by Dianna Hardy
Elizabeth’s form – Amy’s form – pale and dead, under this tree, invaded his mind. Not again – no, not again. She was still young. He could ensure she would carry on living a full, rich life.
With the final morsel of strength he had saved for his death, he let out a little cry of defeat – or maybe it was relief – and dropped his hand into hers as he uttered, “Yes.”
Chapter Three
Mary was pretty sure she knew what bonding entailed; she didn't want to even think about what 'merging' might involve. But the one thing of which she was absolutely certain, was that there wasn't a chance in hell (and she was fully aware of that irony) that she was going to drink Satan's blood without putting up the fight of her life.
She kicked out with her feet to no avail. When he pressed his body into hers to still her, she tried to bring her knee up to his groin, but he had his own knees locked against her thighs, and it was impossible to bend her legs. When she spat in his face, he simply ignored her, and when he put down his dagger and fisted his right hand in her hair to pull her head back, desperation got the better of her.
“Is this how you get all women to do what you want? You have to force them?”
“Oh, usually they're willing, believe me, but you, angel of mine, have always needed special persuasion.”
“And you wonder why I ran off,” she retorted, knowing she shouldn't anger him further, but she was all out of options.
He yanked her head back hard, and she clamped her mouth shut.
He brought his wrist up towards her face, and the scent of his blood almost drew a moan out of her, it smelled so good … which was just wrong.
“Open wide for me,” he whispered.
Oh, God, this is it. She pressed her lips together as hard as she could and shut her eyes, not willing to bear witness to her own violation.
She heard his breath hitch in his throat, some kind of disbelieving sound, then she wondered if the ground was shaking, because a deafening roar filled the air, seeming to make everything vibrate. He let go of her hair, something breezed past her and he was now off her completely … and it sounded like the world was ending. Fear had her motionless – she had to will her eyes open.
What she saw both relieved and terrified her simultaneously: Satan and Gwain – Gwain was here – both shirtless and furious, were throwing down like sworn enemies. She was momentarily stunned at the scene. It was like watching two dark and deadly superheroes have it out, if superheroes had wings; speaking of which, what in heaven's name had happened to Gwain's wings? They didn't look quite right, but the two angels were moving too fast for her to focus properly. Every time one of them was thrown to the ground, or to the wall, the earth trembled under the assault.
Holy shit, if one of them came flying her way, she'd be squashed flat. She had to get out of these cuffs now. With a grimace, she pulled at them again, and winced as the pain in her elbows exploded – it was almost unbearable, and she still couldn't feel anything above them.
Her heart leapt up to her throat when she caught sight of Gwain hurtling backwards through the air towards her. Instinctively, she yelped, turned her head, and shut her eyes once more, bracing herself for the inevitable impact … which never came, although the wall behind her did shake and bits of stone and dust fell on her head.
When she next looked up, Gwain's face was just an inch away from hers. He stared at her, grey eyes flashing, with one hand either side of her head. He'd somehow righted himself just in time.
“Hello,” she managed.
“Hello,” he replied, then grabbed the chains holding her cuffs to the wall, and ripped them out of the stone, just before Satan attacked him from her right.
“You don't touch her!” he bellowed, and they both went down again in a mass of muscle and limbs.
“Too late,” goaded Gwain, and Mary blinked in disbelief. Was he really bantering whilst sparring?
Then she groaned as cold fire shot down her arms – now hanging loose by her sides – all the way to her fingertips. Oh, shit, that hurts! Pins and needles of the worst kind!
She crouched and hugged her arms to her chest, massaging them and trying her best to ignore the pain – it's not like she was a stranger to pain. Unfortunately, thanks to her crazy nightmares and her coping mechanisms for the torture they instilled, her stupid, good-for-nothing, masochistic body didn't know the difference between pain and pleasure anymore; in fact, her body enjoyed pain more than she’d like to admit. As a result, she was feeling uncomfortably aroused from the abuse she’d taken since waking up here. Emotionally, she was far from having fuzzy feelings … but her physical form had always had an agenda of its own.
