by Dianna Hardy
He held her hands up and stroked her fingers where the skin had turned her demon’s shade of grey. “But I know who you are, and I know what you need.”
Without warning, his mouth descended on hers.
Unprepared, she staggered as he spun them. She was propelled against the wall, his hard body falling on hers, completely familiar, and yet not at all.
Cold shock ran through her veins, but not for long, because her succubus rose to the surface bringing the heat of sex with her; taking over, taking in…
“See?” he whispered in her ear, his hips grinding against hers. “This is who you are.”
No!
But the only sound that left her was a moan, the demon in her too starved to be forced back.
“This is what you need.” His hands ripped at her jeans, the button already gone, its waist already below her backside.
“Nooo…” But she wasn’t sure she’d really said it, or if it came out another moan. She felt torn in two, half of her craving the nourishment and half of her still bleeding inside from the way his words had cut her. “Karl…”
He laced his fingers through her hair, pulling her head back until it was pressed hard against the wall, pinning her there, and then he was inside her underwear, stroking her sex – once, twice…
She gasped loudly as his fingers entered her, her mind clouding further as the roar of blood became louder in her ears. “No…”
Her succubus hissed in delight, and she didn’t need to look down to know the grey had taken over her whole body.
His lips trailed fervent kisses along her jawline, and she almost didn’t hear what his muffled voice said … almost … “You remind me so much of her.”
In the three seconds that followed, the strangest thing happened. After the initial confusion at his out-of-place statement, jealousy, mingled with a heightened fury, reared its head. It was sharp and focused and for the first time ever, the demon and the witch were in unison – her succubus loved Karl no less than she did and, as it turned out, she was damn possessive.
With a holler, she balled up all that energy and shoved it at Karl, hurtling him to the other side of the room where he hit the wall before falling to the ground.
She stood there, shaking and, bizarrely, able to think quite precisely.
Karl groaned and shook his head to clear it, then looked up at her, and she took in a sharp breath, because there he was. There was Karl – the Karl that had been missing for the best part of three weeks.
“What the hell is happening to you?” she whispered to herself.
He looked at her, perplexed, and then rose, but he only made it half way before he slammed his palm into his forehead with ferocity.
Startled at the action, Elena took a step towards him.
She abruptly stopped when he next looked up. Eyes – blank.
Gone.
He was gone again.
“Get out,” she ordered.
He regarded her in silence.
“Get out now, or I will throw you out.”
Another beat, and then he gave an imperceptible nod. “As you wish.”
He didn’t walk out the door, but disappeared in front of her eyes the way that full-blooded angels did – the way he had never been able to do before.
The silence grew thicker and thicker until it entombed her.
Numbly, she sank to the ground … and stayed there.
Chapter Seven
“Get up. My Lord, you must try to get up.”
God stared at Michael, beads of sweat lining his forehead.
How many times must I tell him to eat? “My Lord, please feed. You will lose control of your senses, even your sanity, if you don’t.”
He looked away again, studying the darkness. “Lose control? It’s so hard to stay in control in this world. I had forgotten. I had forgotten how weak the human mind is.”
He crouched down beside him in the blackness. “Not anymore. The apocalypse has given humans access to the powers you kept from them after the fall of Eden.”
“Is that why this is so hard,” he mumbled, and Michael wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement.
“What do you mean, my Lord?”
“Nothing, Michael.” He looked at him again, giving nothing away, as usual. “Nothing at all.”
The archangel exhaled. “Come outside for a few minutes. Come into the sunshine – it’s cold, but it’s bright and light – quite beautiful really.”
“Anyone would think you were falling in love with this place.”
He paused, not sure how to reply. “Beauty should always be cherished, should it not? And … this was Eden, my Lord. This was Eden.”
“Yes.”
The silence would have been awkward had Michael not been living in it for the past three weeks – this was the most conversation they’d had. “I’ve been searching for answers to help us. I met a Malattal demon on my travels. He has prophesied that the Dragon will rise soon,” he dropped his voice low, “within the next day or two.”
He awaited God’s response with baited breath.
Nothing.
Not even a reaction.
“Um … there is a sword. Gawaine had—”
“Excalibur. I know.”
“Well … good. Excalibur is the only weapon that can kill the Dragon, yet no one can wield it. I’m going to try—”
“There is no need to worry.”
Michael paused, not able to make head or tail of his Saviour, and for the first time, the tendrils of anger – at Him – licked low in his belly. “Killing the Dragon is the only chance you have of—”
“And I said there is no need to worry.” His voice boomed around the cave, reflecting his vexation with every reverberated soundwave.
The angel fell back, wounded. Those tendrils of anger grew longer. After a moment, he stood. “I apologise, my Lord. I only have your best interests at heart.”
God said nothing.
Michael made his way out of the cave, stopping in his tracks only once. “Please feed,” he said into the mouth of the cavern.
