Saving Her

by B E Brouillard

  Desirée glanced back down at the page, at the demon feeding on the arching woman, at the glittering red eyes staring up at her. Her beautiful lover had the same red eyes. Had she invited Satan into her soul? She gave a compulsive shudder and rubbed her arms. But beneath the terror, a tiny curl of pleasure had unraveled in a place deep in her core. It was a sensation that only enhanced the melting pot of confusion in her right now. How could she be thinking about all of this, when she had much more important things to be worried out?

  ◆◆◆

  “What are you getting yourself into, boy?” Lilith’s words were sharp as a whip. Axel imagined that if they’d landed on his bare skin, they’d leave welts.

  “What do you mean, mistress?” he asked with as much humility as he could muster. Axel wasn’t a meek man, but he knew it was a bad idea to cross this woman.

  “You are pushing boundaries that are going to get you into trouble. And you are…toying with this girl,” the succubus replied. Lilith was draped over a chaise lounge. A window stretched behind her, displaying a pastoral scene of woolly, white sheep and rolling green fields. It was a picture that seemed to have no bearing on their circumstances, but that was Lilith; she created her own realities. Right now, she was holding a martini glass, trailing a fingertip around the rim. Three fat, green olives were speared on a toothpick that held them beneath the liquor’s surface of the. For a moment, he had an image of three gasping faces trying not to inhale water. He shook the image from his mind.

  “Girl, mistress?” Axel asked. He knew he was about to get a licking. Lilith hated insolence, and he was bordering on it. He looked at the woman who stretched before him. She was sleek, lean…impossibly beautiful. Of course, everything was impossible here, in this impossible, inhuman, unholy place. And Lilith’s unholy curves were encased in a white catsuit that could have been sprayed onto her. She shifted a leg and crossed one ankle over the other. Her feet were bare, and she flexed her toes. Her nails were painted scarlet, and he stared at them, entranced. Somehow, it felt wrong. Like staring at his own mother with lust. It was ridiculous, he knew. There was no family connection between him and Lilith. But even when she was sprawled out, with nothing left to the imagination, it was like looking at his mom and fighting off bad thoughts.

  “Your girl, boy,” she continued, and he knew she could read his insolent mind. He swallowed hard as she raised that little toothpick from the glass, plucked a fat olive off between straight, white teeth, and bit down.

  “I…I…” he battled for words. “She doesn’t want me,” he ended flatly.

  “Really?” Lilith asked, an eyebrow arching. “Why ever not? You are…quite lovely.” Her eyes traveled from his face down the length of him, and he shifted uncomfortably. He had an inexplicable urge to stand taller and flex his biceps. “Are you not pleasing her? Surely you should have learned how to by now?” Lilith dipped her lips to the rim of the glass and took a deep sip. Axel licked his lips, took a breath. “Are you afraid of sapping her completely? There are ways around that, you know. You don’t have to kill her to please her.”

  Axel felt his cheeks heat. “It hasn’t been necessary, mistress. She hasn’t—”

  Lilith blinked. “Hasn’t what? Hasn’t been pleased?” He shifted his weight awkwardly. “You haven’t made her come? What are you, a moron? That’s your job!” Lilith’s contempt was like a living thing.

  “She’s…complicated, mistress,” he replied. “There is something more to her. Something I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t understand?” Lilith’s words stung as sharply as the liquor she’d just sipped. “You’ve been here for decades visiting women in their most intimate dreams. You lived as a human for 30 more years before that. Are you telling me you still don’t understand the female mind?”

  Axel shrugged, afraid to admit that he didn’t. Lilith raised those terrible, dark eyes to him and lifted the toothpick again. When her teeth sank into the next olive, he felt it as if they were piercing his own flesh.

  “Mistress, she has asked me to leave her. She doesn’t want me there. I can’t force her to let me into her world. Surely it would be more constructive if I…waited for another call?”

