by Eden Bradley
By the time he reached the long gravel driveway to his house his eyes were heavy, and he was glad to be done with the drive. He pulled up in front of the rambling wood-sided cabin with its red door and green painted shutters and got out. Strange, to come home to such silence, without Liam there. He’d go to his father’s place and see him tomorrow.
He let himself in, closing the door behind him with a heavy thud. The place felt empty, musty, as though the house itself could sense that it had been left mostly empty for several days. He’d always liked the quiet; he couldn’t understand why it bothered him now.
You’re just tired.
He was tired. He couldn’t remember ever being this wiped. The shower would have to wait.
He moved across the wood floors, his toe catching on the edge of the throw rug. He grumbled, kept moving down the short hallway, tearing his dark blue thermal shirt over his head as he went. Reaching the bed, he sat down to pull his boots off, stood again to remove his jeans. Then he yanked the covers back and just stared at the white sheets for a moment before lying down and throwing the dark brown quilt over his body. He felt himself sink into the down ticking, pure luxury to his stiff and aching muscles.
“Ah…”
His eyes burned, so he closed them, sighing once more. He felt himself drifting, tried to fight it simply because he’d gone so long without sleep that staying awake felt like the right thing to do. But in moments he was giving over to the urge to sleep. To dream. He let his body sink into the bed. It felt so damned good. The sheets soft against his skin.
Skin…
Her skin was like pale satin, like fresh butter beneath his hand. He knew already the curve of her cheek. Wanted to know the curve of her breasts that he’d seen outlined beneath the hospital sheets. That he’d seen on the beach in the chiaroscuro light of dawn.
He knew he shouldn’t be thinking of her this way. But he couldn’t help himself. She was too damn beautiful and he was too exhausted to fight it. So exhausted he couldn’t fight the images of her in his head. Or was she right in front of him?
Her face shimmered before him, then her body, as if she were under water. There, yet insubstantial. She reached out for him, touched him. Just her fingertips grazing his arm, but his body was on fire instantly.
He knew he couldn’t touch her. But she was smiling at him, her hands sliding over her sides, cupping her naked breasts, inviting him.
Can’t touch her.
“Touch,” she whispered, her voice as soft and quiet as a feather on the air.
Her own hands went between her thighs, and her long lashes lowered to her cheeks, her mouth making a small O of pleasure as she sighed.
He followed her lead, letting his hand slide down over his stomach, the muscles tight with desire already. Then lower, to his stiffening cock. He was hard as steel, just watching her, hearing her voice. He wanted to touch her so badly he could hardly stand it. He wanted to bring her pleasure. To make her cry out in ecstasy.
Her nipples would come up hard beneath his fingertips, growing darker and darker pink as he caressed them. They’d be firm and sweet in his mouth as he sucked.
She looked at him with her sky-blue gaze, her hands coming up to smooth over her full breasts, her fingertips teasing the hardening nipples.
Need poured into his system like the ocean, a powerful, roaring white noise in his head.
Her mouth was pink, so, so pretty, and he knew how soft her lips would be around his cock…
“Ah…”
Sucking, sucking, while his fingers found the sweet cleft between her thighs, delved between the silken folds. She would be wet, his fingers sliding. And then inside her…oh, yes…pushing into her tight, sweet body.
He stroked himself, his fisted hand moving up and down, his hips beginning to thrust. Pleasure knifed through him, hot and sharp. He could almost smell her desire. Could smell his own. He was going to come soon.
“Ah, God…”
If only he could touch her. He would spread her pretty thighs, move down between them, his tongue pushing into her. He could almost hear her moans, feel her muscles tightening as desire rose, her hard nub of flesh in his mouth, her sweetness on his tongue.
“Yes…” She smiled at him, all lovely, sweet innocence, along with an almost unbearable sensuality. Too damn beautiful, this girl.
His hips arched, his hand gripping his cock until it nearly hurt. But it felt too damn good.
He would make her come, with his hands, with his mouth, her head thrashing. And then he would fuck her. Just slip between her thighs, spread those full, pink pussy lips and slide inside.
“Ah, God…”
Was that him crying out? Was it her?
Pleasure stabbing into him as he drove into her, drove into his palm. Heat and need arrowing deep into his belly. And it was her face, twisted in exquisite agony, her lovely body he was fucking, fucking…
“Angel!”
He came, his body clenching, bucking. He shivered, pleasure a pure, driving force, taking him over, blinding him to everything but her face.
Angel.
His angel.
He woke, sat straight up. His hand, his stomach, were sticky with his seed.
“Fuck.”
Breathless still, he rolled onto his side and pulled some Kleenex from the box there, wiped himself off impatiently.
This was wrong. Wrong.
But she was so beautiful. His heart was already beating in anticipation of seeing her again. Even if all he could ever have of her was in his dreams.
Must be losing my goddamn mind.
Maybe he was. But he wasn’t going to stay away from her. Not a chance.
* * *
WHERE HAD HE GONE? SHE still couldn’t open her eyes, but she knew he wasn’t there. She sensed it. And Asmodeus had abandoned her, too. She was alone, in some strange place. Not the falling darkness where she met with her demon lover. Not back at the compound, in her bed in The Grandmother’s house, with its familiar, earthy scents. Here everything smelled…white.
