Mist Born

Chapter 5

Zellon woke up before the sun like always and went down the stairs. He was walking past the stage and glanced casually towards Monica who slept on the couch but he had to do a double take. She was in the midst of a nightmare, and from the sweat coating her skin, he could tell it wasn't pretty. He looked at the time on his watch and sighed before he went up to the stage.

He looked down at her and noticed she wore a tank top that showed off the scar she got the night her fiance was killed. She had all the money in the would, he was sure she would have paid to get it removed. Not wanting to waste time thinking on that any longer he bent down and shook her, "Monica, wake up."

She bolted up so fast, Zellon didn't have time to react as their foreheads collided. "Fuck that hurt," Zellon groaned as he stepped back. Monica didn't say anything for a moment as she rubbed her sore forehead, "Thank you for waking me." It was whispered, and not what Zellon was expecting. He was expecting her to curse and call him flyboy. "Want to talk about it," he asked her. She shook her head, not saying anything else. Instead she rolled so she was facing the back of the couch, her back to him.

He left her and went to the kitchen he had personally renovated. He loved to cook so he had installed all the greatest appliances that he would need. His favorite thing was the pizza oven he had put in. Of course he never had anyone to cook for besides himself, but it was a good thing he had a large appetite. It was the smell of breakfast and coffee that dragged Monica off of the couch. She looked down at her tight shorts and tank top and decided to throw on a pair of sweat pants and a hoodie over it. Sleeping this way was one thing, but walking about like that wasn't her thing. Even at home she wore a robe.

Zellon glanced at her as she walked in. "Plates are in the cabinet to the left, coffee cups are to the right," he told her. She nodded as she yawned and looked in the fridge for creamer. Not finding any, she grabbed the milk instead. He must drink it black, she thought while shutting the fridge. "So how much is my father paying you to keep me housed and protected," she asked him as she fixed her coffee to her liking. "That, is none of your concern," he told her as he moved the pan off the burner. He made a large helping bacon and french toast and the smell of it had Monica's mouth watering.

He got his helping at sat at the island and she followed suit, unfortunately having to sit right next to him. If she wasn't careful, she would accidentally touch his feathered wing and that was enough for a death sentence. Wings of angels and demons were highly sensitive. Touching their wings without permission was equivalent to raping them due to the pleasure they get from it, whether it was something they wanted to feel or not. Monica had sex with an angel once and he stated he did not want her touching his wings. Angels and demons only allowed their mates to touch their wings.

Their wings were precious to them. If anything were to happen to them, they'd be without a piece of that special freedom only they could have, until their wings grew back. The pair ate quietly for a while. "I am leaving for the day to follow a lead on one of my newer cases while taking the evidence you gave me to be decrypted, you will stay here," he ordered her. She nodded with a shrug, "Didn't feel like leaving anyways." She honestly didn't. After recent events, she felt like laying around, reading a book to take her mind off of what has been her life the last day or so. The thing that haunts her nightmares is very much out and about again, and has attacked for a second time. She had barely recovered psychologically from the first attack when she saw her pitiful life flash before her eyes, thinking she was going to die right then and there. Part of her wished she had, then she wouldn't have had to deal with the acceptance that Myro didn't love her and that he wasn't around to kick his balls in for cheating on her.

Zellon glanced over at her, but didn't say anything. When he left Monica was cleaning up the kitchen. She couldn't help but drool over his state of the art kitchen. It was every chef's wet dream, but she wouldn't let him see her love for it. He was also one hell of a cook, and it was the best way to get Monica to drop her panties. She loved food, both cooking it and eating it. The better the food, the better the chances were she'd try to jump them. It was an exaggeration, but one that wasn't far off when it came to her attraction towards men who knew their way around a kitchen.