Layers

Chapter Eight

By: Brenli and Jael

Heat from a fire burning taller than the buildings of Gehenna played through Celestiel's hair. The familiar smell of seared flesh and fire accelerant permeated the air. Long ago the smell was enough to make the Angel sick to her weak stomach, but the battles she had seen made her immune to the stench of it. Mud soaked into the knee of her pants and over the top of her boot, the wind from the fires ruffled the fabric of her frayed cloak. Beneath her darkened hood, Celestiel felt a pair of tears hotter than the flames dribble over her dirty cheeks and drip off her quivering chin.

When had this become war? When had attacking women and children in their homes become something honorable? When had the senseless killing of a village's life-giving cattle become a tactic of battle? Celestiel remembered a better time, when war meant two teams of soldiers, ready to die for their cause, met on a field and tested their strength in a gritty display of blood and blades.

This wasn't war. This was genocide.

She looked down at her own bloodied hands with her throat dry from more than just heat and exhaustion. She realized with disgust that she had turned herself into an instrument of destruction... for no reason, whatsoever.

Behind her stood a Rabbit barely seventeen years of age, watching her with eyes misted by the tears he couldn't shed anymore, white paths left by the ones he had already cried, carved into the dirt on his cheeks.

"Celestiel-sama, we can't stay here. They're going to come looking for you."

"I know that, Azrael." Celestiel clenched her tired fingers around a scrap of bloodstained silk. A scrap taken off of an Evil who died protecting her own child... from Celestiel's blade. "Heaven has never taken kindly to deserters. They'll want my head on a spike for this." Rising from her kneel, Celestiel drew her sullied sword from its scabbard and buried the tip of it into the red mud at her feet.

"I don't understand any of this." Azrael said, his voice quaking with emotion he couldn't restrain. "I've heard the stories. I know what you did during the First War... what you sacrificed." He swallowed. "You're a good soldier...! Why would they want to hurt you because you just can't play into this ridiculous farce they call a war?"

"I don't know how to answer that, child." Celestiel said softly. "The only thing I know is that I'm not a soldier. Not anymore... I'm just the murderer they have made me."

Azrael hung his head, his muddied white hair falling before his eyes. "What do we do now?"

Celestiel frowned as she tied the scrap of silk from her last victim around the hilt of the sword she had stuck in the ground. "Now... I make a promise to myself and to the rest of Creation. A promise that I will never again raise my blade against the innocent. And that somehow... I will find a way to make sure nobody suffers needlessly, again. If it takes all the breath I have left, I will find some way... to make sure peace is the only thing that reigns in this land, and all others."

"That's not possible, Celestiel-sama."

Celestiel grit her teeth as she watched the scrap of silk blow in the wind, tickling the blade of the sword she would never touch, again. "There has to be a way. And I will find it."

She turned and stepped past Azrael with a look of solemn determination in her red-rimmed eyes. "You should go back."

"I'm not going anywhere." Azrael said, stopping her by grabbing her elbow. "I'll follow you to the edge of Creation."

xXxXxXx

Celestiel's eyes slowly opened, and she lifted her head off her desk. Rubbing her fingers over her sleepy eyes, she slowly relived the memory presented as a dream. To her everlasting shame, she had once participated in the genocide that wiped out half of the Evil population. It was a 'war' that had left her scarred in more ways than the First War did. There was only one thing she walked away from that war with that she counted herself grateful for: Azrael.

He was just a Rabbit. An I-Child who had been promised a pardon for his 'sins' by serving in the Army. Celestiel had been the one to tell him the truth, that no pardon would be given. That if the war didn't kill him, a White Wing would when all the fighting was done. She earned herself a loyal follower, and a dear friend, that day...

She had fallen asleep at her desk again, and the only sound in the room hummed from the water coolant system of her custom built computer.

A sound chimed from the speakers and a window popped up on the screen, in front of a wall of black and green coding.

'Program synthesized. Ready for download.'

She stared at the screen for several moments, processing the idea that after years of work... it was finally complete.

