by Debra Dunbar
What was it the Iblis always said? Busted. Yes, that was the word. Luckily he was an archangel and could easily subdue this woman, make her forget this ever happened with just a wave of his hand.
Or not. Where was the calming wave of blue that turned humans into such pliant, amenable creatures? The woman swung the frying pan again, and he tried to teleport away. Nothing happened. Well, nothing beyond the pain of the metal against his shoulder. It hurt even worse this time, and he jumped back, instinctively blocking another blow with his arm.
Ow. By Aaru, this woman packed quite a wallop. But he shouldn’t be able to feel it so strongly. Additionally, he should have been able to effortlessly pacify her and vanish, taking her memories with him. What in all of creation was happening here? The pan hit him again against his side, more of a glancing blow this time as the woman danced backward out of reach. Gabriel groaned and rubbed his waist, feeling the pull of cold metal against his neck. Reaching up, he touched the band and nearly doubled over in revulsion. What had she done to him? What was this thing?
“Who are you and why are you in my room?” She demanded. “Did the Gormand send you? Are you making a deal with him for the item? Trying to outbid us?”
He wasn’t about to answer her questions. And if he couldn’t subdue her with his angel skills, he’d have to do it the human way. The woman let out a short scream as he dove at her, taking a wild swing with her pan. He ducked and grabbed, looping a hand through the straps of the sack slung over her shoulder. The woman twisted and spun, dashing into the kitchen area and leaving him holding the bag.
Gabriel dropped it to the floor and followed her, slowly calculating the distance. There were only so many escape routes, and he doubted she was going to leap over the balcony to the pavement three floors down.
“Get out. Get out of my room.” Her voice held authority, but there was a note of fear to it.
It would be best to take advantage of that fear. “Not until you take this thing off my neck.”
She licked her lips, eyes darting to the object in question, then back to his face when he took another step. As he slowly approached, she maneuvered her position to put the glass topped table between them, dancing lightly on her feet to change directions depending on his movements. Well, this was interesting. They could spend all day running around the table, or he could do something…unexpected.
Grabbing the cereal box, he tossed it at her head and watched her bat it away with the frying pan. Clearly that wasn’t unexpected enough.
“Take this thing off of me, and I’ll leave. I would never hurt you.”
Her eyes widened. “You threw a box of Fruit Loops at me. How is that not hurting me? Besides, demons lie.”
That box wouldn’t have done anything beyond distract her. Worst case, she’d have gotten a paper cut. It’s not as though he really was trying to harm her. Wait — demons lie? She thought he was a demon?
“I’m not a demon! I’m a–”
“Liar,” she shrieked and darted for the door.
Gabriel vaulted the table, sending the books he’d just neatly stacked onto the floor. He couldn’t let her get away and leave him here with this…this thing on his neck.
She was fast, and he was uncharacteristically slow. Instead of grabbing her like he planned, the angel fell short, wrapping his arms around her thighs. She twisted as she crashed to the ground, the frying pan clattering on the floor as he landed on top of her, his face smashed into her lap.
It was a nice lap, soft and warm, smelling of lotion, soap, and something that caused his breath to catch and blood to rush downward…somewhere. Before he had time to contemplate the odd sensation, the woman screamed, struggling to get out from under him. He tightened his grip, unwilling to let her go even when she began pulling his hair and slapping the sides of his face.
“Let me go, you sick pervert. Get off me!”
Again there was that edge of fear in her voice.
“I won’t hurt you. Just take this off my neck and I promise I won’t harm you.” He wouldn’t. He’d just wipe her memories after getting her to tell him where the scroll was. That wasn’t hurting her at all.
Instead of complying, she twisted and scooted. Gabriel squeezed his arms around the woman’s thighs and held on. All this wiggling around was doing weird things to his body. Or maybe it was because of the repeated blows from the frying pan. Either way, if the blood didn’t go back up to his brain where it belonged, Gabriel feared he might pass out.
