His concern was slightly abated when she didn't realize the seriousness of their situation and said, "In what, a thousand years?"
"Maybe somewhat less," he admitted.
"So what are my superpowers?" she demanded unexpectedly, and he felt amusement well up in him. Ideas came underlying the question that he found to be a bit absurd. Men in strange outfits pretending to save the world and other oddities.
"You can change the look of your skin."
"Oh my god, your loincloth is just skin?"
With that came ideas and understandings that stirred his libido to fascinated interest. Fortunately he was a statue, or one part of his anatomy would have been just as hard as one. "Yes, but it is skin from my thighs. It's not pleasant to reshape the skin from where you're thinking. So no, you were not sitting directly on my penis."
“How do you do that?” He sensed the fullness of the question. She was asking how to make clothes from her skin.
“Use your imagination. Imagine the clothing you’d like to be wearing.”
He returned his attention to his vision as she shimmered to her humanoid form. She crossed her legs and closed her eyes. Abaddon didn’t want to be ill-mannered and stare at the curious bit of hair between her legs, so he watched her face with devoted focus.
A moment later, she opened her eyes. Nothing had changed. Scowling, she closed them and focused again. The process repeated several times until she shifted back to stone form. After a few moments, she looked down to watch as the hair between her legs grew and shorted. She laughed, doing it several more times as Abaddon promised himself he'd quit looking... any second now. After a while, though, she grew bored with that and tried again for clothing.
“What am I doing wrong?” she demanded.
“Show me what you’re imagining,” he instructed her.
He saw a pair of men’s britches and what appeared to be breast bindings like she had worn when she first arrived underneath the strange skin-like thing he’d taken off of her. He understood intellectually that those were now considered appropriate attire for women, and was astounded.
After several frustrating hours, he finally realized what she was doing wrong. She had tried various articles of clothing, but he realized she was just picturing them, not seeing them on her body.
“Imagine them on your body. How they feel, how they look, everything.”
She sat frowning, and he found his gaze wandering inappropriately. She had rendered herself into an amazing humanoid form. Even her breasts were tipped with color. Her nipples were rosettes of satiny pink that he wanted to touch with an urgency that surprised him.
Recognizing that he was behaving without even a trace of honor, he deliberately turned to his humanoid form and leaped into the water. Some manners weren't memories as much as they were ingrained into him. One did not sit ogling a woman, even if he hadn't seen one for longer than he could remember.
* * * *
Sarah's frustration was increasing by the moment. She truly hated not at least getting the upper hand on something right away, and she generally preferred to master things right away over even that. A flaw left over from her childhood was that she tended to quit when she didn't get it on the first try.
But how did one just give up on having clothes on? Especially stuck in a cave at the bottom of the ocean with the single sexiest man she'd ever laid eyes on in her entire life? She was torn between insecurity and the feeling that maybe walking around naked would be a good thing--perhaps he would find her attractive and make a move.
Of course, she could do it, herself, but she was stymied by a high-level insecurity that she wasn't used to. She could not give in to her overwhelming desire to just jump in his lap and sexually assault the poor man, because there was the possibility of him refusing to allow it. Since he was roughly four times her size, she supposed she'd have to come up with a more subtle approach. Not that she did subtle, because she usually didn't. But she'd make an exception this time.
He was attracted to her... or at least she thought so... but he was profoundly afraid of his own feelings for her. She'd sensed that much when she'd brushed her mind against his and read his personality and past. His overweening sense of honor precluded him from making any attempt to seduce her, however minor. He'd been raised in a time so vastly different from the modern day that it was mind-boggling on a vast scale. He already loathed himself for kissing her back when she had kissed him, so there would be no further expression of desire from him.
'Generation gap' in this case became 'generation grand canyon' and stayed firmly lodged there. It would take a miracle to get the man over his antiquated ideas of propriety, especially the fact that he was a gargoyle. To him, he was an abomination, and he would not respect any woman who wanted to 'lay with him'.
But Sarah now had an advantage, and she intended to push it. She was still a woman, certainly, but she wasn't human anymore. She was now his own kind. Sadly, from the glimpses of memory she'd seen in his mind, his first encounter with a woman of his own kind had been terrible. There were multitudes of images in his mind of the woman doing everything she could to provoke him to rage. She had wanted him to strike her, she had pushed and manipulated and done everything she could in order to break that iron self-control he had.
An admirable trait, that self-control. Yet it was not a factor in her favor. So long as he held the belief that she was above him and inaccessible to him despite their circumstances, he would employ that iron will to keep her properly 'untainted' by his touch--a notion that was at best, imbecilic.
Inherently, Sarah recognized the seeming inconsistency in her behavior. At first, while under the influence of whatever illness that had plagued her mind when she first arrived, she had thought him to be the epitome of evil. Yet now that she had unintentionally trespassed into his mind and past, she knew him to be a noble, even regal being. She'd never been entirely convinced he was evil, but she threw herself fully into her acceptance of him as a pure soul now that she had seen his innate nobility of character.
