Josh relaxed slightly as he inhaled the sandalwood and cigar smoke that filled the stairwell. It irritated his sensitive nose. At the bottom of the steps he let out an explosive sneeze, which wrenched his neck. He needed to get rid of the stiffness in his upper body. Nothing a good strong elixir and some recreational sex couldn’t remedy.
He made it to his favorite microbrewery, the Blue Raven. The place was packed, even though it was barely dark. A couple of nude female dancers were gyrating in a metal cage as best they could to a pounding beat. They were connected to one side of the cage with a leash and studded collar. Patrons tried to grab at their feet but often got their hands pierced with a well-placed stiletto heel. Since the angels would heal within minutes, it was all fun and games. And some were into the pain of it.
A man named Willard was the bartender and manager of the pub, although, like everything, the Underworld actually owned the Blue Raven. Private and business property rights had been disallowed hundreds of years ago. Even the citizens of the city were property of the Underworld. This was why Josh spent as much time “up top” in the human realm, where he could breathe freely and at least have the illusion of being in control of his own destiny.
Josh leaned in on the glowing amber bar, one boot on the brass kick rail, and waved down Willard. He wondered how the man got to keep his “stage” name, as they liked to call their human label.
“Hey, Josh. Been awhile, man.” Willard gave him the grip of greeting and settled his hands behind the bar, waiting for Josh’s order. The bartender’s face was pasty and pockmarked, but his lips were bright red, a sure sign he was into using RedEcstasy on a regular basis. Josh was surprised at this. Another change.
Since the recent introduction of the raging red elixir, said to be laced with a highly addictive drug, a definite change had occurred in the demeanor of the population of the Underworld. On one hand, the red syrup seemed to heighten certain sexual urges, but it generated a craving that left the “host” begging for larger and larger doses. This lack of self-control Josh didn’t appreciate, and so stayed away from the drug.
“Willard. You old fart. You messin’ with the Red stuff?”
This drew a smile across the old angel’s face, made almost comical by the stain of red on his teeth. “If you can’t lick ‘em, join ‘em. Here, try one.” He poured a brew from the tap that was as red as blood, with an attractive pink head on top, and handed it to Josh.
It glowed in the dull light coming off the yellow slab of amber. Josh held it up. He had to admit, it was a beautiful color, more like that of a nice cabernet, which was where his tastes leaned.
“I’m not sure, my friend, that this is safe to drink.” Josh set the glass down on the bar and stared into Willard’s disappointed eyes. “You got any Sexual Apricot?”
Willard shrugged. “Suit yourself.” His back half turned, he poured Josh a small tumbler of thick golden liquid from a squat bottle, then placed it before Josh with a clink of glass on amber as he set it down. Even the mixture had a touch of peach in it, indicating some RedEcstasy was present.
“Willard, don’t you wash your glasses? You’ve got RedEcs in it.”
“Can’t help it. It’s in everything now. Nobody minds.” He leaned into the counter on his elbows and forearms. “Since when did you become a purist?”
That was a comment Josh didn’t expect to get. It also indicated Josh would not be able to ask the questions he was dying to ask without fear of someone else knowing about it.
“Since when did you become a Red-head? You ever remember me taking the stuff?” Josh let a bit of his red eyes flash at the bartender, who respectfully cowed and moved on to another customer.
Suddenly the raucous music was deafening to Josh. Was his hearing changing too? He scanned the room. He knew many of the faces, but the eerie green-yellow lights made the expressions grotesque representations of his acquaintances’ former selves. The Halloween-like costumes, heavy ancient scents and the obvious abundance of RedEcs everywhere. It was so strong Josh could feel it begin to take hold.
No one appeared to be particularly interested in him, so Josh decided to leave. Outside the Raven, he sneezed again. A couple of streetwalkers wearing fishnet stockings and high heels flashed open their white rabbit fur cropped jackets, displaying enormous breasts. He tried to smile with his usual savoir-faire, but had the feeling his expression looked more like a grimace. He wasn’t interested in their brand of recreation. Not any longer.
