Saving Her

by B E Brouillard

  “Yes, Mr. Brixton, all fine. I’m just a bit tired, is all,” Desirée assured him, reaching for a half of the sandwich and taking a bite, as if the sight of her eating would convince him she was telling the truth. The stale bread and cheese coated her tongue, and she had to bite back a small gag.

  “Are you sure, Desirée? You haven’t been yourself for some time now,” he pressed. She knew his persistence was based on concern. “You’re quiet and listless. I haven’t seen you crack a smile for weeks. And that’s probably the first thing I’ve seen you put in your mouth this month.”

  Desirée kept chewing, trying to smile around the sharp tang of cheddar. In her mind, she could imagine the food clumping in her mouth, the scent of it filling her nostrils as she tried to swallow and failed. She shook her head feebly, knew she wasn’t doing a convincing job. Particularly when she suddenly realized she wasn’t going to clamp down the next gag. As Alan watched in alarm, she leaped to her feet and fled the office, heading for the restrooms.

  Minutes later, having just emptied the contents of her stomach, she leaned her head against the cool wall of the cubicle and inhaled deeply.

  “Oh, my lord, I’m such a mess,” she groaned, then washed her face before returning to her desk. Alan was waiting when she got back.

  “Desirée, I insist that you take the afternoon off,” his tone was firm, but his expression was gentle. “I can see you’re unwell, and you might be battling off a stomach bug. Although, considering how long you’ve been this way…” he paused, sheepish. “If you were a married woman, I might suspect you were…in a motherly way,” he chuckled and patted her shoulder. “Perhaps it’s simply stress. I know the new wing has been a big project, and you’ve carried a lot of that responsibility yourself. Go home and rest. And perhaps we should think about giving you some time off.”

  Desirée nodded numbly, afraid to open her mouth to speak.

  ‘If you were a married woman, I might suspect you were…in a motherly way,’ his words replayed themselves in her mind. ‘No…it can’t be,’ she thought to herself. As Mr. Brixton left her office with instructions to pack up, she hastily reached for her diary, flipping through pages to the beginning of the month. She looked eagerly for the little red star she habitually used to mark the start of her period. Pages passed…she flipped more.

  “Oh, God…” It had been nine weeks since the last little red star appeared in the top right-hand corner. “Fuck!” she whispered under her breath. “Fuck!”

  Reaching for her purse, she snapped the lid of her laptop shut and raced out of the office without bothering to switch out the lights.

  ◆◆◆

  Four hours later, Jules found Desirée sitting in the middle of their bed cross-legged. She was still in her work clothes, aside from her shoes, which had been kicked to the floor beside the bed. He’d returned home early to change for a night out with the guys, but the expression on her face stopped him in his tracks.

  “What’s up?” he asked. Desirée raised her hand and waved a little wand at him. Or that’s what it seemed to be. Then realization dawned. He took several steps closer, peered at the object she was holding. The two pink stripes. “Jesus,” he said. “Are you sure?” She glanced down at the bedcover. Four more pregnancy tests lay on the bed in front of her. Four more sets of pink stripes. He sat down abruptly, rubbed his eyes. “Is it mine?” he asked. Her head shot up sharply, and he bit out a laugh. “What am I thinking? Of course it’s mine. Got plenty of the good stuff right here.” He cast a look down towards his groin and grinned. Desirée had yet to say a word.

  “Sheez, what a fuck up,” he muttered, rubbing his face again. She stifled a whimper. “No, babe. Sorry. I mean. What do you want to do…about it?”

  “We,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “What are we going to do about it,” Desirée said. “You’re the father. You’re my fiancé. We have done this together.”

  “Well fuck, Desirée, really? I thought you were on the Pill anyway, why is this suddenly my problem?”

  “Because you are the father, Jules!” she snapped at him. “We’re in this together.”

  “So, what does that mean? I should pay for the abortion? Sure thing!” he snapped back, and she stifled a tiny sob.

