In one of the club's private rooms, Gabriel and Lilith sat across a low, polished table. The air was thick with perfume and the rich, smoky scent of aged wine. Two crystal glasses, filled with a dark red vintage, sat between them. Outside the door, Raphael stood guard, a silent and immovable sentinel in the chaotic hallway.
Lilith's crimson eyes lingered on Gabriel's lips, stained with wine. Her voice was a gentle, coaxing purr. "My dear Gabriel, a champion of this caliber costs far more now."
"More than what I paid you last time?" Gabriel took a slow sip, her violet eyes glinting over the rim of her glass. She offered a playful, challenging wink.
"Dear. Much more." Lilith leaned forward, her own lips parting in a seductive smile. She slowly licked them, then reached across the table to gently caress the back of Gabriel's hand. "I demand more."
Gabriel did not pull her hand away, but her expression grew sharper. "You demand more payment," she stated, her tone cool and analytical. "That implies a great deal of confidence in this champion you've procured for me. Just how good are they?"
Lilith used her thumb to wipe a stray drop of wine from Gabriel's lower lip. Her touch was intimate, possessive. "Do you wish to win this little battle of champions, or do you merely seek a blunt instrument? An assassin is a specific tool. Are you certain that is the tool you require?"
Gabriel looked away, her gaze drifting to the opulent, dark wallpaper. "It is for protection. The protection of someone I know who has become entangled in this… mess."
"That boy," Lilith murmured, a knowing smile playing on her lips. She enjoyed the faint flush that crept into Gabriel's cheeks. "I thought your kind held humanity in contempt. Why are you here, in the den of a sinful creation, making deals for the sake of a single marked human?"
"My reasons are my own," Gabriel deflected, her voice tight.
Lilith leaned back, swirling her wine. "Very well. I assure you, the individual I have found is absolute. He is known as the second greatest assassin in this world."
Gabriel raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Why not the first?"
"The first is a ghost. Off-grid. A myth even to us. We have tried, and we have failed to make contact. This one, however, is real, tangible, and exceptionally skilled." Lilith's gaze was steady. "He will suffice for your needs."
"It is acceptable," Gabriel said after a moment. "As long as he obeys my commands without question." She raised her glass, offering a silent toast to seal the agreement.
Lilith did not raise her own glass. Instead, she stood up in a fluid, graceful motion. She stepped around the table, cupped Gabriel's face, and kissed her deeply. The kiss was long, languid, and filled with a hunger that had been simmering for centuries. When she finally pulled back, her lips were a breath away. "I could not take it anymore," she whispered, the words vibrating against Gabriel's skin.
Gabriel's eyes were wide, her composure cracked. She stood up, her movements slightly unsteady. Without a word, she opened the door to the room. Raphael turned, his expression carefully neutral.
"Let no one enter," Gabriel instructed, her voice husky. "Until I exit."
Raphael gave a single, solemn nod. "Understood, My Lady."
Gabriel closed the door, the lock clicking softly into place.
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Several hours later, the door opened again. Gabriel emerged. Her silver hair was disheveled, strands escaping her usually pristine style. Her lipstick was smudged, and the severe lines of her suit were rumpled. A profound, weary satisfaction hung about her, mixed with a deep, familiar melancholy.
Raphael's eyes widened a fraction. "My Lady? Are you… what occurred?"
"Nothing that concerns you," Gabriel said, her voice rough. She smoothed her hair with a frustrated hand. "I need to fix my makeup. Where is the restroom?"
Raphael pointed down a quieter, dimly lit corridor. "To the left, My Lady."
Gabriel walked into the lavish, marble-lined restroom. It was empty. She set her small clutch bag on the counter and leaned over the sink, splashing cold water on her face. The shock of it helped clear the lingering fog. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, at the smudged eyeliner and kissed-red lips, and began the methodical process of repairing her façade.
As she was reapplying her lipstick, a cold, circular pressure pressed against the back of her head.
She froze, but only for a second. Then a slow smirk spread across her freshly painted lips. In the mirror's reflection, she saw the glint of a gun barrel held by a gloved hand. The wielder was hidden in the shadows behind her.
"You can come out now," Gabriel said, her voice calm. "You are working for me, remember? If you shoot, I assure you, the only hole being put in anything tonight will be from my fist through your chest."
The man stepped out of the shadows. He was tall, standing at six feet even, dressed in a tailored black trench coat. He had sharp, Nordic features, blonde hair swept back, and eyes the pale, icy blue of a winter sky. His expression was one of detached professional curiosity.
"Gabriel Montes," he said, his voice low and even. "No birth certificate. No traces of your origin. Yet you own a multinational corporation. Are you like Lilith? Another being in a human skin?"
Gabriel started laughing, a rich, genuine sound that echoed in the tiled room. "Being compared to Lilith," she said, shaking her head as her laughter subsided. "I cannot bear it."
Faster than the man could register, she turned. Her violet eyes blazed with an internal, unearthly light. "Do I look like I am like Lilith?" The question was not asked, but demanded.
The man did not flinch, though his finger tightened minutely on the trigger. "You both have glowing eyes. That seems a point in common."
Gabriel leaned forward, pressing her forehead directly against the cold tip of the gun. Her smirk was daring, insane. "Then shoot. If you really want to know what I am, pull the trigger."
For a long moment, they remained frozen in that deadly tableau. Then the man's lips quirked into a mocking smile of his own. "She said you were a good payer. I do not wish to lose a valuable customer." He began to slowly lower the weapon.
Feeling belittled by his condescension, Gabriel's hand snapped out in a blur. She grabbed his wrist and forced his finger to squeeze the trigger.
The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space.
The man's icy composure shattered into pure shock, not just at her impossible speed, but at what happened next. The moment the bullet left the barrel, Gabriel's other hand moved. There was a faint snick of metal meeting divine flesh.
She opened her palm. Resting there, slightly warm and deformed, was the bullet.
She plucked it up and placed it neatly in the center of his still-outstretched palm. "There is your bullet, old man. Ask Lilith if she can do that too."
The door to the restroom swung open. Lilith stood there, leaning against the frame, wrapped only in a plush towel. Her damp black hair cascaded over her shoulders. She took in the scene—the shocked assassin, the smug archangel, the smell of cordite—and let out a soft, delighted chuckle.
"I heard a gunshot. I assumed it was just you two… negotiating." She sauntered into the room, her movements liquid and unconcerned.
She stood beside the stunned man, placing a proprietorial hand on his arm. "Gabriel, allow me to introduce your new tool. His designation is 03. He was raised within a clandestine organization, honed for a single purpose: killing. He is the second greatest assassin in this world."
Then she glided to stand beside Gabriel, playfully pinching her cheek. "And 03, this is your new employer. Gabriel. But you may call her by her proper title. The Archangel Gabriel."
03 stared, his pale blue eyes wide, flicking between the two women. The bullet felt like a burning coal in his hand. "A real angel?" he breathed, disbelief warring with the evidence of his own eyes.
"Yes," Lilith answered, her voice a silken promise and a threat. "If you believe that I am a demon, you should have prepared yourself for the possibility of meeting a real angel."