Hell Bound (The Immortal Balances- Book 1)

Chapter Nineteen: Harsh and Fearless

I didn't return to the hotel room after I was forced to leave Rachel. I just couldn't. 

I had made my point of not wanting to leave her, but when a familiar Cambion voice began to echo down the hall, I knew that if I wanted to save Rachel completely, it wouldn't have been then.

I still couldn't get over that kiss.

They way her mouth had felt against mine, moving in sync with each other as I had pushed her against the wall, her arms around me. The smell of her hair, the cold touch of her scars, her breath. The way her back and arched when my hand trailed down from her shoulders. Her smile.

I knew I'd never be able to get enough of her. Ever.

I wanted to kiss away every bruise and scar from her skin, anything that Jonathan had left on her. Anything that abomination had done to her to hurt her precious soul.

I teleported to wherever my desires took me, to an alley way in the pouring rain apparently, my bare arms  trickling water down as the rain soaked through my shirt. Why couldn't I have just teleported to somewhere dry?

Peering around to check no one had saw my marvellous entrance, I briskly hurried out from my hiding spot into what appeared to be a high-street, people walking back and forth past me, ducked under umbrellas in large coats. One walked past me, a newspaper tucked under the back sleeved arm. The London Times.

So, I was in London?

Not only had my powers returned due to my 'rendering' to the Living world, but also increased beyond their previous height. Never had I even dreamed of being able to teleport between complete countries.

London was busy around me, the rain falling helplessly from the sky to cover the crowded floor in water, puddles splashing everywhere. People were peering from under their umbrellas and hoods to give me confused and perplexed glances, probably to do with my clothing attire, but I just brushed it off and weaved between the groups.

Eventually I stopped by what appeared to be a clothes shop, the mannequins standing in ridiculous poses dressed in what apparently was 'the best in fashion'. I ignored the lie and wondered on in.

"Good day sir," I rather cheery man greeted me, ushering me in with haste until I was well inside the store. Regret flooded through me the second he dragged me over to some shirts. "How can we help you today at Silverstones?"

The urge to drown him outside in one of the puddles, then leave the scrawny fellow in an alley abandoned was there, but I didn't act upon it.

Instead, I smiled.

"As you can see, I'm not entirely dressed for such weather," I told him, gesturing down to my now soaked through t-shirt and jeans. My sneakers even made squeaky sounds when I walked.

"Ah my good sir, we cannot be having such a disaster in London," he chimed, probably picking up on the Florida accent I had recently picked up. Accents were easy to pick up and use when you were a demon, due to how advanced our brains and powers were. Give it a day, and you'd think I'd been born and raised in England.

"I suggest you wonder over to our 'just-in' range," the sales assistant told me, shooing me to a section of the store that wasn't as bright as the other areas, but just as worse: I found myself staring at extremely low cut v-neck shirts, something worn by Livings back in the eighties, that was drenched in dark colours to make it 'urban' and 'contemporary'.

I felt like I was looking at a space costume gone wrong.

Other garments that blazed my eyes were skin-tight zebra print three-quarter length trousers, and a puffed jacket that looked as if it would make me appear to be a puffer fish out of water, and boots that I'm sure those in the eighties frowned upon.