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Mikail smiled and leaned back, his body posture relaxed and comfortable. "You know what makes us Demon Touched so effective, Leah?"

I knew he didn't really want an answer so I kept my mouth shut. I know. Surprise!

"It's our ability to sniff out people's desires." His black eyes glinted in the warm light. "Humans are creatures of temptations so they are fairly easy to tempt. Everyone have something that they want and we have a natural ability to see it. And when we do, to use it."

He sipped on his cup of cocoa and sighed in pleasure. "He wants you. Very badly. His desire for you is overwhelming that I am amazed that he can think straight. Gabe--"

My fingers fumbled on my cup and it clattered on its saucer, I didn't look at him--at Gabe who stood behind Mikael's seat; silent and intractable. 

"Gabe sees that, knows that, so you have to excuse his dislike for the Angel prince." He smiled. "One thing about Demon Touched that you should know. We don't like to share."

I could feel the weight of Gabe's eyes on me. I kept my eyes on my cup. "Was that what happened with my mother? You didn't want to share her?"

The amusement on his face grew claws. "Yes."

Copyright © 2013 by D.F. Jules

Snippet

I looked at him and he looked at me, waiting for me to react.

Something dark exists deep inside of him. Very dark and very deep, it hides behind the amiable smile and his ever-changing eyes. It is angry, unrelenting and unforgiving in both nature and spirit.

But looking at him, at the golden, revolting perfection of his features, you don’t see it. Or maybe if you do—a peculiar look on his face when the shadows fall in just the right place, a bitter bite in the usually soothing tone of his voice—you persuade yourself that it is just your imagination. Like a magician, he waves his hand and you look elsewhere.

But it is too late for me to deny or to pretend. I’ve seen the dark inside him and have answered its call.

To all eyes, he is the angel on my shoulder but I know better.

He is the big bad wolf—

—the poisonous apple—

—the hunter’s knife digging deep between my ribs.

Hunter Knife

Copyright © 2010 by D.F. Jules

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A fist smashed through the window and wrapped itself around my wrist.

The touch made my skin ripple over flesh and bone as if trying to escape it. My stomach roiled at the stench that emanated from him—the smell of a rotting soul. And the things I could see in his eyes made my eyes burn.

—the lights dimmed, time stretched— 

The urge to scream was overwhelming but training made me grab for the nearest weapon. The arrow point sunk through skin, muscle and meat, glancing at bone. I twisted it in before pulling it out, only to stab him again. My family was screaming, Uncle Jim’s hands were around me but my feet slipped on the floor. He pushed his feet on the windowsill, keeping me anchored.

Blood drenched our skin; its copper stench filled my nostrils, stuck to my tongue and seeped through my skin but I kept on stabbing. He made a pained sound but he kept pulling and from the look on his face, he would pull me through the window—through brick and stone and glass—if he had to. Just when I thought he was going to succeed, something sharp and blindingly white pierced his throat.

His hand slid away from mine and both Uncle Jim and I dropped to the floor; Aunt Maggie and the Triplets surrounded us.

A quick twist—cutting the spinal cord—and the body twitched for a few seconds and just hung there, the only thing holding it up was the sword in his throat. Then the sword was pulled back, leaving a hole in my attacker’s neck, blood gushing out of the wound and hitting his side of the window. A few drops slipped through the window cracks and hit my skin; the liquid heat of it forced a shudder up my spine. I felt stained.

My attacker’s body flopped to the ground like a puppet cut of its strings, his blood draining quickly into the grass-covered earth. 

My savior loomed over my attacker’s still body, unmoving but for a quick snap of his wrists, a reflexive gesture to flick blood off his swords. The gesture was subtle, confident and telling; he’d done this before.

My eyes met his and we stared at each other as the sound of rending flesh, broken bones and clashing swords thundered around us. Fierce and wild, those eyes looked out from a blood-splattered face that was both familiar and strange to me.

I thought I knew what fear was. I thought I could control it, use it.

I was wrong. 

Copyright © 2012 by D.F. Jules