K.J. Sutton

“Noted. Now what do you want?” I asked again, somehow knowing that this time, I would get an answer.

“You.”

“Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.”

“Sometimes it’s not about being stronger. It’s about being smarter,”

“They don’t come along often. Those people who truly know you, who’ve seen the beautiful parts of you and the ugly ones, too, and stay anyway. Sometimes it’s a romantic partner, like… like Viessa. Maybe it’s a friend. But usually they come in the form of family. A parent, an aunt, a grandfather.”

“A brother.”

“Nothing ends, Fortuna Sworn,” he responded airily. He kept his gaze on the humans making their harried arrangements. “There are only continuations and beginnings.”

The room was warm and inviting. A cheery fire burned, the bed was made, and a bath awaited. Nothing had changed since I left hours ago. It seemed bizarre, even wrong, because everything had changed.

Feeling hollow, I walked to the water basin and put my hands inside. Red instantly bloomed across the clear surface. As I watched it, a whimper escaped me. Suddenly I was frantic. I rubbed at my skin so violently that water sloshed over the sides of the bowl. Within seconds all the blood was off, but it wasn’t enough. I kept rubbing, scraping, splashing. I needed to feel clean.

Only when my hands were pink and stinging did I realize the truth; I would never be clean again.

Fallen. I hadn’t had to use that term in ages. Every species—faeries, werewolves, shapeshifters, nymphs—were descended from angels. No one knew whether it was mutation or evolution that had separated us.

Laughter drifting through the wall. For a while, I let myself cry. Mom always said there was no shame in it, but usually I refused to. It either drew attention or made me feel vulnerable, two things I loathed.

While any partner I had would be focused on the sex, all I would able to feel were the fears emanating from his skin. It was also perturbing that, when they looked at me, they saw a face that wasn’t truly mine. Once, I’d almost gone through with it just to have the experience. Something stopped me, though. Maybe some misplaced sense of nostalgia. My parents had been deeply in love, and I couldn’t help wanting the same.

“Watch yourself, Ian,” I growled now, glaring down at him. “You may have your daddy’s money to protect you, but someday even that might not be enough.”

Growing up, one of my parents’ strictest rules was restraint. To not use our powers unless we had to. But Dad wasn’t around to see all the perverts and assholes I dealt with on a daily basis. Sometimes restraint was overrated.