I'm bigger than my body, I'm colder than this home.
I'm meaner than my demons, I'm bigger than these bones.

Halsey - Control

I awoke to a brilliant sunrise shining through my window, the rays just reaching the side of my face. I swung my legs to the floor and glanced around, something seemed off, but I couldn't quite figure it out. I shook the feeling, attributing it to the Clan allowing me to sleep in, which I assumed was a rare privilege given after near death. I stretched as I walked down the hallway, checking the open doors as I passed to see if I could find anyone.

My feet padded along, muted by the thick rug. The house seemed oddly quiet, but I assumed any house with only four inhabitants that was large enough to comfortably accommodate a family three times our size would seem quiet. I headed for the basement door, guessing that the Clan must have simply gotten started without me.

I jogged down the stairs, rounding the last corner to be met with a dark gym, no lights and no sign of Kael, Nevaeh, or James. Just as I was about to turn back to the stone stairs, a glimmer of light caught my attention. I saw a flicker of firelight shining from under James' door, sending stretched, distorted shadows across the wooden floor, like long yellow fingers crawling towards me.

I quickly made my way across the gym, careful to avoid the creepy yellow hands reaching for my ankles. I paused with my fist raised to knock before I changed my mind and silently turned the handle. Immediately a wave of heat hit me, his constantly-burning fire made his room stiflingly hot, like Hell itself.

I saw a tousle of messy hair peeking over the back of one of the big, dark chairs that faced the hearth. The flames lent the lighting a sinister, erratic feel, jumping and brightening the room, before falling to plunge the walls into deep shadows once more.

James didn't move as I entered. He must be sleeping. From my angle I could see a shoulder slightly rising and falling in a slow, regular rhythm. I was surprised he hadn't woken up upon my entrance, he didn't strike me as a heavy sleeper. I stopped my advance across his floor as I noticed what seemed so strange in the room. The shadows. The ones that played over James' sleeping form seemed too concentrated, deeper and darker than they should have been. His messed hair looked darker in the firelight, like there was a cloud above his head, a halo of darkness hovering over him. The rest of the room's coloring seemed normal, making the shadows over him look even more out of place.

I felt something cold touch my hand and when I looked down I saw my switchblade held loosely, its edge shining fiercely. As I watched it, perplexed by how it had even gotten there, it slowly raised as if by some otherworldly force. I felt powerless as the bewitched knife with my hand wrapped around it pulled me forward, closer and closer to my sleeping pair. My struggles seemed just as futile as they had when James had directed my knife to his chest the day before, except this time it wasn't him doing it, it was me, but I couldn't stop myself.

The knife continued to slowly advance on James and I tried to yell out to him, to warn him, but my mouth wouldn't open. It was like I was watching a movie. I could see what was happening, but I had no control over it. I was praying that James would wake in time, screaming in my head at him to get up and stop me, but he didn't, his chest continued to rise and fall in peaceful ignorance. He was the perfect weapon, a warrior through and through, never caught off guard, he couldn't possibly go out like this, killed in his sleep by some possessed woman. It wasn't fair.

In one grotesque movement, the knife shot forward, easily cutting clean through the side of James' perfect, still neck, leaving a fatal gash right below the thin white scar that crossed his throat. James' eyes shot open and took in his murderer for a second before I saw the light dim. A look of rage and then shock that slowly morphed into betrayal and a deep, heartbreaking sadness froze on his face as his life fled.

Blood poured from the wound, a ruby river flowing down his body and pooling onto the floor. The river didn't stay stagnant though, instead it ran to my feet, climbing my legs and clawing at my clothing. I could feel it on my skin like a living thing, hot and thick like mud, heavy and oppressive. I regained control of my body and leapt back, dropping the knife like it was a red coal, but somehow the blood followed, continuing its slow climb. It was now pulling up my stomach, reaching my chest and quickly advancing to my neck. I tried to wipe it away, to shake it off, but it was unrelenting. It slowed slightly as it crawled up my face. I could smell it and soon the coppery taste of it filled my mouth as it cascaded over my head.

