Edge of Heaven

by Rhiannon Leith

  Watching them together, Micah was forced to admit that Sam made her happy. That galled him indeed, and yet it attracted him. He couldn’t help but watch. She smiled. She laughed. She was playful, expressed delight and relaxed into her pleasure.

  Sam’s seduction continued relentlessly but slowly, carefully. Micah knew it for what it was, and yet it seemed sometimes that the demon courted him as much as his charge, keeping, for the time, a respectful distance.

  But Lily still whispered Sammael’s name in the darkness, during the night. And Micah turned away, unable to watch her arch up from the bed, even if he felt every shudder of pleasure that coursed through her.

  It couldn’t go on. Somehow he had to stop her from seeing Sammael. But to protect her, to keep her safe from whatever was stalking her, what better protection could there be than a demon?

  Micah knelt by her side while she slept and prayed for guidance. A few millennia ago, the Voice would have been there for him in an instant, the Word filling him with love and light. He had been created for just that purpose, to be a vessel for the One. Whatever he had done wrong, so long ago, all was silent. He didn’t expect it anymore. Even the angels looked down on him. Not shunning him, exactly, but he sensed their pity and it grated. The Holy Court was not a place which had much sympathy for those on the verge of falling, and Micah felt himself sliding nearer to that edge every time he looked at Lily.

  He was going to fail as her guardian. He knew that. But it didn’t mean he had to doom her as well. And if Sam could keep her safe…

  Sam. Such a simple name for such a complicated individual. Sammael had not fallen with Lucifer and the others during the war in Heaven. He had not been cast out. He had merely absented himself. He’d only been made a demon in retrospect when it was discovered that he was already in Hell serving the Nameless.

  Micah sensed him next door, awake and waiting, a frisson of anger vibrating through the air. Micah had managed to avoid being in the same area alone with him so far. But that was something else that couldn’t continue. They needed to talk. And Sammael was not going to forgive him for binding him in such a way. No beast appreciated a collar.

  Micah slipped through the wall between the two apartments and found Sammael gazing out of the living room window, with the city lights laid out before him. He had acquired some furniture now—neat and chic, shades of brown leather complementing the cream carpeting. It wasn’t an apartment designed to be lived in, like Lily’s, merely to impress. Everything about Sammael was designed to impress. He wore the finest clothes, his body was every woman’s dream, and he moulded his character to be best suited to the object of his seduction. In this case Lily. Micah knew as well as anyone that Lily needed someone understanding, full of compassion and goodwill, so for her, Sammael had become just that.

  But Lily wasn’t here now.

  “You took your time.” Sammael’s voice was a low growl, a threat in and of itself.

  “I didn’t know you expected me.”

  He whirled around, his eyes flaming in the darkness. “You fucking well know I’ve been waiting for you. And you can cut the ethereal crap too. I know what you are. Show yourself.”

  It took a surprising amount of effort. For so long Micah had remained on the spiritual plane that to become corporeal now took a moment or two of determined concentration. But he did it.

  Sammael stared at him, drinking in his appearance. How long since he had seen one of their kind as once they all were? His face took on a parched look, for just a moment. Then the same slow and vicious smile spread like an infection across his expressive mouth again.

  “Not bad. I see angels keep themselves in shape in between the harp practice and the songs of adulation.”

  Micah didn’t react to the dig. He appeared as he had always appeared. He wasn’t going to change that for Sammael.

  Except that he had made sure to remember clothing this time.

  “You’re angry, Sammael.” It wasn’t a question. There was no doubting the simmering rage beneath the perfectly tailored exterior. “You offered your word.”

  “And you made sure I was bound by it.”

  “Didn’t you mean it?”

  “Oh, I won’t let a human with his own personal God complex hurt her. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live? Rest assured, whoever sent her those cursed flowers will find out all about suffering if I have any say in the matter. But you—” He stalked forward, his very stance dangerous. “You had no right.”