"Why are you still up?" Azrael's voice drifted through the room and she felt his hands on her shoulders, gently wrinkling the fabric of his shirt, draped over her bare body. "Come back to bed," he murmured huskily in her ear.

"It's done." Celestiel said slowly. "The Hydra... It's done."

"What?" Azrael's pale hand reached out to grip the side of her monitor to tilt it upwards, so he could see for himself. "I can't believe it...!" A slow grin spread over his features. "You did it!"

"Yes. Yes, I did."

A triumphant laugh erupted from Azrael's mouth and he lifted Celestiel right out of her chair. "How much longer, now?"

"Eighteen days." Celestiel murmured, staring at his throat with a blankness in her dark eyes. "It will take eighteen days to copy to an external hard drive."

Azrael laughed again and pulled Celestiel against his chest, wrapping her in a warm embrace. "You did it... You finally did it. Eighteen days, and everything we've worked for will finally be realized...!"

Celestiel knew, deep in her gut, that she should have been excited. But thoughts raced through her troubled mind and tugged her lips into a deep frown. She said nothing as Azrael scooped her limp body into his arms and carried her back to bed.

xXxXxXx

The Holy Lance, (also known as the Holy Spear, Spear of Destiny, Lance of Longinus, or Spear of Longinus) is the name given to the lance that pierced the side of Jesus as he hung on the cross, according to the Gospel of John.

The lance (Greek: λογχη, longche) is mentioned only in the Gospel of John (19:31-37) and not in any of the Synoptic Gospels. The gospel states that the Romans planned to break Jesus' legs, a practice known as crurifragium, which was a method of hastening death during a crucifixion. Just before they did so, they realized that Jesus was already dead and that there was no reason to break his legs. To make sure that he was dead, a Roman soldier (named in extra-Biblical tradition as Longinus) stabbed him in the side.

Uriel sighed and raked his hands over his tired face. This 'Wikipedia' was certainly proving useless. Everything this silly website had told him wasn't anything he hadn't already learned from pouring over tons of books.

Truthfully, his books had been far more informative.

For three months, Uriel had spent sleepless nights rifling through pages upon pages of books and records, trying to confirm his half-baked theories about Celestiel. He knew that it would have been helpful to know exactly what he was looking for. Honestly, he had no idea. Just a strange feeling in his gut.

He leaned back in his chair and shut the lid of the laptop he had borrowed from Setsuna, snuffing the soft glow of the screen and plunging his room into darkness. He flicked on his desk lamp and reached for his glass of Jack Daniels. Ice clinked in the bottom of the glass, and none of the amber liquid remained in the bottom. Sighing, he reached for his bottle and poured the last few swallows over the half melted cubes. How many bottles had he gone through the last month, alone? He couldn't even count. The liquor store attendant at the store a few blocks from Serissa's house knew him by name. Shame burned in his stomach as he drained the last of his stock and realized he would have to go back for more.

So maybe he did have a problem... He frowned when he realized that nobody in the house even seemed to care, anyway. In the three months since the attack on Serissa's home, everyone in the house had been pursuing their own agendas. Nema had been cooped up in her room with her daughter, recuperating from her injuries. Jibril and Setsuna visited her on occasion, sometimes taking her son Nathan from her, if he wasn't already running around with little Aaron... or watching Michael and Lilith, who had been spending hours upon hours doing combat training. Raphael sometimes patched up the wounds left on the Evil to pass the time. Jinho was always in the middle of something, it seemed... visiting others or buried in his room, holding a meeting that must have involved business in Sheol. On occasion, Uriel had heard Jinho's smooth silk voice countered by another silky tongue, neither masculine nor feminine. Playful, and yet scheming. The Earth Angel could only assume it was a good thing Jinho kept his door closed, during those meetings.

Uriel stood up from his chair and ignored the familiar dizziness and weakness in his legs. He tossed his empty Jack Daniels bottle into a nearby trash can, cringing when the glass clanked loudly against the empty glass of another. When he retreated to his private bathroom, he noticed yet another empty bottle he had forgotten about sitting next to the sink. He let a fleeting tingle of despair grip at him. Losing track of how much he had consumed seemed to be all too easy...