The streets were dripping with the sandalwood fog, which masked all the other unmentionable smells of Undertown, none of them pleasant. This was a place one went to get lost, but Josh knew his bearings. Still, he noticed the town had become darker, wetter, and the sandalwood scent overpowering. Liquid running down the gutters in the foggy wet street held a red tinge.
Josh heard the sound of flapping overhead. He recognized that sound. Someone had resurrected the dark winged angels that had been outlawed some two hundred years ago in an attempt to modernize the Underworld. But now someone had brought them back. Someone powerful. Things were reverting to a time Brutus had told him about, almost medieval in feel, when the Underworld had grown powerful, only to lose repeated battles in the human world to Father and his angel forces. Josh could see someone was gearing up for a fight, another great confrontation. Josh thought the plan unwise, pure folly to expect to win against the Father and his minions. No doubt this was Peter’s doing. It smacked of an ego being out of joint.
The wet street curved to the left and Josh searched the dark, wide passageway. Finally, he was finally alone. After a short walk, he came to a heavy metal gate that had a keypad at the side. Josh punched in the code and the gate clicked open, loudly.
At last, something that hasn’t changed.
He walked through garden of deep red roses he could see even in the night air. The sandalwood was less obvious here, and he could finally smell the flowers. The pleasant scent reminded him of Melanie. That spurred a little interest in his groin.
The mansion was covered in dark green ivy. In the middle of the front yard was a tall fountain with the sculpture of an angel praying, as if begging for mercy. He easily ascended the front porch, three steps at a time, then stood at the wide covered veranda on which he had spent some wonderful afternoons. Overstuffed dark green wicker furniture in bright floral prints was strewn all over the area, looking inviting, even at night. He saw movement through the window to the right—a brush of pink lace and part of a woman’s thigh.
He hesitated at the door. Maybe Helena would take in Melanie. Maybe he could make that happen for Melanie, arrange it so he could make her this offering in exchange for her turning. Maybe she wouldn’t hate him so much for what he was going to have to do. Hosting here could give her some time to herself. If Peter would allow it, if in time the director would lose interest, perhaps Josh could visit her now and then…
Abruptly the door opened, before he could knock. Helena stood before, him, as lovely as he had remembered. Her white skin and bright red hair were a lethal combination in a dark world that had suddenly grown more menacing.
“My goodness. Joshua Brandon. Love of my life. My sponsor. My sexual playmate.”
Helena always acted this way, like he was something bad for her but that she couldn’t help herself. That worked. He gave her a brief smile and said, “You forgot to say Master, my lovely.”
She grabbed Josh’s shirt, pulling him through the doorway, then closed it behind him. Her perfume made Josh’s eyelids flutter. His nose twitched, but he inhaled her intoxicating scent and let it wash over him, stirring his groin, sending the hairs at the back of his neck into prickly attention. It was good to feel the sensual again. He felt welcomed into her lusty world.
She wore a light pink peignoir, see-through, of course. Her tiny feet were encapsulated in golden tasseled red slippers that matched the color of her full red lips. Helena’s body was perfect, Josh thought. That was one of the reasons he’d chosen to turn her. Her knotted, li
ght pink nipples touched his white silk shirt as she stepped into him. He drew her body deeply to him with an arm around her waist. She looked at him under half-lidded eyes just before their lips touched, and her soft moan as their tongues connected sent him on the sensual journey he was seeking. The universe was suddenly contained in the warm mounds of flesh his hands explored. He felt the welcome he had needed.
She took his hand and they stepped quietly up the grand spiral staircase under an antique stained glass skylight. Candlelight lit the house, and the flickering gave a golden glow to the rooms and hallway, almost bringing life to several marble statues of naked women. The red carpeting in the hallway was thick and plush under his tired feet.