  Something perilously close to pride swelled in Micah’s chest. He allowed himself a small smile and Sammael froze, outraged.

  “I’m her guardian. That gives me the right. She’s special. You know that, it’s why you’re here, to win her for your master, to corrupt her and ultimately take her soul. And now you can’t hurt her.”

  “Physically hurt her. That doesn’t count souls, or emotions or—”

  Micah tipped his head to one side, unsure of what he was seeing in Sammael’s anger. Something more than a demon bound, certainly. Something far greater than a loss of control. Not a loss at all, in fact, but something found.

  “Sammael? Do you have feelings for her?”

  The demon shuddered, a deep line forming between his eyebrows, beneath his frown. “I don’t know what you mean.” The words were clipped and threatening.

  And lies.

  Now that was interesting. For all the temptation Sammael was making sure Micah felt, it seemed that some temptations were riddling his own dark soul, and not the ones a demon welcomed.

  “Do you think she’s another Eve?”

  Sammael bared his teeth. “That was a long time ago. A very long time ago.”

  It was unmistakable. The demon was only a foot away from him, and tears glistened in the corners of his eyes.

  “Not so long for the heart.” Micah stared at Sammael in fascination. “She’s a light, the next spiritual step for mankind. If—”

  The punch took him completely by surprise. It felt like his jaw exploded and the force of the blow hurled him to one side. He barely managed to keep himself on his feet.

  “Get out, you bastard,” Sammael snarled, and all trace of softness evaporated into flames. “You want to see what I’m capable of? I’ll show you. I won’t harm her, don’t you fret about that. I’ll bring her more pleasure than any human has ever known. I’ll make her plead and beg for more and then I’ll take her there. I’ll fulfil her every desire. And then we’ll see where she ends up, won’t we?”

  “Sammael, you cannot hurt her.”

  “I won’t.” The demon seized Micah’s shirt and pulled him in so they were face-to-face. “I’ll let you do that.”

  With a single push, he hurled the guardian from him. Micah struck the wall with a backbreaking crash and slid down. He staggered back to his feet, his anger finally breaking loose. He balled his hands to fists and prepared to throw himself at Sammael, to finish this for once and for all.

  But before he could, a terrible scream rent the air.

  “Lily!”

  Her terror, blind and incalculable, descended on him and, Sammael forgotten, Micah shed his physical form and evanesced to her side.

  It was a dream. Just a dream.

  Lily struggled against the cruel hands holding her, against the duct tape that sealed her mouth. The shadows had her. They pulled her down into the darkness, onto the cold wet ground, and he loomed over her, black and endless, a silhouette of hatred with no substance but a million ways to hurt. He had no features, nothing but a shadow, and as he threw her down, he laughed at her muffled cries.

  This isn’t happening. I’m at home in bed. This isn’t real!

  The shadow man grabbed a fistful of her hair and dragged her to her knees.

  “You’ve been accused of witchcraft, how do you plead?” His voice grated over her body. She trembled, tried to speak, but the duct tape was still there.

  “Your silence aids you naught. You’ll face the trial of water then.”

  The shad
ow man slid behind her and, before she knew what was happening, his foot slammed into her back, pitching her forward, and she was falling.

  “Micah! Help me! Please, Sam, Micah!”

  The water hit her like a hammer blow and she sank, hands tied behind her back, feet similarly pinioned. Struggling, fighting, trying to wriggle free, she descended the depths, silver bubbles of air blinding her. Her hair swirled around her like water weeds, leached of colour in the half light. Her lungs strained, burned, and then the water came, water all around, flooding her, freezing her until the bubbles ended and the shadows closed in.

  Lily wrenched herself free of the vision, her own will pulling her clear and back into reality.

  She lurched up from the bed, screaming, the sound tearing itself out of her. Instantly, Micah was there, holding her, trying to calm her.

  “It’s okay, Lily, it’s me. Can you hear me? What happened?”

