The Soul on Fire | Slow Updates

Chapter Eighteen

Watching over humanity was tiring.

Since becoming an archangel, Armaita had been assigned to watch over several districts in the Middle East. She had also been charged with training and preparing young guardians – much like Barachiel had done with her.

Both responsibilities kept her unbelievably occupied at all times. It was exhausting, to say the least.

Days had passed since the night she fell asleep in the meadow and so far, nothing else was amiss. She hid her affliction from the others – retiring to her private quarters early almost every evening. It was convenient, since no one bothered her when she was in her room.

Tonight was different, though.

She stiffened when knuckles rapped against her door for the third time in the last few minutes. She could sense who it was on the other side, and it made her stomach turn over.

"May I please come in?"

She unconsciously cringed at the sound of Barachiel's voice through the wooden divider. She had no desire to be alone with him. Not after what he had confessed the other night.

She was pretty sure he knew that.

"Armaita..."

She remained silent, her eyes glued to the ceiling as she lay on her back atop the pristine white sheets that covered the twin-sized bed in her room.

"I know you don't wish to see me, but I promise you my intentions are quite honorable this evening. Please, let me in."

She sighed audibly, pushing herself up to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Enter."

The handle jiggled, and the door cracked open to reveal a slightly disheveled Barachiel. His eyes were sunken in – dark circles framing the brown orbs. His hair was a mess – as if he had run his fingers through it a hundred times while waiting for her on the opposite side of the door.

There was a sadness in his eyes, but also an emptiness. He looked almost defeated. Flicking his gaze to hers, he nervously entered the room. He was handsome in his gold and silver armor – his large ivory wings furled neatly against his back. There was a shadow around his sculpted jaw. His face was normally smooth and hairless. When his eyes landed on her, emotion flashed in his – slightly dilating his pupils.

He cleared his throat before speaking. "I feel I owe you an apology for the other evening."

She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a hard look – her jaw set firmly as she clenched her teeth. "Accepted."

His brow creased, and a look of pain flashed over his handsome features. "I know you aren't ready to forgive me, but I appreciate your response either way."

She looked away, bringing her gaze to her lap where she dropped her hands and tangled her fingers furiously together. He was right. She wasn't ready to forgive him. It wasn't his love for her that upset her, but rather the manner in which he chose to confess it.

Being fully aware that she was in love with another and having the knowledge that that love was recently taken from her, he had kissed her. He took advantage of her in a vulnerable state, thinking he could step in in Asmodeus' place.

He was wrong. No one could replace him.

Even if the pain dulled over time, she knew she would never love that way again. Any man, angel, or otherwise that came into her life would always be second-best. She would never feel the kind of all-consuming soul-shattering love she did with the King of Hell.