Page 4 of Drag You Down
He chuckles. “After all the things he’s done? I’m more an agent of God than an agent of the Devil, little lamb.”
My cheeks flush at the nickname. It sounds condescending coming from him, like there’s somethingwrongwith being one of Jesus’s flock.
“You aren’t… You can’t be an agent of God,” I state. “God’s agents would not look like…”
But God’s creatures are beautiful, and I can’t deny that the man is handsome.
‘The Devil will tempt you,’ Father Zachariah always warns.
The man — the Devil — strokes my chin with his thumb. “I’ve never claimed to be God himself,” he says. “I’m proud, not delusional.”
His hands are so warm, so different from the cold death I’d just held. I shiver underneath his touch, but I can’t look away from him.
“I’m not for you, Devil,” I whisper. “My heart holds only God.”
And temptation, and sin, an insidious voice reminds me, coiled within like a serpent.
“Your heart yearns for blood,” he counters. He reaches out to cup both of my cheeks in his hands. “Unless I miss my guess, your heart yearns for many things that aren’t… godly.”
“N-no,” I say quickly.
Lying is a sin, too, but I can’t prevent myself from denying this shameful thing about myself.
The smell of blood, the sight of it, makes my body warm and my heart beat faster.
The taste of it on my lips draws a moan from me.
Wondering what this man might look like beneath his clothes makes my body react in other, equally shameful, ways.
It’s all sin.
He hums, and he gets to one knee in front of me. His dark slacks end up in the puddle of blood. “There’s nothing to beashamed of, little lamb. We all have urges. The question is how we contend with them.”
He’s so close to me that I can smell his cologne over the metallic scent of blood.
“I’m a good person,” I whisper. “I don’t… I’m not one of the…” I try to shake my head, but the man grips the back of my neck and forces me to stay still.
“What’s your name, little lamb?” the man asks.
I shouldn’t tell the Devil my name. There’s power in it, I’m sure. I’ll hear him calling for me, tempting me in my dreams.
But my mouth opens, and I say, “Levi.”
“Levi,” he repeats. He leans forward and kisses my forehead gently. He’s getting closer and closer, touching me more and more.
My heart hammers in my chest until I’m sure it’ll beat right out of it.
“Call me Gabriel.” The words are casual, but the implication is far from it.
Like the archangel.
“You can’t steal a name like that,” I say, and while I try for fierce denial, my voice is weak. My limbs are weak, too, and I can’t bring myself to pull back.
“Steal it?” He’s the one to draw away, only enough to look me in the eye again. He doesn’t stop touching me. This time, he brushes a few strands of my hair behind my ear. “Maybe I’m only borrowing it.” He chuckles. “At least I’m not claiming ‘Lucifer’ or ‘Azrael.’”
I recoil from him, those names enough to free me from his thrall.
“The Devil,” I repeat, and I stand up so quickly I almost slip in the pool of blood. “Begone! Find another soul to tempt. I’m stronger than you.”
