Unearthing Hell: Book 2

Part 1: Chapter 3

"Michelle-"

"Samael," I said softly, looking at his uncomfortable looking face through the mirror. He's been trying to tell me that the color of my wings didn't define me.

That's like saying smoking cigarettes prevents lung cancer.

"I... Michelle... It's-" he said, but when I turned around he stopped himself and looked me over cautiously, evaluating my every move.

"Just do it, and then take me to a club," I murmured silently, feeling an emptiness inside of me spread the longer the weight of the wings were on me. "I've had enough for one day," I said as I turned back to the mirror.

"Okay..." he said awkwardly, not knowing what to do to be comforting. "Just will them away. Imagine hiding them under your, um... ripped up clothes," he said, scratching his head.

I nodded with pursed lips and closed my eyes, imagining myself covering my wings with layers of gauze and covering it with the thickest shirt possible.

"You, uh... You did it," he said slowly. When I opened my eyes I saw a tank top and a black jacket in his hands, reaching towards me.

"I'm fine with this shirt. The tears can't be that long," I said somberly, slapping his hands out of the way.

"Put them on," he said sternly. "For the bar we're going to you're covering up as much skin as possible."

"Samael, I-"

"Michelle!" he yelled, making me jump and look at him in shock. Once I recovered from the shock my hands roughly reached for the hem of my shirt, a glare on my face.

"Fine," I growled as I ripped off my shirt, exposing my bare breasts as I threw it to a random corner of the room. His eyes bulged out of his head at my action, so bewildered that he didn't even notice I took the tank-top out of his hand until it was halfway on me already. His eye's flared when I took his jacket, but he quickly recovered and cleared his throat noisily to end the silence.

"Let's, uh..." he said as his jaw tightened. "Let's go," he said, grabbing my forearm.

***

Well, it was definitely a nightclub.

Or, should I say, a restricted bar.

In a different country.

That, for whatever reason, still uses Latin.

"Do any decent human beings go here?" I asked as he dragged me past a long line of sketchy looking people.

"There are no humans here. Just demons," he said casually, as we reached the front of the line, making my jaw drop and head spin to look at him.

They all looked human, though.

"Wha-"

"She's with me," Samael said firmly to the bouncer, who nodded and let us through the door. "Don't leave my side unless I tell you to, do not use your real name, and do not  associate with any of them."

Without any sort of protest I nodded and looked around, not feeling the need to talk to any of these things anyway.

"Samael!" a deep voice boomed out of nowhere, making me unintentionally lock my arm around his in fear. The little smile on his face when I grabbed a hold of him made me roll my eyes.

'Let's get one thing clear. I wasn't scared,' I said, turning his smile into a grin.

'Yeah, yeah, whatever,' he said with a chuckle as he walked towards the bar with me clinging to his side.