  Lilith stared hard at him for a second, then raised her glass and poured the remainder of the liquor down her throat. She rose from the couch, smoothly, arcing out a hand and tossing the glass away from her. It shattered against the wall, but she didn’t blink, didn’t glance towards it. In two long strides, she’d closed the space between them, and despite the height difference that had her tilting her head to meet his eyes, he felt overpowered.

  “You have been called, boy,” said Lilith, and she could feel her warm breath on his face, even though he knew that it was impossible. They were both undead. “You will heed your call. You will find your path.” She took a deep breath. “And if you do not, I will no longer protect you.”

  Axel blinked. Not surprised at her threat. No. He was astonished once again to consider that this woman had been protecting him. Alaric had said it before, and now here she was confirming it. He inhaled deeply, aware of the scent of her…spicy, herbal, ancient.

  “You can abandon this woman, Axel Armstrong, nobody here will stop you. There are others here who have failed more times than you and gone on to find their salvation. So yes, you can give up on her and continue. But this is the one I want you to get right.” She stopped, chuckled as she thought of something amusing. “This one is your Miss Right. This one will right your wrongs – if you can right hers. I know this better than any of the others. I know you better than any of the others. I know that this is what you need.”

  “But what if I’m not enough, Lilith,” he used her name, used it to dispel the tension between them. “What if I fail?”

  “You’ve always been good enough, Axel,” she smiled. “I know how hard you struggle against your own insecurities. I know how much of your behavior is based on fear of failure. There is more to you than what is on the surface, my darling. All this…” she swept an arm towards him, “all this ‘prettiness’. There is more to you. Hidden depths of kindness, strength. And you will need that strength.” Lilith put a palm on his cheek, her fingers stroking gently as her eyes met his with an urgency that he was unaccustomed to seeing from her. “I know there is evil afoot, Axel. I know you are being targeted, tempted.”

  “Mistress, I don’t—”

  “Shhhh,” she stopped him, raising a finger to his lips. “I know what you are facing. I don’t know who it is exactly, but I know who is behind it…the most evil of all evils…and I am terrified for you. Please! Please be careful. Take care of who you allow to lead you. You do not know where they will lead you. To whom they will lead you.” Again, he was astonished by this behavior from her. Lilith never showed fear, never admitted to it. Axel stared into her intense, penetrating dark eyes. For the first time, he didn’t search for a snappy response.

  For the first time, he listened…and believed.

  Chapter 9

  In the gloom of the room, Axel watched Desirée’s sleeping form curled up beside the motherfucker who thought he deserved her. There was something about her breathing that concerned her. Normally soft and rhythmic, tonight there was an occasional hitch, a little murmur that had slowly risen to the point of being a moan. She’d had a bad evening with that asshole – but what evening with that piece of shit could be considered good? The fact that they barely exchange words must have been a consolation rather than a hurt for her. He still didn’t understand why she couldn’t simply leave.

  Since Axel’s conversation with Lilith, he’d lingered near Desirée, knowing that she didn’t want to see him, but at the same time, knowing she needed him. But he couldn’t intrude into her thoughts now…it didn’t feel right. Her world wasn’t balanced. He felt as if she existed beneath a dark cloud.

  “I’m not feeling so good,” she’d said as she walked into the kitchen where Jules was sitting at the counter, beer in one hand, ham sandwich in the oth
er.

  “Where were you?” he’d asked around a mouthful of food, wiping mayonnaise from his chin with the back of his hand.

  “I went out to visit Norman,” she’d replied. “The sister at the clinic called to let me know he’d run out of chamomile tea, so I popped over to the store and dropped a box off on my way home. He gets so anxious if his daily teatime routine is upset.” Her stepfather had been in a nursing home since her mother had decided she could no longer take care of him. The transition had left him confused and fragile. It broke Desirée’s heart to see him this way.

  “You can’t be feeling too shit if you managed a ‘visit’ before coming home,” Jules retorted, traces of a sneer coloring his tone. “Don’t sweat it though – it’s not like I can’t take care of myself…while you’re out looking after the rest of the world.” He didn’t bother veiling the sarcasm as he washed another mouthful of bread and ham down with a swig of beer. “There’s still bread if you’re hungry. Don’t think there’s any ham left, though.”

