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She’s perplexed, vexed, and perhaps more than anything thankful when you darken her doorway. It all shows on her face. Carmilla Carmine as you'd know her has never been one to be very good at hiding her emotions. She doesn't have to be. If anyone ever sees something they shouldn't, they usually know enough to keep quiet. If they don't, they quickly learn.
“You're late,” she says, a statement not an accusation.
“My apologies,” you say with a bow and a smile. “On my way here I'm afraid I lost the letter I brought for you. I had to take up a side quest and retrieve it. Alas, I couldn't locate my signature. I’ll give you two next time to make up for it.”
Without breaking your eyeline, the overlord plucks something from her desk. She holds it up between two fingers. A slightly crumpled origami crane of bright pink.
You smile more, the optimist in you still hopeful that this can go your way.
“You've found it,” you say. “I'm glad.”
“Cut the pretense, Crane. I've already heard what happened from my daughters.”
Of course she has.
Crane. A nickname only she uses, yet one that has you feeling warmer than any other. When you'd first gotten involved in hell's politics, anonymity was the key to keeping you safe. But every informant needs a good calling card. You'd read once about paper cranes; apparently if you folded a thousand of them then you'd get to make a wish. Carmilla Carmine was currently holding number nine hundred and ninety eight. Her eyes said you weren't making it to nine ninety nine.
“You're lucky they didn't kill you,” she says.
“You raised them well,” you counter. A few weeks ago you'd have brushed off the threat. Angels like you, after all, can't be killed; not by demons. Or at least, a few weeks ago they couldn't be. Now, after what she did, all bets were off.
“I did.” She sets the paper crane down on her desk. She rounds past the covered windows of her office as if you're not here or more likely you don't matter. You're not a threat. “What you did was foolish and reckless. Both things you have a long track record of. When heaven sent you to keep tabs on the overlords of hell, you took that to be an invitation to play puppet master. When I discovered your identity, you began to pull strings in my favor despite the fact that had you told your superiors, you could have had me taken care of in the next extermination.”
“And now we've become friends,” you say. “So I clearly made the right choice.”
She doesn't correct you, but she doesn't agree either. Instead, she just turns back your way.
“Barring the potential repercussions for your actions,” she says, “I’d like to thank you.”
“Any decent person would have done the same, had they passed by.”
“Not here they wouldn't. Did any of them follow you?”
“No.”
“You're sure?”
“They'd seen me. More than that, they laid a finger on your girls. I couldn't leave any of them alive enough to follow me here.”
“Though I appreciate your protection tonight, my family is none of your concern. If our business puts them in danger, I will not hesitate to put an end to it.”
You pinch your brows together, the corners of your lips turning down. Gently, you take both of her hands. She lets you, for now, and you can't help but wonder if her heart is fainting in her chest like yours. It's a dangerous feeling.
“I would never bring harm to you or your daughters. On that, you have my word. Angels don't lie.”
“That doesn't mean they can't bend the truth.”
“True,” you admit. You squeeze her hands. “But I'd hope that you feel you can trust me, after all these years.”
Your eyes crack on hers and your head throbs. Your veins begin to rush with black heat. You pull back.
You can't place the exact moment that you fell for her, but you know how you feel. And you know that it's wrong.
It's bad enough that you've broken your orders and contacted hell’s overlords directly. It's even worse that you've allowed yourself to get pinned under the thumb of one of them. If you allowed yourself to give into your attraction, it'd be the straw that broke the camel’s back. You wouldn't just be falling for her; you'd fall from grace for her. That can't happen.
“Did you say anything to my daughters about our connection?”
“No. It's not my place to do so.”
“Correct.” A sigh, and then, “I'll admit that when they showed up here with your calling card, saying an angel had saved them from some cronies, I was worried that you'd finally met your end. It's nice to see that I was wrong.”
“Almost did. Those ‘cronies’ knocked me out cold, but luckily they don't shop your business. Can't kill me without your weaponry. Thanks for being enemies with them.”
The demon smiles lightly at your joke -- the closest you'll ever get to a laugh.
“Have a drink with me,” she offers, heading over to a hidden bar.
“I'm afraid I'll have to decline.” You set your latest report on her desk. It's a bit bloody considering you had to pry it off those now dead demons, but it's still readable. “If I'm down here too long, heaven will send someone looking for me. Can't have them catching onto our little secret.”
She nods. “I will see you next month.”
“I'm looking forward to it already.” You bow on your way out, taking the time to give her a final once over. A memory of beauty to hang on until you can see her again. A month is such an awful long time.
The month comes and goes but you don't see Carmilla again. Maybe she follows through on the blackmail, maybe she doesn't. But if she truly is telling all of hell about your angelic status then it's peculiar how you can still walk these shady streets with nothing but a nice coat and retracted wings.
Six months.
