Vengeance

21

Keeping ahold of Angel's hand, Seraphim drags him through the balcony door and bedroom to the master bathroom. Wordlessly, she pushes him against the sink and grabs the rag lying on the rim.

"Take off your shirt," she commands, wetting the rag.

Angel draws the navy fabric over his head, setting it down on the counter behind him. Seraphim wrings out the rag. She swipes the cloth over the dried blood while her eyes search for other wounds. Setting the rag aside, she skims her fingers over his cheek which is swollen and is beginning to assume a purplish hue.

"The bracelet, was it a tranquilizer?" she asks.

"No, they shot me with a dart." He rubs the area Seraphim cleansed.

"How did you know about the cellphone?" Seraphim questions, her brows drawing together.

"I woke up," Angel says, a tinge of annoyance in his voice.

"You were unconscious when I found you."

"Are you going to let me finish!" Angel exclaims, with an exasperated sigh.

"Sorry." She raises her hands in surrender.

"Anyway," he drags out the word. "I might have made a certain remark about deceased ancestors of mine beating the shit out of him." Angel grips the counter's edge until his fingers turn white.

"And you always said I didn't know when to keep my mouth shut," Seraphim retorts, smirking.

"As I was saying," he glares at her. "He retorted with his fist."

"What did the bracelet do?" Seraphim asks, tracing the needle puncture on his wrist.

"It injected something into my system, a serum of some kind. Whatever it was prohibited me from using my powers." Angel holds out a hand, black smoke wafts up from his palm.

Seraphim's head snaps up, her stare wide and startled bores into his. There have been technologies developed over the years to suppress or contain Changed abilities, but she's never heard of a serum capable of such a feat. The existence of such a thing make her nervous. In the wrong hands, it could be used against all Changed, regardless of who they are or what lives they live.

"I'm fine, Seraphim," Angel reassures her, running his hands up and down her arms. Her troubled expression doesn't fade.

Angel hooks a finger under her chin and leans in, ghosting his lips over hers. He closes his eyes and melds his lips to hers, allowing the familiar caress to wash over him. His hand skims upwards to grasp her cheek while hers glide up his chest and shoulders before sneaking around his neck. They cling to one another as if the other is the sole bearer of oxygen.

"It's nice to know some things never change."

Seraphim and Angel jump apart. They look towards the doorway where Alan is standing with his arms crossed and an annoyed expression on his face.

"I'm really starting to think I'll have to sequester the two of you," he remarks, causing both of them to flush.

Angel clears his throat. "We were just-"

"I know what you were doing. God knows every time I find the two of you that's what you're doing. We have work to do, so save if for later." Alan turns and leaves.

"How is it he only stumbles on us when we are otherwise occupied?" Angel wonders aloud, his cheeks still aflame.

Seraphim shrugs, scrubbing a finger over her lips. She tucks her hair behind her ear. "Our luck?"