They moved silently to large wooden double doors that she pulled open, revealing an inner chamber of peaches and blush pinks like the folds of her body. Her large four-poster bed was covered in silvery satin pillows. The room warmed by the blaze from the large heavily veined marble fireplace. He intended to spend at least twenty-four hours in her company. He needed the loving only she was capable of providing him. He needed her skin to polish his, to take out the stiffness, to ease all the rough parts. To warm him to the depths of his soul. Make him liquid again. Make him forget his future. Make him forget the charms of the little human woman.
Melanie.
Chapter 8
Melanie accepted her parents’ invitation for dinner because Felix’s father and stepmother were going to join them. She hadn’t seen the couple since Felix’s funeral. Her mother also let slip they had a friend they wanted her to meet, a single and brilliant young attorney who was her father’s law firm. She knew the evening was a setup. Melanie considered the chances her mother would ever find anyone remotely of interest to her near impossible. Chances he would get into her pants: zero.
Cold day in Hell.
Melanie knew her parents had bought and paid for her by getting her the little shop. She could see how her mother would think of this little dinner tonight as payback.
Why? What are you looking to get, mother?
She wore black velvet pants and a white cotton top with ruffled lace up to her collar. The old mansion was chilly, so she welcomed the long-sleeved shirt, one of her favorites, but she also added a silk vest in stripes of green and turquoise from material a friend had brought from Bali. She’d decided to wear her hair down but had curled it, something she rarely did these days. She wore the little silver heart earrings Felix had given her on the day they decided where and when the suicide was to take place. She wondered if his parents would recognize the heart-shaped earrings Felix had bought her.
The cab dropped her off at the front gate and she walked the crushed granite driveway in the sparkling night, needing a little time to herself. A red Maserati was parked behind a large black Mercedes near the entrance. She guessed the “guest” was the Maserati type, and Felix’s parents the Mercedes owners. Chattering voices came through the door as she rang the bell.
Her mother pulled open the front door, revealing the grand foyer, warmed by a pink and orange glow from hundreds of lit candles. “Mel!” Her mother pulled her forward and embraced her a little more lavishly than usual. Melanie was suddenly embarrassed being the center of attention.
“Where’s your car?” her mother asked as she looked out the front door.
“My truck? I’m getting the brakes fixed. I took a cab.”
“Dearie, we could have had Peter pick you up, or sent the car for you. You should have told me.” Georgia Worthington frowned at her daughter.
“Peter?” Oh, yes. Mr. Maserati. The eligible young bachelor she was being offered up to, like a virgin sacrifice. Swell. So now she would look like she expected him to take her home. She hadn’t thought about that possibility.
“Peter Adamson, and the pleasure is all mine.” A man’s voice caught her attention. She looked up to see a handsome male standing before her, with an oddly familiar face with dark eyes. He captured Melanie’s hand, then bent to kiss her fingertips. She thought she smelled blood and heard screaming. The chill of his breath on her hand made her want to step away immediately. But she couldn’t move.
This brought titters from the two other female onlookers, who appeared to have picked up on the old-fashioned and erotic implications. Melanie did not like this little dramatic part she was being forced to play.
She decided Peter’s eyes knew more than he let the others know. He searched her face with a possessive air. Melanie sensed he would be the type to play with her flesh before striking. He’d take his time with her, confident of a winning outcome. She did not like or trust him. Worse, she was horrified at the subtle feeling he liked to cause pain. She shuddered.
“Peter is new to Daddy’s firm. We thought he should come get to know the family,” her mother said. Melanie considered the unit the three Worthingtons made, but it didn’t feel like family. More like a partnership, a business arrangement.
Peter had not let go of her hand, and although she tried to extricate it from his large paw he hung on, leading her into the large living room, a satisfied smile occupying the whole of his face. He stopped near the bar and handed her a large goblet of red wine.
“I have poured you a Ravenswood merlot that has been breathing for a half hour.” After handing her the goblet and releasing her hand, he leaned into her, and said in a low voice, “See if you think she’s ready.”