The panic of what I had done and the sick terror of James' blood made my insides twist into painful knots. Then there was a piercing scream filling my ears, it was terrible and screeching, like a tortured soul in the underworld. A moment later I realized it was coming from me. It ended in a sickening gurgle as James' blood filled my mouth, pouring down my throat, drowning me. Even in death he was lethal, his blood taking its revenge.

I awoke with a start, drenched in sweat with my tank stuck to me and my hair plastered to my forehead. I quickly sat up and shook my head, to be sure I was truly awake before collapsing back onto the bed, gasping for air as I tried to catch my breath and slow my racing heartbeat. My stomach twisted and I had to sprint to my bathroom. I made it just in time before I was sick. Waves of nausea wracked my body and left me fighting for air, ending in raw, dry heaves.

Finally it passed and I returned to bed, sinking into it. I laid there for a little while, staring at the clean, white ceiling. My heart rate slowly returning to a fairly normal pace from its painful gallop. I had never had such a terror-filled dream, or one I had been so sure was real...until the end, but by then fear had crowded my mind too much to let logic in.

I sat up slowly and searched the room, making sure everything looked normal this time. The bathroom door was hanging open, letting my wild-eyed reflection peer suspiciously back at me from across the room. The window with its heavy, dark wooden frame was still open, sheer white and navy curtains elegantly rippled in on the slight early morning breeze. I tried to focus on my breaths and the fresh air to calm myself further, but instead, the memory of James' chest rising and falling as he slept flashed in my mind, quickly followed by an image of myself, covered in his blood, the knife still in my hand. I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the urge to be sick again.

Finally, when my nausea subsided, I opened my eyes. The clock read just past four-thirty but I knew I wouldn't be getting any more sleep, the couple fitful hours I had already fought through would have to do. I grabbed the Book of Dust from my bedside table instead and flipped it open, trying to keep the dream from my mind by focusing on the blank page.

After a few minutes of trying to clear my head and only think of the clean page on my lap I saw a small smudge in one corner. A strange feeling began to pulse in my mind, not like my Gift, but something similar, something unstable yet constant all at once. I touched the mark, expecting it to somehow feel different, but it didn't...just a smooth, dark line, a shadow. Then it jumped and curved under and over itself, forming heavy dark writing, the page filled with it and then the adjacent page as well.

I let the book fall from my hands as the pages sprung to life, turning in front of me, each one now filled with markings and pictures, awful pictures of Demons and monsters I could have never imagined in my darkest dreams. The markings shivered once more and formed legible words instead of the deep symbols Kael had said was the language of Angels: Spoken.

The shock of seeing something on the previously crisp, white page left me dumbfounded for a moment. I quickly recovered and speed-read the first page, expecting at any moment for the words to vanish. Worried the book might realize it had made a mistake and that the reader was me and not some other Clan member. I flipped to the next page and then the next.

Finally I became satisfied that the book wasn't going to take back its elusive information and slowed my reading to a more comprehending pace. The pages were filled with Demon types and spells and other magics I couldn't quite understand. The book suddenly felt like a treasure trove to me. I read for close to an hour, methodically going through Demon types and trying to make up pneumonic reminders for which Demon went with which weakness or strength. Eventually James crept back into my mind though and I figured I should probably tell my 'teacher' I had seen the magical little words, no thanks to him. It was well past five now so I figured he must be awake, especially if he slept as meagerly and infrequently as everyone made it sound.

Halfway across the gym floor I froze, remembering my nightmare...this seemed eerily similar and the wave of déjà vu I felt made my stomach drop. I quickly checked my sweatpants' pockets. No knife. I gave a small sigh of relief before starting out again. James' door was slightly ajar and I could see the fire was burning as always, but I knocked anyway. There was no answer and the idea that he was truly a heavy sleeper seemed improbable. Suddenly it dawned on me that maybe my dream had been a prophecy trying to tell me James was in trouble. I pushed the heavy door open and scanned the room, worried I'd find his unconscious body or worse in one of its shadowed corners.