  She shook her head, a hand splayed over her belly. “It’s okay.” Her voice had grown small. “I’m not hungry at all. I think…I…the baby…”

  Axel was frozen in shock.

  She’s pregnant!

  How could he not have noticed? For a second, he felt physically ill – or as close as he could come to ‘feeling’ a sensation. His mind reeled back to their moments in the office, how he’d toyed with her, been so intimate. Those moments when he’d shown himself to her in her room, and she’d reacted so violently…she must have been preoccupied with thoughts that went so far beyond sex. And yet, he hadn’t noticed it, there’d been no sense of that second soul…the soul of her unborn baby. If it had ever been there before, it had been too weak for his senses to detect, or perhaps he’d been too distracted with his own selfish concerns.

  Now, if he considered it, there was a heaviness to her breasts, a fuller curve to her belly than her slight frame seemed designed to carry. And she’d changed her routine, making sure to eat healthily, studiously avoiding the wine she’d turned to every night before. A shelf in the kitchen held a collection of vitamins. She was trying to make amends. Trying to do right.

  Yet, he sensed things were wrong.

  A sinking sense of dread settled into his chest. He suddenly noticed the pallor of her skin. Normally alabaster, now there was a gray tinge. The motherfucker, Jules, probably wouldn’t care anyway. If Desiree hadn’t provided any obvious clues about being pregnant, the man had been equally unforthcoming – Axel hadn’t once heard them discuss it. The tension between them was strung as tautly as a violin’s bow.

  He’d watched as Jules had finished his sandwich and headed for the lounge, beer still in hand. Desirée had quietly cleaned the kitchen before heading for a warm shower. There had been a measured care to her movements, as if she was afraid to jar her precious cargo.

  ‘Fuck!’ Axel had berated himself. ‘Fuck fuck fuck! You stupid bastard! Idiot! Why did you do that to her?’ He kept thinking back to how he’d toyed with her, taunted her. A part of him felt ready to fling himself back to Purgatory and call for the Threshers then and there. But another part needed to be close to her. Wanted to reach out and touch her, stroke that pallid cheek. He couldn’t. Of course he couldn’t. But he wasn’t leaving her side.

  Now he watched as she turned and curled on her other side, her sleep growing increasingly fitful. An arm draped over her belly tightened, and she breathed out a low moan. The motherfucker muttered in his sleep and pulled the covers further up his chest, almost uncovering her in the process. She didn’t object, seemed to welcome the cool air on her skin. He noticed how a sheen of perspiration had formed on her forehead, over her chest. She turned again, more erratically, almost tossing in her sleep. Another moan, deeper; her hand clutched at her belly, and she whimpered, eyelids fluttering, and then suddenly sat up. Gasped.

  “Oh!” She gasped again, buckling over at the waist, head towards her knees. One hand fumbled sideways towards the motherfucker. “Oh, God!”

  “What the fuck?” he cursed, turning a heavy shoulder to her as he rolled to his other side.

  “Jules! The baby—” She had both arms clutched around her midsection, and her breath was coming in pants.

  “For fuck’s sakes, woman, I’m trying to get some sleep!” He yanked the cover higher and pulled a pillow over his head.

  Desirée slid both legs over the side of the bed, knees almost buckling as she tried to get to her feet. Axel’s sense of dread unfurled further. The sheets where she’d lain were streaked with blood, and it stained the white cotton of her nightdress around her legs. She looked down and sobbed out a groan.

  “Jules, please! I’m in…the baby’s in trouble.” She’d clasped her hands over her crotch, almost as if she believed she could hold that little life inside her body.

  ‘Wake up, motherfucker!’ Axel wanted to roar at the man. Felt himself burning with rage that he was certain must be hot enough for the other man to feel.

