Hi guys, a ridiculously long chapter, but hopefully you'll enjoy it :) Thanks for the amazing reviews I got this week, I really appreciate everyone taking the time to review :)

To any outsider, they must have slightly strange; seven adults, two of whom were slumped against the table, somewhat concussed, sat around a large battered table, all of them staring at the savage looking knife lying in the middle of the table like some twisted version of spin the bottle, whilst outside a pyre of bodies burned. Needless to say, none of the demons' hosts had survived. It seemed even without the fight with the hunters, their bodies were completely broken; obviously the demons liked to abuse their hosts as much as possible.

"Does it really kill demons?" Rhea asked in a hushed voice, poking the wooden handle of the knife so it quivered a little.

"If it's like the knife the Winchesters have, then...yeah," Miriana answered.

"It looks like a kitchen knife that my Mom has," Tank mused, frowning.

"It looks nothing like a kitchen knife, dude," Ethan mumbled, running one fingertip across the blade.

"What if it's not real?" Rhea questioned.

"We need something to test it on," Ethan muttered.

"Well then I guess it's pretty fortunate we've got a demon pinned down upstairs," Jack piped up, shaking himself out of his apparent stupor.

Miriana picked the knife up, grasping it firmly by the smooth wooden handle, "I guess we should go and test it then."

The demon was throwing itself against the door, rattling it in its frame, screaming profanities and hurling abuse at them.

"Jesus Christ, he doesn't sound happy," said Ethan, eyeing the rattling doorknob and quivering wood apprehensively.

"Right, I open the door, Ethan and Tank you hold it back, and get it inside this devils trap," Rhea said, gesturing at the freshly painted pentagram down the hall, "We need to keep it pinned in case the knife doesn't work."

Miriana kept to the back of the group, holding the knife tightly by her side whilst Nate moved to the side of the door, sweeping the line of salt out of the way and closing his fist around the handle.

"Ready?"

He gave the door a huge heave and the demon burst from the room, ducking straight beneath Tank and Ethan's arms and heading straight for Miriana. She tried to lift the knife in time, but the demons' fist crashed into her cheek, so hard she felt certain her cheekbone would shatter. Before she had chance to draw breath he punched her hard in the stomach so she doubled over in agony, gasping. He went for her again, his dark eyes burning with hatred, but Tank managed to fold his huge, muscular arms across his chest, pinning him back. He dragged him back, and with Ethan's help he managed to deposit him inside the jagged lines of the devils trap.

"Are you okay?" a voice asked in Miriana's ear. She turned to see Rhea crouched next to her, her slim hand on her shoulder. Miriana nodded, wincing as she coughed up a mouthful of coppery blood onto the threadbare carpet. She took Rhea's outstretched hand and clambered to her feet, slipping the blade through her leather belt. The demon was throwing itself against the edge of the trap, regarding them all with furious eyes.

"Very good," the demon spat, "Really took a lot of skill, that."

"Shut up," Tank growled.

"Make me," he bit back.

"Oh don't worry, you'll shut up in a minute," Miriana snapped, wiping the last traces of blood away from her lips.

The demon turned it's cold eyes on her, a cruel smirk lighting up his face, "Miriana. I wondered when you'd show your pretty little face. Reuben told us to keep our eyes out for you, said anyone who brought you to him would get a wonderful prize. You know, a slaughtering spree in a town or a night with the local virgins. He's really quite obsessed with you."

She noticed the other hunters regarding her with curious expressions, "Well you won't be getting any sort of prize, virgins or not. You're won't be going anywhere."

"Yeah? I just smoke out of my meat suit and find another host," he showed the perfectly, straight white teeth of his host, "No worries."

Miriana pulled the knife slowly from its makeshift sheath on her belt, watching the demons eyes widen in response, "You look a little worried about this."

"Got you by the bollocks now, huh?" Tank said, breaking out into a wide grin.

The demon turned to him, "You know your sister? She died screaming, right? While that daeva tore into her? And you just couldn't save her, you useless-"

"Shut your filthy mouth," Tank rumbled, taking a threatening step forward. Rhea placed a hand over his arm, "Don't Tank."

"And you," the demon hissed, turning on Rhea, "Your sisters in a mental hospital now, isn't she? Went a bit crazy after everything she saw, all because you couldn't protect her."

"How do you know that?" Rhea whispered through barely moving lips, her face as white a sheet.