Frowning, he stored the empty bottle in the cabinet below the sink, and set to work brushing his teeth with the strongest mint toothpaste he had been able to find. He swished and gargled Listerine until his mouth burned and eyes watered. As a final measure, he fished his pack of gum out of the pocket of his jeans, and slipped his last stick of spearmint into his refreshed mouth.

With another forced sigh, he braced his hands on the counter and leaned closer to the mirror. He studied his reflection for as long as he could bear to look at himself. Doll's idle comments about how much he had changed hadn't been far off. He barely recognized his own face, anymore. His green eyes were rimmed with a slightly pink sort of puffiness, and shadowed by the darkness that came with lack of sleep. His hair had grown too long, once again, his mahogany strands were long enough to brush his elbows. His hair was something he absolutely hated. He hated to feel the weight of it, and kept it cut short enough to brush his shoulders. But three months of mental catatonia had given it a chance to grow long, once more. Fixing that was suddenly a priority, in his mind.

He noticed that the buttons of his shirt were off; he uttered a nasty curse and realigned them, leaving the top few buttons open, like he always did. He didn't care who saw his scars, anymore. The horrified look of strangers never bothered him, and the pity his so-called friends gave only angered him. Once, he had felt shame over the mangled and bubbled flesh of his throat, but over time, Uriel had come to realize that shame was the source of pride.

And he didn't have anything to be proud of.

Uriel hated his hair. Hated the feeling of fabric constricting his throat. Hated the look of pressed and neat clothing. Hated the sound of people laughing. He hated pretending that he felt better, when he really didn't. He hated lying to the people in the house when he said he was only tired, that he wasn't really drunk and itching to keeping drinking until he forgot about everything.

He hated how nobody even noticed or asked questions. He hated how he felt so weak that he just wanted somebody, anybody, to notice how badly he wanted to fade out of existence entirely. And he hated how the only thing that would listen or offer comfort was a bottle named Jack Daniels.

Uriel's head bent low over the sink as his lips pinched together in a display of restrained emotion. What was he even doing? Wasting his hours researching a dead end, like that was somehow supposed to make him feel useful, again? How pathetic.

How appropriate for a man like him.

With an angry sniff, Uriel tore himself out of the bathroom before he caught himself staring at his reflection again. He couldn't stand to look at that man, anymore. He could hardly stand to share the same skin as him. He grabbed his wallet off the tablet beside his door and ventured out into the dark and quiet mansion. The eerie quiet indicated that everyone else was asleep, dreaming about whatever it is that happy people dreamed about, while he stayed awake, searching for the bottom of alcohol bottles.

He gripped the banister with white knuckles in an attempt to steady his swaying steps and he descended the stairs to the main entryway of Serissa's large mansion. He was surprised to see that the light was still on. Had Serissa not come home yet?

He had barely seen her at all, in three months. She slept during the day and did most of her work for Judas at night. Whatever work that was... he really didn't know. In the general chaos of the mansion, it was easy for Serissa to slip in and out unnoticed, and she was gone more than she was home.

Shock rippled through his chest when he heard a muffled voice coming from the other side of the front door, and in an irrational panic, he turned and tried to pretend like he was heading back up the stairs.

The door opened and keys jangled.

"I heard you the first time." Serissa's voice echoed through the entryway, her tone edgy with irritation. "I'll be there tomorrow night, like I said I would. I have to go..." A pause. Uriel turned and looked over his shoulder to see Serissa shutting the front door behind her and locking the dead bolt. "Nine o' clock, yeah, I got it. Goodbye."

She pulled her phone away from her ear and angrily punched the end key, silencing whoever it was on the other line before throwing her phone into the opening of her purse.

Uriel arched a dark brow as he watched her stomp over to a table at the edge of the entryway, her wedge heels clacking loudly against the floor. She threw her purse underneath the table with a dramatic and angry sigh.