Looks like you have the bloodthirsty angel gene too, you fucked up girl – or botched up daughter of Satan, if what he's saying is true. Which would explain a lot, by the way.
Now that she was free of her restraints, and the psycho-God was occupied, she started to piece together everything that he'd told her. If it was true, then he had created her in his own image – from the nucleus of chaos. Her mind conjured up a visual of the necklace that she'd been found with as a baby: two Chinese symbols strung together, which read ‘primeval chaos’.
Christ, maybe it is all true. If Elena can be the daughter of a Shanka demon, is this really such a stretch?
She spied Gwain's shirt lying on the floor a couple of feet away and reached for it, willing her fingers to work. They did still work, thank God, and she grasped it with some difficulty, then opened it up to examine it. The back was mostly torn off, but there were still a couple of buttons attached to the front. It would do. She clumsily slipped it on and did the two buttons up. She had no idea where her underwear and jeans were, but at least the shirt hung down to the middle of her thighs.
Ignoring the sounds of battle bouncing off the walls, she concentrated on her surroundings and looked for an escape route. She had no idea how she'd gotten in; she didn't even know where Gwain had come from. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied an orange glow coming from around one of the bends in the stony chamber they were in. It looked like her only option, but she didn't know how she was going to get there with the two angels dominating the space between her and it. She wondered if she should try to help Gwain instead, but they moved so fast, and were so unearthly strong, she was sure she'd be more of a hindrance than an aid. She also valued her life – now so more than ever – and didn't fancy getting accidentally squished between the two.
Cautiously, she skirted along the wall towards the orange light, wondering what on earth she was going to do if that was the way out. She wouldn't go without Gwain, but she couldn't see how she could join in the fight – these two were formidable; nothing like fighting Shanka demons at all.
A startling cry, followed by a grunt, pulled her out of her thoughts and she froze at the sight of Gwain's head going through the stone wall!
Oh, God!
He was just about moving, but clearly dazed.
Satan spun on his heel and fixed his eyes on her.
Run!
Her feet had covered only a few metres before he was on her. His arm encircled her throat, and she screamed as he pulled her down backwards on top of him. She rammed an elbow into his ribs, and she may as well have rammed it into a steel door – what were angels made of?
He hooked his ankles over hers to immobilise her, and grasped her face with his hand. “You fucked the last angel? I should have known it was him … of course it was him!”
Was he talking about Gwain? Whatever. It's not like she remembered, and really, she'd just had enough. Even though it was pointless, she forced her head forward as far as she could, then slammed it back as hard as she could.
She yelled out as her head exploded in agony, but took some satisfaction in hearing something crunch behind her, amazed that she'd made any impact at all.
“Bitch!” he cursed, then brought his bleeding wrist to her face. It looked like he’d made a fresh cut – when had he done that?
�
�No!” She caught his arm with both her hands. Of course she was completely outweighed in strength, but it didn't matter, because if she was going to lose, then she had nothing to lose. So she locked her elbows, and put every ounce of energy she could into keeping her arms straight and his wrist away from her mouth.
He still had her head pinned in place with his other hand, and she realised, with disconcertion, there was nothing she could do about the drop of blood about to fall from his wrist, straight onto her lips.
He forced her head back and squeezed her face so damn hard, she had no choice but to unlock her jaw so it didn't snap in half.
A cry of defeat left her as the drop of blood fell from his wrist … just as a hand clamped down over her gaping mouth, and a body landed on top of her. The blood hit the back of Gwain's left hand, as his right fist landed a punch to the side of Satan's face.
Mary quickly let go of his arm, and moved her own out of the way to give Gwain better access, trying to ignore the fact that she was completely trapped and unable to speak. Sandwiched between them, with the two men landing punches either side of her head, there wasn't a lot she could do but keep as still as possible – so much for not getting squished.
