Under the watchful eye of a white moon, two individuals silently watch over a woman standing atop a forested stone bridge, bystanders to the event that is about to transpire. She stares expressionless at the rushing water below.
Two men, both in suits, one black and one white stand high above the bridge, atop the very air itself.
"You had better abide by the terms of our wager. I know how desperate those of your kind are to sink your teeth into a living soul." The man in white grins, his thumb caresses his bottom lip as his cerulean eyes inspect the man in black.
The man in black disregards the commentary, offering the man in white a knowing smile before he says "If I were incapable of making simple deals, why then, what kind of a devil would I be?"
The man in white lets out a half-suppressed snicker, "One can only hope so." They both return their attention to the woman, still staring blankly at the water below before revealing a concealed blade from her garments. The image of her face is reflected from the blade.
Her hand touches the bandage over her left eye as a crimson tear escapes the wound, trailing red down her delicate caramel cheek. She points the blade to her neck, drawing blood as the point penetrates her skin. She winces with pain for a moment before slashing with all her might!
Before the blade can make contact once more, it is suspended between two fingers. "Leave the rest to me, won't you?" The man in black says before reducing the silver to ash that slips through the woman's hand.
She gasps, immediately falling unconscious, overwhelmed by the man's phosphoresce, scarlet gaze.
"What a pity. She failed the test." The man in white weightlessly descends onto the bridge. "Ungrateful wenches will find no quarter in paradise." He eyes the woman with contempt. "Hardly a surprise from one of her birth."
The man in black ignores him, staring fervently at the woman in his arms. "Yes. You'll do quite nicely. If only for a time." He kisses her forehead, completely erasing any sign of harm from her body.
"The lengths you lot go to for your own ends. I can't fathom what something as blighted as a human soul would even taste like." The man in white unsheathes an underhanded smile. "Can't imagine it'd be any good. Care to share, Orma?"
"I believe the time for pleasantries has expired, Azrael. Go and find a hole to wither away in." The man in black begins walking deeper into the forest.
Azrael's grin quickly devolves into a scowl. He conjures a spear of light that illuminates the darkened forest. "Blaspheme! That's no way to address your better!" He prepares to launch his lance.
"A bold claim. Though one I wouldn't be opposed to testing." Orma looks over his shoulder, his green eyes adopting a scarlet hue once more.
"Hmph. As if I'd sully my hands with your foul blood." Azrael grudgingly retracts his armament.
"It's bad practice to draw your weapon without the fullest intention of using it. Unbecoming of an angel." The image of Orma fades from view as he carries the woman deeper into the shadowed forest.
"Filthy bastard. Your time will come." Azrael mutters.
YOU ARE READING
Feathers
ParanormalAfter a chain of events shrouded in mystery, former slave, Reyna Martin finds herself the newest addition to the Nikolaev estate. Who are these charming aristocrats who have seemingly taken her in out of the kindness of their hearts and what do they...
