"I don't speak your,

I don't speak your language oh no

I don't speak your,

I don't speak your Jesus Cristo." - Lady Gaga, Americano

on the windowsill as I look at the sky, a hue of violet with sparkling stars and the glow of the moon greet me. I clasp my hands together, resting my forehead on my hands as I shut my eyes close. "Father, Mother, please guide me while I'm here on Earth. I don't know what great it will bring this to me, but I'll do this for you. I may fail a few times, but I will never give up."

"That's cute," a voice speaks. I yelp, my eyes opening wide, mouth agape as I look at the person – no, it's a demon, who is looking at me with amusement twinkling in his eyes. Slate is on the balcony fence, his back resting on the fence and my eyes look to the left and right, afraid that someone would see him like this. It's a demon thing. "Did your parents' reply to you?"

My heart races and I fall on my butt. I push myself backwards, my eyes not leaving him. I'm a mere human, my power has been stripped off of me and even I want to fight, there's nothing really I can do. Of course I can pray, and pray, and pray, but I doubt help will come immediately. Or I doubt that it will come at all. Ever since I came here into this unit, I've been praying and praying but nobody seemed to hear my prayers, it's as if I was talking to the wind.

Slate grins at me, winking as he swings his feet to the floor of the balcony and leans down, opening the windowsill and he slips right through it. I stare at him in shock. Words are stuck in my throat and I'm suddenly frozen, my mind going blank. Currently he's wearing a white shirt over a red and black flannel, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a slightly torn pants, just on the knees, matching his top and a rubber shoes. Even though he's a demon, he looks very human. There's no sign or hints of him being a demon at all. With his gorgeous face, and his long lashes, and his dark brown eyes that are so alluring and captivating, you wouldn't think that he's really a demon. Slate chuckles, as if he's enjoying that I'm openly ogling him. I frown at him, using my index fingers to make a cross and he bursts out laughing, shaking his head as he throws his head back.

"Nice, angel boy." He whistles, his eyes now twinkling with mischievousness. I force myself to stand up, backing away from him until my back hits the wall and I internally scream. "I'm not going to hurt you." I almost believe him. Almost. If it weren't for the fact that my head keeps screaming at me that he's a demon, that he only does bad thing, I would have gone to him and wrap my arms around him. No, that's not going to happen. "You look scared."

"A demon is in front of me and I'm powerless. Of course I'm scared!" I hiss, my voice laced with a venom and a sly smile tugs on his lips, which makes me freeze again. I take cautious steps to the left, going to where the door is while my hand frantically searches for the doorknob, my eyes never leaving the demon. If he attacks me here, then I'm dead. I'm going to die. I'm going to die. "How'd you know I'm an angel?"

The demon frowns, as if he's annoyed by my question. Then he seems bored all of a sudden. Slate throws himself on the ground, propping his feet on the table and resting the back of his head on his hands as he looks at me. "You look very angelic to me; you have this aura that tells me you are an angel, and I immediately know that you're Hadraniel since you very much look like your parents." He yawns, as if he's suddenly sleepy and I scowl at him. There's nothing really much to throw him as there are no objects in this room that I can throw at him. Plus, he's a demon, he can do anything. He's thousand times powerful than me; he could just slit my throat with the nail of his index finger and I'd be dead immediately. "Enough of this. Why don't we get to know each other?" His brown eyes lighten up; it's like a dark basement being lit up for the first time in forever. I shake my head at him, not agreeing in his proposal and he hoists himself up, scowling at me, pouting like a kid. "Why not?"

"Because you are a demon and I'm not. We're enemies." I reason. My hands are getting clammy, and I'm slightly – no, not slightly, I'm obviously – shaking. There's a demon in front of me, basically asking me to be friends with him, and I don't really know what to do. Please God, have mercy on me. I promise that I will be a good angel. I will do the duties of an angel of love, I promise. I promise. I silently pray, gulping out loud. My heart starts racing, much faster this time, as he stands up and walks up to me slowly, his eyes trained on me and I back away faster. He grins widely, grinning the feral grin that every demon shows when they stalk their prey. My hand immediately grasps the doorknob and as I turn around, turning the knob, the demon suddenly lunges himself on me and pushes me back on the wall, making me groan. The demon's – Slate's – breath is fanning my face, and I'm surprised that his breath smells chocolate and other sweet stuff, as if he has been eating treats and sweet candies all day. "What are you doing?"

