by Sam Cheever
I sighed and dropped my butt onto the nearest pew. Then a thought occurred to me and I surged back to my feet, calling out to the quickly retreating death detective. “Raoul!”
For a beat it seemed as if he would ignore me. But then he stopped and turned back, looking expectantly and a bit impatiently at me.
“If I’m right, you know there will be others. Many others.”
He stared at me for a long moment. I thought I could see a whole range of emotions crossing his dark, angry face. But he simply lowered his head in the tiniest of nods and turned back around.
I sat in that pew for several moments after the police left. Enjoying the quiet and relative peace and safety there. I knew that my life was changing in ways that I’d never anticipated and that I wasn’t going to like a lot of the changes. I also knew that my path had been set for me by powers much greater than one little Tweener. It was that thought, more than the others, that brought me finally to my feet and carried me out of that church.
If I was going to have any semblance of a normal life again I had to find those hostages and the demons had to be knocked back into meek subservience. It wasn’t a perfect outcome of the current mess. But it was an outcome we’d all lived with for centuries and it was the only outcome I could see that would ensure relative safety for the humans. It was all I knew to do.
So that was what I’d do.
* * * * *
Myra met me on the sidewalk outside and I suddenly realized I didn’t have the Viper. She didn’t say anything to me, simply looked at my grim face and held out her hand. I gave her a weak smile and clasped her soft hand.
We shifted into my office and went directly to the drink valet, where I programmed in two cups of strong, black coffee.
We sat at my small table for a few moments drinking silently, both lost in our own thoughts. Finally Myra looked up at me and I could tell by the frown on her angelic face that she had not been thinking happy thoughts.
“The Angel Council isn’t happy, Astra. We’ve been considering what to do next and not one of our options is good. Whichever way we go we risk starting a new war. The demons are an unstable factor right now. They will do anything to get what they want. Alcott has made that abundantly clear.”
I nodded but didn’t say anything. I was in a quandary over the current situation too and her thoughts mirrored my thoughts. I was interested to hear what conclusion the Council had reached.
“Unfortunately, in this case at least, the royals are the more reasonable of the two factions. They at least understand what they have to lose if this world is annihilated through demonic war. The royals are deeply invested in this world and would be left pretty much in a void without it. The demons can exist perfectly well in the Shadows and don’t share the royals’ love of this world. So…” She looked up at me and I didn’t like the reluctant way her eyes met mine, “we are leaning toward pressuring the royals to help us end this threat.”
I gave her a sharp glance, filled with surprise and a little bit of anger. The Angel Council, never known for eminent fairness when working toward something they wanted, nevertheless generally put right above wrong in a situation. However, they appeared to be perched on the edge of taking the expedient way out of the current situation and damn the consequences.
“You do realize that what you’re contemplating could mean the complete destruction of the demons? King Dialle the First is not going to just suck down your censure and allow the demons their freedom. He’ll simply destroy the demon court and be done with it.” I put my fingers in front of her face and snapped, causing her to blink. “Just like that…no more problem.”
Myra stared into the rich, black liquid in her cup for several beats before looking up at me. When she did her blue, angelic gaze was filled with sadness. “You know, Astra, it’s like putting down a pet you’ve never liked because it finally bit you. You will always wonder if you put it down because it bit you, or because you never really liked it in the first place. There is a definite moral dilemma here. A crisis of conscience if you will.”
I knew exactly what she meant. I faced that dilemma almost daily in my job. But aside from the obvious consequences to my professional existence, I was somehow reluctant to see the demon race extinguished. I definitely hated that pet. And it definitely was capable of biting me. Had, in fact, bitten me on numerous occasions. But it was still life and I’d been raised to believe life was important and worthy.
I sighed. A moral dilemma indeed. I didn’t think I could accept the conclusion the Council had reached. Which meant that I needed to come up with a better one. And fast!
Shit!
After Myra shimmered out I called Emo again to see if he had anything to report on the hostage situation but he hadn’t learned anything new. I told the televisual to disengage and sat there biting my lip, thinking. Finally I realized one thing I could try. It was definitely a long shot but I was incredibly short on options at that point.
I closed my eyes and threw out his name on a reluctant sigh. Dialle, I need you.
Almost before I finished the thought he was in my chair, with me. Or rather, under me and I was sitting across his lap, my legs flopping over the side.
“Hey!” I said but that was all I could get out before his yummy lips descended over mine and sucked any further protests, along with all the air in my lungs, away from me.
Dialle’s lips parted and his teeth clasped my lower lip, nibbling gently. I wriggled in his lap as a jolt of warm need infused my lower regions and lust, hot and musky, rolled over me. His teeth held my lower lip in a gentle grasp as his tongue made a gentle assault on my tongue, causing gooseflesh to sweep down my arms. I shivered and sighed with pleasure almost at once.
Dialle’s sharp, white teeth released my lower lip but his tongue continued its assault. He licked his way down to my chin and sucked there. It was the strangest and most erotic thing I had ever experienced. I shivered so violently from the extreme pleasure that I almost fell off his lap. He wrapped his arms around my waist more tightly to hold me there and I turned slightly so I could put my arms around his shoulders.