"Is everything okay?" The words escaped Uriel's voice box before he could think to stop them. So much for slipping quietly back to his room...

Serissa jumped in surprise and looked up at him from across the entryway. She stared at him with wide and surprised eyes for a moment before looking away. Shedding her red jacket, she spoke softly to him. "What are you still doing awake? It's two thirty in the morning..."

"Couldn't sleep." Uriel recited the lie he had become so used to giving, turning and stepping slowly down the steps towards her.

"That seems to be going around, lately, hasn't it?"

"I suppose so." Uriel paused on the last step. "I know it's late, but I was wanting to know if I could have a few minutes of your time?"

Serissa turned surprised eyes to him. "What for?"

"I've been doing a lot of research lately on our masked friend, and it's caused me to want to know more about the Spear of Destiny."

"Ah. Judas' silly antique." Serissa shook her head. "There isn't much to really tell, I'm afraid."

"Nevertheless... I'd like to know everything you do." Uriel swept a hand through his hair. He finally approached her, not meaning to close the distance between them as much as he did. "I know it's late, so if you want to just agree to speak with me tomorrow, I can live with that."

Serissa's eyes narrowed as she studied Uriel's face. Her gaze was so intense and penetrating, all of a sudden. It made heat flush in Uriel's cheeks.

"What?" He muttered.

Without a word, Serissa reached forward to grab the front of his shirt. He flinched when she pulled him closer, her eyes closing as she inhaled deeply through her nose. "... Jack Daniels?"

Uriel covered his mouth with his hand, feeling flustered and embarrassed that she could still smell the biting aroma of whiskey on his breath. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" Serissa shrugged and turned away from him... beckoning him to follow. "The only thing you should be sorry for is drinking that goblin piss they try to pass off as whiskey. How about something real to drink?"

The idea of another drink appealed to Uriel greatly, after that painfully awkward little moment. "... Sure."

"Come on. Let me get out of these stupid shoes, and I'll answer your questions."

xXxXxXx

Serissa was truly a beautiful woman. Uriel allowed himself to drink in that thought as he sat on the couch in her den, watching her pour them a pair of bourbons from a crystal canter. Uriel had never been one to appreciate tattoos, but the ink etched into her skin was wonderfully done. Her back was to him, her waves of brown hair swept over one shoulder, allowing him to see a new tattoo he had never noticed peeking out from under the fabric of her sleeveless shirt. Feathers from what looked like a gray Angel wing extended from her shoulder down to her elbow. Her other arm was decorated with the elaborate Hindu Shiva tattoo that Nathaniel had once commented on. The palette the artist had used was monochrome with a hint of color, and Uriel found that interesting. He had always found Serissa fascinating, from the moment he first laid eyes on her. The tattoos and harsh makeup on her skin seemed like such a stark contrast to the soft and angelic features of her face.

He wondered if she had once been as soft as her features suggested. If life had turned her into something that seemed much harsher than she really was...

Uriel shook his head and let a disgusted frown settle on his face. Whatever had happened to her, whatever was still happening to her... it was none of his business.

"So... You had questions for me?"

"Yes." Uriel took the crystal glass of bourbon from Serissa's hand and shifted against the couch cushion when Serissa sat herself beside him. He watched as she tucked her legs beneath her, naturally turning her body to face him and draping an arm over the back of the couch. "I, uh..." Uriel swallowed, temporarily losing his train of thought. "The Spear...? What do you know about it?"

Serissa shrugged her tattooed shoulders. "Only what I've heard in stories. I've never actually seen the thing."

"Anything you do know would be helpful, at this point." Uriel mumbled into the lip of his glass before taking a sip of the liquid she had offered to him. His brows raised at the wonderful taste and elegant smoothness of it.

"Much better than Jack, isn't it?" Serissa said with a smirk, raising her own glass. "Drink up, I have plenty."

Uriel felt uneasy at the thought of being encouraged to drink. He already drank so much... it seemed strange that someone would urge him to take in more.

Oblivious to Uriel's internal struggles, Serissa continued, resting her glass on her knee. "I know that the Spear was used to kill Jesus."