For some odd reason, passing out with his face in this woman’s lap seemed like a splendid idea to him. But not to the girl, evidently. He felt her strain, reaching for something, then hard metal clanged against his head, knocking him sideways off of her. Stunned from the blow, he looked up and saw a vision. Her Rapunzel-length blonde hair billowed around her, light reflecting off it as if she had a halo. Her tank top was askew, revealing far more than she’d probably intended when she put it on. Her shorts had completely come off in their tussle, and he saw a scrap of pink lace riding low on her hips.
Oh. That’s what those tiny pants were. They looked very pretty on her. They smelled nice too, although he was certain it was her that had smelled so nice and not the bit of fabric. And now there was no blood left in his brain whatsoever. It had abandoned every other portion of his body to rush into something between his legs. Something that was making his pants very uncomfortable.
Gabriel looked up into the woman’s eyes, seeing a spark there that drew him in. Her eyes were like the sea, shifting and changing, so full of life. They were beautiful eyes.
“Take this off me. I’m not a demon,” he slurred, the pain in his head affecting his speech. She made a ‘hmpf’ noise.
“Liar.”
Then she brought the frying pan down on his head one final time, and the world went black.
Chapter 4
What was she going to do now? There was a demon unconscious and bleeding on her floor. Darn it all, when she’d seen him going through her underwear, realized what he was, she should have just run. Collared, he couldn’t use any of his demon abilities. Knocked-out, he wasn’t a physical threat to her. But she wouldn’t be able to keep him unconscious and collared for the three remaining days that she was here.
Or could she?
Well, maybe not unconscious by using such violence as a fry pan to his skull. His head was already bleeding, and who knew what sort of permanent damage repeated blows to his head would do? It’s not like he could fix the wound with the collar on. No, she’d need to keep him unconscious some other way — like with sedatives. But she was supposed to trade the collar to the Gormand. Nyalla narrowed her eyes and tapped her foot. Keep this demon collared and sedated until the Gormand agreed to the exchange, then she could use her wand on him and take the collar off. The wand would give her twenty-four hours, so she’d need to cut her vacation short, but that was the only solution she could think of where she was safe from this demon and could still honor the exchange that Sam had contracted.
Nyalla looked down at the demon, her lips pursed in thought. Yes, excellent idea. The store down the street sold all sorts of things like Benadryl, NyQuil, and a variety of sleep aids. Of course, she could hardly leave him here on her hallway floor while she ran down to the local pharmacy. What if he came to and ran off? Or hid in wait for her? She shivered, remembering the strength of his arms around her legs. She’d been lucky this time.
Putting the bloody, dented frying pan back on the stove, she grabbed the demon by the arm and tugged. And tugged. Slowly the limp body moved, inch by inch as she eased him back down the hallway away from the door. Tie him to a chair? No, he was too strong. She needed something where he couldn’t hop around and crash into things to wiggle loose.
The bed. Reversing course, Nyalla continued to drag the demon forward, only to come to an abrupt stop as the demon’s legs hit one side of the threshold and his head banged against the other.
Fudge. She hopped over him, shifting and rolling until he wa
s in place, then continued to haul him to the bed.
Standing back, Nyalla lifted her hair and fanned her neck, feeling beads of sweat trickle between her breasts and down her back. Sheesh, this guy was heavy. She’d barely managed to drag him in here. How in the world was she going to lift him onto the mattress?
Movies made these things look so easy. In reality, they weren’t. Nyalla managed to sit the demon upright only to find she couldn’t lift his dead weight further. Sliding him back on the floor, she scooted his feet and legs onto the mattress, then tried to get herself underneath his back, hoping to lift him upright using her legs. Nope. It was no use. She needed a ramp.
The rattle of the housekeeping cart outside her door caught her attention. Nyalla held her breath, releasing it as the cart rumbled by. That was it.
“Stay here,” she told the unconscious demon before racing down the hall.
