Deadly Desires

by Jennifer Salaiz

  As Dominic walked in, the dark angel whispered something in his ear and stormed out. Marcella pushed herself up while the door closed and Dom walked over. “You better?”

  A smile tried to surface, but she couldn’t force it, no matter how hard she wanted to. “I think so. He’s really mad at me, isn’t he?”

  Dom brushed back the hair from her face. “He’s just worried.”

  She nodded and stood.

  “Whoa, where are you going?”

  A small laugh came from her mouth. “To the bathroom. You want to go?” she asked jokingly.

  Dominic sat down on the bed while she made her way into the restroom. It had been hours since they’d stopped. Tenderness ached in her core with every step she’d taken. The clothes fell to the floor and Marcella kicked them out of the way. At the sight of her legs, something caught her attention. Blood covered her inner thigh. The sight made Marcella sway. Okay, this wasn’t good. Maybe she’d been stupid to assume that just because the pain had stopped she and the baby were better.

  The shower curtain she was grasping snapped free as her weight pulled it from the rod. The room spun and she felt herself falling. Darkness covered her vision and she knew she was going down. Instinctively, she held her stomach, but she didn’t feel herself hit the ground before nothingness washed over.

  Chapter 14

  The energy was easy to pick up on. Samael followed the trail, knowing it would take him to the High Priestess. Blurriness took over his vision and he rubbed his eyes angrily. How could Marcella have done this? She was so damn stubborn. Always had been.

  The Wiccan form he’d turned into was easy enough. He’d remembered on multiple occasions Marcella explaining the sensations that would follow when she changed creatures. She always said it felt like cobwebs moving through her insides, and he had to agree. That’s exactly what they felt like when he let them take over his body. It had been a slow transition, starting in his ankles. The wispiness pushed against his insides, leaving a full feeling while it traveled to the top of his head.

  This was the first time he’d changed forms out of his collector, but it came naturally. Since he was already a master by collector standards, maybe the problems associated with a beginner wouldn’t come for him. He sure hoped so. Marcella sure as hell didn’t have an easy time getting control of her creatures.

  The old white house sat on the top of a hill. Larges trees surrounded it, almost appearing to enclose the cottage-style home within their protective limbs. Even though it was dark, Samael could see the pulses of energy flicker from the surrounding life. He threw the SUV into park and jogged up to the front door.

  Dealing with a High Priestess could be life or death for anyone. The magick they held deep within themselves could kill you in a matter of seconds, or linger inside of your body for days, giving you one hell of a torturous end. He was treading on unstable territory, but it had to be done. Marcella wasn’t good, he could feel it, and if she wouldn’t go to the hospital then he’d bring a healer to her.

  The cement steps were hard under his feet. He got to the top and looked down the length of porch. On a porch swing sat an older lady holding a large glass of something. Resting next to her was a big, black bag. She appeared tiny and frail there in the dark.

  “Took you long enough.” Slowly, she stood. Samael wasn’t sure what to think. “Barkley said you were on your way. Didn’t think you’d be so damn handsome though. Feels good on this woman’s old eyes. You don’t see real men anymore. Damn teenagers sporting around in their skinny jeans with their damn eyeliner.”

  Samael tried not to laugh as she grabbed the bag and headed toward him. “I’m sorry. I think maybe you’re expecting someone else. You see, I just got into town with my…with…” He was suddenly at a loss on what to call Marcella. He couldn’t say wife. It was only a matter of time before she found out who they really were, and he knew not to lie to her. But, they weren’t typical mates either.

  “Yeah, yeah. I know who you are. I dreamed you and the collector woman would be coming. She’s beginning to miscarry, and you need my help.”

  “Miscarry?” Fear engulfed him. He’d known Marcella was sick, and the cramps weren’t good. But the actual loss of their baby?

  The woman looked up at him. Her eyes were narrowed and she had a disapproving look on her face. “She’s pregnant and in pain, yes?”

