Arlen

Arlen lay the beauty out on his sofa, taking mental notes of each bruise and every cut. There were a lot, but she would heal.

Angela, a beautiful name for an even more beautiful woman.

Even under the mottled purples and blues and the swelling, he could tell she was stunning. Warmth filled his chest as he stared at her sleeping form. Arlen felt the threads of their fledgling bond knitting their souls together. She’d passed out before he could get to her in the St. Louis Cathedral, yet she had responded to his touch.

He remembered the way she’d come around just enough to fist his shirt and tuck herself in closer to him as he lifted her. The realization of what she was to him had hit him like a freight train and his mind he chanted Mate repeatedly. He’d managed to escape with her to safety before returning in time to witness the new Voodoo Queen leaving with the Baron Samedi. With Maya gone to Guinee, the golden goddess before him was on her own.

Not anymore. Never again, he thought.

The sofa was no place for her, not long term, and he wouldn’t push himself on her by forcing her to share a bed with him. Arlen covered her with a blanket and turned, leaving her for the first time since he’d returned home.

He strode into his modest bedroom and began readying the room for her. He set right to work clearing his items out of the small chest of drawers and moving them out into the living room. At some point along the way, Arlen had decided he’d be living on the couch until something a little more permanent could be arranged, but she needed space and a place to recover.

He liked the idea of her being a permanent fixture in his life. However, he couldn’t ignore the reality of it. Arlen was a dangerous man, in a deadly line of work. It was a career she never needed to know a thing about, even if it wouldn’t stop her from becoming a target one day. He was good at his job because he didn’t have ties or weaknesses. People couldn’t get the upper hand on him, but the beauty in the other room had the potential to turn his world on its head.

Letting anyone have that sort of power over him scared Arlen. It had been decades since he’d known love. Back then, he was a different man. It was a dangerous emotion for a killer like him to have and he decided right then, he needed to control it.

Arlen returned to Angela’s side and picked her up. He carried her into the bedroom and lay her out on his bed. Her scent lingered in his nose, reminding him of a summer’s day. His fingers slipped through the fine strands of her hair with ease. It looked like threads of spun gold.

Arlen gathered the woman into his arms and shifted his body so she was cradled on his lap. It felt right to hold her like that. He stayed there for a while, enjoying it far more than he should. At some point, he began to absently hum.

It was an old tune, one he was intimately familiar with. His mother had sung it to him and his sister when they were young children and would have trouble sleeping. Her voice had been much more pleasant to the ear than his own was, but he made do.

The words slowly came back to him with each new verse until he was singing the words without hesitation. Angie still hadn’t regained consciousness, but Arlen decided he’d give it until nightfall before he really began to worry. She’d been through a hellish ordeal and it was fully possible her mind had shut down to protect itself.

Arlen eyed her dirt crusted clothes and decided to risk her waking up while in an awkward situation than to leave her in filthy rags. He shifted beneath her and laid her out on the bed. Arlen got up and slipped into the bathroom and returned with a basin of warm water, wash towels, and antibacterial ointment.

He didn’t have clothes that would fit her smaller frame, but he didn’t think she’d mind a t-shirt and a pair of his boxers. Arlen went to work, peeling the stiff fabric from her skin and gently wiping away the grime she was covered in. Little by little, he washed away the dirt and dried blood to unveil the sleeping beauty underneath. She was still bruised and a bit swollen, but those weren’t permanent. He even had something that would help heal that up in a day or two.

Carefully, he slipped her into fresh clothes and covered her back up. She didn’t even stir in all his jostling.

Arlen settled back onto the bed with Angela’s sleeping form, not touching her, but near enough to comfort her if she needed it. Then, it was just a waiting game. Waiting for her to wake up, waiting for her to recover, and waiting for her to realize she didn’t want to live without him. He didn’t know if it was the same for her since she was human.

“Come back, Angela. I’m waiting for you,” he mumbled.

When she didn’t, he hummed his childhood lullaby to his destined mate again and he would until she regained consciousness.