The maid had been perplexed, but had happily loaned her two sturdy mops. Moments later, she had rolled him up onto a series of stacked couch cushions until he was only a few inches from the bed. The demon was sprawled, legs and arms akimbo on top of two mop handles and his bed of cushions. Nyalla took a breath and grabbed a handle in each hand, then lifted, shaking with the weight of the demon. He rolled off the mop handles and onto the bed.
Thank the Goddess. The hard part was over. Some duct-tape and rope later, and the demon was securely bound, hands-and-feet to the bed. Not a moment too soon either. With a moan that had her feeling rather guilty, he opened his eyes.
Wow, they were beautiful eyes. Earlier they’d seemed blue, but now they swirled with green and gray. His spiky black hair hadn’t fared well with all the dragging and rolling, and locks of it spilled across his forehead and into those eyes. He was darned good looking for a demon. Nicely built too. She’d peeked under his shirt after getting him up on the bed. After all that effort, she felt she at least deserved a quick look. She’d wanted to look at other parts of him too, but getting him tied up had been a priority, and now the opportunity had passed.
Or had it? Demons were a randy lot, and given the hard-on this one had been sporting during their tussle on the floor, he wasn’t any different. Whacking someone over the head repeatedly with a frying pan usually nipped any chance of sexual intercourse in the bud, but with demons, who knew? They often found that sort of thing arousing.
What was wrong with her, thinking of sex at this time? She was here on a mission. She had a dangerous being collared and tied to her bed. At least he’d stopped bleeding. The thought how many times she’d hit him with the pan made her wince.
“Are you okay? How is your head feeling?”
The demon’s jaw set like granite and he glared at her. “Let me loose and take this collar off me right now.”
She couldn’t help taking a step backward at his tone. “I need to run out for just a minute. I’ll be right back, and then we’ll talk.” Talk. Right. More like, ‘then I’ll drug you into oblivion for three days’.
He snarled. “You are not leaving me here. Let me loose now, or so help me I will tear this place apart.”
The demon struggled, yanking against the ropes and tape ineffectually. Nyalla hid a smile.
She must not have hid it as well as she thought.
“You’ll pay for this, you spawn of Lilith, you messy pig, you sinful, horrible human creature!”
Like he was one to talk. She couldn’t exactly leave him here shouting and yelling while she ran to the drug store. Someone might hear him and call management, then where would she be?
“Be quiet,” Nyalla said, grabbing the first thing that came to hand and cramming it into the demon’s mouth. “I’ll be right back. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Gabriel watched the woman leave, heard the click of the door. This was unbelievable. A four-billion-year-old archangel had been rendered powerless, knocked unconscious, and tied to the bed by a little slip of a human woman. And now the blood was leaving his brain again, abandoning him for that stupid protuberance that was trying to break its way out of his pants. No doubt his body’s betrayal had something to do with whatever she’d shoved into his mouth. Silky, lacy, smelling just like…like when he’d been face down in her lap. Clearly a certain traitorous part of his human form was fond of tiny pants.
The door clicked open, and Gabriel turned his head toward the bedroom door. She was back already? That was fast. Good, because this little ‘talk’ they were going to have was only going to end one way. He wouldn’t hurt her, but she didn’t know that. If he could get the upper hand physically, he could threaten her into taking this abominable thing off his neck.
Something rattled, like metal. A woman’s voice drifted toward him answered by another. Spanish. Two women, and by their voices, neither was his captor. Gabriel struggled against the ropes, trying to shout through the wad of lace and silk in his mouth. How humiliating that he was appealing to these human women for help.
Two figures appeared at the bedroom doorway, one holding a broom and the other a sponge. They took one look at him and froze, their eyes enormous, their mouths in an ‘O’. Then one began to giggle, clapping a hand over her mouth. Their eyes traveled down him, across his body only to halt staring at the stupid organ that stood upright like a tent pole in his pants.
The giggling one came forward cautiously, her eyes alight with amusement. With careful fingers, she removed the fabric from his mouth.
