Chapter 6

Helena

The door clicks shutbehind me and I lean back against it, letting out a shaky breath. My nerves still jangle from the verbal lashing Uncle Luci gave me for being missing when he summoned me earlier. As a half-demoness, I’m not immune to his wrath like his full-blooded kin. His volcanic temper is infamous across realms.

I toe off my sensible pumps with a groan of relief. The plush carpet of my new apartment envelops my aching soles. One perk of assisting with the club’s books is getting to stay rent-free in this posh Marina del Rey highrise Uncle Luci owns.

I pad across the open concept space towards the kitchen, flicking on lights as I go. Floor-to-ceiling windows along the far wall reveal a sweeping vista of the glimmering city and ocean beyond.

After the chaos of the club, the tranquil space soothes my frazzled nerves. I set my clipboard on the granite kitchen island and open the fridge, smiling as the cool air washes over my flushed skin.

A nice crisp white calls to me from the bottom shelf. I extract the bottle and rummage for the corkscrew, anticipation rising. Some liquid courage to steady my nerves is surely in order after the night’s events.

Tucking the bottle under my arm, I slip past the sliding doors onto the balcony. The sea breeze whispers through my hair as I settle onto a cushioned lounge chair. My limbs melt in relief, finally free of the torturous heels.

With a satisfying pop, I pull the cork free and take a deep swig right from the bottle. The wine’s sharp bite smooths as it slips down my throat, kindling a glow in my belly.

I release a contented sigh, leaning back to admire the view. Car lights stream along the highway in hypnotic patterns. The purple-black sky arches overhead, scattered with pinprick stars.

As lovely as it is, I can’t focus on the scenery tonight. My thoughts keep swirling back to the club’s dank cellar... and the mysterious man I met there.

Raphael. The archangel—no less. Just thinking his name sends a flutter through my core. I raise the bottle for another hearty gulp, heat creeping up my neck.

By the devil, I’d hoped the wine might banish him from my mind, not make the memories more vivid. Yet here they are replaying in technicolor detail—the press of his lips on my skin, his fingers tangled in my hair, his ravenous eyes devouring me in the dark...

A fresh wave of vexation crashes over me. How dare he catch me so off guard, sweep me away in a moment of vulnerability? He took blatant advantage of the situation.

Although... I can’t deny I was a rather enthusiastic participant. I’d never acted so wantonly before, so quickly overtaken by desire. Everything about him seemed designed to tempt me beyond reason.

And despite my better judgment, it worked. From the instant our eyes locked in the shadows, reckless hunger awoke inside me. His touch lit my every nerve ablaze.

I take another healthy swig from the bottle, willing the memories away. But they continue to assault me—his deft hands exploring my curves, his velvet voice murmuring devilish things in my ear. The way he took charge, so irresistibly harsh and demanding, as he guided me to the edge of ecstasy…

A groan escapes me and I press the cool bottle to my flushed cheeks. Damn, the archangel’s bewitching skill. I must regain control of my wayward thoughts before they steer me down dangerous paths.

Brooding over Raphael will only lead to foolish choices. He’s an arrogant scoundrel, unworthy of my continued fascination. I should put him out of my mind for good.

If only it were that simple.

But despite my stern admonitions, I ache for his presence like a missing limb. No lover before has ever ignited such consuming fire within me, reducing my will to cinders with a mere look. Raphael tapped into some hidden well of passion I never knew existed in me.

And now, it’s as if he reached in and broke the lock, releasing desires too long denied. I’ve never craved intimacy so intensely as I have since his hands moved over me. Even the ghost of his touch haunts me.

With a pitiful whine, I gulp down more booze, willing its numbing haze to quiet these dangerous thoughts. But subtle cravings coil tighter with every sip.

I shift restlessly, skin tingling at the memory of his warmth so near. What I wouldn’t give to feel it again...

No! I squeeze my eyes shut and give my head a fierce shake. I cannot continue down this reckless road. Nothing but heartache lies that way.

Raphael is an archangel, a sworn enemy of my kind. Our tryst was an anomaly, never to be repeated. I’m betrothed to Draven besides, a promising alliance for my family—plus, he’s one of Uncle Luci’s highest-ranked captains.

I repeat these truths over and over, a talisman against folly. But my traitorous heart refuses to listen.

With a huff, I rise on less-than-steady legs and head inside, locking the balcony door firmly behind me. The apartment welcomes me with its stylish modernity—all clean lines and muted tones.

