by Lisa Voisin
Knowing he had me hooked now, he wandered toward the fireplace. Picking up the fire poker, his hands caressed the brass handle meditatively. I held my breath. So easily, it could be used as a weapon—one well-landed blow and I’d be dead. Without a word, he turned his attention back to me and casually waved his free hand in my direction. A strange dark smoke filled the air as he put the poker down, and the room began to spin. Instinctively I closed my eyes, trying to steady myself.
“Like I said, nobody can hurt him the way you can. You’re his weakness. Leaving him now, you’ve hurt him all over again.” Damiel ran his hand lightly up my arm, sending a shiver from my neck to my ankles, heady and strong, a force that pulled in waves at my mind and stomach. “I wanted to thank you for making this so easy for me. Nothing destroys us the way love does. You’ve hurt him more than falling ever did.”
There was a truth to Damiel’s words that cut me to the bone. It left me woozy and tired, like something was being taken away. I remembered the look of hurt on Michael’s face, hurt I’d put there, and I knew Damiel was telling the truth. Whatever I thought I was doing to save Michael had only made it worse. How could I be so stupid?
“It’s for the best,” Damiel continued with a mock sympathy that jarred me out of my reverie. “He’s got too many rules to follow. He can’t be with you, not really.” A slow, sultry smile touched his lips. “But I can.”
Leaning in a bit closer, he stroked my arm again. His touch sent a pulse through me, followed by a staggering wave of dizziness and nausea that lasted only a moment. Then everything in the room shifted to soft-focus. He was the old Damiel again, not a demon, just another guy at school. It was as though I was seeing him through someone else’s eyes, and I noticed how attractive he was. Black leather jacket, white shirt, tendrils of hair curved at the nape of his neck, touching his collar. He even smelled good, cologne and leather. Up close, he glimmered and shone. I wasn’t afraid anymore.
When he kissed me, it was deceptively soft, as his touch had been. A current of energy rushed through me with a dizzying intensity, and suddenly I found myself kissing him back. Not like it was with Michael. Nothing at all like that. But this eerily soothing voice in my head told me that Michael was too good for me, that I’d never be with him again.
“Come with me,” he said. “There’s something I want to show you.”
“No, I love Michael—”
“Forget about him,” he said. Another wave of dizziness hit me and I forgot what I was thinking about.
I followed Damiel to his Maserati. Its heated leather seats were already warm, but I was experiencing everything as if through a fog. Damiel sped the Maserati down the main road, weaving through traffic, and took the freeway at racing speed, but it didn’t faze me. Something was wrong. It was like forgetting something important, something you swore you’d remember. In that moment all I could think about was Damiel: his mouth, his touch, his skin.
We drove in silence through a hilly, wooded area outside of town. I had no idea where I was. I just knew we were going uphill, and I caught glimpses of lights from houses below as we turned hairpin corners toward some kind of summit.
He steered the car onto a gravel road and took us into a clearing in the trees, where he parked the car. Even in my stupor, I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to take a six-figure sports car onto a logging road, but perhaps Damiel was edgy like that. He helped me out of the car before I could figure out the locks, and I stepped out into the cold without a coat. Above us the stars glistened, and the night air smelled of damp pine.
“This way,” Damiel said, motioning ahead of him. Since I could hardly see more than a few feet in the darkness, I faltered. He put an arm around my waist to move me along, and I noticed how warm it was.
Strange images flashed in my mind, too fast for me to understand, and I was dizzy again, queasily so. Something was wrong. But what?
The dizziness continued as I walked with Damiel. Surrounded by trees, we no longer had the sky to guide us, but Damiel seemed to know the way. I followed.
We had been walking a long time before I asked, “Where are we going?” My voice sounded distant and slurred.
“Almost there.”
In the woods ahead of us, a tiny log cabin came into view. It looked warm and inviting; light from the windows streamed along the ground, illuminating the path to the door. Inside, the walls were rough, exposed wood, as were the tables and chairs. The room itself was lit only by candles covering every surface—shelves, tables, floor—casting a flickering, golden glow, one I normally associated with Michael.
