As we pull up to the pharmacy, the automatic doors hiss open, and I hesitate.
Inside, I freeze. Just one. One angel. Not like the stories Grace used to tell me; this one is real. Because of the mark, I can see the faint glow of wings arching behind them, soft and impossibly white, tipped with silver light. Feathers drift around them, resembling sparks caught in a slow dance, each one floating as if suspended by some otherworldly force. As the angel stands perfectly still, an aura of calm that feels almost predatory surrounds them. Their eyes, deceptively serene, hold an intensity that both captivates and unnerves, a silent reminder of the power they wield.
Their gaze locks on me, unblinking, heavy with an almost physical intensity. The mark burns hotter beneath my shirt. I press my hand firmly over it, trying to soothe the fire, aware of what this being knows.
I swallow hard. My pulse hammers. I know that as soon as I step further in, I can't hide the mark, the bond.
Grace drifts ahead, oblivious. She pauses, glancing back when she notices I've fallen behind.
"Are you okay?" she asks.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I lie, sliding my hand away from the mark. The heat beneath my shirt lingers.
The angel steps forward, silent and graceful, and my stomach is in knots. They stop a few feet away, tilting their head as if studying me. My pulse flutters, heat spreading low in my body, the mark throbbing in rhythm with a heartbeat that isn't mine. I can hear nothing but my breathing, shallow and urgent. Each inhale feels heavy. In this silence, my terror peaks, and I wonder if they can hear it too.
Every instinct screams that I shouldn't meet their gaze, but something darker, thrilling, keeps me rooted. My chest tightens, a slow, simmering burn making it hard to breathe. I can almost hear Adrial's voice, velvety and dangerous, curling around me from beneath my skin: You are mine.
Grace laughs, unaware. I bite my lip, trying to focus on her conversation with the pharmacy tech. But every time I glance up, the angel is there.
They tilt their head again, and I know—I know they can see everything. The ritual. The blood. The vow. The heat left smoldering in me, unextinguished.
In the back of my mind, a voice whispers, soft and dangerous: He's still with you. He always will be.
We slip past the candy aisle, and Grace nudges me. "You're not going to get any?"
"No, I'm not really in the mood anymore," I say, shaking my head.
We pass through the automatic door, the evening breeze settling my nerves. The burning of the mark fades as we get farther away from the store.
Grace talks the whole drive home—about how she wants a cat, the ridiculous commercial she saw the other day, the movie she's set on watching tonight.
When we reach our house, I practically stumble out of the car, leading the way upstairs. Grace follows, still bright, unaware of how close I came to losing control in that fluorescent-lit store.
Once inside, the door shuts behind us, muffling the city noise. The house is warm, dimly lit, and quiet in a way that feels safe and secure. Grace heads to the kitchen to make herself tea, humming softly, while I drop onto the couch, tugging my shirt just enough to cover the mark.
She comes back with two cups of tea. She hands me one carefully.
We start up the movie, and she practically falls asleep instantly. I cover her with a blanket and head to my room.
Behind the closed door, I let out a long, quiet sigh.