back was aching like a bitch, so he decided to pop straight in and see what she could do for him. He had to park half a mile away and walk which was probably good for his back, but he felt rough and rain was sheeting it down soaking him to his skin.
The shop had an old world look to it. The door jingled as he opened it and the vixen red head appeared from behind a beaded curtain. Her hair was in a ponytail, but tendrils that had escaped, framed her pretty, freckled face. He walked into the middle of the room and stretched.
“Hi, can I help you?” She smiled at him and he damn near melted. The woman had a sexy voice on top of the visual lushness.
“Yeah, I’ve just driven a long way, and my back really hurts,” he said stepping closer. He could smell her now; the various herbal remedies couldn’t mask the smell of her warm body. It reminded him of roses and fey scent, only she wasn’t fey, was she?
“I can make a tea you can drink or an ointment you can rub in, or both, it's up to you,” she said still smiling.
“Both sound great, but I haven’t found anywhere to stay yet; I don’t suppose you could make the tea for me to drink here?” He asked, giving her his sincerest smile, or at least, that was what he was aiming for.
“Sure, why don’t you have a seat,” she led him to a small sofa and coffee table. “It’ll take me about ten minutes if that’s okay?”
“That’s fine,” he sat on the sofa and watched her collect ingredients and measure them out. His eyes were still flashing images from the long drive, and he closed them for a moment.

She made the tea first as he looked like he could use it, but when carried it over to the sofa, she realised that he wasn’t just resting, he was asleep. She stood in front of him for a moment, watching his peaceful face. His black hair framed a tanned face with pink cheeks; he had boyish looks, but when you looked closely, you could see that he was having a hard life. He looked tired and stressed, and his skin could do with a few doses of detoxifying teas.
She placed the steaming cup on the coffee table in front of him and went to walk away, and then she reached for the Afghan blanket, pulling it over him. He looked so cute in her pink and purple blanket. She left him to sleep and made the cream for his back; she added a few ingredients to make it smell like man. Some men wouldn’t use creams that smelled like Jasmine; instead, she added a musky blend of essential oils that she had labelled ‘man smell’.
She didn’t realise that her brain had slipped into a daydream where she applied the cream on the customer until the door jingled making her jump, feeling slightly guilty and embarrassed. A tall woman entered the shop; her spiky heels scratched the surface of the parquet flooring, but Melissa dragged her eyes away from the shoes to find incredibly long legs on a super-slim, gorgeous blonde wearing a sleek red dress. Her first thought was that she hoped her sleeping customer didn’t wake up and get an eyeful of Miss Perfect. He woke.
“Hello,” the woman’s voice was smooth like chocolate; she made Melissa want to rush out back and apply a full face of makeup and an evening dress, not that she’d shaved her legs in weeks. She was feeling dowdier by the second.
“Hi, how can I help you?” She asked, trying to get into a professional mode once more. Her eyes flicked involuntarily to her seated customer who was watching the blonde.
“I wanted to ask you for something more personal, but I see you have a friend, so I’ll come back later,” the woman drawled.
“I have a private consultation room if you would like to come in,” Melissa smiled, even though her cheeks hurt from the effort.
“Thank you, but I think I will have to come back; I’ll see you soon,” she left in a rush of clacking heels and a strong perfumy smell.
“I’m sorry, I seem to have fallen asleep for a while,” the man said and held out his hand. “I’m Mark, Mark Jameson.”
“Melissa Goldsmith, pleased to meet you; people often fall asleep in here, it must be the herbs,” she laughed.
“I hope I didn’t scare off your other customer,” he said looking back towards the door.
“No, she doesn’t look like a customer, I mean, I don’t really think she wanted to be here,” she sighed. “I’m not sure what I meant.”
“I agree; I think, dressed like that she was probably heading for her yacht, or a high-class brothel,” he said, looking back at Melissa in time to see her cough-laugh nervously.
“Sorry, I have a strange sense of humour,” he mentally kicked himself; she wouldn’t get his humour.
“No, I thought it was funny; I’m just surprised,” she laughed.
“I don’t suppose you could warm my tea up; it went cold while I was sleeping,” he asked, handing her the mug. Their fingers touched, and she gasped, tea splashing up out of the cup and onto his face.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and took the cup away coming back with a cloth for his face. He didn’t know what she’d seen, but something definitely spooked her.
She heated the tea and handed him the cream in a tub, but was careful not to touch him. He drank it while she made a pretence out of cleaning the shop and getting ready to close.
“I haven’t been in this area before, do you know of any good hotels? Or rooms to rent?” He asked, watching her avoid his eye contact. It hurt him, and he didn’t know why; people disliked him all the time; it was normal. He didn’t doubt his ability to charm her, but he didn’t want to; he didn’t want to have to try.
“There’s a hotel a few streets away,” she pointed in the direction. He didn’t feel comfortable leaving her alone having met the spiky heeled demon. “Anywhere closer?” He grabbed her wrist and held her firmly in front of him. Her cognac coloured eyes were swirling with emotion, and he was caught within them; he’d meant to compel her to give him a room in her home, but he couldn’t find the words or the voice.
“What do you want from me?” She asked, staring deep into him.
“You,” he replied, but when she frowned, he managed to shake his head. “I want to keep you safe.” He stepped away; he had no idea what she was, but she was very powerful and really, really hot. He wanted to get into trouble with her.
“I think you should leave,” she said, after a long silence.
“I need to stay here with you; you’re not safe,” he said, using the soft persuasive tone he often reserved for humans.
“Do I need to call the police?” She was angry now.
“No,” he was suddenly exhausted, between the long drive and the events of the past few days, he could barely keep himself upright.
“What are you doing, stop it,” her voice was the last thing he heard before hitting the floor.

