I awoke on the cramped loveseat. Legs dangling, I felt numbness through my limbs as my circulation had been cut off. Funny how something like that could still affect me. Sitting slowly, I smiled in greeting to the disturbed-looking man sitting across from me.

"So what are you then?" he asked, without pause. He still nursed his glass and I noted that the level in the decanter behind him was considerably lower. He had probably sat and drank pondering how my heart kept beating even after he killed me.

Leaning carefully, deliberately, I cracked my neck. "I was trying to introduce myself before I was so rudely interrupted," I said, continuing to stretch out. "I thought I was sent here as a punishment, I don't know, maybe it still is, but then I found you and how could this not be my reason?" I moved off my seat to kneel in front of his seated form. He flinched back, measuring my comfort with unease. "I'm here to save you," I said kindly.

Something clicked behind his eyes, causing him to scoff. "You're a fucking angel?"

I shrugged. "Not my words."

"What are you doing here?"

My head cocked, "I just-"

He stood abruptly then. "No. I was sent here. This is my solitude. My purgatory. What are you doing here?" His voice rose with his proclamation.

I stood to meet his eyes. I still had to look up to do so. He probably had six inches on me, after all. "My guess is, someone has a sick sense of humor," I said with a warm smile. "Your side of the family?"

He scoffed again before pushing me back by my shoulder. I took a step, giving him space, but he moved with me. "Jokes on you," he replied darkly. "I just gained a plaything." His hand moved to grip my throat. I didn't fight it. Letting him squeeze, knowing the pain was temporary. Instead, I watched him curiously as his anger seemed to fade when I didn't give him the fear he expected.

His grip loosened but didn't release me. "Do you even feel anything in that meat puppet?" he asked, disgust lacing his voice.

"Yes," I said, without hesitation. "But it's different from how I normally feel," I paused, gauging the sensations assaulting me. "More vibrant. What about demons? Do you feel-"

"You do realize I'm going to torture you right?" he interrupted.

We stayed silent for a long moment. He waited for me to respond as I read the sincerity in his bright blue eyes. "Then it sounds like they got my punishment right after all..." I trailed off.

A smirk pulled at the handsome devil's lips. "And what exactly does an angel have to do to get punished? Misplace your halo? Forget to polish your harp? Let me know if I guess it."

I took a deep breath. Humility. "I killed a human."

Something reflected in his eyes as his hand dropped from my throat. "Why?" he asked, turning from me to refresh his drink.

"Because he was evil."

"Funny, I thought an Angel of Divine Justice would look a little more intimidating," he jibed.

I sighed, "Obviously I was out of line. I interfered where I shouldn't have and I'm being taught a lesson."

"You really think they are planning to put you in line by sending you down here to endure whatever fun I can come up with?" he asked, taking a long sip.

"Actually, I think it seems more likely that I've been given a chance to influence you since, for whatever reason, you can't escape me either. Regardless, I have to wonder if they collaborated, you know? Two punishments, built off each other," I gestured back and forth between us. "It's actually kind of brilliant."

A chuckle resounded, "Figures you would find something to admire out of your own sentencing."

I eyed the decanter. "Seems you have some things to be grateful for as well."

He smiled. "That was a choice actually. I could be supplied with blood or booze. Always left hungry for the other. Seems like I chose right considering you can supplement only one of those things." He sat again, stretching out, seemingly getting more comfortable with my presence. "You know, it's funny because I chose liquor knowing they'd never supply me with fresh blood." He chuckled, his voice turning sickly sweet. "And yet, here you are- my savior."

I watched him revel in his change in luck. Eyes closed, he actually looked quite peaceful. "What's your name?" I asked, moving back to the loveseat to fold my legs up underneath me.

He groaned. "You are going to be a spout of endless questions, aren't you?"

"Funny, you seem to have plenty for me as well," I said, grinning.

Bright eyes flashed to me, the intensity back. "Look, I got here first. You burst into my place, smelling like a meal and I'm supposed to feel the need to be polite? I don't think so." He closed his eyes again, resting his head against the back of the chair.

A moment passed.

"If you don't tell me, I'll just have to make one up for you," I threatened.

Another longer groan. "It's Atticus, all right?"

"See, that wasn't so hard, now was it," I beamed at him. When I didn't receive a response, I decided to inspect my surroundings.

Moving through the small cabin, I discovered a full bath with laundry tucked in the back. I peeked out the backdoor to see a dug fire pit and a small shed at the edge of the treeline, just leaving the upstairs to discover.