"Right. God's human Son."

Serissa suddenly tsked him, and wagged a maroon tipped finger at him. "No. Jesus wasn't God's Son. That's just what they like you to think."

Uriel gave her a skeptical look.

"Hey, I'm being honest, here." Serissa said, holding up a hand in a display of truthfulness. "Judas knew the guy. In the flesh. He would know."

"Can he even be trusted?"

"Judas is many things," Serissa said, staring at her bourbon glass with a frown curling her mouth. "But he's no liar."

"If what you say is true, then why haven't I heard of such a thing?" Uriel said darkly.

"Because you're an Angel," Serissa replied with a dark little smile. "God didn't like for His children to know that He wasn't always in control. That sometimes things happen and He has no say in them."

Uriel sipped his bourbon and idly picked a piece of lint off the thigh of his jeans. "Go on."

"Well all I know is what Judas has told me," Serissa murmured quietly. "He told me that everyone, even Angels," she poked a finger against his shoulder, "are born with this... black stain on their souls. It's the darkness inside of all of us that calls us to do evil things. Most cultures call it sin. And this... Sin Stain," she giggled at her own lame joke, "is what separates God from all of His children. And when Jesus was born, he was born free of that stain."

"How is that possible?"

Serissa shrugged her tattooed shoulders. "I have no idea. Judas told me that it has something to do with God's program glitching, or... something. I don't really know. But the point is, Jesus was some kind of anomaly, born with an incredible power that he could have used for destruction. But he didn't... he used it for good. He was the only perfect being in existence."

"And the Spear?"

"Since it was used to kill him, his power or... essence or whatever was transferred to the Spear."

"So Judas must have used that power for himself, when he had it in his possession."

"You know, I figured the same thing. But Judas said that the Spear has a will of it's own. It chooses its own master... and it never chose him."

"Then why keep it?"

"It was the very instrument of his damnation. Judas was tricked by an Angel of God into betraying Jesus. Because God wanted him gone... but when Jesus died the death of a sinner after living such a pure life, it caused another glitch in the system. A glitch that weakened both the power of Hell and the power of Heaven... so neither wanted Judas after he hung himself in the Field of Blood. His life can never leave him." Serissa heaved a sigh and finished her bourbon in a few rapid gulps. "Some part of me thinks that he only wants the silly Spear because if he could somehow use the thing, he could release himself from the curse Fate gave to him... But. We all have to live with our choices."

Uriel murmured a soft agreement and nodded.

"But, like I said. It's only a story. All of this happened way before my time."

"What do you mean?"

"I was Turned in the summer of 1292."

"How did that happen?"

"That, my friend, is something I'm not willing to talk about. Ever."

xXxXxXx

Uriel had expected his question of how Serissa was Turned to cause tension between the two of them. Especially when she shot him down so quickly. But he was surprised that it didn't linger between them at all. As Uriel finished his third glass of bourbon and Serissa nursed her fourth, he found that their conversation ran smoother, that their laughter came easier.

"You don't drink from...?" Uriel asked, handing Serissa his empty glass so she could refill it again.

"Directly from the vein? Not for a very long time, now."

"Why? Is it because of..."

"Believe it or not, I don't really have issues seeing blood when I'm feeding. I guess it's that whole feeding frenzy thing. Instincts and everything." Serissa softly shrugged her shoulders and handed a full glass back to him. "No, feeding directly from a vein is a very... intimate experience. As a Vampire I have this... venom, I guess you could call it. We all do."

"Venom?"

"It's an aphrodisiac in our saliva. It paralyzes a victim with, um..." Serissa took another swig of her bourbon. "Intense sexual pleasure."

"Oh."

"Probably pretty awkward to hear, being a virginal Angel and all."

Uriel's smile dropped right off as he murmured into his bourbon. "I'm no virgin."

Serissa arched a brow, staring at him with wide and surprised eyes. "You're not?"

"No."

"Well.. how does an Elemental Angel lose his virginity, I wonder?"