  “Well, yes.” He followed the woman down and opened the car door while she climbed inside. He raced around and threw himself into the driver’s side. Just then his phone went off. He reached for it and pressed the button.

  “Samael, where are you!” Dominic’s voice was full of panic.

  The High Priestess rummaged through her black bag and he turned back to the main road that led to the motel. “I’m a few blocks away. What’s wrong?”

  Rustling broke through the background. “I heard something and came to check on Marcella. I found her on the floor in the bathroom. There’s blood everywhere. I don’t know if it’s from where she hit her head or not. It’s on her legs, too.”

  “Fuck.” Tires squealed as he stomped on the gas. The old woman held on but remained quiet. “We’re almost there.” Samael had so many questions, but he hung up the phone so he could focus more on not wrecking the SUV before they got there. The dip the car hit sent them jerking toward the ceiling. He looked at the High Priestess, apologizing.

  “Are you kidding me,” she snapped. “I haven’t been through this much excitement in the last twenty years.” They flew up again in their seats, but this time not so hard. She looked down at the glass she’d put in the cup holder. It was halfway empty and looked like tea. Unfortunately, the other half was dripping down from around the edges of the plastic holder. “Your woman is a collector, isn’t she?”

  Samael let his own collector flow through his body. She gasped and began to say a prayer. “I knew the dream had to be the truth. It was farfetched, but I couldn’t let it go.” She took a long, drawn out breath. “My mother used to tell me stories of collectors when I was young. She wasn’t a High Priestess, but powerful none the less. To her, they were our salvation against the ultimate end. I’m starting to believe that it may be closer than I ever imagined.”

  “Marcella is good.” Samael looked at her. “She’s the best person I’ve ever had the chance to meet.”

  “You both hold a very painful past. Am I right?”

  Samael pulled into the parking lot. “Yes. Centuries ago. I’m hoping we’ve overcome that. The baby she carries inside of her is mine.”

  The old woman nodded. “I suspected as much.”

  As her small frame climbed from the SUV, Samael noticed that although she was small, she was strong. Her bag swung behind her shoulder and Dominic met them at the door. Marcella was lying in bed. Blood was soaking through the washcloth Dominic had placed on her head.

  “Oh yes.” The woman lowered to the edge of the bed and pulled the blanket down to expose Marcella’s nude frame. “Very strong, this one,” she whispered. Her hand hovered over the tattoos on her chest and stopped at her stomach. Blood was smeared on her thighs. Samael grabbed Dominic and pulled him outside.

  “How long was she in there before you found her?”

  Dominic’s eyes looked around as he thought. “A minute. Maybe less.” As soon as I heard the sound I headed in the direction. I knocked a few times, and when she didn’t answer, I opened the door and found her lying next to the tub.”

  Fear made the back of Samael’s throat burn. He grabbed on to Dominic’s shoulders and lowered his head. He needed his friend’s support, which was odd. Samael had never needed anyone. It had to be because of how close he’d become with all of her men. “The woman says Marcella is miscarrying. She’s going to lose the baby.” The words released out loud made the reality of the situation a million times worse.

  Dominic pulled him into his arms. “I’m so sorry. I know how much you both wanted this baby. How much we all wanted him.”

  Samael wipe
d away the tear that escaped down his cheek and lifted his head. “We should have never come. I should have made Marcella stay at the fortress.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Dominic leaned against the wall, next to the door. “Marcella wouldn’t have stayed. She is our queen, Samael, regardless of where we fit into her life. This is her mission. She has to be here.”

  “I know, but…” He paced. “I have to see her.” He walked inside and the woman was whispering words into the air. A weird fragrance filled the room and Samael coughed against the scent. Candles burned on the bedside table, even though the lights were still on.

  The High Priestess looked up. Her expression was unreadable while she stared at him silently. Aching clutched his heart and he lowered himself into the chair. “How bad is it? Will she be okay?”

  “Tell your man to get my tea.”