He was sure he was mistaken, but as the sun found the back of his neck and spread its warmth across his skin, melting away the tension he wished he didn’t feel, he was sure he heard God’s reply echoing back out towards him… “I am.”
~*~
Amy moved along the water, her breaststroke pulling her forward, sort of wishing she’d decided on the swimsuit instead of the bikini. But her train of thought had taken a stubborn turn, insisting she would soon be fat and covered in stretch marks, so she might as well make the most of her body now.
She supposed that she could just magic a swimsuit onto herself, but the red-haired man – the only other person in the pool – may get freaked out or start asking questions about her abilities, ‘cause that was the done thing now. Oh, you have powers too? I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.
Or they ran away if they were scared … or worse. If there were groups of freaked out people, they often attacked, hence the riots. At least he was on his own.
You’re being ridiculous – he’s probably completely harmless.
He looked nice enough; maybe in his early twenties. She wondered at his occupation to be able to afford a place in this complex at such a young age.
He chuckled to himself whilst doing the backstroke.
Ooookkaaaay … so maybe he’s weird after all.
“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, then flipped over and treaded water. A huge grin plastered his face. He didn’t look that sorry. “I can read thoughts. It’s my new thing – I hear a lot of humans can do it now. My thoughts found your thoughts amusing – I apologise.”
She raised him an eyebrow. “Any chance you’ve learnt how to pull yourself out of people’s thoughts yet?”
“I can, but most of the time, I just don’t want to.”
She frowned. Can you read, ‘dickhead’?
His grin widened. “And I work in media, by the way. Television mostly;
sometimes print.”
“Bet work’s been good for you the past three weeks.”
“It hasn’t sucked.”
Reading minds – the paparazzi’s dream. Oh, shit. Shouldn’t have thought it.
He laughed out loud. “It is pretty handy.”
Dickhead, she thought again, and smiled back.
“So,” he turned over onto his right and began a sidestroke to the other side of the pool, “you’re pregnant. Congratulations.”
She took a deep breath and plunged under the surface, more in panic than anything else, as if somehow her thoughts forms would be murkier under the water. Well, it was worth a shot.
What the fuck should she do? It wasn’t really safe to tell people about the baby. You’d think making your mind blank would have come easily to her given she’d had her mind wiped most of her life, but it turned out she was crap at not thinking things.
She mustered up a word in her head and thought it as loudly as possible, at the same time utilising the energy that the word possessed. She let the essence of it wrap around her like a cloak – “Tego.”
When she rose up to the surface again, he was uncomfortably near, staring at her with curiosity and … yeah, some irritation. “What was that?”
“What was what?” she asked innocently – you creepy, stalkery weirdo.
He gave no indication that he’d heard her and instinctively she knew the shield had worked.
“You’ve shut me out.”
“Don’t tell me I’m the first woman to have ever done that.”
They’d been swimming towards the steps and now she turned to climb them, grabbing onto the metal handle.
His arm came out in front of her. “So, let’s talk instead.”
“I’m done telling you things.”
His hand clamped down firmly over hers in an attempt to prevent her from leaving. “Reading minds isn’t the only thing I can do, you know.”
“And shutting you out isn’t the only thing I can do,” she hissed. “Let go.”
“What’s the drama? So I read your mind,” he shrugged. “Is this your first child? Tell me about your boyfriend – is he thrilled he’s going to be a dad?”
“Do I look like front page news to you?”
He let his eyes wander down her body. “More like page three.”
That’s it! She kinetically catapulted him to the far side of the pool where he landed with a splash, still bloody laughing about it.
She hauled herself out and grabbed her towel from the lounger, before turning to find Mr Creepy already out the water and jogging towards her. She made for the exit wishing she could teleport, but she had recently discovered it was one of the no-nos of pregnancies. Of course it bloody was. You never knew how much you relied on something until you didn’t have it anymore.
They made it to the door at the same time. She snagged it open; he rammed it shut.
“What the fuck do you want?”
He smiled, almost apologetically. “Work’s plentiful, but the competition shot to sky high. I needed cash; I was offered plenty to scout the building … guess what I’m looking for.”
“A personality transplant.”
“A pregnant woman who matches your description, and you really are fucking funny.”
“She gets funnier over time.”
They both turned to find Paul standing on the other side of the pool. Given there was only one entrance, he must have teleported in.
Creepy raised an eyebrow. “The boyfriend?”
“The husband,” she retorted without missing a beat. And it just felt right to say it.
Without warning, the red-head was slammed against the wall by an invisible force. His hands went to his throat as if he were choking.
Paul disappeared and reappeared directly in front of him, and for the first time she’d seen, Mr Creepy actually showed some fear – she understood why. Not a lot of people, magical or otherwise, could hold a man in place with his mind while he teleported. A little bit of ‘Etienne’ had emerged and although she was glad for the protection, it made her a little bit uncomfortable.
“Let’s make this quick, shall we?” said Paul, but his tone held an unnerving patience, as if he could quite happily take all day, and Amy knew in this second he was unmovable.