It was just the way that Sarah Holt did things. She was all or nothing, sink or swim, live or die, black or white. She was as subtle as a barn door and as likely to change her mind as a leopard to change its spots. That was why she generally researched herself to death's threshold before deciding on something. This time was an exception. She'd changed her mind. He wasn't a demon, he was a good, decent man whom life had done its best to destroy.
She sat and stared at the water where Abaddon had disappeared. He had changed her. He had reformed her body, certainly, but he had changed her on more fundamental levels, as well.
Yet she was still as stubborn as she had always been. She sat down and began to plan the next steps of her life. She knew that he thought she was unaware that she was still dying, but she had sensed that in his mind, as well. It had been weighing so heavily on him that she'd have had to be blind not to see it. So that meant that, if his calculations were correct, she only had a few short weeks left--months if she survived far longer than he thought she could. She would spend the last weeks of her life in his arms, or she would die trying.
Since those were her only options, and only one of those options appealed to her, she needed a plan. She had a lot to overcome... his reticence due to ingrained beliefs from childhood--amazing they could last nearly into eternity, his firm belief that he was an abomination, and his unwavering acceptance of the idea that the kiss they'd shared had been him taking advantage of her.
Worse, she didn't really know her abilities now that she was a gargoyle. One good thing, though, was that she couldn't form clothing like he could. That gave her an excuse to walk around in the buff. Not that she put it past him to find a fig leaf out there somewhere. Given his rigid views of protocol, she half expected him to come in next time with some kelp braided together into clothing for her.
She sat down to ponder her options, and soon found herself sliding away into the darkness of sleep.
Chapter 9
Abaddon entered the cave to find Sarah in statue form. Beside the stone statue he'd used to give her that form, she looked exceptionally different to his vision. She was beyond beautiful, even with the hum of life that pulsed through her at a low ebb. If she were at her full glory, he imagined she would shine like the sun... not that he remembered what it looked like anymore. It was odd, the things a man forgot, and the things he remembered.
He sat down nearby before shifting to his stone form. He waited for her usual greeting, but heard only the typical sounds that passed for silence for gargoyles. He pondered for a moment. She wasn't dead. Was she? He looked her over. She glowed with life, though granted it was a faded glow due to her poor health. But it looked muted in a way that he'd never seen before.
At last, he decided that he would reach out to her. He was responsible for her, and he couldn't just let her slip away into death if he could prevent it. There was no way to be sure that she was dying right now, but it wasn't unlikely.
Mentally preparing himself, he reached out to touch her mind with his through the subatomic layers of the stone they sat upon.
Nothing in his long, long life prepared him for what he experienced as he did so. A moment of disorientation swirled through his mind, and the sounds of the world fell way. He found himself walking towards a large machine in an unfamiliar place.
Sarah lay on top of it, staring upwards. He drank in the sight of her. Here, she was a gargoyle, but she was wearing underclothing.
"Shorts and a tank top," she said out loud, and to his surprise, he understood her easily.
"What?"
"It's not underwear," she told him, turning to look at him. "They're shorts and a tank top. People wear them all the time."
"Where are we?" he demanded, not particularly interested in her clothes. "What is this place? How did we get here?"
"Whoa," she said, chuckling and lying back again. "Take it easy, hoss. We're in a park in Omaha, and we got here because I'm dreaming. Who knew you'd be so nervous even in my dream?"
"Gargoyles don't dream," he argued. It was simply a fact of their natures, they did not dream.
"Then how do you explain me dreaming?" she asked, not looking at him. "Can we please not argue? Come lie down with me."
He laid down on the machine she was on, unnerved by the creaking groans it made and its rocking motion. She watched him with a grin, and he was spurred on. If she could get on this thing, he could. Couldn't he?
At last, he was sitting beside her, the machine groaning under his weight. He slowly lowered himself backwards, disconcerted at the idea that he could fall through the hole she was leaning against easily. Apparently, however, it could support his weight, and soon he was beside her, staring up at the roof of the Omaha cave, where the lichen had gathered into small dots that glittered in the blackness. He wondered why she saw it the way she had as a human, rather than how she would as a gargoyle.
"Because it's a dream, Abaddon. And because it's not a cave, it's the sky. Those are stars."
Abaddon had a sudden, strange sensation of falling. As if he would fly up into the sky and vanish forever. He fought the disorientation and fear, unwilling to show it in front of her.
"I can hold you down," she told him. He turned to look down at her as she rolled over to lay curled up against his side, her arm thrown over his chest. The idea of her holding him down should have been ludicrous, but instead it felt right somehow. Like she was an anchor drawing him back to the world.
"So what do people do in dreams?" he asked. "I don't remember."
She sat up and turned towards him, her head haloed by inky black sky dotted with sparkling pinpricks of light. "We can do anything we want. It's a dream, so there are no limits here. Nothing we do here counts when we wake up." She leaned forward to cross her arms over his chest, her chin sinking down to rest on them. "We could fly, visit Africa, anything we wanted to."
He stared, entranced, into her abyssal eyes. She had been beautiful beyond belief as a human, but now there was something about her that mesmerized him.
