Demon ∞ l.h.

∞ Chapter Twenty Seven ∞

∞

I don't even notice Luke lifting me into his arms and carrying me back into my room. I felt entirely numb to everything. I didn't know how to feel. I mean, how often do you randomly get kidnapped by Satan, taken to Hell, and then, a month later get a visit from my dead fiancé, who's no longer dead and is not only an angel but an Archangel. What?

"Eve, can you please tell me what is going on inside your head? The silence is killing me." Luke's voice calls out to me once more, and I can see myself staring at his worried face, but I couldn't bring myself to answer him. He had sat me down on the bed I had come to call my own.

How could I tell him what I was thinking? How could I possibly tell him that I thought I was falling for him? How could I tell him that everything changed the instant I saw Michael standing before me, looking as perfect as he did before he pulled the trigger? How could I tell him that staring into the eyes of my first true love had the power to send me sprawling back in time to the moment when I sacrificed everything for him.

"Eve, I'm going to go now, I have some business I need to take care of. I'll have someone come and check on you later, okay?" He's leaving me? Good, it'll give me time to think. It would give me time to remember those God-awful times I had so desperately tried to repress.

I feel the softness of Luke's lips against my temple, his slight stubble grazing my cheek, and then he was gone – only his musky scent lingered in the air, like sandalwood and fallen rain. Such an odd combination, one that used to insight fear in me, but now brings only comfort.

I don't know how long I sat on my bed before falling into unconsciousness, but one moment I was staring at the fireplace across the room and suddenly I was at an all too familiar crossroads

∞ Flashback ∞

A single tear streaked down my cheek as I looked at the small box clenched tightly in my hands. I shook my head, sniffed once and swiped away the tear slowly gliding down my face. No more weakness, I thought.

I open the box to check that it contained everything I needed to summon the creature that would bring me back Michael. A small photo of myself, dirt from a graveyard, the bone of a black cat, and a yarrow flower picked at the sight of the summoning. The bone rattled jarringly, echoing in the tin of the rusty box. I shuddered at the memory of getting the bone – it was not something I wanted to remember.

The dear old lady next door, Mrs. Grahams, would never see her precious cat again. It almost broke my heart having to lie to her when she asked if I had seen it.

I shuddered off the memories and returned to the task at hand. Crouching down onto my knees, I use my hands to scrape a shallow hole into the gravelly centre of the crossroads. After placing the box gingerly inside and scraping the stony dirt to cover it completely, I stand silently.

Nothing moves.

Nothing changes.

Everything is eerily silent. Too silent.

"Come on already," I whisper desperately, clenching my hands into fists at my sides. "Show your face you bitch!" I bellow, closing my eyes at the tearing pain in my throat. Too many tears were shed on the drive here, and my throat echoed with the pain of sobs.

"Easy sugar, you'll wake the neighbors." The sultry voice comes from behind me. I spin around to face the thing standing behind me. Pitch black eyes glinted at me, the frostiness of the night air echoed in his expression. And then the black eyes were just a dark brown, perfectly normal.