Michael. Something was wrong. I should not be here. Not with Damiel. Michael had warned me how persuasive he could be. Scattered images flashed in my mind again, images of Michael after everything he’d been through. The look of happiness from our wedding night so long ago, and the look of devastation on his face earlier tonight when I sent him away. Damiel was right. I was Michael’s weakness.
Damiel led me through the rustic living room to the cabin’s only bedroom. A shrine of candles lined the floor, dressers, and windowsill. Despite their heat, I could smell the damp wood from the walls. Like the rest of the furniture, the bed was wooden, too, and had a huge, rough-hewn headboard. It was covered in a soft-looking, blood-red duvet and overstuffed gold pillows, reminding me of a hotel suite.
Was this what he wanted to show me?
Two large, hooded figures entered through the front door. With midnight-black shiny skin, they had the faces of gargoyles. Their blood-red eyes glowed embers as they nodded obediently at Damiel, clinging to his every word.
“Kill anyone that gets near us.” Motioning to the outside, he sent them away.
The bones in my legs melted. I staggered, and the fog in my brain started to lift. Surely Michael wouldn’t come. Not after everything I said to make him go away.
“Steady now,” Damiel said, gripping my arm so hard I thought it might bruise. “We don’t want you to panic.”
A montage of dreamlike images bombarded my mind—of Damiel and me in that lifetime so long ago. We were naked, having sex. It was harsh and wrong. Painful. I had been terrified, overpowered, unable to escape, but then a haze came over me, and my body hungered for Damiel. What I remembered of being with Michael had been fueled by desire. It was nothing like this. Damiel was the one who had enthralled me. This was rape.
My stomach turned to ice as I realized that this was what he was planning to do. It was going to happen again. I had to get myself out of there and fast. But how?
“Wow, this place is great.” I scanned the room for something to use as a weapon while I pretended to still be under his spell. Where was a fire poker when you needed one?
On the dresser was an ornate silver tray with a bottle of wine and two glasses. The fact that he’d thought of getting me drunk to seduce me, given all the other things he could do to my mind, seemed completely absurd. The bottle was full, heavy, and if I hit him just right, I might have a chance to escape, providing I made it past his minions.
One of the candles by the bed sparked and caught his attention. As swiftly as I could, I grabbed the bottle and swung it at the side of his head as though it were a baseball bat, aiming for the temple. I wasn’t even sure it would break. I must have gotten the angle right, because the glass shattered in my hands and red wine spilled everywhere, covering the bed, the floor, his shirt.
He was surprised, but uninjured. I had heard once that the purpose of breaking a bottle on someone’s head was to keep hitting them with the broken glass. So I swung again, but with bullet-fast reflexes, he caught my wrist.
His face twisted into a cruel expression of rage and he backhanded me. The force of it threw me into the dresser. I fought for breath, my face throbbing. Blood trickled down my cheek.
“Such a shame that you can’t see how I feel about you.” He was maniacally calm. “How I’ve always felt.”
He reached up to touch my face; I turned away from him.
“Please
don’t.”
His fingers hovered above my skin and heat came off of them in cascading waves. Waves that would soon overcome and persuade me to do his will. “Don’t what?”
“Tamper with my mind.”
“Will you behave?”
I nodded, blinking back tears. I would not cry in front of him.
“I have wanted you for a long time. Ever since that day I found you and Michael in the woods, I had to have you. Even though we had banished him, he still got to be with you. He wouldn’t let you out of his sight, so we had to be careful, keep what we did secret so he would never know.”
“I didn’t want you—”
“You did,” he insisted, his dark eyes gleaming at me in the candlelight. “You just didn’t know it.”
“No, I loved Michael. I still do.”
“You were my lover. You gave birth to my son.”
