by C. L. Wilson
But what he felt for her then, watching over her as a formless, disembodied angelic entity, had not prepared him for the depth of love and desire sweeping over him now.
No wonder those angels of the Host who had come to earth so many millennia ago, had been enchanted by mankind, seduced by the beauty of their humanity, overwhelmed by the physical senses they acquired in this form.
When he breathed her in, ran his tongue across her skin, it was like drawing her deep into his soul, like absorbing her into himself. Everything in him sparked to life, like a newly born star, and he was nearly brought to his knees by the humble realization that he had been formed expressly for her. To love her. To protect her. To die for her, if he must. She was the lock to his key. The reason for his existence. The light that brightened all the corners of his soul and made him cry hallelujah to the heavens.
He had broken the Guardians’ law to come here without her summons, to interfere in humanity’s free will. Heaven was lost to him, except the heaven he could find with her here, now, in this moment. And right now, he could find no reason to mourn.
His body slid along hers, flesh to flesh, his wings trembling above them, a canopy of brightness. That part of him that had grown long and hard at the sight of her nakedness ached, the pain sharp and throbbing. He knew what this body needed. Had seen it before through her eyes and though his observations of her world.
From two flesh, one.
His fingers danced across her skin. Mortals, men and women, lived alone in their bodies. They did not possess the angelic gifts that let them know each other’s thoughts. But Micah did, and he’d never been more grateful for that gift than now, as every slight shift in her body, every fragmented thought and soft moan, showed him exactly how to bring her the most pleasure, the most joy.
He was entranced by every aspect of Katrina’s being. Her velvety nipples, the way they pebbled, rising up to meet his every breath and touch. The round, full, softness of her breasts, the way they filled his palms. The swell of her hips, her belly. The mound at the apex of her thighs. Oh, yes, there. Especially. Unable to resist, he drew back on his heels and spread her legs, drinking in the sight of her. His thumbs stroked lightly. Steamy heat emanated from her core, filling his hands with warmth, scenting the air with a heady perfume that made his senses swim. His fingers feathered over her, stroking, circling that little bud that strained for his touch. She was such a marvel, such a treasure. Such a beauty in every way.
“Micah.” She moaned his name, arching her back, and rocking her hips against his hands. He could feel her ache, every bit as strong as his own, but there was something he wanted first. A pleasure she’d never known, a joy still untainted by her grandfather’s evil. He bent his head, putting his mouth were his fingers stroked, breathing in the musky sweetness. His lapped gently, a long stroke that delved briefly inside her, then up, between her soft folds to stroke that tight little bud at the top of her sex. She tasted sweet, creamy, hot. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut against the whirl of sensation that streaked through him. She shuddered, hips surging, and he curved his hands underneath her, gripping her tight as he lifted her to his mouth and feasted.
“Micah.” The rhythm of her hips grew stronger, more frantic. She bucked against him. Her fingers threaded through his hair, gripping tight. “Micah, please…please…oh, God….”
Each gasping breath, each frantic buck of her hips, fed his pleasure and guided him to feed hers. Her legs began to shake, thighs quivering on either side of his head. She grabbed the bed, bunching up the sheets in her fists as her head flung back and a scream of pleasure ripped from her throat. “Micah!”
He was there, in her head, drinking in the frenzied whirl of thoughts in her mind, sharing the explosion of sensation that swept through her, swept through them both. Sweet cream spilled onto his tongue, and his sex jerked, unbearable tightness gripping him. He couldn’t stand it a moment longer. He wanted to know the rest, the greatest pleasure of a human joining, the greatest intimacy.
He rose up over her, reveling in the dazed look in her eyes, her open lips, gasping for air, the way even then, in the aftermath of her climax, she was reaching for him, wanting more. Wanting him. He was as beautiful in her eyes as she was to his, and he was never so glad for it as now. Because she looked at him without fear, without the slightest shadow of her past. She looked at him solely with desire. Hungry, desperate, aching.