She tried to catch him as he fell, but he went down so heavily she landed on the floor next to him. His head had hit the floorboards with a thump, and a small trickle of blood escaped from the split above his eyebrow.
She was having the worst week of her life, first she found out that her deceased parents were actually her adoptive parents, then part of her roof caved in on the flat above her shop, which is where she lived, causing half her clothes to be ruined. The hire purchase on her new car fell through, and she was vehicle less because her old car had died of old age and neglect a couple of weeks previously. And now a strange stalker-man had collapsed onto the floor of her shop.
She jumped up and locked the shop, flipping the sign to ‘closed’. Then she switched the overhead lights off so if anyone came to the door, they wouldn’t see the man on the floor leaking blood and think she’d killed him. He was still breathing, of course, and loudly at that. It was kind of cute how he was snoring.
She reached down and shook him; he didn’t wake. She decided to fix his leaky head and try again. She bathed the split; it wasn’t deep, but she put some salve on it and stuck one of her homemade plasters on it. She enjoyed the feel of his skin beneath her fingers; it was strange, but she hadn’t touched a man since her ex had left the year before, and it felt good. He was warm and smelled comforting, like her father’s study, leather and cognac.
He stirred and she shook him once more, this time his brown eyes opened and focused on her. He didn’t say anything or try to rise he just looked into her eyes; he made her feel both safe and disturbed. She knew he wasn’t human; she had visions when people touched her skin, and she’d seen the big black wings that seemed to dominate the shop.
She’d been having the visions since she’d turned twenty seven, since her parents died. Their death had been the worst birthday present anyone could imagine and then to find out shortly after the funeral that she had been adopted, and they hadn’t told her, had been an added blow. If only they hadn’t driven down to see her, or they’d have stayed overnight. She couldn’t dwell on the ‘if’s, she felt guilty, and she would have to deal with it for the rest of her life.
“Do you feel well enough to sit up?” She asked, taking hold of his arm.
“I’m never sick; I don’t get sick,” he replied, looking confused.
“Maybe you had a reaction to my tea; it’s rare, but maybe your body didn’t like it?” She couldn’t come right out with it; maybe winged creatures can’t drink my herbs; she would feel like a crazy person.
“Maybe,” he sat up. “I don’t suppose you have a little glass of brandy around here somewhere?”
“You just fainted; I’m not giving you alcohol,” she crossed her arms over her chest. Great, so the stalker was an alcoholic, winged creature.
“I don’t faint,” he replied, making no move to get off the floor.
“I guess you do now,” she said, leaning against the counter, but she remained sitting on the floor near him.
“So, do you have a little glass of brandy in here?” He asked again.
“I might do, and I might pour you one if you answer some questions for me,” she replied. He looked a bit sorry for himself, and it wasn’t diminishing the cute boyish charm, he had, even with his hair sticking up at odd angles.
“My name is Mark Jameson; I’m thirty three, and I lived in Sussex until a few weeks ago,” he said with a hint of a smile.
“This isn’t a dating agency,” she frowned. “I want to know why you think I’m not safe on my own?”
“Oh, of course,” his head was fuzzy, and he could definitely do with a drink. “If you pour me a drink, and maybe make me some dinner because I’m starving and haven’t eaten since the cold crappy breakfast, I purchased from a drive through on my very long journey, then I will tell you everything, and I promise not to faint again,” he said reaching his hand up to feel the new addition to his head.
“I had to clean you up; you hit your head, and I didn’t want my floor ruined. I’ve got enough trouble with my roof,” she said, standing up and pulling him to his feet. “I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart, and if you turn out to be a murderer or rapist I’m going to be very pissed off,” she said, as she motioned for him to follow her around the back of the counter.