"We could make love here, under the stars, if we wanted," she whispered, her voice husky.
Almost against his will, he found himself rolling them over, looking down at her. Her leg wrapped around his thigh, and he felt the smooth softness of her belly against his erection. The clothes between them had melted away in the way of gargoyles--even her human clothes.
He fought himself for long moments. He even won for one short one. Her cool hands cupped the back of his head and they were kissing. He groaned as a ravenous desire for her overtook his self-control.
For years, Lilith had fought to make him lose control, and had failed in every way. Without even trying, this woman stripped him to the most primal of instincts. Every part of him literally throbbed with overwhelming hunger.
He trembled as he reached down to shift her hips. Leaning forward onto his elbows to support his massive weight, he growled in frustration as the strange machine they were laying on dug into his tricep. Then he realized that she was no doubt pushed down against the same groove that he was having problems with.
His lips still on hers, he picked her up and jumped down from the machine to lay her in the grass. She moaned as he settled back onto her, and her legs wrapped around him. He was frantic to be inside her, but knew that he couldn't rush.
Women needed preparation, and even then often would still find sexual contact with him unpleasant. Remembering that, he tried to pull away, but her faint, mewling protest brought him back to her, his wings vibrating with the violent urge to extend. He fought it as he had always done since being trapped in the water.
"Please," she whimpered.
Her body shifted under him, and he cursed himself for a fool. He was crushing her, no doubt; inconsiderate, lust-clouded fool that he was.
Yet when he tried to move to give her breathing room, he felt her legs convulsively tighten around him. He broke the kiss reluctantly to look into her eyes. He barely recognized his own voice when he asked, "Am I hurting you?"
"No," the answer came breathy, fast. "Please, Abaddon." Her hips bucked upwards against his, making him groan with frustration.
"You need preparation," he grounded out. "I can't just--"
"You can." She looked mutinous. "I don't need anything but you."
"This isn't right," he began, "I'm a gargoyle, and you're--"
"A gargoyle."
"You deserve to be courted--"
"I won't live long enough for that."
The words stole his mind for a moment. She knew. His chest squeezed painfully.
"It's just a dream." Her hand pressed against his cheek. "Please." The wealth of hope and desire in that word broke his resolve. He forgot that he needed to prepare her. He forgot that he was a gargoyle. He forgot that he was supposed to be a good, decent man that didn't ravage his woman in the grass in an open field.
He reached down to shift her hips again, shocked to find that she was so wet that he kept sliding around, unable to find entrance to her. He finally reached down between them to keep himself still, and then he was inside her.
Her soft cry made him still in shock, his body protesting from his head right down to his toes. It took everything he had not to rut her like an animal as his primal desires roared to the surface and stripped away his humanity to near nonexistence.
She was hot and tight and wet, and he groaned in protest as he fought his instincts. She moved under him, and for a moment he thought she would push him away. Instead, her hips shifted and he realized after a few belated moments that she was rocking against him with every appearance of desire, not pain.
At that realization, all resistance faded, and he began to move. He had no finesse to offer. No language of love, no ancient dance. He rocked in and out of her with barely enough wit to keep himself from hurting her and to grit his teeth to keep from exploding before she did.
Chapter 10
Sarah had been with men in the past. She was no virgin, a
nd hadn't been for a long time. She'd had one long term relationship, and a few casual encounters. None of that had prepared her for Abaddon. Her desire for him was so powerful that she had just wanted him inside her now.
Right. Now.
And he had given it to her the way she wanted it... and how he had given it to her! He was much larger in every way than anyone she'd been with before. But that wasn't what made it so different. She could feel how barely contained he was. Violent need boiled right under the surface, and she was driven into the ground with each powerful thrust, despite his restraint.
It probably should have hurt, and if she were still human, she'd likely have bruises. But it felt glorious. He possessed her with his mouth and drove into her body with a force that was shocking in its intensity and wanton in its urgency.
With every touch, he increased the passion within her like a bellows stoking a flame. It built with embarrassing speed until she finally understood why some women said they screamed from orgasm. She couldn't stop the scream that tore from her as pleasure so intense that it bordered on pain shrieked through her body.
Distantly, she heard his long, low roar as he followed her into bliss. His hips rocked roughly against hers as he came, sending shocks through her body that left her gasping, wrecked by the savage joy of the experience.
He looked down into her face, his own a mask of horrified shame. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he told her. "I'll make it--"
She stopped him, covering his mouth entirely and shaking her head. "You didn't hurt me." She let her hand drop, pulling his head down so that it was beside hers. Running her hands across his back, she informed him, "I've jumped out of airplanes. I've climbed Mt. Everest. I've run marathons and won karate trophies." He pulled his head up to look at her, prepared to say something. She laid her finger on his lips, momentarily distracted by them. So beautiful.
Then she concluded, "I'm always looking for the next awesome experience. I love anything that gives me a rush of adrenaline and endorphins. But never in my life have I experienced anything as incredible as what we just did."
Guardian of the Abyss Page 5