Page 123 of Drown Like Heaven
A framed picture of him receiving his doctorate was shoved on a bookshelf, another reminder of all the life he’d lived without me. His stupid, human life.
“You’re being hunted,” I explained, my gaze shifting back over to meet his. The moment I said it, there was a flicker of unease in his irises.
He sighed, and I could see the tension instantly spanning his chest, his shoulders. We both knew what that meant, without any further explanation. Aamon didn’t require elaboration. He was the only angel-demon hybrid in existence, and he’d caused us a lot of problems many years ago.
Most demons’ eyes glowed red in the dark, but not his. Aamon’s eyes glowedgold.
It was the ichor in his blood. He was the only demon able to have that elusive golden liquid in his veins without it turning black, because he was half-Aiglen. He was an unnatural monstrosity—even more unnatural than me.
“Did he see you?”
“I don’t know. I saw him while hunting and left—about a forty-five minute drive from here.”
“I’m sure he saw you. You’re not exactly subtle.”
“I don’t need to be subtle.”
Micah ran a hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead as he went to sit in a leather armchair that looked like it’d been molded by his body over years. I couldn’t help but notice the way he moved through his own space, casually taking up room.
I bit my tongue, feeling a prickle of furious electricity in my chest. Micah’s lack of reaction to it only proved that he truly didn’t live as a Sigeian anymore—which he clearly thought was the superior way of living. If he’d been sensing my emotions, he would’ve made me leave at this first sign of splintering. Or he would’ve stopped it.
I hated everything about him.
“What are you planning to do about it?” he questioned.
“What amIplanning to do about it?” I stepped closer to him. He was sitting with his legs sprawled, thighs spread wide, a hand in his hair.
Micah’s eyes slashed to mine, angry. “Why did you come here, then?”
“To warn you.”
“Towarnme,” he echoed. “Great.”
The darkness of the night pressed against the glass, accumulating in the corners of the room, spanning the space between us.
Aamon probably couldn’t kill me, but he could definitely kill Micah. More, he had reason towantto kill him.
And that reason was me. All the bullshit I’d meddled in years ago.
If I’d been less impulsive, less reckless, less fuckingstupid, I wouldn’t have gotten Micah dragged into this. But I didn’t like him acting like I owed him anything now. I’d protected him in the past, back when Aamon was here and Micah was mine and everything between us hadn’t gone to total shit yet. I’dhadto do it back then.
I didn’t have to do shit now.
Maybe it would even beniceif Aamon killed Micah.
“So you just looked up my address and came to my house in the middle of the night to let me know I’m going to die soon. At the hands of someone who only hates me because he hates you.”
Micah wasn’t looking at me now, his eyes blankly staring at nothing. His body was perfectly still. He was fuckingpissed. Good.
“Should I have not told you?” I walked over to the matching leather couch and sat down, leaning back on the cushions, the leather cool against my heated body. I couldn’t help digging my nail into the leather, leaving a permanent mark on it.
“Didn’t say you could sit down,” he said through his teeth, noticing the way I was scratching his furniture. “I don’t want you in my fucking house, Mason.”
“I’ll leave, then.”
Some sadistic part of me was taking great pleasure in the way our exchange was shifting. He needed me and hehatedit. I didn’t care if he lived or died, not now anyway, but if hebeggedme to help him… My dick was starting to get hard at the thought of it.
“You like this, don’t you?” Micah asked, clearly smelling the shift in my scent.
