EDGE OF NIGHT
Page 23
"I know," she said softly, wonderingly. "I can hear so much more clearly; I can smell... ” she inhaled deeply... "odors I’ve never smelled before." She looked at him. “I’m like you now, aren’t I, Jack?”
He nodded, not speaking. She could sense his emotional pain at what he’d done. What he thought he'd done.
"Darling, you didn't steal my life away. I gave it to you." Bree sat up and grasped his hand when he would have pulled away. He still did not believe. "It's the truth, Jack. You were lying in a pool of your own blood, and you would have just drifted off to eternity—to hell—rather than endanger me. I cut my wrist and gave you my blood."
She leaned forward and kissed him lingeringly. "I wasn't about to let you go." She pulled back and searched his face with troubled eyes. "Tell me I wasn’t wrong about us. Tell me I didn’t make a mistake."
Jack was silent for a moment, hardly daring to believe she wasn't upset by her transformation. However, not only did she appear unfazed by it all, she seemed... satisfied. His wonderful, brave and beautiful woman!
"You made no mistake, chérie," he finally said, his voice gruff with emotion. "There is nothing more that I could ask of life than to spend it with you. It's just that... "
"Just that what?"
He closed his eyes. God in heaven, he loved this woman. He wanted to spend the rest of his life—however long that might be—with her. But that wasn't his decision to make.
"It isn't his choice." The deep voice sounded from behind Jack.
Bree gasped and jerked. With a small cry, she scrambled off the bed, putting its solid width between her and the newcomer.
Jack stood and turned to face his boss and whatever fate awaited him.
Michael stood there, arms crossed over his chest. Dark brows were drawn down over purple-tinted eyes that were narrowed. His wings were unfurled, the upper curve bristling, a sure sign of his displeasure. With lips held tightly, his gaze tracked the length of Jack's body covered only by a pair of jeans.
"Well, Jacques," he said. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
"It was my fault." Bree's voice was breathless, the tones colored with a mixture of fear and awe. She rushed forward to stand a few feet in front of Jack. "Please don't blame him."
One dark brow rose. "You do realize that 'the woman made me do it' holds about as much weight as a defense before our Great King as 'the devil made me do it' does."
Michael fluffed his wings, the glistening gold-trimmed white feathers spanning above his head by at least three feet. They brushed the ceiling before he settled them behind his back once more. He dropped his arms to his sides, muscles rippling in his bared arms. Even with the loose-fitting white shirt and trousers, standing at over seven feet tall he was an imposing sight.
Bree backed away until she came up against Jack.
He put his hands on her shoulders. "Rest easy, chérie. He doesn't blame you for any of this, nor should he." Jack stiffened his shoulders, bracing himself for whatever penalty Michael was about to impose. "The blame rests entirely with me."
"Yes, it does." Michael walked forward until he was only an arm's length away.
This close, Jack could feel his skin vibrating with the power emanating from the powerful being. The hair along his arms stood tall. Even Bree, a new vampire with less-developed senses than he, rubbed her hands up and down her arms.
"You knew better," Michael went on. "Yet still you pressed ahead, breaking one rule after another."
Jack felt Bree stop breathing for a second, then her breath stuttered and she pressed her back against him as if trying to crawl inside his body. Fear made her heart begin to beat, fluttering inside her chest like the wings of a hummingbird.
Did she perhaps finally realize the enormity of what she'd done? She was a vampire, a soulless creature, cursed to damnation the same as he.
"A hard choice made in the name of love does not steal the soul, nor does it damn it." Michael's voice was low as he answered the question churning through Jack's mind.
"What are you saying?"
"You have added no further marks against your soul, Jack, for what you did—what you were about to do—to Fairchild. And as long as Brianna harms no one and uses her newfound abilities for the greater good, she may yet find her way to heaven."
Bree slumped in his arms. "Oh, thank God!"
"Yes, you should."
Jack frowned. Michael had never sounded as pompous as he did at that moment, and Jack had a mind to punch him in the jaw.
