Page 198 of Breathe Like Hell

Micah slung her leg over his shoulder, kneeling beneath her, dragging his mouth up her wet inner thigh until he got to her pussy.

Dakota gasped and tossed her head back, fully using my body to keep herself upright as Micah buried his face between her thighs.

Water streamed down the front of Dakota’s body, over her soft tits and her stomach, dripping down to shine on Micah’s muscular back. His scars stretched and moved with the flex of his muscles, water glistening on his skin.

I ducked my head to suck on the side of Dakota’s neck, cupping her breast with one hand and stabilizing her waist with the other. Micah kept licking her, adjusting to shove two fingers inside her pussy, bringing her to orgasm in my arms, hot water pouring over all three of us.

━━━━━

The next few days were relatively uneventful. Dakota was on winter break, and Micah was less busy without lectures and labs. He had some meetings coming up, and a few quick calls in preparation of the new year, none of them causing too much of a disturbance in the tentative peace.

But it still felt like all three of us were holding our breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the inevitable.

Dakota had not made up her mind on whether she wanted an abortion or not, and panicked any time it was brought up. But it was ultimately her decision, even if we were getting consistently closer to the time when that decision might be made much more difficult.

There wasn’t much research to be found on Angelakia. I didn’t know how to feel.

Honestly, it pissed me off.

I was of course infinitely grateful that Dakota could one day become an angel, once I was able to work immorally with Micah to arrange such a sacrifice, but the secrecy pissed me off. Angels were never informed about this, and that was on purpose.

Fallen angels fell from their home for a reason and typically had no desire to create more potential angels for Heaven—which was what they did if they accidentally marked a human infant. They’d create a human capable of certain things, able to transform in certain ways.

Dakota herself was more alluring to me because of this—because she was meant to find an angel willing to figure out how to turn her into one, too.

It made me uneasy.

Heaven wanted more angels, and everything about Dakota was designed for that.

Her soul had been tugging on the back of my mind since she’d been touched by whatever angel touched her, and that was probably the only reason I was alive now. It was certainly the reason this area of Washington had several living Thrausians. She kept us alive by existing, by being a small well of control, something alluring and precious. If another angel met her, they’d probably feel the same way. Drawn to her.

It only made me want to hide her away even more.

Once she became an angel, though, she wouldn’t have this effect anymore—assuming she was agreeable to letting the transformation happen. She’d become a regular Sigeian, and all the Thrausians who’d been living here would succumb to their darkness without knowing why.

I rolled over in bed—Micah’s bed.

All three of us had slept in here last night, per Dakota’s request. He had a king size bed, so the size hadn’t been much of an issue. Dakota slept in the middle. It was still early, the house still dark, but I heard him slip out of bed and go downstairs.

He returned with Dakota’s water bottle, fresh ice clinking against the metal, then pulled back the covers to climb into bed—and froze.

My stomach dropped before I even had the lucidity to know why.

I quickly pushed myself to sit up, carefully moving the comforter down.

We didn’t say anything for a long minute, both of us staring silently at the blood on the sheets. More than blood. Blood and ichor. A light mist of sweat had accumulated on Dakota’s forehead, and she was curled up in a ball, arms tucked around herself, soft noises of pain escaping her slumbering form.

I looked back at Micah.

His face was a hardened mask, lips pressed in a line, jaw tight. Stoic, unfeeling. But he couldn’t hide the pain in his eyes. That haunted, hollow look of losing something he’d been afraid to even let himself want in the first place.

“Micah—”

He turned and left the room without another word.

I heard him leave the house a minute later.

Dakota stirred with his absence, her eyebrows furrowed and her lips slightly parted, fingers grasping for something to hold. I crawled over to her and grabbed her small hand, feeling her weak grip as she started to wake up. Her eyelids blinked open, her eyes already welling with tears and her body curling further inward.