  She sucked in breath after breath, staring wildly at the shadows dancing on the wall. There was no light. How could they be moving when there was no light?

  What had she just seen? It wasn’t a memory. It wasn’t a spirit. Was it…was that a murder?

  “He killed her, Micah. I…I saw…felt him kill her. I was right there, in her! Micah!”

  His presence closed around her as if he were trying to hold her against his chest and stroke her hair, as if he was a lover next to whom she woke in terror.

  A thunderous banging on the front door almost made her scream again.

  “It’s Sammael,” said Micah. “It’s just Sammael.”

  “S-Sam?” The word came out halfway between a sob and a hiccough and she tried to get up.

  Micah held her just for a fraction too long and she paused. “What is it, Micah? What are you trying to keep from me?”

  His ethereal arms fell away and he gave a clearly audible sigh. She felt his breath rush across the skin of her shoulders.

  “I need to hold someone, Micah. Someone flesh and blood. Someone real.” As soon as the words left her mouth she wished she could have taken them back. A chill filled the air and she felt him withdraw, not just his ethereal self, but everything, his emotions, his friendship, his love. “Micah? Micah, I didn’t mean it as it sounded. Micah?”

  Sam banged on the door again and called her name. He sounded scared, worried for her.

  “Micah,” she yelled, “please, talk to me!”

  But he didn’t answer. Lily stumbled forward, tears streaming down her face, blinding her so that in the darkness she crashed into an armchair and almost fell over the coffee table.

  She felt cold, empty. She had never been alone, not like this. Micah had always been there, ever since her psychic awareness first burst into terrifying life.

  Yanking the door open, she fell into Sam’s arms, her chest heaving out sob after sob.

  “What is it? What happened?” He pulled her against him, pressed her face into his chest so his shirt soaked up her tears. He held her as Micah might have held her, if he were real. If he were really real.

  But he was gone.

  Jesus, he had been real, hadn’t he? Twenty years she’d known him, trusted him, loved him. He had to be real.

  Sam steered her inside the apartment, kicking the door shut behind him, and he sank onto the couch, still cradling her.

  “What happened, Lily?” His fingertips ran over her hair and from somewhere she found a trembling reed of a voice.

  “I had a dream, a nightmare. I saw a shadow man. He kidnapped me, tied me up and taped my mouth. Said I was a witch and he drowned me.” But that wasn’t the worst of it, not anymore. How did she explain about Micah? How did she tell him that?

  “And then?”

  “Micah—Micah’s gone.”

  Sam breathed calmly, quietly, his chest rising and falling beneath her. His questing hands moved to her shoulders, massaged the tension there. “But you called him your spirit guide. How can he be gone?”

  She shook her head, the tears starting up afresh. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t seem to stop. “He’s not. I hurt him. I just said—”

  She looked up suddenly to see his face gazing down at her, handsome, even more sculpted in the darkness of her living room. His dark eyes were almost black and in them she could see more than concern. His mouth looked grim and stern.

  “What?” he asked. “What did you say to him?”

  “That I…that I needed you.”

  He let out a sigh, but that same smile drifted around the edges of his mouth. “Lily, this probably isn’t a good time to…”

  A good time? When was there ever a good time?

  She moved before she could think about it, before she could regret it or let common sense talk her out of it. Rearing up, she captured his mouth with hers, kissing his with all the passion she had ever suppressed. Sam fell back beneath her, so shocked that he didn’t respond.

  Lily’s heart stuttered inside her and then shame welled up, a flaming wall of embarrassment moving up through her body. She tore herself back and looked down on him, this handsome God-sent man, and her heart gave way to the agony waiting for it.

  He didn’t want her. He didn’t want her any more than Micah did.

  “Oh God.” The two words scraped off the inside of her throat.

  Sam’s hands closed on her upper arms, holding her to him. His grip was like iron, like stone, and he stared into her face with those darker-than-dark eyes.

  Then he kissed her.