“Micah…”
“Te amo, Katrina. I love you.”
Tears gathered in her eyes, spilling out the corners and trickling down into the mussed waves of her hair. “Oh, Micah. I love you, too. I love you so much.”
“Then take me, inamorata, and make me yours.” He guided himself to the opening between her legs and closed his eyes on a groan of exquisite torment. He’d been born for this…for her. To love her. Leaning forward, he pressed himself into her. Slowly, savoring every exquisite moment as he sank into her. Fiery heat bathed the tip of his sex. Her body fit tight around him, then flared wider to accommodate him.
Micah flung his head back. Never had he dreamed anything could feel like this. This body—his body—buried deep in hers. From two flesh, one. He could feel every ripple of her muscles gripping him, pulling him deeper, feel every shudder of sensation that rocketed through her.
“Katrina…dulcea….” Holding her gaze, he began to move, his body on hers, in hers. Exquisite friction, incredible heat.
Dazed, breathless, she stared up at him. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, and flung her head back. “Don’t….don’t stop….” That feels so good. I never knew anything could feel this way. The last were scattered thoughts, fragmented by passion as each thrust of his hips made her gasp and cling to him.
It thrilled him to know just how much pleasure he was giving her. She had no thought of the past, no shadow of pain or shame. Only joy, passion, building heat. A feeling of oneness, of belonging. They’d both been alone for so long. She due to the circumstances of her life, the scars of her past. He, because of who and what he was, not of the Host, unable to be with the one for whom he was intended.
Every moment of his existence, he’d yearned for her, watched her, fallen in love with her, not just for who she was to him, but for who she was. So fragile, so wounded, yet so strong. He’d waited for the day when she would summon him so that he could at last enter her life. She never had, but he had come to her all the same, just like the Guardian who’d been unable to stay away from her father.
He moved again, sliding deep inside her, his eyes closing in bliss. This feeling, this glorious explosion of life and ecstasy, was shockingly powerful. Shockingly addictive. One taste, and he knew he would never get enough…of her, of this. Of love.
“I love you, Katrina Rose Bentsen.” The words were a vow. “With all that I am, I love you.” He lowered his head to kiss her. His hips surged, the rhythm growing faster, stronger. His teeth raked down her throat. He arched his back to take her breast in his mouth without losing the connection of his body driving in and out of hers.
“Micah!” She cried his name, arching against him as pleasure exploded, sending her over the edge.
This time, he joined her. He flung back his head, crying out as the storm swept over him, tearing him apart, flinging his senses out in stunned fragments, then drawing him back, into this body he now claimed as his own.
He collapsed atop her, then rolled to one side, gasping to catch his breath. “That was…”
“…amazing,” she finished for him as he took a breath. “I never knew it could be like that.”
“Neither did I,” he admitted. He cupped her face in his hands. “I love you. So very much. More than I ever knew possible, and I have loved you for a very long time.”
“I love you too.” She traced the line of his lips, his square jaw. She’d spent most of her life terrified of touching and being touched, and it gratified him to the depths of his soul that she suffered no such fear when it came to him. “I don’t want to s
ing the Seal. Not if it means losing you. Not now. Not when I’ve just found you.”
“Katrina…”
“No, listen…we can go away. You and I can go someplace where the Darkseekers can’t find us. Some other Lightkeeper can sing the Seal.”
He caught her hands, drew them to his lips. “There is no other Lightkeeper for this Seal. There is only you, and you vowed that if I healed Isabella, you would sing.”
“That was before I knew you were going to die when I did!” She sat up in bed, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.
He rose beside her. The soft, white veil of his wings wrapped around them, and he pulled her to his chest. He didn’t try to deny what the morrow would bring. He didn’t have enough of Ramiel’s power left to survive his battle against the Darkseekers that would come for Katrina once she began to sing. He had accepted his extinguishment the moment he agreed to heal Isabella, and even now he could not bring himself to regret that bargain. If he’d not healed Isabella, Katrina would not be here, now, in his arms.