The stairs had some creaky spots as I climbed, announcing my curiosity. A skylight afforded the only natural light aside from what filtered in from the lower windows. The warmth of the lighting below cast muted highlights throughout the space as it filtered through the railing. A queen size bed dominated the space allowing for a dresser, cluttered with unfolded clothes, and a desk with an accompanying chair. A journal lay out, closed.

"I'll share the bed, but it'll cost you."

I spun in place, noting that Atticus had reached halfway up the steps without alerting me. Was I that lost in thought or was he that stealthy?

"How long have you been here?" I asked, ignoring his attempt at humor.

He shrugged broad shoulders, moving past me. The ceiling here was slopping, giving my taller companion very little space for upright movement. "Don't know. That's part of the fun right? I've tried to track the days but what good is it?" He picked up the journal, waving it before me. "This place is completely cyclical, and even if I did know what day it was, it's not like I know how long they plan to keep me here anyway. Does your subjugation have an expiration date?"

"I think it's judged by productivity, not time," I said, moving back to the stairs, satisfied with my findings.

I heard his footsteps trailing behind me as I moved into the kitchen. The cupboards held all the essentials. So did the fridge. "So everything here just replenishes itself?"

"Like Groundhog Day," he sighed.

"This... doesn't seem like much of a prison," I mused.

Turning from the fridge, I found myself boxed in by the dark figure before me. "Yeah, you know, the lack of fighting and fucking and general fucking shit up seems like it shouldn't be that much of a bother." Atticus shifted forward, leaning his cheek against mine. "But the constant hunger on all accounts tends to dampen that silver lining of having fucking flour in the cupboards," he growled.

I stilled my nerves. "You're right. I misjudged. Tell me about your hunger," I requested in an even voice, hoping to stall.

"I think I'll just quench it instead," he said, gripping on my upper arms, his face diving into my neck.

A squeal escaped me as he bit down, letting the warm fluid bubble up into his waiting mouth. I did my best not to squirm. He wanted to see me as prey and certainly would if I played the role. Lips molded to my flesh, his tongue spreading across my skin greedily.

Disengaging from the fresh wound, dark eyes regarded me. Blood seeped down his chin onto his black t-shirt. "Welcome home, Ash," he said behind a drunken smile, before bringing his lips to mine.

I couldn't help but fight back as he sullied my face with crimson. He released me after that, stepping back and sizing me up.

Feeling exponentially dirtier than I had laying in the actual dirt, I attempted to move to the sink. A steel grip latched around my wrist, spinning me back to face my tormentor. I waited, as patiently as I could muster, meeting those probing eyes. "What?" I finally asked.

"You look good in red," he said, with a drawl.

My heart thumped in my chest. A new hunger was forming. I needed to think fast. "I disagree," I said, my voice echoing unnaturally. Light began to emanate behind my eyes until it shot out from me like a flash of lightning.

"Damn!" Atticus yelled, releasing me to belatedly shield his eyes.

Slipping away from his reach, I headed to the bathroom to clean myself up. He was going to need a minute.

I made quick work of removing the offensive plasma coating me. Drying off with a fresh towel, I took in my reflection. Muted blond hair framed my face, now hanging almost to my collarbone being weighted from the water. My eyes had returned to their normal gray. The light I could summon with them was absolute. It would temporarily blind any creature I deemed a threat. In a flash, the degree of their ill intent would determine the duration of their ailment.

A clatter sounded in the living room, altering me to movement. Swears followed as glass clinked. Some people were easier to predict than others.

Exiting the bathroom, I took note of a rocks glass, discarded on the floor. Atticus was blindly pouring another drink and making a mess of it. Something stirred in me as I watched his diligence before he carefully probed his way over to the recliner.

"We should probably set some ground rules," I said, joining him.

He groaned into his glass. "I don't want to talk to you."

I watched as my blood from his mouth mixed into the fresh liquor, tinging the brown with scarlet. Clearing my throat, I tried to pass the lump that had formed watching a shudder pass through him. "I mean, we can continue with the hard route, but it seems awful-"

"Yeah, it is awful. Your presence has been awful," he interrupted.

"Does that mean drinking from me hasn't been worth the annoyance?" I asked with genuine curiosity. I definitely had a guess, but I wanted to hear him say it.

Silence filled the void.

"I'll take that as a 'no,'" I said, standing. Heading back to the kitchen, I noticed drops of blood scattered across the floor. After making quick work of it, I prepped a kettle, trying to remember where I had seen the tea.

"Cabinet to your right." I heard from behind me. I turned to see Atticus leaning against the high counter, drink in hand. He regarded me with animosity before speaking, "Let's talk rules."