  He didn’t let her go, but held her close and his lips captured hers. His tongue slid across her lower lip, teasing her and slowly, so slowly, his grip on her arms gentled. He ran the palms of his hand down her bare skin, sparking little thrills of erotic pleasure in his wake. He caught her hands and rubbed the centre of her palms with his thumbs, a strong, firm motion that stirred the rising heat at the base of her spine. And that heat, an ache, a hunger, spread.

  Lily lifted herself and parted her legs, sinking down so she could sit astride him, the silk of her nightdress and his clothes the only barrier between them now. She rocked her hips forward, feeling his hardness against her, wanting him.

  Sam let out a low groan, his eyes still feasting upon her. He let go of her hands, but he didn’t release her. His fingers trailed back up her arms, stirring up the delicate hairs as if he trailed static behind him. She shuddered, her eyelids fluttering closed.

  “Look at me, Lily,” he said. “I want to look into your eyes.”

  She obeyed, wanting the same thing, wanting to gaze into the deep darkness of his eyes, wanting to see them cloud and blur with pleasure.

  He flicked the narrow straps off her shoulders and the nightdress fell, uncovering her breasts. Cupping them, he ran his thumb over the nipple, watching it grow erect, ready for him. Lily sucked in a breath as he rolled the little bud between his fingers. Needles of pleasure shot through her skin, down through her stomach and straight for the welling depths of her womanhood. She pressed against him, his hardness stimulating her while she rocked back and forth.

  “This isn’t going to be slow.” His voice was hoarse with need.

  She nodded, unable to form words. She didn’t want it to be slow. She wanted him now, hard and fast, with all the hunger damned up inside.

  In answer, she pulled open his cotton shirt so she could touch him as he touched her. Sam moaned and his mouth closed on her breast. He suckled on her nipple, leaning her back, taking control. Turning beneath her, he flipped her onto the sofa, shedding his clothes with frightening ease. Naked, he was breathtaking. Not muscled per se, but toned. She could sense the strength beneath that olive skin, could see the muscles tensing, struggling for control.

  And there was no doubting his arousal.

  He knelt before her, grabbed her thighs and pulled her towards him. The nightdress slid down the length of her legs to pool around her feet. He lifted them so he could retrieve it and held it up to his face, breathing in her scent, watching her all the time.

  He lai
d it aside like a sacred artefact and slipped his hands between her knees, pushing them relentlessly apart, tracing a path up her thighs to the glistening pubic curls. She watched him lean in close, pause and inhale. Slowly, with relish.

  His fingers combed through her pubic hair, teasing and testing, parting her honeyed lips, using a single fingertip to circle the edges, moistening the skin around until he reached her clit. She gave a broken cry and his mouth closed on her, his tongue darting deep inside.

  He licked her with a calm determination, with deliberate intent. Lily’s body squirmed against him and she grabbed his head, knotting her fingers in his hair.

  It was too much. She didn’t want it to be over yet. Didn’t want this to be finished. Yet her body was betraying her. Sam’s wickedly sensual tongue darted into her, drew back to lathe her clitoris and then entered her again. His lips caressed her and his hands held her down. She couldn’t move, not even to press herself against him. All she could do was push his head down, harder and harder while all the time the pressure built, and the rippling in her stomach grew. Her body convulsed, contracting inside as if to hold him with her. She cried out, shouting words that might not have even been words, and reality exploded around her.

  Sam continued to lick, holding her down and drinking from her as if she was the elixir of life. When her orgasm lulled, she lay, spread out before him, her arms stretched across the back of the sofa, her nails digging into the leather.

  When he looked up, she smiled, dazed and sated, but one look told her he was far from finished with her. A frisson of fear trembled through her and her sated euphoria evaporated like morning mist.

  His eyes were so dark, like the endless dark of a starless night. And within them, she saw flames dancing.

  “Come to me,” he told her.

  She released her grip on the sofa and slid forward, down to sit astride his kneeling form, taking his iron-hard cock deep inside her with a single movement.