Ghostland (ghostland)

by Jory Strong

  Uneasiness slid through Zurael when Aisling picked the talisman up and he saw the sigils carved into its black surface. They were familiar-making him think of the tomes meticulously cared for in the House of the Serpent-the volumes listing the enemies of the Djinn-the books containing the names of the angels.

  Aisling ran her thumb over the pentacle. She compared the sigils etched into its smooth surface against the memory of those written on Elena. They weren’t the same.

  She startled when Zurael’s hand gripped her wrist. Her pulse raced at the gentleness of his touch and the heat of his flesh. He was crouched next to her so it was impossible to miss the swelling of his cock in the molded leather of his pants.

  An answering heat pooled in her woman’s folds. Nervousness fluttered in her chest with the realization that her earlier fear had kept her from recognizing her body’s attraction to him. She shivered as her eyes traveled up his torso to collide with Zurael’s gaze.

  Desire burned in the liquid gold of his eyes-there and then gone, as if he’d battled and managed to extinguish the flames fanned to life between them. “Do you recognize the sigils?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “It’s a protection charm?”

  “I think so. I’d be of little use if I was thrust into the spiritlands every time I was in the presence of Ghost.”

  He nodded and released her hand. She pulled the soft leather pouch from underneath her shirt and placed the blood-fed fetishes and the pentacle in it before letting it fall back into place.

  A low moan filtered in from the living room, reminding her of Elena and the silver coins. Nervousness fluttered in Aisling’s belly along with deep anger. “I’ll have to take her money. She’ll never trust me with what she knows unless she thinks she’s bought me with her silver. Other than Father Ursu and the bishop, I don’t know anyone here.”

  Zurael cupped her cheek with his hand and sent her heart skittering in a dance of longing. His eyes met hers. “In the end you’ll wish you’d never summoned me to save her life. She’s already cost you much. Her selfishness could have cost your life today.”

  “But it gained me a chance to save my family.”

  Zurael stroked his thumb over her mouth. His cock pulsed when her breath caught in her throat and her eyelashes lowered in an unconscious invitation for his kiss. In the physical world her hair was braided, but the image of her in her astral state, naked with the blond locks flowing down her back, was burned into his mind.

  He was a Serpent prince, a being who could take any form and no form. He could trace his line back to the first Djinn to be born from the fires of a molten Earth. She was all that he wasn’t, yet he struggled to keep from answering her silent summons to touch his lips to hers and share his spirit with her.

  She was forbidden fruit, a sweet temptation he was finding it harder and harder to resist. For all that his mind argued against knowing her in a carnal way, he couldn’t stop himself from pressing his mouth to the corner of hers then kissing downward to the spot on her neck where her pulse pounded not with fear, but with desire.

  Zurael luxuriated in the softness of her skin, in the heady scent of her arousal and the knowledge that he had the power to enthrall and enslave her. Her nearly silent whimpers made him want to stretch her out and cover her with his body.

  He imagined himself thrusting into her. Plunging in and out until her low cries turned into pleasure-filled screams.

  The groans from the next room grew louder. Their sexual nature became obvious.

  Zurael smiled as Aisling’s embarrassed blush burned his lips. The reminder they weren’t alone gave him the strength to break the contact and rock back onto his heels.

  Aisling rose to her feet and swayed under an assault of dizziness. Only Zurael standing and grabbing her arms kept her from toppling over.

  “You’ve lost a lot of blood,” he said, pulling her against him.

  The sound of his steady heartbeat and the feel of his warmth chased the light-headedness away. She breathed in his exotic masculine scent and closed her eyes.

  “Tea helps,” she said, but she didn’t have the energy to pull away from him and take the first step toward the kitchen.

  For a long moment they stood together. Surprise made her eyes open when she realized Aziel was still perched on her shoulder. Confusion caused her to retreat from Zurael’s light embrace.

  In each of Aziel’s lives he’d always been overly protective and aggressive toward any male who showed an interest in her. Yet now he allowed a demon prince to hold her.