  Samael’s mouth opened at being caught off guard. He walked to the door and opened it to see Dominic kneeling on the sidewalk, staring off into the sky. Was he praying? The aura around him was thick. Instead of bothering him, Samael walked over and grabbed her glass from the car. Cold air hit him as he walked back inside and shut the door.

  Wrinkled hands took the tea and a good minute went by while she drank it in. “I was wrong. My instincts aren’t as good as they used to be. I thought miscarriage, but I must have just picked up the complications. Your baby lives. He thrives, actually. The bleeding was nothing more than him attaching himself better to the lining of her uterus.”

  “Her what?” Samael couldn’t understand anything that she was saying. All he knew was that his son was alive and doing more than well. He couldn’t focus on the rest due to his excitement.

  “Nevermind.” She laughed and reached into her bag. As she pulled back the washcloth, Samael flinched. The gash across her forehead looked deep and it stretched a good two inches above her eyebrow. “My guess is that she fainted and hit her head. It could have been because she saw the blood or maybe her body had just had enough. Fainting is common at the beginning of pregnancy.”

  She took a long drink. “So that brings us to the question I’m dying to know. What brings you all the way to Jamestown, California? The license plate said Texas. You’re a long way from home, collector.”

  Although this was Marcella’s conversation, Samael knew he couldn’t delay what needed to be said. Marcella was obviously in no condition to talk to the High Priestess, unconscious. “We came here to talk to you, actually.”

  “Is that so?” Her eyes studied him. “And what do you wish to speak to me about?” Dominic walked in and she tilted her head. “Three collectors. Two, somewhat good.” She turned to Samael. “And one who’s seeing the error of his ways. You fight being good. I’m not sure why.”

  Samael wasn’t sure what compelled him, but he motioned for Dominic to take his chair. He kneeled before the High Priestess. “I am the Devil’s son. My name is Samael. Marcella, my queen…my former wife, has been brought back and wishes for me to be good. It’s hard.”

  “And you love her, so you’ve done this,” she said, gesturing to the tattoos. Her head looked over to Marcella and her mouth parted. “Marcella. Samael.” The movement of her eyes went back and forth while she went over her thoughts. “She wouldn’t happen to be the Marcianna, would she?”

  “The one and only,” Samael whispered.

  The shakiness of the woman’s hands came to rest on Marcella’s face. “She’s had quite the past life. Is it true she stood up to evil, itself, in her last minutes? The stories all vary. Especially in our religion.”

  “Yes.” Samael thought back to that painful day. “My father accused her of treason. At that point, Marcella didn’t care what he thought. He accused her of betraying her vows to me, and dealing souls to angels behind his back. The power she held then was strong, but not nearly enough. My father killed her, even though she tried to shield herself.”

  “And pregnant then, too, if I remember the story correctly.”

  Samael nodded. “Back then, there was only one collector besides herself. She’d made her serving boy into her other half. It was his baby she held.”

  “With your permission?”

  “I gave her the option to have lovers. I guess I never realized the consequence of my actions. But she told me the moment she knew, and I embraced the situation. By that time, I was already madly in love with her. I would have done anything she’d wanted.”

  “Such a romantic, yet heartbreaking, story. And now, here you all are again. Are we going to have to go through the sequel of your story? Will there be another fight, or does your father approve of her being alive again?”

  Samael lowered his head and felt the energy of the High Priestess as her hand touched him. So many emotions took over. “Between me and Leena, the daughter my father killed, we brought her back. My father doesn’t know. That’s why we’re here. Marcella needs support. Followers. I know your religion differs from ours, but you have to believe in souls. And being paranormal, your soul will not go to heaven or hell. Not on its own. But Marcella, she can help.”

