Dark thoughts loom in the back of my mind as I hover over this mortal. As much as she intrigues me, my frustration with her for trussing me to this self-imposed protection detail is festering. I’m programmed to despise human and divine life, not bind myself to it.
“I’m the prince of darkness, sweetheart, not a bodyguard,” I whisper into the night, and brush the hair away from her face, wanting to feel her soft skin against my fingers.
I’d allowed my temper and frustration with the archangel to get the best of me, tethering myself to this oracle. A mortal with a divine soul. One my father wants to use for his own selfish revenge. The dull irony is that I’ve vowed to safeguard her from the one thing I will never be able to protect her from—my own birthright.
I move away from her, even though it’s the last thing I want to do, and take a seat in the chair facing her bed. I should have made her leave last night, but it doesn’t matter now. I couldn’t stay away from her any longer. Vassago wouldn’t allow it.
She is my mission. She has chosen her fate. And I’m bound to save her from the one thing I can’t protect her from—my dark soul.