After I had triple-checked the perimeter and the chairs, I felt satisfied that James wasn't dead or dying, at least not in his room. I stepped the rest of the way in and glanced to the neatly made bed...it gave the impression that it hadn't been used yet that night. I glanced back out across the gym to be sure I was alone before closing the door behind me.

Alone in James' room felt like a religious experience. It was so cut off from the rest of the manor, so still and calm. That's probably why he liked being down there, it gave the feeling of being absolutely alone and able to unwind, far from the constant social expectations of living in the main hallway with Kael and Nev. I ran my fingers over the deep, red comforter before I sat on the bed's edge. I laid back, allowing my legs to dangle over the side.

The bed smelled exactly like him and the soft warmth almost made me drowsy again, but the last thing I wanted was for James to find me passed out in his bed. I opened my eyes, expecting to see wood or plaster above me, but instead the ceiling was dark, gleaming rock, like the stairway's walls. James' room really was more of a cave than a bedroom, a well-organized, well-decorated, comfortable cave...but still a cave.

I pulled myself off the bed and walked toward the door, figuring I could end up waiting all morning or I could just tell him whenever I saw him next. The latter option sounded much more appealing. As I neared the door I heard a slight thud come from the other side. A moment later it burst open and James came stumbling in.

He was a complete mess. His shirt was torn and he had the dark stains of blood in sprays and streaks all across him. His knuckles were raw and bleeding and he had a minor limp as he entered. I had the insane urge to rush to his side and help him, to try to make him comfortable and lessen whatever pain he was in, to get Kael to heal him, to do anything. Something about seeing him injured made a protective, nurturing part of me awaken I never thought I had.

He steadied himself against the wall as he pulled his tattered, bloodied shirt up over his head. His face reappeared as he escaped the shreds of cotton and immediately froze, apparently just now noticing my presence. He looked completely and unguardedly shocked for a moment and I got the feeling it was very rare that someone took him by surprise. The deceased shirt was still suspended over his head as a small, odd smile pulled at his lips.

"May I help you?" He said in a gravelly voice that sounded nothing like his usual smooth, cool tone...except for the note of mocking buried in it.

He threw the rag of a shirt to the floor and shook his hair out like a dog before finally moving from the spot I had surprised him in. He walked to the wall across from his computer and opened a camouflaged door I had never noticed to show a bathroom full of black granite and brushed metal. He appeared a moment later with a damp washcloth and what looked like a bottle of Beluga.

A muffled groan escaped him as he sat heavily on the edge of his bed, exactly where I had been a minute earlier, and uncapped the fifth. He wiped at some of his shallower wounds on his chest and arms before finally rolling up the leg of his jeans to show the reason for his limp. What looked like a bullet wound dug into the outside of his left calf. He tipped the bottle back and swallowed down a mouthful before glancing up at me with an arrogant grin and unceremoniously pouring some of the alcohol on his injury. He pinching his fingers into the bloody circle of flesh and let out a low breath before retracting his fingers, which were now holding a wicked-looking sharpened bullet unlike anything I had ever seen before. He muttered a couple words and wiped at the blood more.

I was so dumbstruck, I just stood there, watching him, unsure of what to do. James absently dabbed at his split knuckles as he acknowledged me again, this time watching me like a cat might watch its lunch right before it pounced.

"Are you just going to stare at me, or answer my question?" He said calmly. His usual voice was back but a sly smile still hid in the lines of his face.

"What happened to you?" I said, fighting a strange feeling deep in my stomach.

I opened my Gift and basked in the electric feeling for a moment before trying to glean information from his mind. All I could sense from him was a dark, bloody violence though and that didn't seem to help me piece together much besides the fact that he'd been fighting, which I could have gathered from his appearance. There was a line of happiness beneath the violence that I found fascinating, like a love of it, which I took mental note of. But then the connection was broken and James tsk-tsked from his seat across the room.

He wagged his finger at me in reproach as he spoke.

"Use your words, little one. You can't just pull the answers you want from my head without consent."

