The Angels in Heaven Above

Chapter 37 - Damian

Damian fixed his coat's lapels in an annoyed move. He didn't want to be there, but he didn't have much of a choice: he needed to talk to Paris before the Royal Guard did something very stupid.

Like trying to blame them for Aglaie, Carino, and Elias's murder.

So, there Damian was, waiting for his uncle in the middle of Téfra Bridge on a Saturday night that he could be pleasantly spending inside of the Academy with their friends.

Adra.

The memory of her, of her agony, while facing Carino's death, and the apartment from where she tried to run away, assaulted Damian almost against his wishes. But he allowed himself to view her face, her full reddish lips, her black hair falling all the way into the middle of her back, and the black dresses she was always wearing, no matter the occasion.

Adra had chosen him. Her desire was only his, something that, among all of Damian's lovers, had rarely happened. The last two months had gone by quickly, carrying with them the happiness Damian and Adra shared of having someone who understood them perfectly.

Those months had been like a dream, something Damian had never imagined he could have. Since their first kiss, they entered a silent agreement of a nameless relationship and Damian respected that, maybe a bit because of the fear of what would happen if he tried to press Adra.

But being with her, and making her laugh... were the most beautiful and rawest moments Damian had ever lived. He died a bit every time the husky sound of her laugh hovered between them. Damian had a piece of his soul shattered from each smile, a cut in his heart from each kiss. Each sound she made was like putting salt in a wound.

What he felt was raw and violent in its essence, something like the collision of two stars. Something that made him shiver, alert, and completely aware of himself, every breath, every painful beat of his crooked aching heart.

Damian would kill before he saw it being ripped from him like his parents were.

That meant he needed to act. Against Charis, against that angelic unknown killer, against Paris, against the whole fucking world.

If something happened to Adra, he'd burn that school to its ashes together with all of those responsible for it.

Closing his eyes, Damian took a deep breath from the icy air around him before looking towards the pale light of the full moon reflecting the restless waters of the Thanatos. He wanted to talk to Adra, to tell her how he felt. Tell her exactly how he felt.

But that would have to wait.

Since they'd found feathers at the killer's hiding place, Damian's mind hadn't given him peace. Something was bothering him, crawling under his mind like an annoying insect, something Damian couldn't quite place, no matter how much he tried.

Maybe Charis could shed light on that question, although the sole thought of making a deal with his grandfather made the anger inside Damian revolt. Each cell of his body burned with that possibility, rebelling against the thought of getting in bed again with a man like Charis.

But Damian knew he had no other choice: it was that or wait for the next murder. And Damian wasn't in the mood to deal with blood that wasn't his enemies', therefore his choice had been Charis.

— I thought you wouldn't show up. — His uncle's voice sounded behind Damian, coming from the same direction the Guard's Central station was, exactly from where Damian imagined it would come.

He didn't turn, however.

— Lower your weapon, Paris. — He said in an uninterested murmur, but firm nonetheless. — I'm an asshole and a good player, but I'm not a killer.