"I know lots of things, honey," the demon said, a cold mocking edge in his voice, "Just like I know Frankie had to watch his friends die when those vampires burned his college apartment to the ground. And Ethan over here," the demon tutted slowly, "was miles away from home with that lovely girl when those demons came for his dear old mom and put her insides on her outsides. Even though he promised his brother he would look after her."

"Shut up," Ethan growled, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white.

"And as for you," the demon said, finally switching his gaze to Miriana, "Your boyfriend is burning in hell. I can practically hear his skin sizzling off."

She'd heard enough of his mocking tone, had seen the horrified looks on the other hunters faces, and above all else, she couldn't bear the thought of Cristian in hell. With fury churning like fire in her stomach she stepped forwards in the pentagram, not caring if the demon could hurt her, and swung the knife through the air. She plunged the savage blade into the base of the demons skull, twisting through the soft flesh with a sharp twist. A dull, fiery red light flickered behind the demons skin, showing the silhouette of the skull underneath and there was a hissing, crackling noise. With a tremendous heave, and a sickening squelch, she wrenched the knife free and the demon slumped to the floor, the smoky light vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, the blade smoking slightly around its sharp edges. Rhea, Frankie and Tank were staring at the body on the floor, a thin trail of blood snaking from the bottom of the skull and running down over the floorboards, soaking through the cracks. Ethan, Nate and Jack were staring at Miriana holding the knife in one quivering hand, with shocked, and in Ethan's case, possibly quite admiring faces. Frankie edged forwards and nudged the body with the toe of his heavy work boots.

"I guess it works," said Rhea in a quiet voice.

"Yeah," agreed Miriana, wiping the streak of blood from the knife onto her jeans, "I guess it does."

The other hunters decided they didn't want to return to their grubby motel rooms, and considering as how Miriana had several spare bedrooms and rather a lot of sofas, she asked them to stay for the night. It was an unseasonably warm evening, so they ended up sitting outside on her aunt's antique, slightly battered garden furniture with a case of beer, the circle of her aunt's garden that overlooked the lake lit with gently flickering candles that she had dug out of the garage. Miriana couldn't remember a time she had been so sociable.

She had taken the knife to her aunt's safe in the study as soon as she had stepped through the door, determined not to let fall back into the demons hands. Of course at some point she would have to breach the difficult topic of who got to keep the knife. After all, the others had helped her to get it, as much as she wished she keep it entirely for herself. She would feel far safer with that thing on her person.

Tank, Jack, Nate and Frankie were having an animated and highly intellectual conversation about whether or not Batman could take down Spiderman in a fight whilst Rhea looked on, leaning against Frankie's chest, an amused expression on her face. Miriana quietly extricated herself from the rowdy table and collected the empty beer bottles scattered across the table and paving stones. She headed around the side of the house to where the bins stood on the opposite side of the garden and deposited the bottles in the glass bin. As she turned around to return to the others, she walked straight into a very solid figure behind her. She shrieked loudly and Ethan winced, holding up his hands.

"Sorry," he said, "Didn't mean to give you heart failure."

She waved a hand airily, "Don't worry. I'm always doing that. I don't have very good spacial awareness."

He held up a few more bottles, "I'd thought I'd just give you a hand."

"Oh, thank you very much," she said, flashing him a quick smile. Ethan gave a little chuckle.

"What?"

"I love your accent," he said, lifting up his armful of bottles and depositing them into the bin, "British accents always sound so polite. You could be telling me to eff off and you'd still sound polite. It's kind of sexy too."

She could tell from his face that he instantly regretted what he had said; again his cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, vivid enough to match the roses growing on the trellis up the white wall of the house.

"Oh God, I didn't mean that you' re sexy- I mean, of course you're very attractive- but I don't think about you in that way- I just-"

She held up a hand to cut off his panicked rambling, "Don't worry. I know what you meant."

"Phew, I thought I'd really offended you then," he said, following back around the side of the house towards the garden that overlooked the lake.

"No, you've just mortally embarrassed me and yourself," she joked. As she rounded the corner of the house, she tripped over a beer bottle that had rolled out from underneath the table. She braced herself for the impact of the cold hard paving stones, put Ethan wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her.

"Easy there," he said, his hand lingering along the curve of the waist, "You okay?"

"Yeah," Miriana said, forcefully but subtly moving herself out of the circle of his arm around her waist, "Like I said, no spacial awareness.