Melanie felt a little dizzy at his low tone, which washed over her face like a cool breeze. Her ears buzzed slightly. Peter was a handsome man, tall and well muscled under his white shirt. His black slacks were cut slim, and there was no mistaking his desire to show off his long legs and tight rear.
The Ravenswood merlot was her favorite. He had obviously done his homework. She liked him even less than before.
“Thanks.” She tried to smile back at him. She searched his face, squinting her eyes and cocking her head to the side. Needing to show him she wasn’t afraid of his magnetism, she looked him square in the middle of his dark eyes and took a sip of the merlot. It was heavenly. As if knowing what she was thinking, he smiled.
“Good.”
His voice was so soft she almost couldn’t hear his response. It sounded more like a moan that emanated deep from within his chest. She could feel the vibration from his body all the way to her toes.
She pardoned herself away from him and made her way across the living room to Felix’s father and stepmother, who looked uncomfortable. She gave Mr. Barstow a hug that he didn’t return. He was a man in shock.
“How are you holding up?” she asked.
“Oh, well, we have good days and bad days.” His smile was more of a wince.
The silence was awkward.
“Yes, I imagine,” she said.
“I just wish...” Felix’s father started to sob while his new wife pressed her enormous breasts against his side. It was a disgusting display of how little she truly cared for the aging man. Melanie’s heart broke. The veiled accusation in Mr. Barstow’s words hurt her. Her eyes filled with tears as she pitied the grieving man.
So sorry, Felix.
She found some courage at last. “You know, Mr. Barstow, you can be very proud of Felix. He was so wonderful to me over the years. Really helped me in times of great distress, of darkness. He was a great friend. I’ll always miss him.”
Mr. Barstow leaned in to Melanie, jaws locked, his hands made into fists. “Did you know about it? Know what he was planning to do?”
Melanie was stunned without words.
“You should have told me, at least,” he said through clenched teeth. His eyes reflected all the confusion the pain had caused him.
Melanie knew instantly he was right and wished she’d kept her mouth shut. All she’d done was add to a father’s pain.
Peter came to the rescue, shouldering between Mr. Barstow and Melanie. He gave her a lazy smile and half grin, as he regarded Mr. Barstow over his shoulder. “How could she have known? Most male suicides don’t want to be rescued. Most
women want to be found.”
Melanie stared up into Peter’s face and was suddenly grateful for the intervention. As he turned his head back in her direction, she noticed how he seemed to do more than look. He absorbed her essence.
Peter’s hands were on her waist as he slowly moved her away from the couple, keeping her back and one side touching his body, length to length. Melanie noticed where they connected; her body was already anticipating the next touch. He did have a sense of control over her, a command, as if he knew what she would put up with and where the unacceptable line was drawn. She had to admit, she liked being protected in this little gathering, where the odds were stacked against her at least four to one.
Mr. Barstow retreated to a corner, his new wife in tow.
“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” Peter said to the back of her head as she watched the couple distance themselves.
“What wasn’t?”
“Felix.”
“How do you know about him?” Melanie wasn’t sure his face revealed anything but passing interest, but it piqued her curiosity how a stranger knew.
“Your father.” He took a step closer than Melanie wanted, but she stayed her ground. Barely speaking, his chest rumbled as his words cast over her like an elixir. “He said you were in need of male companionship, that Felix had been your…confidante, and that he had killed himself.”
Melanie looked down at her feet. She didn’t want to show him her tears. She wasn’t sure if they were for Felix or for the fact that she felt very alone in her own family.
“Do you”—Peter took in a deep breath and exhaled over the top of her head—“need male companionship?” It was as if he was motioning with his forefinger, begging her to follow him down a dark garden path. The tingling on her skin from the touch of his breath was delightful and somewhat exciting, but she was confused as to whether or not it could be counted on to be long lasting.
Underworld Lover (A Guardian Angel Romance #2) Page 5