“I can imagine no greater happiness than to spend every last moment of my existence with you,” he told her, “but I can’t buy more time at humanity’s expense. And neither can you. I know you too well.”
“Micah…” She buried her face in his neck, wanting the answer to be different.
“The Plagues must be contained. The Seal must be strengthened. You have your duty, Lightkeeper, and I have mine. We must both see it through.”
CHAPTER NINE
They made love the rest of the night and most of the day, pausing only to sleep, and that only that because they would both need their strength to deal with the Seal. As Sunday drew to a close and evening fell, they ate, bathed, made love one last time, then dressed warmly enough for a Wisconsin winter.
Katrina walked into Micah’s arms and closed her eyes as the angel shifted them to the driveway of her grandparents’ farmhouse. A layer of fresh-fallen snow covered the front walkway that had obviously been cleared earlier in the day. Micah absorbed his wings and tamped down his angelic radiance until he appeared perfectly human. Together, they walked up to the porch. Kat’s hand curled in his, more in solidarity and companionship than a need for comfort. These people could not hurt her anymore. They had no power over her. They never would again.
She reached out to ring the bell. She could hear the cross, querulous voice of her grandmother from inside the house. “Who in the world is coming by at this time of night?” Her grandfather’s gruff answer was too mumbled to make out.
Micah squeezed Kat’s hand. She smiled up at him. “I’m fine. It will be fine.”
Then came the sound of the door chain being unhooked, the click of the deadbolt being released. The doorknob turned. The door opened. And for the first time in seven years, Katrina stood face to face with her grandmother.
It took a few seconds for recognition to set in. Probably because Kat wasn’t the small, beaten down victim she had been when she’d left this place.
“Hello, Grandmother.”
Aida Boen’s eyes narrowed. Bristly grey brows drew together. “Katrina. What are you doing coming around here this time of night? Coming around here at all, for that matter.” Her gaze darted to Micah. Her mouth twisted, and she pinned Kat with a nasty glare. “Knocked up, are you? Come for money?”
Beside her, Micah bristled, but Kat put a calming hand on his arm.
“No, Grandmother,” Katrina said. “I’m not knocked up, and I haven’t come for money.” She laid a hand on the screen door handle. “May we come in?”
The old woman’s mouth worked, then she pressed her lips together, nodded and stepped back. “Suit yourself. You always did.”
Kat opened the screen, knocked the snow off her boots, and stepped inside. Micah followed close behind.
“I’ll put on the kettle,” her grandmother said. That facade of hospitality was automatic with her grandmother. When a visitor came, on went the kettle, even when she didn’t like the person who’d come calling.
“Don’t bother,” Kat said. “We won’t be here long. I just need a few minutes to speak to you and Grandfather.”
“Don’t know what for,” Aida snapped. “We’ve got nothing to say hasn’t already been said.”
Kat’s expression didn’t change. Once that coldness would have hurt, but no longer. Her grandparents were miserable creatures, living miserable lives. If any good or kindness had ever resided in them, they’d beaten it into submission like they’d beaten her. Or maybe, a long time ago, someone had snuffed out the spark of light in their hearts, the way they’d almost snuffed out hers. Kat honestly didn’t care anymore why they were the way they were.
When Kat didn’t rise to the bait, Aida harrumphed and turned to lead the way into the living room.
Kat’s grandfather sat hunched in the easy chair beside the fire. Eyes rheumy, face sporting a three day growth of gray and white stubble, he looked so much smaller than she remembered him. More pitiful than frightening. A small, shrunken old man.
Looking at the two of them together, Kat realized they were living in a Hell of their own making. There was no punishment she could lay upon them that would be worse than the torment they’d devised for themselves, with their tiny, hard, lightless hearts, cut off from everything good and life-affirming in the world.