Uriel frowned as he considered putting a stop to that topic of conversation, right then and there. His frown deepened when he decided he didn't want to. "It's kind of a long story..." he offered with a small and pathetic tone, subtly offering her one last chance to back out before he spilled his silly story.

"I'd like to hear it. Who better to share your secrets with than a stranger?"

Was she just a stranger? Uriel's lips curled into a small frown. Of course she was. He briefly remembered the tender embrace they had shared all those months ago, an embrace that made him feel something real for the first time in many years. He had hoped that maybe... she had felt something there, too. But he was just fooling himself, wasn't he? He took another sip of bourbon to make his frown look like a grimace from the alcohol's burn, instead.

"At Nema's wedding, I promised myself I would only have a single glass of wine. I had never drank any more than that, before. But I found myself surrounded by all these happy people, celebrating the culmination of a love Michael and Nema had fought so hard for. It was strange... It felt like a truly happy ending to such a bitter story. But I wasn't a part of it. I felt... miserable, the entire time I was there. I felt... detached. Like I didn't belong," Uriel finished his bourbon and suddenly Serissa was refilling it without another word. He didn't dare to look at her face, terrified of seeing a look of pity. So he continued his sad story. "So I had a second glass. And a third. Then a fourth... with each glass I found it easier to pretend like I was happy. Easier to force a smile. I don't really remember how it happened, but somehow I ended up going home with a former, erm... playmate of Raphael's. Ariel, I think her name was. The next morning, I had a terrible headache, and I felt nothing but unimaginable guilt. Like I had violated something sacred, and yet... I stayed on that path. For the next year, I kept the days blurred with alcohol and any woman who would have me. I was surprised at how easily a woman would come to bed with me... but none would actually love me." Uriel ached to finish his new glass of bourbon, but instead he only swirled the liquid in its glass. "I've always known that that's all I've ever wanted... a love like Raphael and Barbiel's, or Michael and Nema's. But fate, it seems, doesn't want me to have such a thing. I am doomed to live alone."

Uriel felt something akin to deja vu, as he spoke those words. Once, years ago, before Uriel disappeared back into Hades with hard alcohol, he had spoken similar words to Doll. She had tried to encourage him. Tried to get him to realize that he was wrong...

"Perhaps you are," Serissa said, and her response startled Uriel. He was so used to people arguing with his outlook on life, trying to encourage him to see things differently.

He looked at her, and saw that she was smiling softly at him, sadly.

"Have you ever seen the Phantom of the Opera...?" She asked him.

"I've read the book."

"It's my favorite story." Serissa murmured, and a chill went through Uriel's spine when her fingers gently traced of his shoulder. "I like it because the most tragic character doesn't get the girl. He doesn't live happily ever after. And that's real. You just don't really see that anymore... with all these silly and unrealistic romantic comedies and dramas where all the problems get solved in the end."

Uriel frowned as he let her words sink in. How many times had he told himself that he wasn't meant to have a happy ending? He knew exactly what Serissa was trying to tell him, and even though he had told himself the same thing hundreds of times... he didn't like to hear it. Especially from her.

"Hey..." Serissa's hand dropped from the back of the couch and rested on Uriel's shoulder. "It doesn't have to be a bad thing, you know."

"If it's really not so bad, why do I always feel like I'm dying, inside...?"

"You haven't found the thing you need, just yet." Serissa reached out with her free hand and traced a finger around the lip of Uriel's bourbon glass. "Maybe this isn't it? But maybe I can help you forget about it... if only for a little while."

Uriel felt the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand on end when her fingers traced over the skin of his ear. "What do you mean?"

"Don't be naive." Serissa shifted her position and took Uriel's bourbon, setting it on the end table. She moved her lithe body, placing herself on the floor between his knees. Uriel's blood boiled in his veins when her hands slipped over the tops of his thighs, climbing far too high to be considered something chaste. He wondered if they were sober, would she still would have been doing this? He hadn't traveled along the way of drunken trysts with women in a very, very long time. And the conflicted feelings inside of him were enough to cause a physical pain in his chest.