I moaned as his very talented tongue slid down my neck to the daemon hickey he’d put there to mark me as his. He sucked on my neck and the hickey throbbed in time with the beat between my thighs, creating waves of helpless lust that spread outward until my whole body was soft and warm and tingly with need.
My gaze went soft and the world blurred. A smell, like roses drifted across my airspace and something in my memory jigged, leaving me with a slightly uncomfortable feeling.
But then everything abruptly sharpened and my senses became unnaturally keen. My sight was enhanced, colors became brighter, the strands of Dialle’s hair were like strands of tiny black pearls, glossy, luminous, decadent. I could smell his need and mine as if it were a perfume in the room, applied liberally to spice the air. My skin was a million nerve endings, my mouth a smorgasbord of taste buds.
I felt as if someone had slipped me a pleasure drug. But I knew that wasn’t possible. I felt my mind drifting away thoughtlessly, floating on a sea of pleasurable sensations.
The part of me that hates losing control fought against the drifting but it felt as if I were swimming against a whirlpool and every inch I gained was lost twofold as soon as I won it.
I shook my head and refocused on Dialle. That was something tangible I could grab hold of. My wicked devil.
Was he doing this to me?
Was I under some sort of spell?
It was then that I realized his hand was up under my shirt and on my breast. His fingers gently pinched my nipple through the cloth of my silk underblouse and it pebbled and throbbed in time with the rhythm of need that was playing itself out along the entire length of my body. Dialle lifted the silky cloth barrier and, before I knew what he was doing his impossibly hot mouth was on my breast, sucking the happy peak and I was lost.
I leaned back in his arms, giving him free access with his mouth as well as the h
and that had found its way to the juncture of my thighs. He had my short, tight skirt bunched at my waist and his hand was cupping me through the silky covering there, driving heat into my sexual center, which was wet and throbbing and getting more desperate for his touch by the moment.
Suddenly time and sound stopped as he shifted us out of that hard, inconvenient chair and when sound returned I was lying on my soft bed, with a naked devil on top of me.
I looked down and discovered I was naked too.
“Shit! How’d you do that?”
Dialle laughed and recaptured my breast with his sultry mouth, mumbling around the turgid peak, “What good is magic if I can’t use it for the important things, my princess?”
Why argue with the devil when he made that much sense?
Somehow the shimmering had broken through the haze I’d been in but only momentarily. It quickly started to overtake me again.
Going on pure physical sensation, I arched my body closer to his sucking mouth and gave a sigh. This was very bad, the pain in the ass, practical side of my mind insisted, until the raging slut-monkey side bashed it into reluctant silence and took over with a moan.
Dialle moved down my body with his tongue and mouth, licking, savoring, marking me irretrievably. My body rose to meet his tongue, urging him on, almost begging.
He chuckled as I pushed his head toward the spot where I really, really needed sexual healin’ and the vibration of his deep chuckle almost brought me over. I cried out when his mouth finally found me and jerked into an almost instantaneous orgasm.
He sucked hard until I finished bucking against his mouth and then reduced the pressure to a gentle pull that had me screaming and bucking against him again in mere seconds.
Then I grabbed his dark, silky mass of hair and pulled him up so I could capture those decadent lips with mine again. I tasted myself on his lips and something more, something deeper, that I recognized as an almost frantic sexual need.
I opened my legs and wrapped them around his hips, urging him with my body to take what he needed and give me what I craved.
Dialle centered himself between my legs and lowered his sexy mouth onto mine. His kiss was heat and flame wrapped together in the musky perfume that was his essence. We lost ourselves in a tangle of lips, hands, arms and legs for what felt like hours.
He ground his hard length against my stomach, prolonging the moment that we’d both been driving toward for weeks. I groaned against his lips, frantic, desperate to feel him sliding into me.
I reached for him but he grabbed my hand. He whimpered and crushed his mouth more desperately against my lips, his body more violently against mine, until we were like two rabid animals, mindless with lust and need.
Suddenly he pulled away from me and cried out, his black eyes wild and, amazingly, touched with something that looked like fear. The black depths of his eyes were filled with swirling colors that danced in rhythm to his heartbeat. He was panting as he tried to throw himself backward, away from me.
I felt him start to pull away and lost my mind. Some part of me was screaming that something was wrong. I ignored that small screamer and immediately wound my arms more tightly around his neck, pulling my legs up to wrap around his waist. I pulled him back down and shamelessly consumed his incredible mouth with my own, determined that he wouldn’t escape me before I had my way with him.
He jerked away from me again. “No! Astra, don’t you feel it? This isn’t us mating, there’s something in the room with us. We’re being controlled.”
I reached for him again and he grabbed my hands in one of his, shaking me just a little bit to distract me from the compulsion I was apparently under.
I panted, my body still throbbing painfully, tears rolling down my cheeks. I stared at him and shook my head. “Controlled?”