  “No! No, I could never—”

  “Never what, Desirée? Never raise a child? Never grow a backbone? Never stop fucking drinking?” That sneer she hated so much was back on his face. “I’m going out. You decide what you want to do about it.” He got up, yanked his winter jacket out of the closet, and left the room. The front door slammed abruptly as he left the apartment.

  Desirée stayed sitting on the bed, still numb with shock. He was right.

  “Oh, my God,” she groaned, dropping her tear-stained face into her hands. Trying to figure out how this had happened. She’d probably missed one of her daily pills…it wouldn’t be surprising. Her mind was in a constant fog.

  She was pregnant.

  Probably about two months along. And the drinking…she’d been drinking almost daily, dulling her senses, dulling the pain. Trying to find a way to avoid the inevitable confrontation. Because Jules was right. She had no backbone. She could never raise a child. What had she already done to her baby before it was even born?

  She dropped to her side on the bed, curled up tightly. And sobbed until she fell asleep.

  ◆◆◆

  The room was dark when Desirée woke, hours later, still fully clothed; the underwire of her bra bit uncomfortably beneath her breasts. She pushed herself up to a sitting position, then stopped as she was about to stretch, suddenly aware that she was not alone in the room.

  “Jules?” she called out. “Jules, what are you doing?”

  The figure standing at the end of the bed stepped forward, moonlight illuminating lighting the strong line of his cheekbones. A flash of turquoise glittered at her. Not Jules. Not Jules, but him!

  Desirée screamed, scrambling back over the bed, stopping abruptly as her back hit the headboard. She pulled the bedclothes up over herself, clutched them up under her chin.

  “What are you doing here? How did you get in?” she demanded. Somehow, he was standing right beside her now, and she screamed again, pure terror surging through her. This was impossible. He must have followed her home. How had he managed to get in? Her mind scrambled for answers while her body teetered between fight and flight. He knelt onto the edge of the bed, and she kicked out at him, chest heaving as she inhaled for another scream. A hand clamped over her mouth, firm but gentle. She curled back her lips and sank her teeth into his palm. The glittering blue eyes never registered pain. He didn’t blink.

  “Shhhh, Desirée, I’m not here to hurt you,” he soothed, raising his free hand to stroke the hair from her forehead even as she bunched her fists and tried to flail at him. He swatted her hands away softly, then slid his arm around her waist and gathered her up against his chest. The gesture was so tender she couldn’t help melting against him in response. Her heart was still aching, her emotions raw after her conversation with Jules. She hurt so badly.

  “Shhhh,” he said again, as if he could sense her pain. He pulled her closer, arms folding around her, drawing her face into the curve of his neck and rocking her slightly.

  Desirée bit back a tiny sob. A rumble in his chest seemed to soak into her, and she realized he was crooning softly, a quiet lullaby she recognized from somewhere deep in her memory. Her next sob wasn’t so tiny. It burst from her chest, and she shook with the force of her pain. And then she was crying in earnest, cheek pressed against the broad sweep of his shoulder, her face in the crook of his neck.

  She didn’t know how long they knelt there on the bed, her body wracked with sobs, but eventually, they subsided, and she felt that she could breathe without shaking convulsively. She didn’t want to move, though, didn’t want to leave the warm sanctuary of his arms. She felt a light pressure against the crown of her head, and she realized that he’d pressed his lips
into her hair. She took in a deep, shuddering breath and then reluctantly pulled back from his chest, looking up into his face. He stared down at her, silent.

  For a long moment, their eyes met, and it was as if he was looking into her soul. She blinked, tried to look away, and then his fingers were on her chin, lifting her face as he lowered his. His lips touched hers, as delicately as a warm breath, and then his mouth was over hers, and she melted into a kiss so overwhelming she thought she saw stars. His hands had moved to the front of her shirt, slipping open the tiny buttons of her blouse.

  His mouth released hers and trailed down her throat to her chest, a palm cupping her breast through the fabric of her shirt. She groaned and pressed herself against him, feeling a pressure between her legs that made her ache for more. As if he knew, his fingers traced up her thigh beneath the fabric of her skirt, and he released a throaty sound of approval as his fingertips met the damp lace of her panties. The sound was deep, rich…unfamiliar.

