Melissa's apartment was exactly what I expected from a stressed, recently single mortal woman in her mid-twenties: small, neat to the point of obsessive, and decorated with the kind of generic inspirational quotes that made me want to vomit.
"Live, Laugh, Love" stared at me from above her couch as the two males – Derek and his friend, whose name I hadn't bothered learning – dumped me onto the cushions with all the grace of falling rocks.
"Jesus, he's heavy," Derek grunted.
"That's what happens when you actually have muscle," I muttered.
Melissa shot me a look that said not helping, then ushered the two out with promises that she had everything under control and yes, she'd call someone if she needed anything, and no, she didn't need them to stay.
The door clicked shut. Silence fell.
We stared at each other.
"So," she said finally, arms crossed under her chest – which only served to push her breasts up in a way that the system immediately highlighted. "You want to explain the wings?"
I glanced at the shredded appendages draped over her couch. White feathers – now stained with blood and grime – littered her floor. One wing twitched involuntarily, making her jump.
"Would you believe me if I said I'm an angel?"
"No."
"Then I'm a very dedicated cosplayer who fell off a building."
She didn't laugh. Instead, she moved closer, studying me with an intensity that most mortals lacked. Her eyes tracked over my face, my body, lingering on the wings.
"Those are attached. Actually attached to your back." It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"And you're bleeding from... I can't even tell where. Everywhere?"
"Accurate assessment."
[Target Curiosity: Maximum]
[Target Fear: Moderate but decreasing]
[Target Attraction: 85% and holding]
[Time Remaining: 3 hours, 42 minutes]
She stood there, processing. I could see the war playing out across her face – rationality versus what her eyes were telling her. Finally, she sighed and sat on the coffee table, facing me.
"Okay. Let's say I believe you. Let's say you're actually an angel – "
"Fallen angel. Important distinction."
"Right. Fallen. What happened? Did you do something bad?"
I laughed, then immediately regretted it as pain lanced through my ribs. "I killed the wrong angel. He was the Archangel Michael's nephew."
"There's angel nepotism?"
"There's nepotism everywhere, Melissa."
She blinked at hearing her name from my lips. Something flickered across her face.
[Target Attraction: +2%]
[Note: She likes how you say her name]
"So they threw you out of Heaven for...angel murder?"
"He deserved it. He was trafficking human souls for his own amusement."
That made her pause. "That's a thing?"
"Everything's a thing when you're immortal and bored." I shifted, trying to find a position that didn't feel like being stabbed by a thousand knives. Failed. "I reported him. I followed protocol. I did everything right. But family protects family, even in Heaven. So they fabricated charges, held a sham trial, and here we are."
She studied me for a long moment. "You're telling the truth."
"Unfortunately."
"And you need... what? Help? Medical attention? A priest?"
[Time Remaining: 3 hours, 38 minutes]
[Warning: Blood loss approaching critical levels]
[Recommend immediate action]
I needed to tell her. The system had made it clear – there was only one way I was surviving this night. But how did you ask a mortal woman you'd met an hour ago to fuck you to save your life without sounding completely insane?
"I need energy," I said carefully. "My divine core is shattered. Normally, angels draw power from Heaven itself, but I'm cut off. To heal, I need... another source."
"What kind of source?"
Here goes nothing.
"Life essence. Human life essence, specifically."
Her eyes narrowed. "Please tell me you're not about to say you need to eat people."
"What? No. I'm not a demon." I paused. "Though I understand the confusion. No, I need... intimate energy. The kind generated through physical connection."
The apartment went very quiet.
Melissa stood up, walked to her kitchen, and poured herself a glass of wine. She downed half of it in one go, then turned back to me.
"Let me get this straight. You're telling me you need to have sex to heal."
"Essentially, yes."
"That's the most elaborate pickup line I've ever heard."
"It's not a line."
"Right. Because you're a fallen angel who needs to fuck me to survive." She laughed, sharp and disbelieving. "This is insane. I'm insane. I brought a crazy person to my apartment."
[Target Skepticism: High]
[Target Attraction: 87% but conflicted]
[Recommend: Proof]
"Give me your hand," I said.
"What?"
"Your hand. Give it to me."
She hesitated, then approached, extending her hand like someone feeding a dangerous animal. I took it gently – my fingers wrapped around her smaller ones.
And I pushed.
It was barely a trickle – the last dregs of power I had left – but I channeled it through our connection. Warmth flooded from my palm to hers, and with it, a feeling: peace, safety, euphoria.
Her eyes went wide. Her lips parted.
"What..." she breathed.
"That's what I am," I said quietly. "That's what angels feel like. We're creation's gift to humanity – or we're supposed to be. I don't have much left, but that's real. I'm real."
[Target Skepticism: Eliminated]
[Target Attraction: +8%]
[Current Total: 95%]
[So close...]
She pulled her hand back slowly, staring at it like it had betrayed her. Then at me. Then at my wings.
"Holy shit."
"Technically, yes."
"You're really an angel."
"Was. Now I'm just a fallen idiot bleeding on your couch."
She downed the rest of her wine, set the glass down with a decisive clink, and turned to face me fully. When she spoke, her voice was different – steadier, like she'd made a decision.
"How does it work? The energy transfer thing."
[Time Remaining: 3 hours, 29 minutes]
"Physical contact. Skin to skin. The more intimate, the more energy transfers. At my current state, I'd need..." I trailed off, meeting her eyes. "Complete intimacy. Full connection."
"Sex."
"Yes."
"And if you don't get it?"
[Time Remaining: 3 hours, 28 minutes]
"I die. Probably in the next three hours."