Angels of Darkness

the shelf, the only place he could sit with the water lapping at his neck.
    So tired . . .
    The healing was draining his inner resources and he felt thin and weak, as if all of his muscles were a threadbare shirt hanging off his bones. From here he could see the door and the shower stall. She was in there. Naked. Wet. A fruity synthetic scent teased him—she was washing her hair. He pictured her body under the water, her hands sliding over her breasts and down . . .
    A dull thud made him lift his head. In the shower, a dark shadow slumped, pressed against the glass.
    It had hit her finally. He’d waited the whole day for it.
    Lucas climbed out of the hot tub. The shower-stall door was locked. He hit it with his palm and the lock popped open. Karina lay curled in a corner of the shower, a small wet clump. Her legs shivered. Her skin had gained a pale, almost gray tint. He scooped her off the floor.
    â€œNo,” she stuttered. Her lips had turned blue. Not a good sign.
    He bent down. She lashed out. He caught a glint of metal and pulled back, letting the knife blade miss him. Where had she even gotten one? Ah, yes. The kitchen. He plucked the knife out of her fingers and picked her up off the floor.
    â€œNo.” She pushed against his chest.
    â€œShhh,” he told her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
    He carried her out. Her wet skin was ice-cold against his.
    She fought him even as he climbed into the tub and lowered her onto the shelf, sinking her up to her chin in the hot water. “Let me go . . .”
    Afraid to agitate her any further, he put the full width of the tub between them, giving her room. No need to strain her. If she passed out, the chances of her survival would drop to almost nothing.
    It took a full three minutes before her teeth stopped chattering. She looked at him. “Everything hurts.”
    â€œYour body is reacting to the venom,” he said. “Hot water will help. It soothes the muscles. It’s normal.” Technically everything he said was true. He just didn’t go into the rest of the details. Not yet.
    A short bitter laugh slipped from her lips. “Normal? Nothing about this is normal.”
    True. Not for her anyway. For him, it was business as usual. “Thirsty?”
    â€œYes.”
    He waded through the tub, reached for the small fridge beside it, and extracted a bottle of water.
    She took the bottle, clamped the plastic cap in her teeth, twisted it off, and drank, draining nearly a third in a single long draft. That’s it . . . Drink, Karina.
    He recalled Galatea’s first time. She’d known exactly what would happen. She had been raised for precisely this purpose: to support him. And she loathed him for it. Hate would’ve been too personal of a word; he didn’t rank that high in her mental roster. Galatea hated the family; she hated Arthur because he was in charge; but Lucas she merely despised, disgusted by his touch. The older he got, the more he realized that sex with him was her way of revenge. In feeding he dominated her and she had no choice but to submit. In bed, for a few fleeting moments Galatea dominated him. That first time, when she cried and screamed as her body struggled with its initial dose of his venom, he had tried to hold her. She was so pretty, so fragile . . . He didn’t want to break her. She had sensed that small spark of compassion in him, clutched on to it, and twisted it, used it against him again and again, until finally he could stand it no longer. Living with Galatea meant fighting a constant war. Living with Karina so far was like sparring with an honest fighter. She defied him, but she would never stick a knife in his back. She would try to stab him in plain view.
    Lucas sank down into the water and closed his eyes. Thinking about Galatea left a foul taste in his mind. His ribs ached again. Drowsiness came, threatening to smother his mind like a heavy blanket.
    Karina’s voice tugged on him before he passed out. “Why are you being nice to me?”
    â€œâ€˜Nice’ isn’t in my vocabulary. I’m just tired.”
    â€œYour ribs are bruised.”
    â€œDaniel.”
    â€œI didn’t see him hit you.”
    â€œHe doesn’t have to. I’m a Demon, and he’s an Acoustic. He can mimic voices and wrench the bones from my body with a focused sound wave.” He raised his arms and stood up, showing her the long angry welts outlining