"Then answer me, what have you been doing...and why are you happy?" I asked, annoyed that I had to rely on his frustrating half-answers rather than just use my Gift.

His grin widened into a sarcastic twist. "I had an enjoyable night, that's all."

The edges of his smirk looked dangerous as he spoke, like something animalistic was crouched there. He continued to wipe blood and dirt from his minor wounds, the same slight smile on his face.

"You enjoy getting shot? You look like hell."

James merely wiggled the vodka bottle and took another swig before answering.

"You should see the other guy. Well, guys." He replied proudly, a flirtatious look in his eyes. He poured some of the drink onto the now filthy rag as he continued to clean off.

"It's going to take a lot more than a dishcloth and some alcohol to clean up. You need a shower." I tried to sound disgusted, but in reality it was almost impossible to keep the lust off my face.

James looked good dirty, then again he always looked good. But somehow the streaks of dirt and blood standing out against his skin only made him that much more appealing. The muscles of his chest and stomach tightened with each movement and his lean build begged to be touched. It had been too long since I'd had someone, and it made my stomach tense again, in a new way, just thinking of it.

"Are you trying to get me naked? Taking advantage of me just because I'm drunk? I thought better of you, Angel. I thought you were all blushing innocence." His voice joked, but I felt my cheeks burn nonetheless.

"Fine, stay filthy. It doesn't bother me." I quipped in what I hoped seemed a casual way.

"I'm always filthy." James said as he pulled his bottom lip through his teeth with such a blatantly enticing look I got the distinct feeling he was mocking me.

I managed to give him a sneer before waving the Book of Dust at him, remembering my reason for the visit.

"Not interested. I just came down to tell you I can read it now, so what's my first assignment?"

James made a big show of staring up at the ceiling as he thought, looking almost drowsy. Finally, I got sick of waiting for his reply and stalked over to him, dropping the book on him.

"You're wasted. How much have you had? And who were you fighting this time?"

James rolled his head back down level and looked at me, something seemed off and the odd feeling wasn't just because of the weird motherly reaction I felt at seeing his torn skin or the fact that I almost felt like chastising him for putting himself in danger.

"Bar fight," he replied, complete open honesty on his face.

His lack of sarcasm made it clear he was lying and now that I was closer to him I noticed he didn't smell of alcohol. Besides the little bit of fresh vodka he had surreptitiously tried to splash on himself to mimic the smell of someone truly inebriated. He didn't have the sweet scent of mixed alcohols, or even the glazed over eyes of someone far past sober.

I leaned my head to one side as I studied him. Even in the shadowed light of his room I could see the attentiveness in his eyes, underneath his show of drunkenness. Kael was right, he was a good actor. From across the room I never would have realized he was faking it.

"You're lying. It wasn't a bar fight and you aren't even drunk. In fact, I'd be willing to bet that besides those little gulps of vodka you haven't had a single drink tonight, am I right?"

James stared back at me for a moment before he let out a low, quiet chuckle and dropped his head, studiously cleaning a series of deep gashes on his left shoulder that closely resembled claw marks.

"Then what do you think I was doing out all night? Something heroic and valiant I'm sure. Let me save you the time; I'm not the hero here, I'm just working at not being the main villain for the time being." He spoke with a little too much bite in his voice.

"I believe it, you aren't a hero."

He glanced up at me at this, before a slight snarl pulled up his lip and he returned his attention to his shoulder.

"You did something you liked tonight, I could feel your...joy from it. It was just a game to you, you were playing. I can tell that much from your head. You enjoyed it, just like I would have." I said the last words like a compliment, slightly teasing with a little smile of my own.

"But I don't care what you did tonight, I just can't stand a liar. So, when you decide to start being honest with me, you know where I'll be." I gave him a challenging look before turning toward the door.

As I reached for the warm metal handle I heard the bed sigh, I turned at the noise and almost jumped, James was already right behind me, standing deathly still, unnecessarily close. I didn't think I'd ever be as fast or noiseless as he was.

His stance was powerful, with arrogance in every line. He no longer looked to be pretending drunkenness. His dark eyes grabbed mine and he slowly raised his arm, holding the Book of Dust out to me.