Chapter 2

She took him up to her flat and sat him at the kitchen table. She poured a glass of brandy for them both it was the bottle she kept for her dad when he visited, but she guessed he wouldn’t be needing it anymore.
“I like my women both alive and willing thanks,” he said, and took the glass she offered. He sighed with relief as the liquid filled one of the many needs he had.
“While I cook, you talk,” she said, and she began to prepare food.
“I’m your guardian angel. You’re in trouble,” he said, watching for her reaction.
“Do angels usually have black wings?” She asked, without missing a beat.
“Erm, only when they are fallen,” he replied. How had she seen his wings? He didn’t show them to her, and they should have been very well hidden.
“Great, Mary gets a real angel, and I get a fallen one,” she muttered, and put the chopped goods in the hot pan creating a sizzling steam of delicious smells.
“I’m sorry?” He asked.
“Never mind,” she said, putting a couple of pitta’s in the toaster.
“What are you?” He asked.
“I’m confused,” she replied.
She dished the food onto plates and sat opposite him, watching him devour his food quickly; he really was hungry. She didn’t know if she could trust him, but every cell in her body screamed yes. She didn’t know if that was because he was so incredibly attractive or because she didn’t have anyone else to turn to. She’d left her friends in Hertfordshire to lease the shop and flat after university, but it had taken a few years to get off the ground and she had neglected every area of her life. That was probably why her ex had left; she never had the time or energy for him. Now the business was doing well, but everything else had begun to fall apart.
“Melissa,” he began, but stopped short when he heard a crash from the floor below them.
“My shop,” she sprinted toward the door. He caught up with her and held her still on the stairs, putting a finger to his lips.
“Do you have any weapons?” He whispered.
“Up there,” she pointed at the space above the doorframe of the shop. Mounted for easy access was a baseball bat. “My dad insisted on it.”
He lifted the bat from the hook and pushed the door slowly raising the bat as it opened. Nothing happened, so Melissa put her hand around the frame and found the light switch. There was glass on the floor and a brick, but no one had broken in.
“Vandals?” Melissa asked, picking up the brick.
“Hold on,” he said, taking the brick from her. He sniffed it; it smelled like a wet brick should smell. “What’s this?” He pulled a folded piece of paper from a cavity in the brick and unfolded it.
“Not on my territory!” She read “What does that mean?” He took the paper and sniffed it. “Why do you keep sniffing it?”
“I’m trying to ascertain who sent the message,” he said, running his fingertips over the print. He couldn’t get any trace of a smell from the note or the brick, whoever had planned it had not left a trace of themselves on the thing.
Melissa peered through the glass into the darkness, but couldn’t see anyone or anything out of place beside her own shop window. She grabbed the dustpan and brush from the cupboard and cleaned the mess up while Mark stood and stared into space, deep in thought, or so it looked.
“Okay, you can rent my spare room, but it’s not the nicest space; the roof caved in and poured water over the bedrooms. They're drying out, slowly,” she said, hoping she was doing the right thing. It was difficult to know, but she did feel safer with him there; he was so big, muscled, and gorgeous. No, it probably wasn’t the right thing to do.
“Thank you,” he said, with a half-smile.

London was full of weird and wonderful people, many of which were not actually human. Simon didn’t mind humans; they were like pets; you could keep them, feed them, play with them; and ultimately you could discard them. He considered it his job, no, his right, as an ancient citizen of London to keep the pests under control, and that included moving newcomers from his very own territory.
She was obviously a late bloomer; he would have sensed her before, but she had been well and truly hidden from his radar until a few weeks ago. He’d reached out and searched his territory at dusk, just to keep tracks on everyone, and she popped up like an ink blotch on a sheet of white paper. She was something he had to fix, something he needed to remove.
He flipped his hood back over his shining blonde hair and disappeared amongst the crowd. He had felt another presence with her, but it was faint and he couldn’t quite place what it was. For all he knew, she could have gotten a dog while he’d been sleeping, he thought not though, a dog would have been more solid to him. He would give her twenty-four hours to think over the message, and then he would begin the attack. She wouldn’t last long; they never did.