  A chill slid through Aisling as she wondered if Aziel was demon. She’d never seen his true form. She’d never been able to determine what type of entity he was. He’d rebuffed her efforts gently but firmly each and every time her curiosity led in that direction.

  He was her companion long before he became her spirit guide. She’d loved him always. He wasn’t a shapeshifter, but she’d never allowed herself to see his possession of his host forms as demonic.

  People of faith painted all demons with a single brush. They saw them as malicious beings that served an evil master and sought the downfall of mankind. She had not found that to be the only truth. She had encountered such entities in the spiritlands, just as she’d encountered creatures that had once been gods but had later been named demons when one religion conquered another.

  She had never looked for the gates of hell, but she didn’t doubt such a place of punishment could be found in the ghostlands. When Zurael had called her a child of mud and promised retribution with his eyes, she’d thought he was a prince of hell. Now she wondered why it was his name Aziel had given her and what it meant that Aziel allowed Zurael to touch her.

  “Why are you here?” she asked, lifting her chin as she met Zurael’s gaze.

  His hand went to her neck. His thumb brushed across her pulse. “Because you summoned me.”

  “Only the one time.”

  “Once is all it takes.”

  She shivered at the underlying menace in his voice, remembered too well his silky promise of retribution. She could still feel the phantom prick of his talons as he’d greeted her at the door earlier, but she refused to hide from the truth. “You came to kill me.”

  “Yes.” His expression softened when she didn’t pull away from him. He leaned in so his cheek touched hers. His breath was a warm breeze flowing over her ear. “Rest easy, child of mud. You’re safe from me unless you summon me again.”

  She opened her mouth to say she wouldn’t, then closed it again as the images she’d seen in the pool of her own blood rose from her conscience in warning. She would walk into the fires of hell if it meant saving her family.

  Aisling stepped back and turned away. She was still weak and shaky, but somehow she made it to the living room door.

  Her earlier blush returned with flaming heat. Elena was on the floor, her skirt up and her panties down to reveal the curls between her thighs. Her expensive blouse was parted, its buttons scattered in haste. Her bra was open so her fingers could pluck and pull at already bruised nipples.

  Zurael cursed softly. He placed his hand on Aisling’s arm and helped her to the kitchen.

  Fine tremors ran through her hands as she filled the teakettle and set it on the stove then pulled chipped mugs from the cabinet along with a jar of honey. Frustrated tears wet the corners of her eyes when tea scattered on the counter as she attempted to fill the small metal tea balls with leaves. She hated the weakness that left her so shaky.

  Aisling closed her eyes and tried to steady herself. She’d be fine as soon as she had something to drink.

  Zurael left the kitchen. She heard him moving around, but she didn’t open her eyes until he’d swung her up into his arms.

  Her heart fluttered at the tenderness in his face. In two steps he was settling her onto one of the chairs he’d brought from the living room.

  “I assume you’d rather have your tea in the kitchen,” he said. “Under different circumstances the show
your guest is putting on might be arousing, but at the moment I find nothing pleasant about her presence here.”

  Aisling nodded. She found it impossible to look away as Zurael took over the tea preparations. His movements were flowing, graceful. He was beautiful to look at.

  Aziel rubbed his furry cheek against hers before sliding to her lap and hopping to the floor to disappear into the living room.

  Zurael poured boiling water into the cups. His body hardened and burned with the feel of Aisling’s eyes on him. Even without looking at her, he was intensely aware of her.

  The tea steeped while he rummaged through the cabinet. He retrieved a can of peaches and placed it on the counter, then removed the tea ball and added honey before taking the mug to Aisling.

  There were shadows under her eyes, a frailty to her features that made him want to gather her up in his arms and take care of her. He cupped his hands around hers to steady them as he helped her carry the mug to her lips.

  His thoughts visited the House of the Spider and the tea he’d taken with Malahel and Iyar. He pictured Malahel’s crystal altar and the stones he’d tossed, how Aisling’s angelite had been touched by powerful forces as well as humans and angels. He’d assumed the dark stones represented beings in the spiritlands, but they could just as easily have represented powerful Djinn.

