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“You don’t have—”
She shoves the warm marshmallow into my mouth, interrupting my protest, and I can’t help the moan that leaves me as flavors explode on my tongue. I watch as she sucks the leftovers off her fingers, and holy fucking shit. I feel drunk from her nearness.
“I made two for myself, but … I guess you can have one.” Raphael holds out one of his marshmallows. His are more brown than golden, but she eats it from his hand anyway, her tongue darting out to lick one of Raphael’s long, nimble fingers.
I swallow, wanting desperately to witness more of that before shoving the thought into a box so far at the back of my brain that I hope it’ll never surface again.
“One of these days, you’ll have to share your expertise with the class because that shit was incredible! For now, I guess I’m on cookie duty.” I grab the box of chocolate-coated butter cookies and open the bag, focusing all my attention on prepping for the next s’more and not on the angel beside me.
A laugh leaves her while she places two more marshmallows onto her forked stick and hovers it over the fire. “Both of my parents are Fallen. They work in the factories, mostly with textiles. When I was growing up, we didn’t have much money, but marshmallows were cheap so these were our go-to celebration snack. We’d normally eat them without the cookies, since those were an extra expense, but we perfected the toasting process. If we got sick of eating them toasted, we’d experiment until we found a fun, tasty new way to eat them.”
I try to picture a younger version of Hayliel, sitting in front of a marshmallow with a candle protruding from it to celebrate her birthday. From everything she’s told us about them, her parents seem like two of the most wholesome angels. The love they have for their daughter is unconditional, something I wish more parents could say. After what she’s been through so far at school and likely before coming here, I’m glad she has them.
It’s not long before the marshmallows are done and I use the cookies to take the toasted mallows off the stick, handing one to each of them. We eat our treats in comfortable silence, watching the fire pop and sparks fly.
Hayliel sticks her hand into the bag of marshmallows and hands one to each of us. Raphael immediately moves to impale it on his stick, but she stops him by laying her hand on his arm. “We’re not going to toast these. We’re going to tear them apart until they’re all gooey.”
She places a forefinger on the top of the mallow, her thumb on the bottom, and then her other hand follows the same position on the opposite side. Gently, she pulls and twists her fingers and the marshmallow until it turns from a solid shape into something far stickier. It’s a mess.
Raphael and I follow her steps until white goop covers our fingers. Mine falls to the ground at my feet, and Raph makes such a fucking mess with his that he somehow smeared it all over his face. I clean the white ooze off my fingers, watching as Hayliel falls into a fit of laughter.
She jolts into me when Raphael lunges for her, his hands covered in white, gooey strands of half-melted marshmallow. I pick her up and dash around the bench as Raphael gives chase, but I don’t trythathard, so it’s no surprise when he catches up to us.
Instead of rubbing the sticky mess on her, he only leans forward and places a kiss on her lips before moving back to his seat on the bench. Her body shivers in my arms. Hell, I think even I shiver. Watching them together should make me jealous, shouldn’t it? I should want to be the one she’s flirting with and kissing, but it’s not like that.
I don’t want to replace Raphael at her side. I want to join him.
What a fucking mess.
“Leave me alone!”
The three of us turn, our gazes directed off in the distance toward the flower bushes as we try to find the source of that shout.
Hayliel is the first to react, jumping to her feet and heading into the darkness. Raphael and I follow close behind, the three of us approaching slowly, speeding up only after we hear a thump and a soft whimper.
As my eyes adjust, I can make out four figures in the dark. Three of them hover over the fourth angel, who’s huddled on the ground while they take turns kicking. My blood boils.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Hayliel demands.
At the sound of our approach, the three assholes stop their attack and turn to us.
“Ah, if it isn’t the demon. Out at night to hunt your prey, are you?” the tallest one says with a smirk.
I recognize him from history class. Cadriel, I think. He’s the dick-cheese who made some comment about Hayliel turning into a demon.
Before Raphael and I can come to her defense, she responds. Her smile turns sinister beneath the pale light of the moon.
“Can you really call it a hunt if the prey is so easy to catch? It looks like I’ve found my next meal fairly easily, and it’s a full course.” Her gaze travels between the guys as she walks toward them on slow, even steps — a true predator before pouncing.
In a flash, she rushes Cadriel, opening her mouth wide like she’s going to sink her teeth into his flesh. I swear to the Archangels, he might have pissed his pants.
He jumps back, knocking one of his friends to the ground as he tries to get away.
Damn. It’s a genius idea to use their own accusations and taunts against them. They look fucking terrified. And maybe, if they truly think she is what they say she is, they’ll leave her the hell alone.
Her laugh echoes through the clearing as the three assholes scramble to get as far away as possible.
“It won’t be over.” Hayliel sighs. “It never is.”