The pain was tolerable. If only she could move, see where she was, then maybe she would know what was going to happen to her. She had no idea if she would exist in the shadow places with Asmodeus, or in some new place, on some new plane. Perhaps in that place of piercing light? But that was where he was, her stranger.
If only he would come back to her, the man whose face she’d seen. He would care for her. He did care for her. She’d seen it in his clear blue eyes, even in that one brief glimpse.
She heard the muffled sound of footsteps, but it wasn’t him. His were sharper. She felt hands on her, gentle female hands, doing…something. It hurt, but she knew it wasn’t made to hurt on purpose. She wanted to force her eyes to open. She wanted to ask questions. But her body wouldn’t cooperate with her brain. The feet shuffled away, leaving her in silence once more.
Please come to me…
She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t do that, either. Not that she ever cried anymore. She’d stopped crying years ago. What had been the point?
She didn’t feel sorry for herself, either, no matter how difficult her tasks. The Grandmother had taught her that self-pity was worthless. That everyone had to accept their lot in life, to do their duty. That it was hard for everyone. That those who were among the chosen had the hardest lives of all, but the greatest rewards, if they succeeded on their paths.
She had not succeeded.
A sharp surge of pain in her chest at the thought.
“No!”
“Hey…you’re awake. Are you trying to talk?”
His voice was deep and smooth. Rich. Like honey and gravel. Was it him?
She struggled to open her eyes once more, and it was as though every muscle in her body worked to make it happen, every ounce of her strength.
“Angel?”
His hand on her face, warm and lending her courage. She took a breath, tried again. And felt the whispering flutter of her lashes against her cheeks for a moment be
fore she was able to raise them.
His eyes were that startling blue, bluer than the sky. They were the deep, nearly purple-blue of the iris that grew in The Grandmother’s garden.
She smiled. “It’s you,” she managed to whisper. Her throat burned as though she’d swallowed fire.
“Jesus Christ. You are awake.”
“Awake? Is that where I am?”
“I can’t believe it.”
He was gone in an instant, and there was too much noise as someone else appeared over her: a woman’s face. Then she was gone and a moment later there were more people. Pain again as they touched her, moved things around. It reminded her of the ceremonies, the sacred nights of prayer and sacrifice. Only she’d been tied down then, the earth cool and solid beneath her naked back…
Chanting loud in her ears and the salt being scattered like chunks of pure quartz crystal. She couldn’t see their faces; they were all robed and hooded, standing in a circle around her.
The Grandmother bent, her ancient back curving as she reached the ground to paint the sacred symbols there, within the edge of the circle of salt. Then to paint them on her body. The brush was made of twigs; it scratched into her skin, hurting her. She pulled against the ropes, but they were too firmly tied to the stakes to allow her to move. She had nowhere to go, anyway. All that happened to her was inevitable.
Then The Grandmother’s face over her, her wrinkles like the deep valleys of shadow between the hills where they lived as she spoke the prayers. The Grandmother leaned in closer, and she could smell the sharp tang of herbs on her breath. Then the bitter liquid being poured down her throat. She knew better than to fight it, as she had when she was little, when she had first come to this place.
Had she not always been in this place?
The time before was a blank, emptiness. Now was an unanswered question, as hands moved over her flesh. As pain washed over her in waves.
Be with me…come back.
“I’m here.”
Not Asmodeus, though those were the words he often said to her. No, it was him. The man with the blue eyes. He was holding her hand.
She wept then. She didn’t know why. But the tears poured out, hot on her cheeks, sliding down over her jaw, onto her neck.
“Ah, don’t cry. Don’t be afraid. I’m here. I won’t leave you. I won’t. I promise.”
She heard the sincerity in his voice. Felt his fierce protection. Knew he was the one who had saved her. Gratitude suffused her. For what he had done. For what he would be to her. For what he was already.
She blinked the tears from her eyes, and truly saw him for the first time.
He had a beautiful face. Not the kind of perfection that was her demon lover, but more beautiful, perhaps, because of the humanity he wore. His cheekbones were high, his chin square. His mouth was all firm lines, but there was a softness there. Along his jaw there was a scar, old and pale. She knew the beauty of it, from her own scars. Knew they always meant something, were another layer of who a person was. That they were earned through strife, and therefore valuable.
Her hands felt as though they weighed a thousand pounds, but she managed to lift one, to reach up and touch that scar.
His lips parted, but he didn’t say anything as she explored it with her fingertips, her body lighting up with need. Yes, he was pure beauty, this man.
This man.
The first man she had ever touched.
Her heart raced. Her sex thrummed with wanting, even through the confusion, the pain.
She knew then that she must give herself to him. That this was what she had to live for. She could still make a gift of her innocence, herself. She was not without purpose. Life was not without the beauty she was raised to believe in.
“Are you in pain?” he asked, his dark brows drawn.
“A little. It hurts to talk.”
He smiled at her, his face lighting a bit, but still heavy with shadows. He was sad, this man.
“That’s because you had a breathing tube down your throat for a few days.”