“Nesisitas…ayuda?” she asked. The other woman in the doorway began to laugh.
He licked his lips, instantly regretting the effect it had on the lower part of his anatomy. Darn it, he could still smell her, taste her on his mouth.
“Si, por favor.” He told them. “And can you please take this thing off my neck while you’re at it?”
Chapter 5
Nyalla raced through the door, tossing her packages on the sofa and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Sorry, sorry. I tried to hurry, but there was a line and–”
He was gone. Panic gripped her chest. He was gone, ropes and duct-tape rolled in a stack on the floor, collar on the dresser, a pair of her underwear neatly folded at the end of the bed. Oh sweet Goddess, was that what she’d stuck in his mouth? Her face burned at the thought. She’d stuck a pair of panties in his mouth — and they weren’t even a pair of clean ones, either.
“Do you have any idea what the maids thought when they saw me there?”
His voice was deep with barely repressed violence. Nyalla turned slowly and saw him, one shoulder against the doorway with his arms folded across his chest. He was completely healed, his clothing as though he’d just picked it up from the drycleaner, his hair neatly spiked. The thought flickered through her mind that she’d like it better mussed.
The idea went right out of her head as he uncrossed his arms and walked toward her like a tiger stalking prey.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to cleanse their thoughts from my mind. The things those women were imagining about me and you were downright salacious.”
She could believe that. Nyalla had watched her fair share of porn when she’d arrived from Hel not knowing one bit about human lives and culture here. Now he wasn’t the only one who had images of wild sexual bondage going through their mind. Mmmmm. Maybe with a whip instead of the frying pan? She could wear those amazing boots that she could barely walk in and make him kneel before her.
Or not. Nyalla came to her senses and retreated in step with his advance until her back hit the wall. This wasn’t good. He was going to kill her, and instead of planning a viable counterattack that would allow her to escape unharmed, she was fantasizing about tying him back to the bed and taking his clothes off. Slowly. And then licking every inch of his skin.
“You incapacitated me, taped me to the bed, put your intimate apparel in my mouth, then left me for those women to find.” His arms came out on either side of her shoulders, imprisoning her. “What punishment is suitable for such actions? Hmmm?”
Ho
ly Mother. What was he going to do? Probably not what she wanted him to do. Nyalla summoned up her courage and took a deep breath — which rubbed her breasts along his chest.
“I found you uninvited in my room, going through my private belongings. What punishment is suitable for your actions?”
She caught a flicker of something in his eyes — shame? Then they hardened back to dark azure.
“Maybe I should hit you with a large, heavy, cooking utensil,” he whispered.
So much for his never hurting her, although all bets had probably been off after she’d walloped him into unconsciousness. He leaned in closer to her and growled — growled, pressing the length of his body against hers. He didn’t have a frying pan handy, but judging from the spark of anger in those gorgeous eyes, she was sure he had something equally painful planned.
She needed to get out of here. Relaxing her body, she became soft, pliant beneath him, looking innocently into his eyes. Then she drove her knee into his crotch. He dropped like a stone and she ran, almost making it out of the bedroom before tripping on her discarded bag and crashing to the floor.
It gave the demon just enough time to recover and spring on her. Once again she was sprawled across the carpet with him on top of her, although this time his face wasn’t buried between her legs.
“Or maybe I’ll tie you to the bed and stuff clothing into your mouth. Leave you here for the maids to find tomorrow morning. Huh?”
Nyalla frantically tried to wiggle out from under him, but only managed to get one arm free. Patting it behind her, she tried to grab something, anything she could use to defend herself.
“I do think some punishment is in order here, some level of atonement.”
Her heart skittered. When demons started talking about punishment, the odds of walking away alive dramatically dropped. Her hand groped and touched the edge of her bag, felt the softness of the fabric, the edge of her cell phone, and something hard and dowel-like. Gritting her teeth, she curled her fingers around the stick and swung.