Page 7 of Drag You Down (Bloody Desires #2)

LEVI

L amb,

Y ours,

an angel in disguise

I stare at the note. The handwriting is neat, the letters printed clearly and with elegance. There’s nothing sinister about the paper, although I half expected it to smell of sulfur.

It shouldn’t be here though.

I don’t receive mail. I shouldn’t exist to the world outside. The less they know of me, the less likely they are to corrupt me.

“Levi?” Eve asks from inside the apartment. “Are you coming or going?”

I bend down and lift the box the note was attached to. “Going out. I’ll be back with the ingredients you need!”

How many times have I lied to her in the past week now?

The guilt consumes me, but with how shameful my thoughts are, I can’t possibly tell her the truth.

Part of me had hoped that the Devil had been satisfied with that simple prank, but of course I’d called him back to me.

This box proves that I’ve been naive.

He’s been in my mind every day for the past week, and my back might have been healed faster if I hadn’t kept jostling it in the middle of the night. No wonder the Devil is drawn to me. I seek pain alongside mortal pleasure in ways no one should.

I place the box into my reusable grocery bag, then head toward the stairs. I’m almost there, already past Father Zachariah’s apartment, when I hear the door open.

“Levi?” Father Zachariah says. “Do you have a moment?”

I nod obediently and head back to him. My back still twinges from the penance.

“What can I do for you, Father Zachariah?” I ask, keeping my eyes down.

I can’t decide if I want him to know what I’ve been doing, what I’ve been thinking, or if I hope I’ve gone unnoticed.

If he knows, he might force me to take penance again.

I yearn for the lashes, but my back hasn't recovered enough yet. If I’m too injured, there’s no way for me to protect Eve.

When I’m too injured, penance isn’t lashes.

I bite my lip and force myself to stay here, in the present, and not dwell on the alternative.

There’s a long pause before he responds, “Be careful out there. I’ve been sensing demons in the air. Something is trying to harm our congregation. We must all remain vigilant.”

I swallow, my tongue thick and slow as I respond, “Of course, Father Zachariah.”

I should tell him about the small package weighing down my bag.

I should tell him that I’ve been seeing the Devil every time I close my eyes.

But my back still hurts, and I welcome penance, I do, but my body can’t take more right now.

And I don’t want the other form of penance.

“I’ll be back soon,” I say, and Father Zachariah waves me off.

I hurry down the stairs and out the building, making sure to lock it this time. Father Zachariah doesn’t want to take any chances anymore, not after the fire alarm was pulled.

I stop, staring at the door to the building.

It was locked.

How did the package get inside?

I let out a small whimper of fear, then continue down the street. I follow my usual path to the grocery store, but I stop before I enter.

I need to know what the Devil sent me.

No.

I should throw it away.

There’s a trash can outside the grocery store, and I angrily take the box out, the note still taped to the top, and go to shove it in.

I stop before I do.

The box doesn’t smell of sulfur.

But, even out here, with the scent of dirt and filth, I swear I can smell something else.

Copper .

My hands shake and I pull the box back to myself. It can’t be. I’m imagining it. I’ve been drowning in the scent of blood for the past week, the Devil’s kiss on my tongue and my back bared in penance. That’s all it is.

But I step away from the trash can—a woman gets angry at me for getting in her way—and go past the grocery store to sit on the steps of the apartment building next to it.

I take the lid off the box. Nestled inside, among packing paper, is a smaller box.

The deep violet box is prettier than anything I’ve ever owned. It’s long and slender with delicate hinges and a soft cloth-like exterior. I don’t recognize the logo on top.

It looks like the kind of box I see in the jewelry store display windows.

I open it with trepidation.

Laying inside on the white silk fabric is an elegant wristwatch.

I stare at it in confusion.

There’s no blood on it, nothing gory. The leather strap is a rich shade of brown. The watch is polished silver, with delicate hour and second hands ticking the time away.

Why did I think it smelled of copper?

I lift it out and turn it around in my hands.

‘Angel & Lamb ’ is etched on the back, along with a date.

The same date we’d met.

I shake my head angrily. “You aren’t an angel,” I whisper to the watch. “And there’s nothing to celebrate about that day.”

“You okay?” somebody asks.

I quickly stuff the watch back, then glance up to see an older man in a gray suit looking at me with a concerned expression.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to smile. The expression pulls at my cheeks awkwardly. “I’m fine.”

Another lie to add to my pile. Soon I’ll be nothing but lies, living in a garden of them.