Opening the indicated cabinet, I spotted the tea I had discovered earlier. "Thank you," I said from behind a smile. I set up my mug with a spoonful of honey and a tea bag before giving him my undivided attention.

The look on his face was that of distaste and confusion. "So, what, you just always wear that stupid smile?"

"I've usually got some sort of smile," I said, not letting the upturn of my lips falter.

He sighed. "I'll have to do something about that," he said, but something about his tone sounded playful. Turning serious, he straightened. "So what do I have to do to get you to not burn my fucking retinas again?"

"Oh, that's easy," I said, "Don't attack me. The effect you suffer is dependent on the malice of your intent."

He scoffed. "That so?"

I nodded affirmatively.

"Then why'd you wait to use it against me?" he probed.

"I didn't," I said.

His eyes narrowed. "You let me drink from you twice and break your neck," he said matter-of-factly. "Seems like that little trick could've come in handy on any of those occasions."

I thought back to those moments. The pain, the panic- none of it registered as actual danger. "Gosh, we've had a busy night," I commented.

Piercing blue eyes held my gaze. He waited, wanting more.

"It's not really a conscious act," I stated. "More like an emergency protocol."

I could see him calculating the moment he had crossed the line, trying to get a grip on my boundaries. "So is it blood or sex that triggers you?"

"Maybe it's both," I shrugged.

He opened his mouth, but at that moment, the kettle started to whistle. I turned from him to pour the boiling water over the fragrant mesh bag, thankful for a second to refresh my composure. I was finding his persistent gaze draining.

Or maybe that was the lack of blood. It wouldn't kill me- already established- but if he drained me continually, I wouldn't be at full strength.

"Ash," he called, pulling me from my thoughts. "Do you really think you can save me?"

I spun in place at his words. That's all I needed to hear. I could do it. This was my reason. I met his eyes, my own overflowing with hope.

A sly smirk crawled across his face, humor glistening behind his eyes. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

My heart sank. He was playing me. The smile finally dropped from my face. "Rule number one," I began, "Keep your hands to yourself."

"Wow, hands beat out teeth," he chuckled to himself.

Gaze narrowing on him, I continued, "Rule number two, you meditate with me every day."

Atticus was speechless for a moment as he studied me. "The fuck I will," he finally said.

"I understand that being in such close proximity, there's no avoiding your bloodlust. If you follow these rules, I'll let you drink from me."

"You were already doing that," he countered.

I stood straighter, envisioning meeting his height. "If you don't, you'll realize just how annoying I can be." I smiled brightly.

My roomie seemed ready to counter me again when I opened my mouth to sing out a high note that reverberated through the entire cabin. Glass shook as Atticus gritted his teeth attempting to block his ears with his hands, spilling his drink in the process.

The note was short but powerful. Another of my gifts.

I took a sip of my tea after giving a stir. "And the tormentor becomes the tormented."

"Oh please," he spat, downing the piddly remains of his drink before discarding the glass. Determined steps crossed the small space. I set down my mug recognizing the mal intent. "I'm only playing nice until it's not fun anymore. Push me and I won't just become annoying," he stared me down, delivering a murderous look. "I'll make your stay here a living hell."

A long moment passed. I stayed silent watching the rage in him fade into something tired. "I understand. What are your conditions?" I asked softly.

"What?"

"I've expressed what I need from you to cohabitate. Now it's your turn," I said gently. "I've agreed to let you drink from me-"

"And to not blind or deafen me," he finished.

"And to not blind or deafen you, unless you break my rules," I revised.

His bright blue eyes searched mine. "What's the deal with requiring meditation?"

I shrugged. "It's the perfect opportunity to do some soul-searching."

He laughed in my face, which I had expected, but I didn't turn from him. Eventually, he strode off in the living room, still chuckling to himself. He really thought I was joking. Or maybe he truly believed he was too far gone.

Watching the dark figure retreat to tend the fire, I reclaimed my tea before joining him.

"As fun as this evening has been, I'm about ready for a new day." He paused for a moment, a smile gracing his features as he mused, "Maybe, in the morning, you'll be gone and I can go back to my very peaceful, if boring, existence." He looked back to me pointedly, "The offer about the bed stands. You can pay up and I don't even have to use my hands." He wiggled his splayed fingers, a seductive smile pulling at his lips.

"I'll make do down here, thank you."

He shrugged before heading off. I sat on the loveseat watching the fire for a long moment before grabbing the throw blanket to curl into myself. Thankfully, this form is petite, letting me barely fit into the small space.