"Smelling you," he sniffs, his nose trailing across my jaw down to my neck. I admit, if he were just a mortal human that I would totally love this, even urge the mortal human to go further, but this in front of me is a demon. A demon. "You smell of ichor. Delicious." I push him away, but he flicks his tongue across my collarbone and I let out a gasp. "Hmm." That drives me to push him away, panting out loud and he grins at me evilly.

"Stop that." I groan out loud, running my fingers through my black hair. "Leave me alone." I mutter, turning my face to the left so I wouldn't be directly looking at him. He moves to the side and I move my face to the right. He lets out a soft chuckle, his chuckle deep and it sends something down my spine. "Go away. I want to sleep."

"Then sleep while I'm in the room," he says nonchalantly, suddenly interested on his fingernails, as if studying it and I shake my head furiously. The thought of him spending the night here in my room – no, it's technically his because I know the money has come from him – while I'm asleep is enough to make me tremble in fear. "I'm not going to do anything. I promise."

What does he know about promises? Demons love to break promises. They don't stick to their promises. They rip their promises apart just as easily as they break a life of a mortal by making them commit to sins forcefully. Some of the mortals don't have enough of faith and hope to keep the demons away and they use that opportunity to hunt and destroy lives. I keep shaking my head, rather frantically, at the demon, who is looking at me with predatory eyes, but his lips are in a frown. Immediately, as fast as a light, he's already in front of me and murmurs something in my ears that makes my eyelids droop. Suddenly exhaustion creeps up on me like a bug, and I fall but the demon catches me, Slate's arms wrapping around my waist and he carries me another room while murmuring things that I can't quite catch. I want to scream at him, to tell him to let me go because this is not supposed to me, but I can't seem to force myself to do so. As the night goes deeper, exhaustion takes over my body and I become limp in the demon's arms. My eyes shut close and a sigh escapes my lips as I feel a comfort, a mattress, behind my back and I immediately dream of Angels' Home.

The sun is as bright as my mother's love for me when I wake up, my eyes fluttering open and a groan, from stretching my arms out, escapes my lips. I just had a nightmare, where the demon – Slate – went over to my unit and basically tortured me. It's a good thing that it's only a dream. As I stretch my arms out across the bed, as well as my feet, my hands collide with something hard. My fingers run across the smooth surface, and I frown. When I look up, a scream escapes my lips and immediately scurry away from the demon, still screaming.

Slate frowns, brows furrowing as he looks at me with utter annoyance. He uses his pinkie to, as if my screaming makes his ears dirty, clean his ear out and looks at me with now a bored expression. His face lightens up again as if he's remembering something. "I was supposed to greet you a very good morning but hell yeah, you're a screamer!"

"What are you doing here in my unit? In my room? In my bedroom?" I demand, shooting him an icy glare. Hatred is an unusual feeling for the angels to have, but this demon is making everything hard for me. "Aren't you supposed to have a meeting with your co-demons? Mind your business, don't stay here in my room, I don't need a babysitter. I'm fine on my own. I'll survive."

"Other demons are not really kind like me," he chortles, studying his fingernails again. "I mean, you're not really tolerable. So if the demons find out that there's an angel here on Earth that has been stripped off of powers, then..." he leaves his sentence hanging and I freeze, staring at him with wide eyes. The fear is evident now. Of course if the demons find out that there's a powerless angel who is currently living on Earth, they will find me and if – when – they do, I'm doomed. "So if you want me to go... then I will... but there's a price to pay."

"Alright, alright, alright!" I stomp my foot on the ground like a kid, irritated by the demon in front of me. I put my face in my hands, wanting to cry but I can't show weaknesses in front of a demon. They will use it against me someday. That's how they work. They do dirty works. "Why has my morning been ruined?" I groan out loud, frustrated. "Why is there a mattress here in my room? There's no mattress the last time I checked it. Don't tell me you stole it!"

"I did not," Slate says, grinning up at me. "I used magic."

"Shut up," I say, turning around. I can feel the mortal-ness running in my veins. Usually by morning, as an angel, I'd feel energetic and my wings would immediately flap open wide behind my back. But as a mortal, I have this urge to have a coffee, or hot chocolate, to complete my working. Léandre had once told me that mortal humans like to make themselves breakfast in the morning to start their day. Apparently his lover of a werewolf loves scrambled eggs in the morning, and he learns to cook because of his mate. Werewolves call their destined lover mate. "I need coffee. I need chocolate. I need coffee."

"There's a Seattle's Best near here, I can take you there." Slate offers.

I almost say thanks, but no thanks, but curiosity gets the best of me. "What's Seattle's Best?"