“Your son.” Images of the birth came back to me then as I struggled to breathe. The child was huge, far too big for my human frame. I remembered there had been the agony of my flesh tearing inside, but the pain itself I could not remember. It had killed me. All this time, Michael thought the monster he felt so responsible for had been his child, a result of his sins. Something that horrible could only be conceived one way…through coercion or worse.
It was never his!
“Michael killed him,” Damiel snarled. “Not this time. I want that chance again. A chance to be a father…and I want you to be its mother.”
The pain in my head throbbing, I struggled to get up, glancing around the room. There had to be a way out of here. Damiel’s hand gripped my arm and he lifted me up to my feet as though I were weightless.
“Did you hear me? You’re going to have my child.” His mouth turned into a crooked smile as he petted my forehead.
Across the room, a candle flickered. It had almost burned out. I pushed his hand away. “Giving birth to that…that monster killed me!”
“That was unfortunate. I don’t expect it to be easy, but medicine has advanced significantly over the last thousand years. You might even survive it. If you’re good.”
I don’t know why that last statement affected me so much, but I freaked out, screaming and pounding his chest with my fists, trying to get my fingers into his eyes. “You enthralled me, you bastard! I never wanted you!”
He swiftly grabbed both my hands in one of his. I scarcely saw him move. “Now, now, none of that. If you’re not good to me, I won’t be good to you.”
I froze, and my breath caught in my chest.
“Holding your breath won’t work either.” He threw me onto the bed, and my head hit the headboard with a sharp crack. I actually saw stars.
In spite of the pain, I scrambled to sit up, but he lunged on top of me and held me down with one strong arm as I tried to wriggle free. His body weight pinned the rest of me down, and his free hand reached for my face.
“Hold still,” he warned. I squirmed and resisted with all my might, for all the good it did me. He laughed, and when he touched my face the muscles in my arms and legs went limp. I struggled, concentrating with everything I had to move even one finger, but it was futile. Each one could have weighed a hundred pounds.
“That should do it,” he said, half to himself, and backed away.
The horror of what he planned to do with me started to set in and I screamed.
“No one can hear you.” His voice was an eerily calm contrast to mine. “I only did what I did because you wouldn’t hold still. Don’t make me silence you as well.”
I stopped yelling and refused to look at him.
Damiel sat beside me on the bed, taking my limp, frozen hand in his. “I only wanted you to look at me the way you’d look at him. Just once.”
A hard, bitter lump formed in my throat. I didn’t want this to be my first sexual experience. It was supposed to be special, with Michael (if that were even possible), not some crazy act of violence and revenge. What if I did get pregnant? Then what? Michael could never know about it. It was for the best that I’d broken things off. He couldn’t see me now, not like this.
Was that how I handled it when it happened before? Did I want to believe the child was Michael’s so much that I convinced both of us it was? Back then, it would have been a possibility. It would have destroyed Michael to know what Damiel had done to me. I must have lied to save him then, but it didn’t work. Instead, I took the secret to my grave, and Michael died thinking that birthing his offspring had killed me, that he had killed his own son, when all along it was Damiel’s.
Damiel spoke, pulling me out of my reverie. “I chose this body because I thought you might prefer someone closer to your own age. I think I chose well.”
“Fuck off!” I shouted. “I won’t have your offspring. I’ll abort. This is the twenty-first century!”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Impossible. First of all, do you think I couldn’t stop anyone who tried to kill my child? There’s nothing they could do in the womb to destroy it, not that wouldn’t destroy you first.”
A shudder ran through me. I had almost preferred my mind being taken over to this. At least I wouldn’t have to feel it as much. With luck, I’d never remember it.
“Now,” he said, “I can do this nicely or not so nicely. You decide.”
“Uh…nicely?”
“What are you going to give me in exchange, then?” He was touching the backs of my arms with his fingers, giving me shivers again. Even though I couldn’t move, I could feel everything—perhaps more so. I wished I could bite his fingers off.
I wanted to ask what the hell I could give him that he wasn’t already taking, but I refrained. “Your son?”