  Ravens were spirit travelers like Aisling. They flew in the place where Djinn souls waited to be guided back and reborn, while Aisling walked the ghostlands created by human death and belief.

  Spiders saw how the past, present and future weaved together. They worked the threads in subtle alterations that could change the entire design.

  He wondered if Malahel and Iyar had known how quickly his mind would join his body in wanting her. If they’d sent him here for a reason beyond retrieving the ancient tablet.

  Aisling sighed and lowered the mug to rest on her lap. His hands remained cupped around hers, trapping hers between the tea’s heat and his own.

  She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. “I’ll be okay as soon as the tea and honey kick in.”

  Zurael left her long enough to open the can of peaches and put them in a bowl. He cursed himself for a fool as he knelt in front of her, picking up a peach slice with his fingers and holding it to her lips.

  Her eyes opened to find his. A delicate blush of uncertainty washed over her cheeks as she accepted his offering.

  His cock jerked in reaction to the touch of her tongue against his fingers. Lust burned through his veins.

  She took a second slice, and a third. Her tongue lingered, gliding over his skin in pursuit of the peach juice. Her lips closed on his fingers briefly when he offered her a fourth piece.

  He fought against the urge to pick her up and carry her from the room. It was easy to picture her naked, her lips on his cock, sucking it into the wet heat of her mouth.

  Slice by slice he fed her the peaches. He watched her eyes grow dark with need and felt his own hunger grow as each piece left his fingers.

  When the bowl was empty, he placed it on the floor then took the tea mug from her unresisting fingers and set it aside, too. Her eyes met his. Her lips parted in invitation.

  With a low moan, he leaned in, desperate for the taste of her but still in control, still sane enough to keep from ravaging her mouth and sharing his spirit with her.

  He pressed kisses along her jawbone before traveling to her ear. Panted when her fingers slipped through the opening of his parted vest and splayed across his bare chest.

  She whimpered when he sucked on her lobe. She shuddered against him when his tongue traced the delicate shell of her ear before sliding into the sensitive canal.

  “Zurael,” she whispered, her voice stroking over him and making him hungry for the feel of skin against skin.

  He jerked when her fingers found his tiny nipples. The muscles of his abdomen rippled as he fought the urge to take her hands in his and move them downward to his erection.

  Elena’s cries grew sharper in the next room. Her scream of orgasm cleared Zurael’s mind with the suddenness of a dive into an icy stream.

  He stepped back, breathing hard, unable to look away from Aisling’s parted lips and soft, angelite-colored eyes.

  The intensity of his need to protect her, to merge his body and soul with hers, was almost beyond bearing. He took another step backward, away from Aisling, though he feared no distance would be far enough to keep him from imagining them naked together and writhing in pleasure.

  He glanced across the counter and saw Elena fumbling with her clothing. Her eyes were still closed, but her movements warned she’d returned from the ghostlands.

  Zurael held the image of the serpent in his mind. He was glad to shift into its shape and escape the deadly temptation of Aisling.

  Aisling picked up the discarded dishes, then rose to her feet. The light-headedness caused by loss of blood was gone, but in its place panicked confusion reigned.

  She didn’t recognize herself when Zurael touched her. She had no will to resist him, no desire other than to find pleasure in his arms.

  Aisling shivered as she looked at the serpent coiled in her kitchen. His golden eyes followed her movements as she placed the dishes in the sink. His long, forked tongue flicked in and out.

  She turned her head as images of him kissing her ear, assaulting it with a human tongue, sent a wave of longing straight to her swollen labia. Her panties were wet with arousal, and in the serpent’s form he’d taste the scent of it.

  Was she tempted by him because she was meant to be? Or because he was a demon of hell and demons were said to use temptation in order to lure humans to their doom?

  Unconsciously her hand went to the place where her shirt hid the small pouch containing the fetishes and onyx pentacle. He’d come to kill her, but he’d said she was safe from him as long as she didn’t summon him again.

