Unnatural Instinct: Fallen

9.

You're trembling so hard your teeth chatter. You can't get the look of him out of your mind. How terrible he was; those black wings and black eyes. There seemed to be a shadow about him, something so dark and deep that if you were to fall into it you would disappear.

His last words ring in your ears. Don't be a fool. Know your enemy.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Of course you know your enemy!

You grip yourself as you shudder harder. Michael is right. There is no way to open those doors. Before that angel threw you across the room, your pins had snapped. You're stuck. You're doomed. The room is large and yet it seems to close in on you. The silence is deafening. The flickering candlelight throws monstrous shadows across the walls.

If you're doomed anyway, why should you suffer it alone? Dragging yourself to your feet, you stagger over to the tapestry. Pushing it aside, you open the door. Slowly, Michael sits up, holding himself around the waist in discomfort. If you weren't crying enough before, the mere sight of him makes you burst into tears.

'What's wrong?' he says in his gentle voice.

You don't mean to be so ... girlish, but everything is so overwhelming, from the light to the darkness, from the ugly to the beautiful, that you can't help but lurch over on your sore ankle and sag onto the bed beside him.

'Hold me,' you say. You feel foolish. You've suffered nothing compared with the likes of him—he's been tortured!—but you just can't make yourself be brave right now. You've witnessed more strange and terrifying things than most people have in a lifetime; than most people have in two lifetimes.

He looks at you and frowns, his eyebrows sitting low over his eyes in a way that makes your skin pucker with goose bumps. Gently, he takes your chin. 'They've hurt you.' He brushes his finger over the cut.

'You're right,' you say between tears. 'There's no way out. We're stuck here.'

His expression softens. 'But at least we're not alone.'

You nod, gripping onto one of his wrists as he lifts his arms to brush his fingers through your hair. Slowly, your tears dry up as you lose yourself in that unworldly gaze of his, unable to look away. Smiling, he rests his hands on your shoulders, then eases you against him. You give a shuddering breath as he slides his arms around you in a gentle embrace.

'Shhhh,' he says in your ear as you rest your chin on his shoulder. He might be injured but his strength is still surprising as he pulls you into his lap. There, he rocks you and you sag against him. Onlynow do you realise how tired you really are. Your eyelids keep slipping shut. You find it hard to hold up your head. Little wonder. You were kidnapped late into the night and with no sun or moon or clock to go by, you have no idea how long you've been awake.

Pulling away, you look him in the eyes. 'Sleep with me tonight,' you say.

He looks at you for several moments and you dread the thought that he might refuse. Then he smiles. Taking your face, he pecks you on the forehead. 'Of course.'

He slips his hand in yours, and together you pass through the adjoining door and into your room.

'You're not afraid of getting caught?' you say as he releases your hand and sits on the edge of your bed.

'No. Are you?'

You shake your head. 'We're both probably going to die here anyway. What's the difference?'

Still, you can't help but glance at the door in fear.

'Come,' he says, holding out his arms.

Hobbling over, you sag into his lap. Pulling you against him, he rolls over, so you're both lying on your sides on the bed, facing each other. His white wing sits high on his shoulder, gleaming brightly. As you touch his cheek, he turns his head a little to brush his lips against your palm. With a sigh, you cuddle against him, pressing your face into his throat. You give a little groan as he begins to smooth his hands over your back.

'Despite it all, I'm very glad you're here with me,' he whispers in your ear.

You look up at him with a watery smile. 'And I'm glad you're not alone.'

He smiles back, presses his nose against yours, then kisses you. You kiss back. Softly at first, then harder. Again, he goes to slip your sleeve from your shoulder. And again you stop him, albeit reluctantly.

'So tired,' you murmur.

You barely notice how he stiffens against you as your eyelids slip shut.

The next time you wake, you're alone. You roll over, then sit up with a start, looking around fearfully. The door is shut and the room looks as it should, but when you glance at the table you realise your food has been removed. Your eyes widen. That black angel must have returned while you were sleeping. Had Michael been caught?

'Michael?' you call.

No answer.

But how could he have been taken without your knowing? The room is undisturbed. None of the candles are even knocked over. It puzzles you. You're usually a light sleeper. None of this makes sense. Whatever happened to him, it happened very quietly.

On tiptoes you rush over to the tapestry. The door is dark, no angel light gleaming around the frame. Your heart thuds in fear as you cautiously open it. The room is empty. You bite your lip. What have you gotten him into? It's all your fault. You shouldn't have invited him to your room!

Feeling sick, you close the door. When you turn back to your room, you see a single golden feather stuck between the sheets of your bed. You go to pick it up when you grimace at a sudden pain in your pelvis. You desperately need to relieve yourself.

You're about to head for the bathroom, when you pause, thinking. The candlelight flickers brightly against the walls. Picking one up, you hasten into the bathroom. Once you've got some privacy you close down the lid of the toilet and sit on it. There, you slide your shift up past your hips, then lift up one leg. Holding the candle close, you open the lips of your vagina, right where you remember that black angel had touched you on the altar.

It's hard to see against the flickering light and your neck aches in your awkward position but you keep looking. What had he found? You look and you look without result, and you're about to give up, when you finally see something.

You look more closely, bending over yourself painfully, bringing the heat of the candle as close as you dare to your tender flesh. You suck in a breath. It can't be. It must be a play of the light or a trick of your mind.

You pull back to take a breath, then look again. It's no trick. It's really there. A tiny marking you've never noticed before. It's in the shape of a number written three times. You pull back again with a gasp. You might not be religious but even you know what it means.

666

The devil's mark.