  As much as this man could cause her body to respond in an instant, her mind slammed on brakes. She still had no idea who he was. How he’d even got into her bedroom. All she knew was that he kept showing up, and every time he did, she behaved in a way that left her riddled with guilt.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” she choked out, pushing him away.

  “Because you deserve more, Desirée,” he murmured, stroking a finger down her cheek. She shivered when she met his eyes. The vivid blue had a golden-red tinge around the irises. If she hadn’t known better, she’d be sure they were glowing.

  “More what? Do you think this makes me feel deserving?” She glanced down at her open shirt, where the lace of her bra peeped out. To where his hand still rested on the bare flesh of her thigh. “Do you think that by seducing me when I’m broken, that you’ll fix me?” her voice had risen, almost a shout.

  Axel blinked. She’d hit the nail on the head. That’s exactly what he’d thought.

  “Do you think that by doing this to me now, you’d make me feel like anything other than a slut?” Her voice was so angry, he flinched. He shrugged, unsure of any other response to give.

  “I came because you needed me,” he said simply.

  “How would you know that?” she bit out. “How did you even find me? Where did you come from?” Her voice was enraged. Breathless.

  “Because I…” He trailed off as he realized he had no explanation that would make sense to her. Desirée pulled herself entirely from his embrace, retreated to the other side of the bed. He wanted to reach out to her but stopped himself. “Because I know you. I know what you need.”

  Her eyes were wide, filled with a mix of confusion and rage. “How the hell could you know me? We’ve never even met. Not in reality. All I know is that you keep popping up and scaring the shi— Scaring the daylights out of me. What the hell is that about?” She had the covers up under her chin again, like an awkwardly bundled shield to protect herself from him. Axel shook his head, rubbed his eyes. How did he explain this to her? Should he even bother?

  “I’ve been around for months,” he murmured, “I watch you all the time. I know how you spend every waking moment and how you dream when you’re asleep.”

  Desirée’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “Are you out of your mind?” she snapped. “Who does that? Are you some sort of psycho? How do you see me when I’m asleep? Are you one of those webcam freaks?” She glanced wildly around the room, seeking out hidden cameras. “Did Jules put you up to this? Am I going to turn up on one of those sick websites?” Her voice had begun to reach a hysterical pitch. Axel leaned forward and put a finger to her lips, stopping her tirade in its tracks.

  “None of those things, Desirée. Jules has nothing to do with this…with what I am,” he murmured.

  “Then what?” she whispered, eyes beginning to fill with tears again, even though she’d been certain she’d cried every drop out by now. “What are you trying to do to me?”

  “I’m trying to…” Yet again, Axel ran out of words. He had no idea what he was supposed to be doing with her. Just knew that she needed him. “I’m here because you need me,” he said. “I answered your call. I heard your soul, and I came.” Desirée frowned, about to snap out a reply. “I’m…Axel. Was Axel. Before they… Before I died. Now, I am an incubus, Desirée,” he said before she could get a word in. “I’m…a demon lover. Your demon lover. I’m here to…satisfy your needs.”

  Desirée sat up straighter, the covers dropping as she set her shoulders, clenched her jaw. Before either of them knew what she was doing, her hand had shot out, and she slapped his face. The sound rang out like a gunshot.

  “Get out,” she said, her voice pure ice. “Get out of my room. Get out of my head. Now!”

  Axel stared at her for a second. And then vanished.

  Chapter 8

  Axel was back in the bar. Silent against the counter, he watched the comings and goings as he usually did. Some faces were familiar. Some were new. All carried the same air of road-dust and swagger that came with wearing leather and feeling a little like an outlaw. He grinned, knowing most were probably doctors and dentists by day. The rows of fat Harleys parked outside showed few signs of real wear and tear. Most had pristine paint jobs that gleamed in a way that spoke of hours of careful tending and custom valets.