"Run along now, before I do something I'll regret." He leaned forward deeply. "I sometimes do rash things when I drink."

He looked through his lashes as he spoke, so close I felt his warm breath on me as he purred the words out. His eyes broke from mine and wandered over me in an obscene way. A kiss would have been less intimate.

I pushed his chin up so his eyes were on my face once more and mirrored his lean before pausing, my face teasingly near his, my lips just an inch away.

"I'd like to see you try," I whispered the challenge before patting his cheek, too hard to be affectionate, but soft enough to be patronizing. With a terse smile I opened the door and left.

My head was spinning as I made my way to the library. What the hell had that been? I knew one thing for certain, James was lying, he hadn't been drunk and he wasn't in something as simple as a little tussle or bar fight. But why pretend he was? And why act like that? Was he truly so shameless as to mock me because he had put together the clues and guessed at my irrational attraction to him?

By the time I settled into one of the library chairs I was fuming. How dare he. Not a single reason I could think of gave James justification to act like such an ass to me. Didn't I deserve some modicum of respect as his pair, or as a member of his Clan at the very least? I poured over the book instead of ruminating on what a prick he was, taking notes on occasion in one of the notebooks from Kael. I flipped ahead of the demons a little ways, curious to see what other gems the ancient book held.

The first page I turned to seemed to rearrange and swim as my eyes focused on it. 'True Pairs' caught my eye and an odd tingle ran up my arms as I held the book, like a shiver that originated from within the volume itself. I had to read through the passage twice before I could fully comprehend what it was saying.

A quad with every Sign present is the strongest. Four is the most sacred of numbers for Fallen; close to the divine three without tarnishing it in our shadowed presence, trying to break away from the Devil's six, but unable to pass God's number, trapped between Heaven and Hell, as we justly are. In addition, each corner of existence must be represented in order for mortal imbalance to be negated; Earth, Water, Fire and Air. A quad without all four Signs will slowly unravel and weaken, the disparity of the Earth tearing apart what Heaven made but cast out.

The strongest of Clans, and rarest of balanced quads, are the owners of a True Pairing. True Pairs are not merely partners, but a coupling who are destined and divinely connected to the other, those that compliment the other in all ways and share themselves as one. Fate draws them together, and fate chooses them. Rough waters may batter them, but no one can separate what Heaven divines. They cannot be broken once they are bonded. No power is greater, no anger is darker, no nature is truer.

They are pairs for life, never to be replaced, but also never to be recovered of. This bond can kill or sustain, share joy and pain. It can be the greatest of gifts, or the darkest of curses. True Pairs may share Gifts, Signs, strength, communications and attributes with one another, emotional ties and physical affects may couple in addition. A balanced quad which is the holder of a True Pair is exceedingly rare and dangerous. These are the most powerful of Fallen kind.

I flipped to the front and back of the book, cursing the fact that there were apparently no such things as indexes at the beginning of time or whenever it had been written. I wanted to look up more on True Pairs, but I had no idea where to start. The words sounded almost exactly how I felt with James, how it seemed we were connected somehow, like he was familiar to me, a part of me. How I felt stronger for him, irrationally so, in the short time I'd known him.

A strange feeling came over me again and the unknown emotions I felt made me anxious. I hated having to analyze my own feelings, better to bury them where they couldn't do any damage. I was relieved when Kael stuck his head in the library door and let out a long sigh.

"There you are. I've been looking for you. Breakfast is almost ready." Kael's voice sounded dull but he ducked out of the room before I could respond. I left the book on the end table, completely ready to throw myself into the day's training and hopefully not think of True Pairs or James' smug face for as long as possible.

Ooh, another dream. Interesting. And SHE CAN READ! It's a miracle! As for James - tut tut. What have you been up to, you dirty angel, you...

Also, I gotta shout-out this song. I saw her in Detroit last time I was stateside and W-O-W. She good. I don't even like non-heavy concerts, but I loved seeing her perform. Listen to those lyrics.