17 || Fix It

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With the bandage's end tied neatly and tucked in amongst the folds, Khalida retracted completely, dusting her hands as she sat back on her heels. Her empty smile remained lit by the warped shine in her eyes. "So?"

Gingerly, Micah stroked a few fingers over his wrappings. They sat tight against his skin, warm to the touch, strained by his erratic breathing. They felt like more of a trap than his coat had been.

An angel's heart could heal any wound, any pain. Even sharing that shred of knowledge with the humans had felt like a risk, a truth that trailed guilt and fear in its wake. But the extent of that healing was something they were supposed to have forgotten. It was that greed that had driven them to kill, that wish that had to be yanked out of reach before they could achieve it. There wasn't a more dangerous thought than a human who could live forever.

That same hungry desire lurked in the dark depths of Khalida's eyes. He pictured her a hundred years on, still lithe and bright with ambition, having spent a hundred years building her throne with the suffering of the city. He imagined all the years after.

She would be a true demon. He couldn't let her achieve that dream.

But how? What could he do?

His glare was feeble, but he prayed it had some effect all the same. "You can't."

She cocked her head. "I dare say I can do whatever I like."

Her gaze slid from Micah, and instinctive, momentary relief tumbled through him, as if the serpent coiled around his lungs had relaxed its squeezing hold. He wrestled in a few looser, full breaths. It wasn't enough to clear his head. The second she looked back his way, the coils constricted doubly as tight, his heart floundering with such force he was sure his chest would burst.

Her finger beckoned, though not to him. "First, however," she said, her smile almost fanged, "I'd like to conduct a test. You're content to observe, I'm sure?"

The lazy saunter of Raksey's step approached, his red-stained trousers fluttering as he came to a stop beside her. Micah made the mistake of glancing up at him. His eyes flashed with serrated, venomous joy, his grin a perfect match to the sharp glint of the knife he spun in his hand. He presented the weapon to Khalida with a flourish.

She accepted it with none of his eccentric flamboyance, but no less grace. As she held it up to study it, the red-tinged light of the room bounced off the blood that coated its surface, giving it a scarlet shine of an even brighter shade. Micah pressed his hand flat over his bandage to hide its shaking. That was his own blood. The mere sight of it drove a painful spike into his wound.

The murky mix of delight and curiosity reflected in Khalida's expression only deepened the sensation. Again her gaze flicked to Micah, cutting right over the knife's upheld point, before jumping away to his side. "Lilith. You're quite the forward-thinking scientist, I hear. Would you mind assisting me in an experiment?"

He twisted in time to see Lilith bare her teeth. He didn't recognise the word she spat, but enough hatred sliced through it to make him flinch.

"Hm." Khalida twitched the knife's point, and the man stood behind her grabbed a handful of her jacket, hauling her to her feet. Her heels skidded loosely over the polished floorboards as she squirmed. Her elbow smacked into his side and he growled, threading his fingers through her hair instead. A cry cut from her throat with his tug, and she stilled. There was no remains of her bun now. As he released her hair, curling a muscled arm around her middle instead to pin her in place, it hung like straw in her face. Limp, drooping as much as the dampened fire in her eyes.

Helplessness writhed in Micah's chest. Shoving his feet under him, he pushed himself half-upright, nails digging into the cracks in the paintwork as he leaned into the wall. The room was unsteady, but he could still make out Khalida's face with ease, the lack of remorse there. "Leave her alone," he bit out. "If... if it's me you want, then you can let her go. Let all of them go."

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