They rejoined the loud table, which hadn't seemed to have noticed their absence. Miriana glanced across at the lake, watching the dying rays of the dusky orange sun play across the smooth silvery expanse of the lake. She loved these kinds of afternoons; balmy and peaceful.

She noticed out of the corner of her eye that Ethan was staring at her; she turned to look at him.

"What?" she asked, feeling slightly apprehensive for reasons she couldn't fathom.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," she said hesitantly.

"That demon back there," he began, tracing a pattern across the glass of his beer bottle, "It said that Reuben has a thing for you."

He paused, and Miriana prompted, "Yes?"

"It's just...why? You didn't have a fling with a demon did you?"

Miriana snorted. No, she was having a fling with a being from the complete other end of the spectrum that was considerably more holy. Not that she was about to disclose that to a person she barely knew.

"No. Definitely not. Rueben was the demon that killed my parents and Cristian."

Ethan's face visibly paled, "Oh crap, I'm so sorry, I-"

"Don't worry about it," she said, cutting him off midway through his apology, "You weren't to know."

He took a swig of beer, "So he's still determined to finish off your family, huh?"

Miriana heaved a sigh and nodded, "Yep. Pretty much."

"That sucks. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," I heard what that demon said back there," she saw his broad shoulders instantly tense, "About your mum."

He took another, much longer swig, almost draining the bottle in one go , "Yeah. It was pretty rough."

Miriana decided to push him a little further. She found she liked the sound of his voice, enjoyed talking with him, even though they were discussing such difficult topics, "What happened? If you don't mind me asking?"

"No, of course not," he said, "I mean, I've been nosey enough. It was a few years ago now. I had a date with this chick. She was gorgeous, you know, really classy. I was ecstatic. You have to understand, I've been raised as a hunter since I was in diapers. I never got a break from it, and I just wanted a little slice of normal, you know? And I knew, I knew that there were omens springing up all over town, but I just ignored them, ignored the fact that mom was a lot more fragile than she used to be."

He paused, looking down at the chipped wooden surface of the table, his green eyes dark, "There was no chance she could have fought them off, especially not in her state. She'd had cancer, see. It made her weak. Even if she was healthy, they'd still have ripped her apart."

He winced, as if the memory pained him, "Anyway, I get this hysterical phone call from Jack about three in the morning, and I come home, and she's everywhere. All over the floor, the walls, the sofa. She didn't even look like a person when they'd finished with her."

Miriana placed a comforting hand on his arm, feeling the muscles tense under her fingers, "I'm so so sorry," she murmured. She couldn't imagine the pain he must have gone through, coming home to find that.

He gave a small smile, "Thanks. I guess every hunter gets hurt in some way, huh? Although usually it's the ones around us."

"Well, if it's any consolation, your mum would be very proud of you, I'm sure," she said, cringing at her weak attempt to comfort him.

A very strange look came across his face, and when he spoke, his voice sounded oddly strained, "No one has ever said that to me before. Thank you."

Miriana flushed furiously, "You're welcome."

They lapsed back into a comfortable silence, the both of them watching the conversation, which had now moved on to iron man versus wolverine from the X-men.

"No, dude," Tank said, slamming a fist onto the table in front of Frankie, "Iron man has the suit, what the hell does Wolverine have, some pansy toothpicks in his fists!? Come on, that sucks!"

Miriana sighed heavily, rolling her eyes, "I think I need to go to bed before this develops into a fist fight."

"Yeah, I don't blame you," Ethan muttered darkly, "I have to deal with them all the time."

"Good night," she called to the others at the table, rising to her feet. Rhea and Nate replied, and Ethan flashed her yet another perfect, made for Hollywood smile, but the others were still too wrapped up in their discussion to notice she'd gone.

She crossed the garden and slid the patio doors open, stepping into the kitchen. She headed for the stairs, but she stopped in the middle of the spacious hall. She glanced towards the half open door of the study, golden liquid light spilling through the gap and onto the carpet. She had the sudden urge to check the knife was still in the iron safe. She trusted the other hunters not to take it, but she knew that a demon like Reuben could quite easily steal it. She pushed open the door of the study and breathed in the smell of books with old, wrinkled pages and leather bound spines. She slid back the wooden compartment that contained the safe, twisting the small black dial until she heard the click as the lock mechanism disengaged. With a loud, protesting groan, the heavy grey metal door swung open, revealing the dark space inside. There were a few other things that stayed in the safe, including Miriana's father's gun that her Aunt kept safe and never used. There was also a piece of Miriana's mother's jewellery, an antique silver charm bracelet designed for her mother when she started hunting on her eighteenth birthday, ensconced in a scarlet leather case. It was the one thing Miriana had always wanted, and it was the one thing her aunt had never let her have.