Jameson needed to know what she was before he could figure out what was after her. The woman who had come to the shop that afternoon had definitely been some kind of super-hot demon, and she had really wanted a private audience with Melissa. He didn’t think, she would be the type to throw bricks into people’s windows, but she certainly could have persuaded someone else to do her bidding, especially with those legs.
He needed to have a more frank discussion with Melissa and that would require more brandy. He helped her board over the gaping hole that would be re-glazed in the morning then followed her back upstairs.
“I think we both deserve another glass of your cognac,” he said, picking the bottle up, and she didn’t protest.
“It’s been a hell of a month what with the roof, the car and everything,” she took the glass Mark offered.
“Tell me about it, I might be able to help,” he said, and she did.
He listened while she explained about her parents dying a few weeks before in an accident while driving home from having dinner with her. She then told him that she found out she had been adopted on the same day that the roof had broken on her flat, and water had poured into her wardrobe. She poured another brandy for the pair of them before telling him that her car had also died and the hire purchase she had arranged had fallen through, and she was unable to pick up the supplies for the shop that she desperately needed.
“So you see, I’m having a spell of very bad luck,” she said, before silent tears fell from her eyes. “I can’t even cry properly,” she moaned in a high-pitched voice.
“Don’t do that,” he stood up feeling very awkward. “Please stop that.” He didn’t know what to do, but it made him feel bad watching the woman’s eyes leak. In a normal situation, he wouldn’t feel anything but irritated, but something had happened to him; he felt different around this woman.
“I’m sorry,” she sniffled.
He leaned towards her and patted her shoulder; he wished he could make her stop, but he wasn’t sure how. She leaned in towards him, and he brought his arms around her in what he assumed would be a hug, not that he gave hugs, like ever. She wasn’t just leaning into him, but lifted her face towards him and brushed her full, slightly salty lips against his.
It was like a jolt of lightning had hit him, he sizzled and felt the energy course through him. He felt powerless and overawed all at once as if he’d been drugged into submission. He pushed his lips against hers grabbing her arms to pull her closer. He wanted her so much it hurt; it physically hurt. He knew it wasn’t right, but he couldn’t seem to pull himself away, not until she released him and he dropped to the floor like a stone.
He looked up to see her glowing. She was no longer a delicate, tearful mess, but a strong and sexual woman. He reached for her, but she stepped back, and as he saw the confusion in her face, and it came back to him; something wasn’t right.
“Succubus!” He said, rising to his feet, albeit a bit wobbly. She had sucked the energy right from him, literally, and he was weak in form but he was pleased with himself for solving the puzzle.
“I feel strange, that was weird right?” She said, taking another step away from him.
“Not weird Melissa, just a little out of the ordinary and very exciting,” he sat down smiling up at her. “Well, now I’ve figured out what you are, we can find out who’s trying to get rid of you.”
“What?” She said, sitting down on the opposite side of the table; he didn’t take it personally, not really. She was even more beautiful now as she’d racked up some energy and succu-power. Her hair was shinier; her skin was flawless and peachy, but her eyes were what struck him most; her eyes were flecked with gold that sparkled and hypnotized him.
“You are beautiful,” he sighed. “But not human.” He placed his hands on the table where he could see them; he didn’t trust his own body not to seek her out.
“I must have drunk too much brandy,” she said, pushing her glass away. He reached for her hand and felt the strange, seductive pull; it almost made him dribble he fell so quickly under her spell. She was going to be difficult to handle once she knew what her power could do. He pulled away reluctantly.
“Keep the brandy close, you will definitely need it before the nights over,” he said pushing the glass back towards her.