She didn’t understand what he was saying, only that he was trying to reassure her. She smiled to show her appreciation.
“Ah…Jesus, I don’t know how you can smile,” he murmured, “after everything you’ve been through.”
She wanted to tell him she was smiling because she was happy, but she was so sleepy. She had to close her eyes once more. Had to rest. To dream…
She was back with The Grandmother. They were in the garden. The sun was shining, warm on her face. She loved the garden. The place smelled of the rich earth newly overturned as she bent over a row with her trowel. The Grandmother had taught her to plant and care for the herbs and vegetables when she was so small it took both of her hands to hold the trowel, and she could barely manage the tall shovel. The earth was familiar to her, and the plants. She knew their cycles: when to plant, when to harvest, what each one was for. Basil and thyme to flavor food, black sage for backache, yarrow for toothache, wormwood and chamomile to calm. Datura and salvia and the mushrooms to dream.
Was she dreaming now? But everything was so familiar. She was safe within the walls of The Grandmother’s garden. This was where she belonged.
Not anymore.
Shadows loomed in the garden as the sky went dark. And then there was nothing but the dark. She was falling, falling…
“Asmodeus!”
But the empty air whistled past her ears, tangling her hair, and she remained alone.
CHAPTER THREE
“WHAT’S HAPPENING TO HER?”
A nurse gently but firmly moved Declan aside. The monitors were beeping, the noise jangling his nerves. She was too damn pale, her breath coming out in short gasps. He’d tried to wake her again, but when she wouldn’t open her eyes he’d called for the nurse. It was as though she was lost somewhere in there.
The tears rolling down her cheeks were killing him.
“Can’t you do something?”
“She’s just a little agitated,” the nurse answered. “Probably dreaming.”
The nurse reset the monitors, straightened the pillows. And his angel calmed, her breath a steady whisper now.
“She’s okay?”
“She’ll be fine. Her body’s just working off the heavy sedation from her surgeries.”
The nurse shuffled out, her soft-soled shoes whispering across the linoleum floor. He went back to his place at the side of her bed, standing over her. The damn tears were still slipping down her face, over the small cuts on her cheeks, the bruises on her jaw. He wiped them with his thumbs, his heart beating like thunder in his chest.
What was it about this girl? They’d barely exchanged a dozen words, and most of them didn’t make sense. But she’d gotten under his skin. He shouldn’t care so much. But he did.
She moaned and he held her cheek. “Wake up. Come on, Angel. You’re dreaming. You just need to come out of it.”
Anxiety was like a piercing heat in his veins. Desire just as strong, but he ignored it.
Her eyes opened, that summer-sky-blue.
“Hey. You’re back.”
“Yes.”
He held perfectly still as she stared up at him. Her lashes were long and dense, a dark golden-brown. Like doll eyes. Except they were filled with light and warmth as she searched his face.
“You’re real, then,” she said softly.
“What? Of course I’m real.”
“It’s difficult to tell sometimes, what’s real and what’s not. I was just in the garden…and then it went away. I wanted to call for you, but I don’t know your name.”
She had the strangest way of talking.
“It’s Declan. Declan Byrne.”
“Declan Byrne,” she repeated.
She blinked up at him. Then she lifted her hand and covered his. And it was only then he realized he still held her face in his hand. Her palm was warm, her fingers brushing over his, making him heat all over. He pulled his hands back, stuck them in the pocket of hi
s jeans.
“Can you tell me your name?” he asked her.
“I have no name.” Her gaze drifted out the window as thunder rumbled outside. The sky was an ashen gray.
Her injuries must have really rattled her. Stephen had warned him she might not be all there when she woke up. If she woke up. But here she was, awake and at least partially alert. “That’s okay. You’ll remember after you’ve had a chance to recover.”
“I remember. I remember that I have no name.”
“I…don’t understand.”
She was still looking out the window, watching as the rain started to come down, tiny droplets spattering the glass. “I am The Gift. The Consecrated. Those are my only names, but they are not mine. There is nothing which belongs to me.”
He straightened up. She seemed sane enough. Or, he wanted to believe she was. But this was some weird shit. He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re telling me you don’t have a name, just…titles?”
She turned her head to look at him again. She seemed perfectly calm. Too calm, maybe. “If that is how you wish to think of it.”
“No one has ever called you something else?”
“Only you. You call me an angel.”
He was surprised to feel himself blushing. “You heard that?”
“Yes.”
“What else… Never mind. I’m just glad you’re awake.”
“So am I. What is this place? Is this your place?”
“What? No. It’s the hospital.”
“Hospital…” She seemed to be testing the word on her tongue. “You do not live here?”
“Only lately.”
Her brows drew together in confusion.
“Sorry. I was making a joke.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Yeah, neither do I. Look, something has happened to you. You’ve been hurt pretty badly. But you’re going to be okay.”
“What I am going to be remains to be seen. I’ve not been told yet.”
“For now you’ll stay here, in the hospital, until you’re well. You’ll be taken care of. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”
Where had that come from? But it felt ridiculously important to him, to protect this girl. From what, he wasn’t sure, exactly. But he needed to find out.