She reached into the shadows and pulled the knife out by its smooth wooden handle, the smoky sliver blade catching the last rays of the sun that were reaching across the horizon and streaming through the tall windows. She turned the blade over carefully, running her fingertip lightly along the jagged edge, careful not to nick her thumb on its razor sharp edge. She traced her fingernail along the lines of the tiny pentagram etched into the handle. She sighed heavily, bringing the blade closer and scrutinizing it. She couldn't deny the similarity between the blade she was holding so carefully in her hands, and the one she often saw in the hands of Sam and Dean. But it just seemed too good to be true that her aunt had stumbled across such a perfect demon killing weapon. She had learned in the world of hunting, that coincidences were all too often more than just simple coincidences. Just as she was about to replace the knife in the safe, and hand fell on her shoulder and she opened her mouth to scream.

The second that Castiel had learned Miriana was facing demons from Embriel, he immediately abandoned his duty of tracking a coven of demons across Georgia and went to her, despite Embriels' protestations that Zachariah would notice and come for him. As soon as he reached the dilapidated house Reuben's coven of demons had been occupying, he realized it was a wasted trip. The fire from the pyre of bodies was already beginning to fade away to dull glowing embers and the hunters were already halfway back to Miriana's house. He followed them back, surprised at the number of people she had with her. He watched as the heavy red truck pulled up on the white gravel, followed by a motorcycle and behind that, Miriana's sleek black car. He stayed a good distance away from the house in a thick copse of trees at the end of the lane that led to Miriana's drive, despite the overwhelming urge to go to her. He restrained himself though; he didn't think that announcing himself to a group of hunters as Miriana's angel friend was a very good idea. He didn't know much about human behaviour or social situations, but he knew that much. When they climbed out of their various vehicles, he felt his borrowed heart give an odd stutter in his chest. For the briefest of seconds, he thought Cristian had been raised from the dead and was standing next to Miriana, far too close for his liking. But when he regarded him in more detail, he saw he wasn't quite the doppelganger for Miriana's dead lover as he'd thought. His skin wasn't as pale, more golden, and his hair was several shades lighter and was longer and shaggier than Cristians' had been. But there was still something of him in the line of his broad shoulders and in his wide smile and high cheekbones.

They stayed talking in the garden for a frustratingly long time. He never took his eyes of Miriana, absolutely entranced by the way the last terracotta rays of the sun light up her pale skin and picked out the strands of red and chestnut in her hair. The other hunters were engaged in an animated conversation, but he noticed that Miriana spoke very little, just sat and watched with a slight smile on her face. He noticed that the dark haired man that had been riding the motorbike was subtly moving his chair closer and closer to Miriana's throughout the evening, until their arms were almost touching, as if she were a magnet, pulling him towards her. He watched as Miriana gathered an armful of beer bottles to her chest and moved around the back of the house towards the bins. He was so frustrated at having to wait for her that he had seriously considered calmly walking into the garden and knocking the group of hunters unconscious and dragging her away, but it seemed now he had a chance to speak to her alone, finally get her back in his arms. It had been less than a day since he had last seen her, but it felt like a painfully long time. Just as he was about to follow her, he noticed Ethan smoothly loping across the drive behind her. He felt an odd flare of white hot heat in his chest when he saw him steady her as she tripped, his hand lingering for an inappropriately long time along the curve of her waist, pressing his tall lean body against hers. He had the sudden unexpected urge to punch a hole through his chest, immediately feeling guilty. He couldn't understand why he was thinking such things or why he wanted to keep Miriana for himself, like she was his possession.

Finally, after what seemed like hours and hours, she left the table, heading for the house. He followed her into the house, breathing in the smell of roses in the cut glass vase by the front door. He found her in the study, her back to the door, turning a short, vicious blade over in his hands. He glided noiselessly across the carpet to stand behind her, his hand dropping to rest against the curve of her shoulder. He hadn't expected her to scream and he winced when she let out a shout before he managed to spin her around and place a finger against her lips.

"Oh my God," she gasped breathlessly, "What have I told you about doing that ninja thing?"

He was entirely sure what a ninja was, but he apologized anyway, "I'm sorry. It was not my intention to frighten you."