A golden glint caught her eye: Gwain was wearing her necklace. For some reason that touched her deeply, and something strange stirred within her, but her focus was drawn elsewhere: with Gwain looming over her, she finally noticed his wings. They were burnt – badly. And they were bloody, the feathers mostly gone, and sticky looking skin, blackened and charred, clung in clumps to what remained. It was a tragic sight.
Satan's words came back to her: “It's why our wings look different – shinier, waxier – they're inflammable.”
Gwain's weren't, and he must have known it when he'd come down here after her.
Tears sprang up in her eyes for his sacrifice, and that something deep within her – that something she couldn't name – stirred again, more strongly this time. Really stirred… No, it surged. It felt like an awakening, or some kind of physical epiphany, and it travelled outwards, from her core to her surface, consuming her from head to toe, before settling like a blanket around her heart. What the hell…? Maybe she was falling into some kind of alpha state from all the pain she was in, but it was at that exact point that she knew it was all true – her creation, her birth, her betrayal, everything Satan had told her. Her mind might not remember, but her heart, or soul, or whatever crazy mojo was going on inside her, did.
A bloodcurdling scream brought her out of her trance.
It took her a moment to realise that Gwain was rolling across the floor with her in his arms. When they finally stopped a few feet away, she looked back to see the psycho-God writhing on the ground, his own ceremonial dagger sticking out of his eye. She hadn’t noticed it coming into play – it must have been what he’d made the fresh cut on his wrist with.
“Hey,” said Gwain, hauling her up to sitting. He gently turned her face towards his. “You okay?”
His eyes looked like liquid iron in the flickering torch light, and a memory skirted around the edges of her mind. She knew those grey eyes – she knew them well. Why had she not noticed before?
“Mary,” he called out, more urgently.
“I'm fine,” she whispered, but her voice sounded as if it were coming from another dimension. She didn't feel fine; she didn't feel like herself – maybe she was still in her weird sub-zero zone.
He frowned, concern shining in those eyes … those eyes… They stared at you in shock as you clawed into his face, remember?
“I remember falling,” she said, to no one in particular. Was it even her talking? It felt like something inside her wanted out.
Gwain frowned. A storm settled on his features.
“Stay here.” It wasn't a request. “I need to finish this.”
“You're going to kill him?”
“Would that bother you?” His tone was sharp, and she looked at him in surprise. What was that supposed to mean?
He seemed to catch himself, and gave his slightly battered and bloody head a shake. “No. Abaddon can't be killed – he’s the only fallen angel that can’t – just delayed for a bit.”
He pulled himself onto his feet and strode towards … what had he called him? Abaddon?
The next thing she knew, Gwain had a sword in his hand, and before she could figure out where in God's name that had come from, he was stabbing flesh and slicing limbs … Gwain was slaughtering Abaddon – chopping him up into little bits as the Hell-God screamed in rage.
And this doesn't kill him? she thought in bewilderment.
It occurred to her that she should be feeling … something … whilst watching the carnage, but it was yet another insane consequence of her nightmares that she was mostly desensitised to violence. She saw it, felt it, lived it – suffered it – almost every time she slept, but gore never seemed to affect her in real life.
Because he made you, came the voice in her head. Because you're evil.
A startling cold rushed through her body. Her legs began to shake.
No, no, no! This was shock – she was going into shock! She still had enough of her own mind left to understand what was happening. She couldn't go into shock now, they had to get out of here!
With a moan of despair, she fought against the urge to huddle up into a ball against the nearest wall, and concentrated on her breathing.