“Yes.” I was watching him very closely, still under the aura of heightened awareness that I was finally beginning to realize was not natural, so I saw the beginnings of his shift away from me. I blinked and he was standing as far away from me as he could get in the room, fully dressed.
“No…” I whispered to myself. Some part of me was still under the compulsion and I thought I’d die if he didn’t come back to me.
He shook his head, his face a pale mask. “It cannot be this way between us, Astra. There’s too much at stake. We will have our time. But this isn’t it.”
Then he was just…gone!
I flew out of the bed and ran across the room. The raging lust I’d felt only moments before transformed itself to anger, so I pounded on the wall he’d been leaning against when he’d shimmered away. I pounded and screamed my frustration until my fists were bloody and my chest heaved from the effort. Then I threw myself back on the bed and cried myself to sleep.
Chapter Ten
Call the Fashion Police!
Our lady met the devil’s pet, in slippers made of fur,
But when our hero offered help, his fix was less than pure.
I was in the woods again, under a fat moon. The clouds were skittering across the face of it at an accelerated rate, as if they were agitated. In fact the general feeling of the place was one of dark anticipation.
Part of me wanted to stop walking. To turn around and leave the wood. But another part of me needed to face whatever was coming so that I had a better chance of beating it back.
I reached the place where the trees thinned into nothing and stood there, just at the edge, feeling my heart pounding in my chest at an incredible rate. The air around me pulsed with the deep base of my heartbeats.
Ba boom, ba boom, ba boom, ba boom…
The reverberation grew until it became the thunderous sound of hundreds of witches chanting and I suddenly knew with a clarity that came from true vision, what I would see when I entered that clearing.
It was all I could do to step through the last line of trees.
The crowd of witches was pressed tightly together, swaying with the rhythm of their chants. They were faceless, formless, creatures of the night. Purveyors of an evil so profound that it couldn’t bear a human face.
They stood shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip in that small clearing, filling it completely. From the altar in the center to the black line of dense trees at the clearing’s edge, the space was filled to absolute capacity.
Somehow, however, a pathway opened for me and I walked through the crowd unimpeded, without being touched by any of the dark celebrants.
When the last line of witches parted for me and I could see the altar I was not surprised to see myself on it.
But I wasn’t alone.
I was naked, on my back and entwined in obvious pleasure around a long, lean golden body with silky black hair that fell in soft curls and waves around a darkly whiskered face which was nuzzling my neck and therefore hidden from my view.
Though I couldn’t see the velvet of his black gaze or the finely chiseled planes of his well-formed face, I felt as if I knew that long, golden form like I knew myself.
We writhed and moaned upon that altar, our passion obvious to all who watched. I smiled at the sight and silently celebrated its passage through the pages of prophecy.
I saw movement above the altar and looked up to find nearly transparent forms of silver floating above our heads. The Angels’ gentle heads were bowed as if they were in pain and their hands clutched, clawlike, at the shimmery gowns of angelic fashion, which danced softly in a frantic wind created by the dark purpose.
I recognized many of the angelic faces, thought of calling out to them in greeting but the trail of silver liquid down their nearly transparent faces stopped me.
Angel’s tears.
Shed only for the most catastrophic of events.
I covered my mouth in horror and my gaze flew back to that altar, where my prophetic lover and I cried out in unison and arched into the violent culmination of our mating.
I watched as tears ran from my eyes to splash against the hard, cold stone of the altar beneath our still writhi
ng bodies.
Almost immediately my partner on the altar started to thrash violently. He folded into a fetal ball and screamed in apparent agony.
Around us the celebrants increased the tempo and tenor of their chanting, pressing closer as my lover’s skin withered and dried away and his cries died to nothing.
Until he was a silent skeleton across my naked legs.
I screamed. Both from the altar and in my prophetic dream and reached out for him. But one voice, stronger than the rest and more powerful, called out to me.
“Do not touch him, Astra!”
The command in the voice was unmistakable. I looked up to where the leader of the black celebration stood high above the rest.
Her robes covered her from head to toe and a single lock of auburn hair fell from the front of the hood and rested across her breast in a soft curl. Her arms had been upraised in supplication to the dark purpose but she lowered them now and reached to push back her hood.
My Aunt Deirdre’s face emerged from the dark, rough cloth.
I gasped and tried to run to her, meaning to send her to Hell for her murderous actions.
But her voice rang out in that silent clearing and I stopped. Something made me look around and I discovered that I was alone in the clearing. Except, of course, for the woman who now stood in royal robes at the center, with one gentle moonbeam illuminating her form but not her face.
“You killed him!” My voice was filled with tears and it made me angry. Tears were a weakness I could not afford.
My aunt shook her head and raised her hands toward me. I saw again the teardrop mark on her wrist. “I have not killed him, Astra, you have.”
I gasped and murder filled my heart. “You lie!”
She shook her head, sending the reddish black strands swinging gently around her narrow shoulders. “No, I do not lie. You have killed him with your lust but you are not to blame.”
I tried to get to her, intending to vanquish her for good. But every time I moved she moved somehow too, though not appearing to.