  He had no reason to seduce her. Her soul and her life were already in peril.

  Zurael’s untouched mug sat on the counter. She fished the tea ball out and poured the tea into a pan. As it warmed on the stove she forced her thoughts away from the demon and onto the task ahead of her.

  In the living room Elena rolled to her side. Her eyes fluttered open.

  For a few seconds they remained unfocused. When they cleared, she sat up and casually closed her jacket, uncaring and unconcerned about what she’d done, what she’d risked for her pleasure.

  Aisling banked her anger. She poured the tea. A lifetime of hiding her thoughts and emotions from anyone outside her family made it easy for her to take her seat on the couch as though the trip to the spiritlands had cost her nothing.

  “This will help,” Aisling said, offering the mug of tea after Elena reclaimed the chair she’d been sitting in earlier.

  Elena took the mug. She trembled slightly as her attention shifted to the serpent gliding into the room, menace radiating along his patterned length.

  This time Zurael didn’t join Aisling on the sofa. He slid up the wooden leg of the coffee table and coiled himself on its surface within easy striking range of Elena.

  Aisling used the fear she read in Elena’s eyes to make a point. “It’s dangerous to go into the spiritlands without proper protections.”

  Elena’s gaze skittered up to meet hers, then immediately returned to the deadly snake. She licked her lips nervously but ignored the warning. “I was Ghosting. That’s why I don’t remember leaving the club or being at the black mass. I had to be sure you’d understand. I had to know if what I heard about you was true.”

  Aisling’s heart jolted. It was her turn to feel a tremor of fear.

  Like all the supernaturally touched children left abandoned on Geneva McConaughey’s doorstep, Aisling never talked about her skill as a shamaness. She rarely used her talents openly. Until the guardsmen and Father Ursu arrived, she’d never gone into the spiritlands on behalf of someone she didn’t trust or who hadn’t been vouched for by someone she trusted.

  �
��What have you heard?” Aisling asked, leaning forward, anxious, though some of her worry disappeared when Aziel emerged from the shaman’s workroom and scampered over to settle on her lap.

  “I overheard Father Ursu talking with Luther about you being able to guide a Ghost trip,” Elena said.

  Relief poured into Aisling. They may have mentioned her by name but they could have been talking about any shaman or shamaness. She had no formal training, no reason to think another gifted with shamanic ability couldn’t do what she’d done.

  A sudden chill swept in to chase the relief away. John’s words tormented her from the spiritlands.

  I see they’ve sent a sacrificial lamb. Or maybe that’s Elena’s role. Then again, maybe third time’s the charm.

  Aisling’s stomach knotted as she looked around the worn, stark living room and thought of the abandoned fetishes and tools in the next room, of the man’s clothing left hanging in the closet.

  John’s voice whispered through her mind. They don’t intend for you to leave. This is only the beginning act-if you survive it, of course.

  She shivered as she remembered the bishop saying she would have a choice between staying in Oakland or going home-only there never had been a choice. Powerful forces in the ghostlands had seen to that and bound her to look for whoever was creating Ghost. She wondered if those same forces had led Father Ursu to her and if the Church was also looking for the Ghost source.

  Her attention returned to the serpent curled up on the coffee table. The presence of a demon prince suddenly seemed like a clear message, a warning against trusting Father Ursu or the bishop.

  Aisling shifted her focus to Elena. She didn’t know what Elena’s role in this was. Maybe John was right and his sister was a sacrificial lamb-maybe they all were. At the moment it didn’t matter. Elena was the starting point for finding the ones responsible for Ghost.

  “I’ll help you discover how you ended up at the black mass, but I won’t hunt for Anthony Tiernan and his followers in the ghostlands, not unless there’s no other choice.”

  “That’s fine. You can search for answers at the club.” Elena leaned forward eagerly but jerked back when she remembered the snake. “The man I bought Ghost from was new. He told me I’d have the best results if I found a private place where people couldn’t interfere with my trip. He said it was a special batch, one guaranteed to take me where I wanted to go.”