  His mind was racing as he stood there, lost in thought. He’d revealed himself to her, told her what he was. Sure, it was a tough pill to swallow, but he hadn’t expected her reaction to be so extreme.

  If he was honest with himself, he was unaccustomed to rejection. His whole life, women had pursued him. As an incubus, some had reacted with alarm, but all had ultimately given in to the pleasure he brought. Wrapped in the pretty package he presented, who could resist?

  Yet she had. Desperate and unhappy and in the worst possible place – even knowing how much he could please her – she had pushed him away.

  “What the fuck do they expect from me?” he muttered darkly. He knew something was expected of him…knew that each time he joined these mortal souls, he was being watched, reviewed. But to what end? “Nobody ever gives me a fucking clue what I’m supposed to be doing, goddammit!” He wanted to pick up a chair and fling it across the bar. Rage swelled within him like a powerful, terrible wave. For decades he’d danced to the tune of an insane gathering of evil souls who expected him to know how to find his way into Heaven. Yet not one of them ever gave him a fucking map. All he ever got were cryptic clues about ‘making the right choice’ and ‘finding his destiny’. How the Hell was he supposed to know what to do? Why bother doing anything at all?

  “Fuck it!” he muttered. Surely Hell couldn’t be any worse than all this?

  As if in answer to his question, the door swung open, and it was as if the air had been sucked out by a giant vacuum. Axel knew it was her. The woman and her silent companion. They moved through the small gathering of customers, looking neither left nor right. People simply got out of their way. She was still dressed from head to toe in black leather, as was the man. The creamy skin of her chest heaved as she breathed, and a dozen eyes fixed themselves to her impressive cleavage. She strolled to his side and set her elbows on the bar. Lou had already set three shot glasses in front of her and was filling them with Bulleit.

  Axel turned, raised the glass of bourbon, and tipped it to his lips. Moving in unison, the three of them upended their glasses, with Lou reaching for the cash they’d left on the counter. Once again, Axel stepped into the bright sunlight and blinked at the gathering of dark riders waiting out there. The woman strode to her bike and swung herself into the seat, then nodded to the bike that stood riderless before them. It had never occurred to him to ask how it had arrived there.

  Without thinking, Axel swung his leg over the seat in an imitation of her move.

  “Where we going?” he asked.

  “Running,” she replied.

  “Running?” he asked. “Running from what?”

  “Running from the Devil.” And
she laughed, swung her hair over her shoulder as she fitted her helmet over her head, then kicked her engine to life and spun out onto the waiting highway. The rest of the group streamed out after her and Axel felt a rush through his veins as the powerful engine surged beneath him, and he set out after them.

  ◆◆◆

  Axel had no idea how long they’d ridden for. Perhaps hours, but he suspected it was days. There was something unnatural about his new compatriots. As they’d left the bar, the road had opened up before them and night had fallen. They’d ridden through it and then through the next day. There’d been no need to stop to refuel. Nobody needed food or to take a piss. They’d simply motored on, unstopping. The only thing that changed was the passing scenery, the occasional vehicle that needed passing. He found himself slipping into a place in his mind that needed nothing else. Nothing but this. Gas fumes, horsepower, the companionship of people who weren’t truly company. It was as if he’d slipped into a dark dream. Although something warned him it could be a nightmare.

  Then, when he thought they would be riding for eternity, they pulled off the tar and began bumping along an unlit dirt road. The thin beams of their headlights lit their way to the top of a hill where the lead biker – the black-haired woman – raised her hand and slowed to a halt. As one, the rest of the group did the same. The snarling of engines stopped abruptly, replaced by the silence of the black night. Axel sat astride his bike, thighs splayed, one booted foot on the floor, balancing the weight of the beast. He’d always been strong, but in his demon form, he was superhuman. The slender figure of the woman swung her leg over the bike and kicked the stand into place. Her tall companion did the same, removing his helmet as she turned to face Axel, feet astride, lean thighs parted. She reached up to remove her helmet, and her dark hair whipped around her face, which shone unnaturally pale in the sliver of light provided by the sickle moon.