That's how long it's been. And in another week Adam’s exorcists will come to slaughter both random civilians and the big wigs on the list you've put together. He says his target is the hotel. That's probably true. But as you run through the hit list in your mind, your worry picks up. Your heart starts to pound. Your palms go sweaty. Hell’s worst of the worst, the ones that “deserve” it the most. The ones you've placed a target on the back off. And this time, they wouldn't just be Carmilla’s enemies.
When you enter her office, the curtains are still wide open. She looks up from her desk, standing quickly to close them. After six months, it figures that she'd just assumed you'd stay absent.
Your legs fall out from beneath you. You crawl your arms forward and press your forehead to the floor.
“I'm so sorry, Carmilla.” You say.
“Crane,” she starts, “it's been months. What happened?” A pause. “Get up.”
You remain in your bow, sinking past the floor as deep as you can. Your hands ball into fists by the sides of your face.
“You’re on the list.”
The air falls chill and distant. There's a beat as she processes. You use that as an opportunity to ramble further.
“I kept your girls out of it, but I couldn't get them to take you off. Adam’s focused primarily on that rehabilitation hotel. If they hold out long enough, if they distract him, then maybe he'll fully ignore the list. He's fickle. Impulsive. It's likely that--”
The high pitched whir of metal slicing through the air takes your breath hostage. You glance up as far as you dare. Poised as a ballerina in point, a steel shoe is raised an inch before your face.
Yeah, this you deserve.
“I've told you many times what would happen if you brought danger here.”
“No apology can erase the pain I've caused. Still, I am so so sorry. I would never put you on that list myself. They suspected something was off with me. They pulled me from the job and put another angel on it instead. He's been following you and the other overlords for months now. You sell weapons. You help these people kill each other. He can't ignore that. He doesn't know you like I do. He doesn't understand you.”
“Why come here? What do you stand to gain from losing your head?”
“I came to warn you…and to ask that you aid the hotel. Like I said, if they can fend him off, then--”
“No. I won't be involved in starting a war between heaven and hell. Who knows who would die? I could lose the very people I've been killing for.”
“And if you don't get involved then I'll lose the only person I've ever been willing to kill for.”
Pensive eyes trace the outlines of your face, looking for the lie. Finally, you stand. To your surprise, she lets you. You step closer and she stands her ground. She's got height on you even without the point shoes, so you have to look up further the closer to her you get.
“Heaven be damned, there's no use in denying it anymore. I guarantee that new angel watched me come here. I guarantee I'll have to face him before going home. By all accounts, it seems like I've already fallen.” You pause, biting your lip. She's…everything. She's beautiful and loyal and kinder than any other soul you've met down here. How is she in hell, when she's the very epitome of angelic? Your eyes slip from hers but you force them back. You need to see her when you say, “I'm in love with you. I have been for some time now. I won't let you die without a fight.”
Without warning, you're spun around and thrown against a wall. The overlord’s arm presses hard against your throat and her breath falls so close that it caresses your face. This isn't how she fights. This distance doesn't give her an advantage. You don't fight back, giving control over to her completely.
She watches you, choosing her words carefully, “if it gets out that you said that, heaven won't allow you back.”
“I don't want to go back. If falling means that I get to be with you, then I'll jump from grace in a heartbeat. I was stupid to ever prioritize anything else. You are the only thing I care about in this afterlife.”
Her free hand comes to rest on your cheek. She softens, pulling off of your neck just slightly.
You say with your eyes what you can't with words. This isn't good for either of you. For you, it means losing everything else; for her, it means admitting that she cares about the worst thing a demon can imagine. Not that she gives a shit. But those who seek to find weakness in her might.
You reach forward slowly. When your hand finds her waist, you pull her body flush against you. You've wanted this for a long long time…but the decision is hers.
Finally, she gives in to the tension that's drawn out for a decade at least. She presses her lips into yours, controlled and passionate. She's soft. Warm. Burning.
Every cell of your being shouts with agony. Your wings whither like an unwatered plant before breaking into dust on the ground. Your nails stretch out to claws and your eyes go dry and red.
Fuck the pain.
You pull her ever closer, so that you're nearly melted into one. You don't need breath, you just need her.
She licks your bottom lip, demanding entry. You eagerly grant the request. You push to turn this lip lock sloppy, but she keeps it organized and slow.
When you finally pull back with a gasp, you press your lips right away against her neck. Once. Twice. She's breathing heavily by your ear.
“Crane--,” she starts.
“Call me Y/N.”
Her eyes once again find yours. She pushes some hair behind your ear and you squirm.
“You've no idea how long I've desired to kiss you,” you say.
“You'll be one of mine. The other overlords won't dare touch you. You'll have my protection.”
“Something I greatly appreciate. But, my love, we need to keep you alive first. I can't lose you. Especially not now.”
“Let me handle that. Tonight, Y/N, I want to show you love.”
And that, she does. All night long.