"I wouldn't try it." Once again, Michael divined his thoughts.
Bree looked from one male to the other, her confusion evident on her face, in her eyes. "I'm missing something."
"Only that Jack now has yet another choice to make." Michael once again folded his arms and rocked back on his heels. "Do you continue on your path to redemption, or take a step backward?"
"And the step backward would be...?" Jack held his breath, hardly daring to hope.
Michael inclined his head toward Bree.
"I'll take it."
"Take what?" Bree wrapped her fingers around his. "Wait. What are you talking about?"
Jack brought her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss in her palm. "It means we can be together, chérie. If that's what you want?"
"Of course that's what I want," she shot back, exasperation coloring her tone.
He grinned and went to hug her, but she put her palms on his chest and stiffened her arms. "Wait just a minute, bub."
She looked at the archangel. "Just exactly what does all this mean? Um, sir," she tacked on. "Jack won't... He won't go to hell, will he?"
"Worse." Michael placed one hand on Jack's shoulder. "He will be just a vampire."
"Just a vampire?" she parroted.
"Without the added power of being a Protector, he will be vulnerable once more to sunlight. No more will he be able to walk in the daytime."
Bree frowned. "Oooookay." She glanced at Jack. "No offense, but I don't want to sleep in a coffin."
Jack sent her a scowl, even as his lips tried to kick up in a grin at her silliness. "Neither do I."
"Oh. That's all right then." She turned back to Michael. "Do it. Please. Sir."
Epilogue
Bree watched Jack saunter along the dark alley toward her hiding place. Behind him, thinking they were unobserved, were two men in their early twenties. With her enhanced vampire vision, she could see by their bloodshot eyes and trembling hands they were a couple of junkies looking to roll over a mark for money for more drugs.
Boy, were they in for a surprise.
The sounds of the night sang a sonata for her. Crickets chirped, cars streamed back and forth on the main street, the hearts of the two "volunteers" beat a rapid tattoo against their ribs.
It was over in a matter of minutes. The two thugs lay propped up against the side of the building, unconscious and still breathing, but with a clear message that they needed to choose another less violent lifestyle.
She and Jack went home, where they greeted Oscar and then went straight to the bedroom. Hunting—feeding—always gave them an appetite of a different kind.
Bree pulled off her clothes with abandon, giggling as Jack tried to do the same and became entangled. Finally, they collapsed naked onto the bed. She was wet and ready.
He slid into her welcoming depths with a low groan. She wrapped her legs around his hips, digging her heels into his buttocks. She met his hard thrusts, pulling him as deeply inside her as he could go.
As her orgasm crashed over her, she reared up and bit into his jugular. At the prick of her teeth, he shouted with his own release. Hot streams of semen jetted inside her core.
At last they were quiet, wrapped in each other's arms, his cock still deep within her.
"I love you," Bree whispered, rubbing her palms up and down his back.
"And I love you, chérie." Jack kissed her softly and ran the tip of his tongue over the fangs she still had trouble retracting.
He'd
believed himself damned for two hundred years, and now knew the truth. His damnation was only in his mind. He had saved innocents—and himself—and now had a fresh start with Bree.
As a vampire again, yes, but he was content with that. Even if Lilith suspected he still existed, that she hadn't destroyed him... If he knew Michael—and he did—she would be forbidden to touch either him or his Brianna.
They were free.
Free from damnation.
Free to live.
Free to love.
Free.
The End
About the Author:
Sherrill Quinn grew up in Northeast Ohio. In 2000, no longer able to deal with the excitement of winter’s snow and ice, she moved to Southern Arizona where she now dodges cacti and rattlesnakes. (Okay, she’s seen exactly two. Snakes, that is.)
After spending 20 years building a career in Human Resources, she figured out that wasn’t what she wanted to be when she grew up. She’s been writing for fun since she was twelve years old. She took what up until that point had been a hobby and turned it into a serious career as a writer of erotic romances, even though her mother wishes she wrote children’s books. You can read more about her on her website at www.sherrillquinn.com