She rubbed her forehead, "I know."

He had only noticed up close that there was a dark, blackened bruise across her cheekbone, marring the pale, smooth skin.

"What happened?" He asked, cupping her face carefully and brushing his thumb as lightly as possible across the blue black shadow.

"Its' nothing," she said firmly, pulling his hands away from her face, "Really. It was just a demon that managed to get a punch in before I could stop him."

He frowned, but Miriana placed a hand flat on his chest, "It's nothing, honestly."

"What were you looking at?" he asked.

"Oh it's just...nothing," she said, waving a hand airily.

He could tell from her tone that she was lying, "What is it?"

She turned away from him, reaching into the darkness of the safe and retrieving the knife he had seen in her hands a few seconds ago, holding it up for him to see. He recognized it as similar to the blade Dean had plunged into his chest in the vain attempt to kill him the first time they had met.

"The demons had it," she explained, "Is it real?"

He could feel sparks of power humming around the blade, brushing against the skin of his hand like electricity.

"I would say so," he said, passing the knife back to her.

She sighed heavily and stowed it back inside the safe, shutting and locking it, "Enough of that now."

She turned back to him, "Can you stay tonight?"

He hesitated for a long second before he answered. He knew perfectly well that he shouldn't be here; he should be back in Georgia hunting down and destroying that coven of demons it had apparently been so important to Zachariah that he catch. But right at that moment, he didn't care. He was breaking so many rules, so he might as well let the chips fall where they may.

"Yes, of course," he said, keeping his voice tone as even as possible.

He thought she noticed his indecision, saw the spark of worry and a tinge of fear flare up in the dark depths of her eyes, but she soon covered it over with a smile.

"Good," she pulled on his hand and led him into the hall and up the stairs. He studied the photographs lining the halls, and stopped halfway up the stairs, gently pulling his hand free of hers, one picture in a gilded bronze frame catching his eye. He thought for a second that it was Miriana, but on further inspection he saw that the woman had longer hair than Miriana, and it curled around her shoulders in thick dark waves, her face was rounder, less angular, and she was obviously older from the faint web of lines around her mouth and eyes, but the resemblance between the two was striking.

She stopped a few steps above him, frowning, "What?"

He nodded at the picture, "Is this your mother?"

She sighed, "Yeah, why?"

"You look so much like her."

She rolled her eyes and tugged on his arm again, "Come on."

He followed her to her room, breathing in the perfume that hung over everything in the room as she flipped the lights on, casting the room in a warm amber glow. She steered him over to her bed and pushed his shoulder so he sat down. He would never have thought that any human could order him around so easily; he was a soldier of God after all, but Miriana had more of a hold over him than any angel.

"Stay here," she said, drawing the long, gauzy curtains across the tall windows, "I'm just going to get changed."

She swept into the bathroom and shut the door behind her, leaving him to sit on the end of her bed, waiting patiently. He tried very hard to ignore the soft sound of her clothes falling against the tiles and the mental images that came flooding in. He wasn't entirely sure where they were coming from, but they were very persistent; he started reciting sections of the bible in enochian to distract himself.

He started when the door opened and she stepped out, dressed in the usual tattered t-shirt and baggy pants that she slept in. She stretched her arms above her head, yawning, and her t-shirt rode up a little, revealing her hard hipbones. He hadn't intended to look, but he suddenly saw the angry looking bruises staining the supple, pale skin across her stomach, matching the discolouration on her cheekbones. Catching the hem of her t-shirt so it didn't cover up the bruises, he reached out and grazed his fingertips against the battered skin, feeling sick when she winced and he felt her muscles tense as hard as iron under his hand.

"Don't worry," she said, attempting a smile, "It doesn't hurt that much."

"Who did this?" he asked, trying hard to reign in the fury in his voice.

"I told you, that demon. Please, don't worry."

He gently brushed his fingers back and forth across her bruises, soothing the abused skin, "I hate seeing you in pain."

She closed her eyes, revelling in the soft feeling of his fingers against her skin, "I've had worse."

"I know you have," he said, sounding frustrated, "That's what worries me."

She noticed that the sensation had passed by comforting and had headed into something different, something that made heat flash up her spine. He seemed to have felt it too; she could swear she could feel the temperature of her room climb up a few degrees.