I make for the living area where floor-to-ceiling bookshelves dominate the far wall. Most still sit empty, waiting to be filled with whatever scholarly tomes catch my fancy.

Collapsing onto the sleek grey sofa, I draw my knees up and take consoling sips while scrolling through my phone. But I barely see the screen, my thoughts far away.

Why does Raphael affect me so powerfully? He’s just another callous rake, not worth this agony. I need to be stronger, withstand his pull.

If only Uncle Luci hadn’t summoned me, forcing us apart prematurely. I’m starting to regret snapping at him for his cockiness—although he deserved it. I’m certain given a bit more time, I could have regained enough self-control to part ways in less dreary terms.

But our encounter was cut cruelly short. His kiss still lingers, permeating my soul with longing. His hands on me were bliss—I crave their touch again with every fiber of my being.

With a growled curse, I pitch my phone aside and grab a throw pillow, holding it tight to my churning stomach. Glass walls surround me in this modern apartment, yet I’ve never felt so trapped, pinned by invisible bonds I cannot escape.

Raphael’s searing stare chains me as effectively as any shackles. He awakened a hunger within me, one that only his touch can satisfy. I must stay strong and endure these fiery trials, though this path leads to nothing but future pain.

I fill my glass with wine before wandering to the panoramic window overlooking the twinkling city. Its lights are blurred shapes through my hazy gaze, merging then separating.

I press my feverish cheek against the blessedly cool glass. The brief relief calms my body slightly, yet the maelstrom inside my mind still rages on.

Turning my back on the window, I slide down until I’m seated on the plush carpet. The cityscape swirls behind me, a mirror to my messy thoughts.

With my legs curled beneath me, I let my mind drift where it wishes. Despite my attempts at distraction, it always returns to Raphael; the manly archangel who upended my carefully arranged world.

I picture his handsome face hovering above me in the dark, eyes burning with wicked intent—my core throbs at the memory. No matter how I try to forget him, my thoughts loop right back to reliving our encounter.

Each time the scenes grow more vivid, new facets emerging—the taste of his lips, the scratch of his beard on my cheek, the rumbling timbre of his voice whispering dangerously tempting things...

The wine bottle is nearly empty, my limbs languid and heavy. But still, desire simmers right below my skin, refusing to be quenched. I ache where his hands gripped my hips, their phantom imprints seared into my flesh.

If only he would appear now and finish what we started. I’m helpless to resist him any longer.

As if summoned by my thoughts, a sharp rap at the door jolts me upright. Disoriented, I stare across the dim living room. My pulse thunders. Could it be...?

On shaky legs, I stand, combing my fingers through my disheveled hair. I pause an arm’s length from the door, steeling myself. What if it’s really him?

Before I lose nerve, I throw the door open, breathless words poised on my lips—.

But only empty air greets me. The hallway sits silent, shadowed. My shoulders slump as I chide at my foolish hopes. This isn’t some trite romance novel where the lead appears when conveniently desired.

You are so fucked up, Helena. This guy has wrecked you.

I’m about to step back inside when a glint by my feet catches my eye. A sleek black phone rests on the welcome mat, screen blinking with an incoming call.

Frowning, I pick it up and check the caller ID—it’s Draven, my fiancé. Instantly, panic grips my throat in a vise. Guilt constricts my chest at the sight of his name.

It’s just like Draven to pull this kind of stunt on me. His whole life is a shroud of mystery. He’s earned his fair share of enemies over the ages, so he’s always on the move. And that’s the life that waits for me by his side after we marry.

In my fervent fantasizing about Raphael, I’d nearly forgotten my intended waiting across the ocean. Part of it is Draven’s fault as well. It’s been a full week since we last spoke. And now, standing here, still flushed from conjuring up an archangel in fevered daydreams, the thought of facing Draven turns my stomach.

The phone continues buzzing in my palm, screen flashing as it awaits my response. But I’m paralyzed, shame rooting me to the spot.

Panic surges through me and without reason, I hurl the phone away. It skids across the hardwood floor, its buzzing ceasing as the screen darkens. I press against the door, a shaky breath escaping from my lips. Avoidance will solve nothing, but I’m desperate for even a few minutes’ respite from that conversation.

I force my eyes closed and inhale, trying to steady my thunderous heart. But it’s no use. The tempest rages on. I rake both hands roughly through my hair, a low groan escaping me.