She woke with a headache when the sun streamed through her window the next morning. She ran her hands through her hair, pulled on her dressing gown, and went down to the shop to mix up her best hangover cure. She remembered the conversation she’d had with Mark that night, and although she had listened to every word, he had a way of making her want to hear him; she wasn’t sure that she didn’t have to call for the men in white coats.
“It hurts, damn it woman. Where are you?” She heard him stumble around upstairs.
“Down here,” she called and mixed a glass of the cure to fix him up.
“I don’t usually get this drunk; I think you sucked my tolerance for alcohol right out of me,” he said, draining the glass she handed him. “What’s in this?”
“Vitamins, herbs that help you recover from alcohol damage and anti-oxidants,” she replied.
“It’s just what I need,” he said following her back upstairs. “I have to buy clothes today, and I think you should stay close to me, so I guess you’re coming clothes shopping,” he said.
“Not a chance,” she replied, and shut the bathroom door in his face.
He waited outside listening to the flow of water. He wasn’t sure where he stood with her, he could usually read people, but the woman unnerved him. He’d never actually met a succubus before, so he didn’t know if that was what they did to people or if it was his exhaustion coming through. She’d zapped the energy right from him; if he had been human, he might not have recovered so well. What would happen if they actually got down and dirty? He was interrupted from his thoughts when she opened the door to find him still standing right in front of it.
“What are you doing?” She said, pulling the towel tighter around her.
“Waiting to talk to you,” he replied. “What part of in danger, don’t you get?”
“The part where you call me a mythological demon,” she pushed passed him. “Please don’t make me regret renting the room to you.” This time she slammed her bedroom door on his face.
He showered and dressed in the crumpled, blood encrusted suit with the sweatshirt over the top. He needed new clothes; no assignment was worth making him walk around like a hobo on a dreary Sunday morning. He took the buttered toast, she offered and walked to his car.

Sundays were reserved for making herbal preparations for the week to come. She had various regular visitors and Internet orders as well as stock products to make. She usually spent the morning making tinctures, tablets, herbal teas and ointments and in the afternoon she made the scented luxury bath products. She’d managed to sleep half the morning away thanks to the night’s drinking, and her head didn’t feel up to making complicated compounds, so she thought she’d start with the fun stuff.
Midway through making the bath bombs the glazier turned up, and she managed to sell him a whole tray of assorted bath products for his girlfriend. She cleaned the mess the glazier had left behind and restocked the shelves with the newly made products.
“I found a sale,” Mark said, carrying several bags, as he came in.
“I guess you did,” she replied. She couldn’t help smiling at him; he looked so pleased with himself.
“Something smells nice,” he said, sniffing the air.
“Bath products, they’re my biggest sellers,” she said, handing him one.
“Wow, I might have to have a bath later. I’m just going to change, and then I’ll take you to lunch,” he said, carrying his bags upstairs. She had been about to protest, but she hadn’t been out since the night her parents had come down for dinner before the crash. She ran upstairs to change out of her sweat pants.
Within half an hour, they were walking down the street to his car like any other couple on a Sunday afternoon. He made her laugh and she seemed to do the same for him, although he wasn’t like other men. For a start, he believed she was a half-human, half-demon succubus, but aside from that, he had a strangely detached manner about him. It was as if the world around them was not the only one he lived in.

He woke during the daylight hours; he preferred to keep to nocturnal hours, but something woke him, and he reached out. He could feel her, but she wasn’t in the shop; she was moving, closer to him. She stopped moving and he could feel his spine tingling; she must be very close. He got up and looked out of the window; she was there. A man held the door of the restaurant opposite open for her. He dressed, and then reached out again. He could feel her laughing; she was happy. Anger built up inside, but he pushed it down; it was harder to blend in when he was angry.
He entered the restaurant and sat in the corner; the waitress came over, and he ordered a drink and fries. He knew what humans expected. He could see her from his table, but the man was just out of sight. He couldn’t feel him, but he had seen him; the man wasn’t human, but he was a demon either. She was newly triggered; she shouldn’t have had time to build friends in high places, yet, which was why he thought he could take it slowly. Obviously, slow was out, and he needed to fix the situation; he couldn’t have a filthy succubus on his territory.
The waitress came over with his drink, and he removed the snarl from his face replacing it with a sickly sweet smile. He knew humans were affected by his face, and she was no exception; she smiled and flicked her hair in a flirtatious manner while he pretended to focus on his drink. He wasn’t in the mood for human interaction.
He watched the woman as she ate; she was happy; she was enjoying the date. How dare she? The man must be under her spell, he thought. Was she slowly sucking him dry? She was exceptionally beautiful; he wouldn’t give her the chance to beguile him.
“Can I take your plate?” The waitress interrupted him once more.
“Of course,” he sat back, giving her one of his smiles, and she blushed like the virgin she most definitely was not. He slapped the cash on the table and finished the drink rising from his chair when they headed towards the exit.
As he opened the door, he saw them across the road walking towards a black car. He froze, and the blood drained from the head of his meat suit. Two shiny great wings were tucked into the man’s back, the feathers fluttering in the wind. The succu-slut was dating an angel, a fallen angel at that. This did not bode well for him or his territory.



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