  The woman stood. “I don’t believe that, collector. I know her mission, and I know what she does. The stories must be true, but I feel there’s so much more to these lives that you all don’t understand. Our souls are mysterious things, and for Wiccans, we know our God or Goddess will take care of us.” Samael watched her walk to the door. “I will remember this conversation and relay it to my people, but I cannot help you. Go home, collector, and take care of your woman. She needs to try her best to stay off her feet until after the first trimester. Although your son thrives, her body is weak.” She opened the door. “If you were smart, you’d make her your wife. Again.”

  Samael stood and watched as the door shut behind her. He rushed forward and threw open the barrier that separated them. The witch was gone.

  * * * *

  Ambrose watched Jason, Donavon, and Zepar take turns battling each other with the large swords. Sweat was dripping from their bodies, and Jason arched his back to miss the swing that was level with his neck. He countered, swinging hard at Zepar’s chest. Sparks flew at the connection of the thick metal blades. Still, they went at each other, and Ambrose had grown bored watching them.

  A twisting in his stomach had Ambrose standing. Something wasn’t right with their queen. Even hundreds of miles away, he could feel it.

  The crowd that filled the bailey was large. The wolves loved watching the bloodshed that the swords caused at times. There were even a handful of vampires mixed in with some of their new friends. They’d sure come a long way since the two groups had been brought together. At the beginning, it was like walking around on eggshells. There’d been a fight or two, but nothing too serious. If it hadn’t been for their love for Marcella, there surely would have been deaths left and right.

  Ambrose walked inside and headed through the large expanse of the great hall. It was virtually empty, which was surprising. There was usually at least one clique hanging out, watching TV or playing pool. The room had every sort of entertainment anyone could imagine.

  The stairs came before him, and even though he knew he could disappear into the room, he hadn’t quite gotten used to the new power. Being a vampire, he hadn’t been able to do materialization. Not of himself or other things. It just didn’t seem natural to do it if he didn’t need to.

  Footsteps pounded behind him and Ambrose looked to see Donavon running up behind him. “Wait up, bro. I’ve had enough. We’ve been going at this for hours.”

  “I take it Zepar is staying again?” Ambrose asked as they began to mount the steps.

  “I guess so. What do you think of him?” Donavon threw him a look and Ambrose laughed. He seemed to be the new psychic of the house. Everyone kept asked him questions, wanting to know what he saw or thought about things.

  They reached the second level and continued up. “Zepar is okay. From what I get so far, there’s nothing to worry about. I think we can trust him.”

  �
�I hope so,” Donavon groaned. “I have to say, my first impression was to bite his head off. Don’t have that feeling anymore though. It sure did make things confusing at first, that’s for sure.”

  The short blond hair on Donavon’s head was covered in sweat. He ran his fingers through it, making strands stick out in odd angels. Ambrose couldn’t stop looking at him. He paused and faced the shifter. “Something’s off with you, and I’m not talking about anything concerning Zepar. What’s on your mind?”

  Blue-gold eyes looked away and he started walking again. Ambrose followed until they reached Marcella’s and their room. Donavon tore off his shirt and threw it on the floor. “I want her home. I’ve had a sickening feeling all day, and I’m tired of worrying. We’re meant to protect her, and a lot of good we’re doing, sitting here waiting on her. I’ve tried to be understanding, but it’s hard.”

  “I know what you mean. She has to do this though, Donavon.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Don’t you think I know this? Dom and Samael got to go, though.”

  Ambrose narrowed his eyes. “Dom is your leader. He’s also a collector. You’re not. What do you think would happen if Marcella needed you to change into whatever they were around to blend in, and you couldn’t? It’s too risky. And did you forget that you were on your own mission when they left?”

  “You’re telling me everything I already went over in my own head. I’m just saying that it’s hard to get over the fear when I feel like something is wrong with her.”

  “Well at least we can agree on that,” Ambrose said. “Something has been bugging me, and when I try to call any of their phones it goes to voice mail. I can’t stand it. I’ve even tried the mental thing and it’s not working.”

  Donavon threw himself down on the end of the bed. “I’m half tempted to load up right now and drive to California, myself.”