What is happening to me?The Helena of old never backed away from problems. She tackled them head-on. Now, in the span of one night, she’s become a coward ruled by impulse and emotion.

It all comes back to that archangel. Since meeting Raphael, my self-control has dissipated like morning mist under the sun.

I yearn for his forbidden embrace. My mind spins fantasies unrestrained by logic or decency. He’s awakened some ravenous beast slumbering within me, and I no longer recognize myself.

And the terrifying part is... I’m not sure I want the old Helena back. Because she was so cold, so restrained. A prisoner inside herself. Raphael cracked something open within me, and what came spilling out is too precious to willfully trap away again.

My hands curl into fists and I press them into my stomach like a shield from the battle waged inside me. I can’t keep fighting myself this way, it will only lead to madness.

I wish I could speak with Eve about these turbulent emotions. She would understand, having been taught harsh lessons about denying one’s true nature. And she seemed surprisingly open-minded about my encounter with Raphael. Perhaps she sensed our powerful chemistry even in those brief moments together. Her knowing looks spoke volumes.

But I don’t feel ready to put words to these chaotic feelings, not until I understand them better myself. For now, I shouldn’t speak of Raphael at all, lest these unwise fixations deepen.

With that thought, unwelcome images flood my mind again unbidden—Raphael’s strong arms caging me against the wall, his skillful lips blazing a trail down my neck, his big body pinning me in place as he lay claim to my mouth...

“Damn him!” I burst out in a snarl, swiping the empty wine bottle from the coffee table and hurling it away in a futile act of defiance. It shatters spectacularly against the exposed brick wall, raining shards across the floor.

Chest heaving, I stare wide-eyed at the destruction, alarm piercing through the hazy veil of wine. Fragile wisps of self-control fray perilously. I’m unraveling by the second.

I need to get out of this apartment, escape the scene of so many tormenting thoughts about Raphael. Distance and distraction are the only remedies now.

Regret gnaws at my insides as I snatch up the phone and hastily throw on a hoodie. The walls are closing in, suffocating me with anxiety. I flee outside, gasping for breath and freedom. My feet instinctively take me to the murky waterfront, tracing the boardwalk as it weaves along the turbulent sea.

The pounding of the waves echoes through the darkness, white caps faintly visible through the gloom. I close my eyes, focusing on the rush and crash of the surf. The steady cadence soothes my still-swirling thoughts, lulling my nerves.

With my forearms braced against the overlook railing, I fix my gaze on the inky horizon, merging sea and sky into a void-like oneness. Out here, my problems seem less all-consuming—just one small speck amongst an infinite universe.

Taking out the phone, I stare at the blank screen building courage. Then before I can overthink, I hit redial on Draven’s number. It barely rings once before he picks up.

“Helena! Thank Lucifer,” he answers, the relief in his voice sinking my gut with renewed guilt. “I’ve been worried sick since you didn’t pick up. Is everything alright?”

I pause, throat tightening. The easy endearment squeezes my chest. “Y-yes, everything’s fine,” I manage. “Sorry, I missed your call earlier. I was caught up going through Uncle Luci’s ledgers.” At least that’s partly true.

“Think nothing of it, darling,” he replies gently. “I’m just glad to hear your voice.”

His patient tone makes my eyes prick hot with tears. Draven has been nothing but good and kind through our courtship. The urge to confess everything wells up, but I swallow it down. Don’t be selfish—he doesn’t deserve the burden of my fickle thoughts.

So instead, I put on a cheerful tone and ask about his week, keeping the topics light and safe. He tells me about work projects and time spent with friends abroad, easing my conscience somewhat.

After chatting a while longer, we say goodnight—Draven promising to call again very soon, while also reminding me to ditch this phone the minute we hang up. When we finish the call, the truth sits bitter on my tongue. I’ve only sunk deeper into my deception. Draven knows nothing of the archangel who’s hijacked my thoughts so fully.

Some instincts warn me Draven’s placid temper could ignite to frightening extremes, given certain... provocations. I’ve witnessed his rage when a business deal went awry or an employee underperformed. Always calculated, never uncontrolled, but chilling nonetheless. The cold fury in his eyes during those episodes raised the fine hairs at my nape.

No. I can’t tell Draven about Raphael, not until I get the archangel out of my system completely. Once I restore my inner equilibrium, I can better assess how to move forward. That’s all there is to it.

Reassured by this sensible plan, I head back to my place.