Demon Night (The Guardians #3)

Gingerly, Charlie ran her fingers along his left suspender until her hand rested against his. A light touch, a connection that wasn‟t asking or taking anything.

He seemed grateful for it, though; he turned his wrist to cup her hand in his palm. “I can't help but think that maybe my sacrifice didn't mean anything to him. (..) So it's tore me up some, Charlie. It would feel awful good to slip into your arms, and I want you so bad I'm damn near dying for it. But I don't know that my head's on straight after the blow Caleb laid on me. And I don't know if I'd be taking what you're offering for wanting you or because I'm hurting. I just know I ain't going to use you as a salve.”

Charlie understood that all too well. “All right,” she said softly.

His fingers flexed around hers. “All right?” His brows lowered over his eyes with his frown.

Had he expected her to argue, to talk him into letting her fuck his grief away? (..)

But he probably knew this about her, too, so there was really no reason not to explain. “Mine crept up on me instead of hitting me fast, but after a while, it was the same—so that if I didn't have a… a salve, I couldn't function, and I'd start planning my day around just getting it,” she said quietly, and had to swallow before she continued. “And you tell yourself that it makes you feel good—but really, you're just getting by. Because you feel like shit with it, but you really feel like shit without it, so you need it to get through the day. And after a while, you're desperate to get through the day without it, but know that stopping will feel worse than going—and you don't know if you're clinging to it as much as it's clinging to you. But you're constantly looking for a way to get rid of it without hurting yourself… but there's no way. And eventually you hate it as much as you need it.”

She tugged lightly on Ethan's suspender before meeting his direct gaze with a sincerity she hoped he couldn‟t mistake. “So I never, ever want to be anybody's salve.”

He'd figured Charlie all wrong.

Ethan watched the tight curves of her waist and hips as she trotted up the stairs, the lean length of her legs. She'd called her body the result of her dependency, but it was evidence that he'd overlooked when he'd been focusing on the inside and avoiding what he'd perceived as a weakness.

The emotional neediness was there; he hadn't been mistaken in that. But like the fool who missed the forest for the trees, he hadn't seen the whole right in front of him: Charlie knew herself so well that she'd created a layer of pure steel that was physical and emotional, keeping those tendencies contained. She'd channeled weakness into strength, and he'd wager anything that if she found herself being trapped by her need, she'd chew her arm off escaping it—knowing that the brief agony of loss was better than a slow starving death.

Had it been her lack of shields? He hadn't had to expend any effort getting in. He'd noted how well she chose which emotions she revealed, but only considered it relevant as to his need to get into her head to read her. Maybe that was why he'd missed seeing how strong she'd built the gate that led into her emotions; it had swung open so easily to admit him, he'd never imagined that she'd built an impenetrable lock on the other side.

And when she'd closed it, she'd surely gotten a part of him caught up in there.

“The only other beings I've heard of having the black wings are the nephilim,” she said, and a flicker of recognition crossed Castleford's face. “Another one of Lucifer's experiments—the nephilim were the offspring of demons and humans.”

“I remember reading something of them in the Scrolls several hundred years ago, but I'm certain there was no mention that they'd been born of humans,” Castleford said slowly. “And demons aren't fertile—was it done through a ritual?”

Lilith shrugged. “I never got the details. I don't even know that the demon who told me had the details, or was just passing it on.”