She’d lived alone for years because of what they’d done to her—terrified of human touch—but she’d never cut herself off completely. Micah had always been with her, a calming turquoise sea bathing her soul in warmth and light. Because of him, the goodness in her had survived. Because of him, she’d retained enough love and compassion in her heart to make other connections—with Maya, with the children she helped, and ultimately with him.
He’d saved her in every way it was possible for a person to be saved.
“Well?” her grandmother prompted. “Here we are. Say your piece, then get out.”
Micah’s eyes narrowed. Seeing that, Kat’s grandmother flinched, scurried over behind her husband’s chair, then lifted her chin with a sniff.
As if the decrepit old man could protect her should the angel choose to strike. Kat suppressed the derisive thought quickly. She hadn’t come to gloat. She’d come to forgive.
“Say my piece? Very well, then here is it.” She straightened her spine and fixed an unflinching gaze upon them. “I was seven years old when you took me in. I had just watched my parents die. My whole life had just been destroyed. I needed love, nurturing, the care that every child should be able to expect from an adult—especially from family. You gave me none of that. Instead, you gave me coldness, punishment, shame, pain”—she looked at her grandfather—”molestation.”
“Liar!” Aida hissed. She turned to Micah. “My husband is a Godly man. Whatever lies she told you, that’s what they were—lies. Filthy, foul lies. Out of a filthy, foul mouth.”
“He knows the truth, Grandmother,” Kat interrupted. “The real truth. He knows exactly what kind of monsters you both are.” She caught herself as her anger started to rise. To rage at them would defeat the purpose of her visit. She took a calming breath and battened down her emotions. “But I didn’t come here to accuse you or bring you to justice for what you’ve done. I came here to forgive you. I don’t know what happened to you to make you both the way you are, but I don’t hate you anymore for what you did to me. And whatever justice you face for what you did to me and my mother will come from God, not me.”
“Is that it? That all you came to say?” Her grandfather sneered.
“Except for this.” She crossed the room to stand before her grandfather. “I forgive what you did to me, but if you ever lay a finger on another child—if you so much as look at one the wrong way—I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your miserable life rotting in jail.” She turned a steely glare on her grandmother. “And that goes for you, too.”
Aida bolted out from behind her husband’s chair. “Get out! Get out of this house! We took you in
! Gave you a home, just like we did that whore you call a mother.”
Karl Boen rose from his armchair to point a shaking, bony finger at Katrina. “Harlot! Jezebel! Whore of Babylon!” Spittle flew from his mouth. “The Lord knows the truth of your foul heart! He will cast you into the lake of fire!”
“Enough!” Micah boomed, his voice so filled with power that it rattled the pictures on the wall and made the lights flicker. “Do you think what you do goes unseen?” With a shrug, Micah shed his cloak of humanity and manifested his full angelic being. His whole body went radiant, growing in height and breadth, and dazzling white wings unfurled from his back with an audible whoosh, spreading out to span the room from wall to wall. Aida and Karl shrank back in fear.
“I am the angel Micah, and I have watched over your granddaughter since birth. The true sin in this family lies in your own evil hearts. I know it, you know it, and God knows it.” He pointed a finger, and the Boens quaked in terror. “There will be a reckoning.”
And with that, he swept Katrina into his arms, cocooned his wings around them, and shifted them away.
###
Kat thought Micah would shift them to the Seal, or perhaps back to her apartment, but instead, when his wings retracted, they were standing in a snowy wilderness. Evergreens dotted the rolling landscape, branches laden with snow, and in the distance, rugged mountains cloaked in glistening white speared up towards the heavens. The sky above them was dark and clear, the stars shining like gems in the night sky, and the world was silent and still.
Katrina’s breath puffed out in clouds, but she didn’t feel the cold. Micah radiated warmth. She leaned her head back against his chest.
Standing there in the quiet of the night, surrounded by the snow-blanketed forest, it felt as if they were the only two people in the world.
“Where are we?” It almost seemed sacrilege to speak and break the silence.
“Canada. Not far from Alaska.”
“It’s beautiful.”