He wanted whatever her body language was offering. He wanted it badly... but another part of him wanted to run away from her as quickly as he could. Whatever tenderness the two had shared months before would be ruined if he let her...

"Serissa, I don't know about this."

Serissa only continued to slowly slip her hands further up his thighs. "Why?" She said softly. "What's wrong with wanting to feel something when you're not capable of feeling anything at all? I know how you feel... I understand you so well, it hurts. Let me do this for you... for both of us. Just once."

Uriel swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling heated by the thought of what her venom could have in store for him. Perhaps he would only be trading one slow poison for another, but as her hands continued to caress his thighs, and she gazed at him with those amazing hazel eyes, pleading with him... he couldn't say no. He couldn't pull away. He didn't even know how.

"Once..." He murmured, and rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to his elbow.

"You won't regret it." Serissa said, her lips curling into a smile.

When Uriel finally glimpsed the tips of her elongated canines, all of his reservations left him in a rush of anticipation and longing. Sweet God, she was beautiful... He extended his bare wrist towards her, and quivered when her gentle hands grasped his arm.

She didn't warn him. In a way, he was grateful that she didn't give him another chance to change his mind. When her sharp teeth pierced the veins in his wrist, his body jerked with the unpleasant, searing pain of broken skin. He almost yanked his arm back.

But then, he felt warmth spread through his hand, and he could feel the venom make its path up his arm, into his chest, and through his entire eager body. The feeling tore a gasp out of his throat, and the necklace around his scarred throat imitated the sound of the moans in his head.

The feeling was similar to the things he had experienced when he had slept with a woman. When he had buried himself between her legs and thrusted until he found his hollow release. Whatever her venom did to him, it intensified the experience tenfold. Despite the numbing alcohol in his system, he felt the pleasure rippling through him, all the way to the tips of his toes.

She took his blood with eager pulls, and his free hand fisted in the strands of her brown hair, urging her on. Encouraging her to take all she needed from him and then some. Some dark and secret part of himself wanted her to bleed him dry, so he could die in the throes of such ecstasy. Unconsciously, his legs tightened against her ribs, his hips rocking on their own.

When she finished, her fangs withdrew from his flesh and her tongue gently licked away the last of the red liquid dribbling from the fresh wound she had left there.

But the feelings raging inside of Uriel did not ebb away. He sat up, pulling at the hair he still held tightly in his fingers. With a soft gasp, her face tilted upwards, so dangerously and blissfully close to his own. He brushed his lips over hers and ignored the strange smell and biting metallic taste of his own blood.

"Don't..." She murmured. "You'll regret it."

Oh, but how he wanted to. He wanted to kiss her. He almost needed it. But somehow, he managed to grasp onto his last threads of sanity, and he slowly released her hair, letting her lean back and away from him.

"I should go." Serissa said softly. "I will see you again tomorrow."

Somehow, Uriel knew that wasn't just a simple goodbye. It was a promise. A promise that she would come to him again... that she needed what she took from him almost as much as he needed to give it.

"Come to me when you get home." Uriel said, his false voice coming out as something gravelly and needy.

Serissa nodded and rose to her feet. She was gone before Uriel could change his mind about letting her leave. But he was grateful. If she had stayed a moment longer, he would have dragged her onto the couch and done... very inappropriate things to her. He would have practiced all the things he had learned about pleasing a woman's body.

With a groan, Uriel leaned forward and ran his fingers through his hair, ignoring the sting in his wrist. What had he just done? What had he just allowed? He knew, then and there, that some kind of barrier had been broken down between the two of them. And he wasn't sure he was ready for it.

Sure, they had connected on some kind of mental level before... before the physical. But somehow, it didn't seem like it was enough. Uriel really didn't want to travel down the path of depraved, sexually charged encounters with her, if he couldn't have...

Uriel shook his head and stood up. What was he thinking? What he wanted, he could never have. Finally, he found someone who agreed with him. Who understood what he had always suspected: That he was doomed to live alone.