In and out … in and out … concentrate on the tip of your nose where the air tickles you when you breathe … there's nothing else … just that spot on the tip of your nose … that's where you need to focus … that's where you need to bring yourself back…
She remembered her suspension bondage training from her days down the BDSM club – her only non-dangerous outlet for the pain of her nightmares, not that it had ever worked in relieving them. In the end, she’d only kept going back for the connection with people, and because she felt a little less lonely, and a little less of a misfit when amongst the other club members. Many that went there simply went because they enjoyed the lifestyle, and then there were others like her – okay, maybe not exactly like her – that went there for some hidden reason that had less to do with the lifestyle, and more to do with personal demons. She supposed that went double for her.
On a visual scale, she actually liked some of the kink. On a mental scale, she knew what she did and didn’t like doing to others, and having done to her. She just wished she could get turned on over it – over any of it.
Although it had been a long while since she'd practised suspension, the shock that was trying to take her over wasn't too different to the suffocating feeling she’d experienced when reaching her limit. She’d always dubbed it the ‘panic barrier’ – her emotions were threatening to disconnect from her body. Here was not a good place for that to happen, so she needed to reintegrate herself in as stable a way as possible. It was a damn shame a safe word couldn't freeze the scene in front of her.
Breathe…
It was working, albeit slowly. Sensation was coming back to her; the ice that had flooded her body felt like it was melting.
She clenched and unclenched her hands, and rocked back and forth on her heels. The world was steady.
Good. Get out of here now, break down later.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she turned her back on Gwain’s massacre of Abaddon, and strode over to where that orange glow emanated just around the curve in the wall. When she got there, she could see a room beyond the bend. That was where the glow came from, only now, she could see that the glow flickered, making shadows on the opposite wall. Maybe there was a bonfire in the room.
She wasn't far wrong. The entire chamber was one huge inferno, and in the middle of it stood Sophia, her small, perpetually burning body contorted in agony as her mouth lay open in a silent scream. And Mary knew that she was screaming. It was just that no one could hear her.
Her eyes widened in terror. She’d seen this room before in her dreams. And she’d felt what its
victims go through.
She unbuttoned Gwain’s shirt and shrugged it off, not willing to let her only piece of clothing get burnt to cinders, then moved forward towards the flames.
A hand fell hard on her shoulder. “What are you doing? I told you to stay put!”
“That’s Sophia.”
“Who?”
“She gave me the balloon. The police think she’s dead. Abaddon said she’s a Totilemi demon.”
Gwain pulled her away from the inferno. “We have to leave now. I’ve only bought us a few hours at most.”
“No!” she turned to face him. “I can’t leave her here.”
He tightened his hold on her, but she jostled him off and, ignoring his startled shouts, bolted into the raging fire.
~*~
“Mmmm,” mumbled Amy into his warm, muscular chest. “I can’t decide which part’s best: the sex, or the coming down from it.”
“You know I love lying here with you in my arms, baby, but my man-pride is rooting for the sex.”
She grinned, wiggled down a bit, and ran her tongue between his abs.
Pueblo groaned, but the tone of his voice carried his smile on it. “Does this mean you agree? Does sex win?”
“Maybe,” she teased. “We should try it again, just so I’m sure.”
“Hell, yeah!” He jumped up to sitting, and threw her on her back as she fought a stream of laughter. “Except,” he said, nuzzling her neck, “we’ve got to be at Karl’s in an hour, and I’ve got to stop by the desert first.”
He stood up and reached for his clothes, and her face fell as a moment of panic seized her. Last time he’d been in the desert … wait, no, that had been just a dream … sort of… Although everything that had happened afterwards…
“Hey,” he said gently. “It’s just to pick some stuff up. I’ll be in and out.”
She managed a smile, and hoped it didn’t look too strained. It had been two and a half weeks. Logically, she knew that she couldn’t just take a deep breath and expel all the shit that had happened to her as she exhaled, but she was impatient by nature and starting to feel tired of … well, feeling tired all the time. Seeing her mum again after so many years – it had been healing beyond measure, and also sad, and happy, and a host of other emotions all wrapped up in a gigantic, crushing whirlwind she still hadn’t been released from.