  Jules heaved himself up, blinking at her blearily. The blood on her legs finally drawing his attention.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. “Did you call the doctor?” He passed a hand over his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  “No,” she all but groaned through clenched teeth. “No, I just woke up. I—” She stopped abruptly, breath hissing as she buckled over. “Pleeeassse! I don’t know what to do!”

  “Where’s his number?” the motherfucker grumbled.

  “I saved it to your contact list after my first appointment. It’s saved under Dr. Morrison. There’s an emergency number there that operates 24 hours.” She rushed the words out in one long breath, almost strung together unintelligibly.

  Jules reached for the phone on his bedside table, punched at the keys irritably. “Yoh, Doc!” he barked when the call was connected. “Yes…Dr. Morrison,” he rolled his eyes. “Julius Brown here. I’m Desirée Wright’s…fiancé.” He seemed to stumble over the word. “She’s not doing so good.” He paused a moment as the voice on the other side of the line fired back a series of questions. “No. She…well, yes, she said she wasn’t feeling good this afternoon. Now she’s awake and…” he glanced over at where Desirée had curled into a tight ball on the bed, “she’s looking bad. Seems to be some blood too.” He continued to listen, nodding as the voice on the other end continued. “Now? You sure?” His mouth set into a grim line. “Right. We’ll head over.” He disconnected the call and turned to Desirée. “Okay, the doc says you gotta go through to the hospital. I’m gonna catch a shower, and we’ll head over.”

  The woman on the bed whimpered and clutched at her belly, a low moan rumbling through her chest. Jules ran a hand absently over the top of her head as he got up and ambled towards the bathroom. “You’re doing great, babe, hang in there.” Within minutes the sound of water running echoed from the bathroom. Then more running water as the man brushed his teeth, gargled, and switched on an electric shaver.

  ‘What the fuck is he doing?’ Axel raged, whirling around the room. Desirée had unwound herself from her fetal position and had twisted onto her other side, writhing as her stomach muscles spasmed and contracted. The motherfucker returned from the bathroom, a towel draped around his waist as he reached for a bottle of lotion, smoothing it into his skin as he scanned the contents of his closet. Desirée’s breathing had switched to a series of short, sharp bursts, the pool of blood spreading across the sheets beneath her.

  ‘Jesus Christ! Body lotion?? I’m going to kill him! I swear to God I’m going to kill him!’ Axel swiped a closed fist at Jules’s head, but the motion had about as much impact as the flutter of a moth. Jules continued to stare into his closet, finally tugging out a pair of camo-print Bermuda shorts and teaming it with a white golf shirt.

  “Nearly done, babe,” he called over his shoulder at Desirée, who now seemed entirely oblivious. Axel wasn’t sure she was even conscious. Jules perched on the end of the bed, tugging on socks and lacing up a pa
ir of sneakers. “You wanna head to the car?”

  Axel could feel his own breath heaving in short gasps now. The impossibility of the groaning, writhing body on the bed finding the strength to heave herself to her feet was so obvious he was now fully convinced the motherfucker was a moron.

  Powerless to influence the man in the room, he turned his attention to the stricken woman, stroking his palm over her forehead, trailing fingertips through her hair. The heat of her skin was almost shocking. But she sensed him there, her eyelids fluttered open, pupils so dilated the blue of her eyes was nearly lost. He continued his gentle stroking, murmuring soft, wordless sounds, almost crooning. Her eyes seemed to clear, focused on him; she stared up, mesmerized. Her breath began to ease. As if his hand had the power to absorb the heat of her skin, he felt her forehead begin to cool, warm tingles running up his arm. He breathed her name, a cooling whisper against her skin.

  “Desirée…you’re okay…you’re going to be okay.” Her eyes fixed onto his, unwavering. Her breathing had almost returned to normal when another convulsion wracked her body, and she shot upright, hands clawing towards him. He curled his fingers around her shoulders, holding her steady, gasping as a jolt of pain surged up his arms and centered beneath his ribcage. If he’d had a breath to lose, it would have been knocked from him now. He kept his eyes locked on hers, still crooning softly. Somehow, he knew he had the ability to absorb her pain…her fear.