I stand up and walk back to the trash can, glad the man takes me at face value and walks on. I move the box toward the trash can opening?—

And stop myself again.

It’s a very beautiful watch. I’ve needed a watch for some time, but Father Zachariah never deemed it a good use of the congregation’s funds. Father Zachariah says it’s enough that he has a watch.

If I keep this unnecessary material possession, the Devil will continue to chase me.

But he chases me regardless. Why shouldn’t I keep the watch, then?

I clutch the box against my chest, and I’m furious at myself for being this weak. I need to be vigilant, and strong, and cast aside temptations and demons and the entire outside world.

Meet me at 3 p.m.

With shaking hands, I open the box again and see the neat clockwork hands displaying 2:43 p.m.

I still have time to confront him and tell him to leave me alone.

As I walk, the nearby billboard catches my eye, the one with its big flashing lights and ads that depict half naked people or material goods that provide fleeting pleasures.

The picture changes to a close up of a man’s face, lips and jaw freshly shaved.

The man is handsome, but I think he’d look better if the jaw were thinner, if his lips fuller, if?—

If he licked the blood from my lips.

I shudder and wrap my arms around myself.

My sin, my weakness. I need to show the Devil that I don’t need any of this. I’ll throw this box back at him. I don’t want this wicked token.

I make my way to the small courtyard again, going through the narrow gap between buildings to the dirty, corrupted sanctuary.

The sounds of the city are muted here, blocked out by the tall buildings enclosing the space. When I look up, I can see the sky, but the entire courtyard is shaded in a creeping darkness. Nothing good can grow here.

There’s nobody here.

No Devil, no angel in disguise .

I clutch my bag and reprimand myself for even having entertained this thought.

For being disappointed.

I should be glad I’m alone. I should stay away from any temptations, and the Devil is temptation distilled into the form of a single handsome man.

I pull the box out and go to set it where the man had lain dying all those days ago. There’s nothing but a dark smear there now, no hint that a soul had been extinguished.

“Take your gifts and leave me alone,” I whisper.

“Why would I do that?” a familiar voice asks.

I startle.

I hadn’t even heard him approach, but as I spin around, I see him.

He’s dressed all in black again, that same style of button-down shirt and trousers that fit him nicely without being too tight.

Too nicely.

I need to stop noticing these things. Nothing about the Devil is nice .

“Because there is no place for you here, Devil,” I say, but my voice is unsteady. Even to my own ears, it sounds like a lie.

The Devil who calls himself Gabriel chuckles, striding closer to me.

I stand my ground. I won’t back down.

Maybe I don’t want to.

Maybe I can’t help but wonder what his lips taste like.

“Are you sure about that, little lamb?” he replies. “It sounds to me like you’re protesting too much.”

I glare at him, despite the pounding in my chest. “Who wouldn’t protest the… the unwanted gifts, the stalking, the kisses?”

“One visit, one gift, one kiss,” he counters, stepping into my personal space. “Why are you pretending not to like the gift?” He tilts his head to the side, scrutinizing me. “You certainly liked the kiss.”

“I didn’t,” I hiss, pressing my hands to his chest and pushing. “You need to leave me alone, whoever you really are: the Devil, a man doing his bidding, or just a regular sinner.”

Without so much as budging, he replies, “Is that what you really want, little lamb?”

“Of course it’s what I want!” I shout. My voice echoes in the courtyard. “I want to be good, and pure, and worthy of Heaven. Whatever you’re doing, however you’re invading my thoughts and tempting me, it won’t work. I won’t fall for it.”

He smiles at me. “You’ve invaded mine, too. Tempted me. I think about you often.” He gestures in the direction of where I’d set the box down. “All the time. I thought a watch was an apt gift. It seems I was right.”

My face flushes red. “I’m not—I’m not thinking about you. I try to drive you from my nightmares!”

Nightmares that left me hot and bothered, that drove me to touch myself and imagine his voice calling me lamb and boy .

“Somehow,” he says, touching my face, “I doubt they’re nightmares. If they were nightmares, you wouldn’t be tempted by them.”

His fingers on my chin are scalding, yet I can’t pull away.

I should do more. I should deny all of this, deny him .

All my visions of righteously smiting the Devil have fled though, and I’m left only staring into his deep brown eyes, seeing myself reflected in them.

Seeing the want and desire that I know all too well.

“Please,” I say, but I don’t know what I’m begging for.