It was funny how, when she compared Paul and Pueblo, (actually, no, it wasn’t funny at all and she tried damn hard not to, usually failing miserably) it became obvious how opposite they were to each other in so many ways.
Pueblo looked unmovable, but his shifter, time-bending and time-travelling abilities ensured a pliability that flowed through him. He was all fire and heat, and both of those were molten and changeable, able to burn, but able to move. It made him deliciously unpredictable and adventurous, living life on the very edge, knowing he could jump ship at the last moment if he had to. He was adaptable.
Paul was almost as tall, but much thinner, more trim; the physique of a long distance runner rather than a sprinter, and the analogy made sense – he took his time. He put his mind to focus and got there in the end without anyone knocking him off his path. He was the tortoise to Pueblo’s hare. If Pueblo had this man up by the neck, she’d give it thirty seconds tops before the bruises started appearing. Would he spill the beans more quickly? Maybe. But there’s a chance the information might be a little less accurate – all kinds of things were said when your life lay in the balance and you had no time to think.
Paul was more calculated. And although Amy wasn’t sure exactly what he had in mind, she knew for a fact that if it took hours, he’d outlast his captive and get every final bit of the truth he was looking for. He was staid.
Out of nowhere, the question that Pueblo had asked twice – a question she’d skirted around answering both times – filtered its way into her mind with a force she couldn’t ignore: Do you love him?
She gripped the door behind her for purchase as that dizzy, suffocating feeling rose in her again.
Paul didn’t notice, all his attention on the man who posed a threat to her. And that’s where your mind should be too, she scolded herself.
She took a deep breath, trying to find oxygen in the chlorinated room, and straightened her back.
Paul’s words cut through the air. “This, I can do for a very long time, and in case you need the clarification, ‘a very long time’ means until you break. I can literally bore my mind into any part of your anatomy, and I can make it feel pleasant, like this –” the guy gasped, moaned and arched his back, a distinct movement taking place in his Speedos – “or I can make it feel like this.”
A scream of pure agony filled the room, so shrill it made her wince.
Holy hell! She stared at Paul, half dumbfounded and, curiously, with an urge to slap him over the head and give him a good nagging for being so inhuman.
Guess that’s the wife in you…
The part of her that was the mother protecting her unborn child said nothing and let him continue.
“What’s your name?”
“Chris … Christopher,” came the trembling reply.
“Christopher. Well done – good start. Who’s paying you?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“Wrong answer.”
“AARRRGH! Fu—aaaahh!”
“One more time?”
“N-lf…”
“Pardon?”
“Nor-Norolf.”
“Norolf?”
Christopher whimpered and nodded rather enthusiastically.
Paul dropped him, but after two giant gulps of air, he was slammed against the wall again. “Now, I’m going to be lenient on you for being a good boy, but if those answers don’t come out fast and clearly, that pain you just felt … well, you’re going to be feeling it just a little lower down. Or,” he tilted the corner of his mouth, “would you rather I gave you pleasure again?”
With bulging eyes he shook his head vigorously.
“I didn’t think so. Ready?”
His face
crumpled momentarily, a little whining noise sounding behind closed lips, but then he inhaled and nodded.
“How did you meet Norolf?”
“He approached me just outside this complex. He said he was looking for someone he thought lived here.”
“A pregnant woman?”
“Yes.”
“Did Norolf display any powers?”
“No. But he said he was a shaman.”
Shaman? Amy glanced at Paul, but he was immersed in his task.
“Describe him.”
“Er … blond, maybe late forties … he had an accent.”
“Did he say why he wanted the pregnant woman?”
“No.”
Paul frowned.
“Oooo! No no!” Christopher grabbed the front of his swimming trucks. “Please no – he said nothing, just that I would get five hundred pounds if I tracked her down.” He clamped his knees shut and went a little paler.
“How were you going to tell him what you’ve found?”
“We planned to meet tomorrow at midday down at the Cutty Sark – you know – the ship just across the Greenwich footbridge. I went there as a boy once. My mother took me – I think I was ten. I might have been eight. Things are simple when you’re eight.”
Oh, Christ, he’s babbling…
“You’re kinda just thinking about when you can have ice cream next and needing to pee.”
And right on queue, he let his bladder go.
Amy pulled a face and took a couple of steps back, along with Paul who released him completely.
“Fuck, man,” he squeaked on falling to the ground, “you gave me internal injuries.”
Paul rolled his eyes upwards. “You have no internal injuries; there aren’t even any bruises on you. Pack a bag today and get out of here. You’re not meeting that shaman tomorrow.”
He glanced at him in suspended relief. “You’re letting me go?”
“Did you tell the truth?” he asked sharply.
More vigorous nodding.
“Then get the fuck out. And if I see you here again, you’ll be shitting yourself instead.”
Still covering his crotch, he staggered up, using the wall behind him for support. “I thought you were gonna kill me,” he stated in half-hearted accusation, although fear still had him trembling all over.