She sank onto the bed next to him, and he leaned down and gently took her lips, his fingers still splayed against her stomach, moving up a little higher until they rested just underneath her ribcage. Her fingers knotted in his hair, teasing through the short strands and he parted her lips, kissing her almost roughly. She moved across him, straddling his legs, surprised at her own boldness. His breathing rate ratcheted up, as did hers, and something was warning her to stop, before this went too far. But as always, she completely ignored it. He kissed her mouth and trailed a line of kisses as light as the brush of a butterflies wing down to her jaw, turning his face into the smooth curve where her neck met her shoulder, whispering her name against her fragrant skin. She pulled away, struggling to pull his trench coat and suit jacket off his shoulders. Throwing his jacket behind her, she moved to his tie next, loosening it, her fingers sliding over the silky sapphire material. The shared heat between them was unbearable; the hands that rested against her hips felt feverish. She would be quite happy to drown in this feeling. Like he had, she kissed the sharp line of his jaw, his stubble scraping pleasantly against her cheek.

"Miriana..." he said, quietly, his voice oddly strangled. She ignored him, moving her lips back to his and catching his bottom lip with her teeth, her hands fumbling to undo the buttons of his shirt. Her pulse was pounding so hard it was painful. His fingers were clenched on the bed sheets and he pulled his lips away from hers, gasping a breath into his lungs.

The next thing she knew, she was pushed to the side of the bed, the warmth of his skin torn away from hers. He was stood up, leaning against the wall that faced her bed, his eyes wide and terrified, his cheeks flushed a furious shade of red. She instantly realized she'd frightened him off again.

"I...I can't," he stuttered, "It's too much."

She knew her knees up to her chest, resting her forehead against them, "I'm sorry," she said, her voice muffled, "I'm so so sorry."

"It's alright," he said, his voice considerably calmer than a few seconds ago.

"No, no it isn't," she said, fighting the tears of embarrassment and humiliation, "Why do I always do that?"

"Do what?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"Frighten you off," she mumbled, "Dean was right, I am like a drunken hooker."

He frowned, "What's a hooker?"

"Maybe you should just go," she said, ignoring his question.

She was surprised to find he sounded genuinely hurt, "I don't want to leave."

"Yeah, well you should, before I throw myself all over you again," she let out a frustrated groan, throwing her arms over her head, "Why am I so pathetic?"

He approached the bed almost nervously, as if he expected her to suddenly implode at any second. Perching carefully hear the end of her bed, he tugged at her arms until she looked at him.

"You're not pathetic, Miriana," he said softly, "Far from it."

She said nothing, just ducked her head again. He slid two fingers under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"You're not pathetic," he said again, "I wish I could...be with you, but it's...overwhelming for me when you're so close."

"Right," she muttered.

He kissed her forehead, "I don't want you to be uncomfortable around me."

She wanted to tell him that she was always uncomfortable around him with the tension that smouldered between them, but she bit her lip.

"I need to sleep now," she said quietly, "You don't have to stay."

"I want to," he said, brushing a strand of hair away from her forehead.

He lay down next to her, far more calm than last time, and lifted his arms so she could slide underneath them, trailing his fingers from her shoulder blade to her spine.

"Are the other hunters staying here tonight?" he asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," she replied, "I offered. Their motel rooms were pretty disgusting, especially Ethans."

He wondered if this Ethan was the one that had been lingering around all night, the thought of it sending a slight flash of anger searing across his chest, "Who's Ethan?"

"Err...the really tall, dark haired guy."

"Is he a friend?" he asked, as casually as possible.

She raised her head off his chest and gave him a curious look, "Are you jealous?"

"I'm not really sure," he said, "What does jealousy feel like?"

She rested her head against his chest again, "Never mind," she murmured.

He felt her breathing start to slow as she began to drift off next to him, cuddling herself closer to him. It wasn't more than half an hour later when he heard the rushing of wings in the corner of the room, and Embriel appeared, her eyes ambivalent.

"Embriel," he muttered lazily, not even bothering to get up. He was too warm and comfortable.

"Castiel," she choked out. He could tell instantly from the tone of her voice that something was terribly wrong. There was the glossy sheen of tears in her eyes. Carefully disentangling Miriana's sleeping form from his body he stood, meeting Embriel's panicked eyes.

"What?" he questioned apprehensively, feeling dread coiling like a snake in the pit of his stomach.

"It Zachariah, Castiel," she breathed, "He knows everything."

Enjoy the romance, 'cos its all going to come crashing down soon...

A little note to captain oblivious- thanks for the Miriana/Cas choice of song, I love it :)