“That is inevitable. I mean other than that?”
His hands wandered over my chest now, cupping my breasts through my clothes. I tried to squirm, without luck. I had to resort to internal flinching instead. The same dark smoke that had filled the air around us earlier returned, along with the spinning sensation, and suddenly his touch was no longer repulsive. In fact, it felt good. But I was tired, as if my own energy, my will to fight, was being taken from me.
“Tell me how much you want me.”
I swallowed, afraid to say anything to encourage him. “Stop that,” I said.
“Stop what?” he asked, like a cat playing with a terrified bird.
“Making me feel this way.”
“Your choice.” With a quick movement, he lifted his hands away and the glamour of his energy subsided. All the fear and revulsion returned. Instead of boyish and handsome, he looked harsh and cruel. “It would have been easier for you the other way. I thought you’d want to enjoy your first time.”
“I might have if I were with someone else.” I put as much venom as I could into my voice. It was bad enough being forced to have sex with a demon, but actually enjoying it would be too much to endure. Was that what he’d done to me before?
“Would you prefer my real form?” He laughed at that. Not a warm laugh—it was cold, fiendish.
I didn’t want to think about what his real form was, probably something black and slimy like his minions outside, or worse, Azazel. “Well, since you went to all the trouble of getting this one,” I said, hoping he wasn’t bluffing, that he hadn’t planned to show me his true form anyway. Maybe I couldn’t cope after all.
“Fair enough. But if you give me the least bit of trouble…”
He was touching me again and this time his hands were cold. Instead of shivers of pleasure, I shuddered with horror.
He had just unbuttoned my blouse when I heard a piercing, inhuman cry come from outside. Damiel cocked his head to listen.
“Well, well, it seems we have company,” he said with an expression of delight. “This pillow talk has been lovely, but it’s time to get down to business now.”
I strained to move my head, trying to see something, anything, in the darkness, hoping against hope that Michael didn’t try to come. Swiftly, Damiel undid my jeans and straddled me
. I squirmed and resisted with all my might and one of my legs moved ever so slightly. It was a small improvement, but not enough.
“You’re getting some movement back,” he said darkly, like he might just immobilize me again.
One of the black-skinned minions came to the doorway, so tall he had to tilt his head. “There’s an intruder. We’ve taken care of it. He’s dead.”
Dead. What if it was Michael and he’d been killed again? A new wave of terror ran through me. I couldn’t deal with that.
Damiel jumped off the bed. “Bring him to me!”
It couldn’t be Michael. Please, not him. Anyone but him.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The body the two cloaked creatures dragged in lay slumped on the wood floor like a statue of defeat. His broken, immobile wings furled crookedly behind him, and his head lolled to the side. His dark, wavy hair was damp and matted with blood—a head wound. Though I’d tried to stop him from having to face Damiel, deep down I should have known Michael would come. It was his nature, and he was dead because of it.
Nothing mattered now. There was nothing Damiel could do to me that was worse than this. Not his gleeful laughter nor his gloating. Bile burned in my throat at the sight of Michael’s limp, lifeless body, a body that I had been so close to only a few hours earlier. Now his once-white singlet was tattered, covered in grime, his muscular form covered in claw marks, bloody scratches, and bites. It wasn’t a clean death. He’d been hurt first. A lot.
Tears stained my vision, blurring the room, so I didn’t see Damiel walk toward Michael’s body, but I could hear his footsteps and the dreadful thudding sound of flesh being hit.
“That’s for not letting me kill you again myself,” Damiel growled.
In that moment, the last vestige of hope locked itself away as the reality of my situation seeped in. No one else would come for me. Nobody knew I was here, which left me as good as dead. I didn’t have a plan for surviving this. My plans ended at trying to leave town. Now Michael was gone too, and all I had left were memories. I hadn’t deserved his love, but he gave it to me selflessly, despite the trouble it caused him, to the point of fighting to the death to try to save me.