Characters: Mal, OC
Pairing: Mal/OC, kinda
Rating: C

Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with Terry Pratchett or Discworld.
     

Angel
by Amazon Syren

     "‘Evening, Angel."
     I try not to freeze, but I hear her chuckle and know I've failed.
     One more mark against me, though it's not as though I haven't gotten used to that in past few years.
     I don't turn around.
     "Come on, Angel," she continues, "I know you missed me."
     I glare at her over my shoulder.
     "Funny, I don't recall inviting you in."
     She smiles her lazy smile, her teeth, which I know too well, are sharp at her lips.
     "Sweet, sweet Maladicta... You invited me in the first time you kissed me, Angel." I see her glance at my jacket, folded over the chair-back by the window, taking in the black ribbon on the lapel. "No matter what else changes," she says, "that never will."
     "That already did."
     Her mouth quirks.

"Did you really need to run all this way to get away from me?"      "Did you really come all this way to make small talk?"      She smiles. "That's more like the Mal I know," she says. "Pity you cut your hair. Harder to get a grip that way." She slides her eyes over my body — my naked body. This is the last time I'll sleep naked, I'm damn sure. "At least you're appropriately dressed."      "No." I stand up, wrapping the dark sheet around me — scant cover, and it only makes her laugh.      "Really, Angel, such modesty." She drifts ‘round the bed. One of my old deamons, come back to haunt me.      "I seem to recall," I say, as casually as I can manage, "that the last time we met, you spat in my face and called me a godsdamned monkey-lover. Very classy of you."

     She shrugs, draws closer.
     "What brings you down to the swamplands?" I ask her, as if it wasn't painfully clear already.
     Her mouth quirks. "Maybe I decided to remind you of what you're missing."
     Too close.
     "I know damn well what I'm missing, Vanya, and it sure as hell isn't you."
     She takes my wrist in her hand. "Your heartbeat says differently."
     "My heartbeat is not in possession of all the facts." I pull my hand away. "Neither are you, apparently, so do let me fill you in. We are long finished. I don't want to see you anymore."
     She looks down, briefly, her hand over her mouth.
     For a moment, I entertain the notion that she might have got it through her head this time, but when she looks up again, her lips are bleeding and her teeth are stained red.
     "You'll be back," she tells me, pressing her mouth roughly to mine. "I'm sure of it."
     She turns away, then, leaving me alone in my small room, the door swinging shut behind her.
     I let myself lean against the wall and sink down to the floor, shaking.
     I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, before I get the chance to taste her blood on my lips.