by Celia Kyle
Sam reached into the crib and lifted the thin blanket that Bry had kicked off during sleep. “He’s not as hot blooded as you. You need to keep him covered.”
Caith shot forward and wrapped her hand around his wrist, stilling his movements. Not because she was afraid he’d harm the baby—she didn’t sense violent intent in her mate—but because she wanted answers. Not commentary on Bry.
“What’s going on, Sam?” she hissed, conscious of the sleeping child.
Those flaming eyes met hers, the fires of Hell twirling in their depths. His mouth remained frustratingly closed and not a sound came from him. He wasn’t going to answer.
Heat coated the skin beneath her palm, warming further and further the longer she held him fast.
“You think hellfire is going to make me release you? I’m made of it.” She curled her lip. “You need to think of something else to get rid of me. I want answers.”
He remained quiet and the heat continued to rise. It didn’t emanate from his whole body, didn’t sear the air with its intensity. No, it was focused on their connection. She kept her gaze locked on his, intent and focused and refusing to budge until he spoke.
“I deserve to know, Sam. Your mate deserves to know what’s happened.” She snarled the words, keeping them low but no less threatening.
The dancing fire in his gaze stuttered, the swirling dance flickering with indecision before Hell took over once again. He still had feelings then. True feelings for her that hadn’t been extinguished in the ninth circle.
Yet he wouldn’t speak. Not a single syllable as more and more fire lapped at her palm. It was warm, but no worse than her own heat. It almost felt good. Soothing and relaxing. A piece of home.
“Let go, Caith.” Three words she refused to heed.
Seconds ticked past, one turning into two, turning into four and… It wasn’t soothing any longer. No, it… hurt. Why did it hurt? She was hellborn. It shouldn’t hurt. Her inner demon should welcome a piece of home and yet…
The scent of burning flesh pierced the air as a debilitating wave of pain struck her. It bolted up her arm and wrapped itself around her chest, squeezing tightly until her body moved without thought. Her fingers uncurled from Sam’s wrist and she clutched it to her body, cradling the injured limb. She glanced at that part of her and was shocked to see the blackened, charred flesh. He’d… burned her.
Burned her.
Sam didn’t say a word or even react to her pain, to the injury he’d caused. No, his attention remained rapt on Bry. He brushed a single finger across the baby’s forehead with a few murmured words.
Two intersecting lines. The sign for On High.
With that gentle movement, a whisper of Sam’s sweet scent drifted to the child and she realized whatever hint of goodness that’d remained in her mate was now gone. He blessed Bry with his last connection to On High.
For her.
He couldn’t be emotionless, uncaring, if he’d sacrifice that lasting morsel on her behalf. Or could he?
He silently turned his back to her and padded toward the double doors that led to the balcony. They stood wide, allowing the night’s air to drift into the room. He paused at the railing, tilting his head back to stare at the night sky.
She carefully made her way toward him, fighting to ignore the pain that lingered as her wolf fought to heal the damage.
Sam breathed deeply, his ribs expanding with the movement and his wings strained against the flesh keeping them captive. He tilted his head to the side, baring his throat to the darkness much like wolves when showing submission.
“I still feel him breathing down my neck. His disapproval. His anger.” His voice was hoarse and deep.
“Why?” That was her only question and yet it represented so many others.
Why did you leave?
Why didn’t you come back?
Why won’t you stay?
No, there was one more.
Don’t you want me?
“Agreement of sorts, remember?” He took another deep breath, his skin thinning with the constant pressure of his wings. Sam focused on her, eyes blazing brighter than before. “Goodbye, Caith.”
Her name was no more than a whisper and then he was gone. He leapt into the sky, midnight wings bursting from his back and carrying him higher and higher into the air. He was silent in his tainted departure, not a sound from his wings slicing through the wind.
Caith stood, watching as he left her, flying farther away with every beat of her heart. She remained in place, eyes tracking his path as he skimmed the trees behind her home and then banked left, wings spread as he slowly made his turn.
She didn’t move when the air cooled or when the wind picked up speed and pulled at her hair, tugging it with its insistent battering. She didn’t move as the sun rose and glinted off her small lake. Nor did she move as the day brownies went into motion, preparing for their lessons and apprenticeships throughout town.
It wasn’t until a familiar presence, a scent she knew as well as her own, reached her that she went into motion.
The lean body that stopped at her side was so different from Caith and yet somehow the same. A feature here and there matched perfectly, just enough to reveal they were mother and daughter.
“Did you know?” Her words were hoarse from her constant, silent crying.
“Yes.” A single word that tore at her heart.
“And you didn’t think you should’ve told me?” Anger burned hot and fast in her soul.
“You, in your pretty tween, fail to realize that we are not you. You cannot apply your tween feelings to Hell. It will only hurt you and, at my core…” Her mother turned her head and Caith did the same, their gazes collided. “At my core, I love your pain.”
She couldn’t withhold the sob that clogged her throat. Not the first or the second or even the third. They were wrenched from her heart and thrown into the morning air.
“Get out,” she shoved the words past trembling lips.
“I came to—”
“Get the fuck out of my house!” She roared the words, uncaring that she would wake Bry or the entire town.
Her mother’s face was a blank mask. “I—”
“I never want to see you or Lucifer again. Leave.” Asael turned on her heel to depart, but Caith wasn’t done. “Orlando is off-limits to dems. All of them. If I find one, if I catch even a hint of evil lingering in my town, I will come down and destroy Hell with my bare hands.” She let the fire that burned deep leap to the surface. “Now go.”
Caith didn’t watch her leave and tried to banish the memories, the laughs and happiness she shared with her uncle, from her mind. It wasn’t real. None of it was real. Centuries of… nothingness.
A soft whine followed by a low sniffle reached out for her. She spun and hurried to the crib. Ignoring the throbbing that still punished her hand, she scooped Bry into her arms and held him close.
“Shh… I have you, sweet boy. Tempmomma has you.” She pressed a kiss to his head and inhaled the sweet scent of baby, the clean flavors of purity. “I have you.”
And she wouldn’t let him go. Ever.
She carried the baby to the changing table and went through the motions of changing him, tugging his diaper off, cleaning him, and replacing it. It wasn’t until she went to toss away the soiled diaper that she noticed the mark.
Pale white wings aflame with the blackest fire.
Goodness hidden beneath the weight of evil.
The burn had charred her palm and sent agony through her body while the attack shattered her heart and pummeled her soul, but this mark…
This mark gave her hope.
~~*~~
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About Celia Kyle
Ex-dance teacher, former accountant and erstwhile collectible doll salesperson, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Celia Kyle now writes paranormal romances for readers who:
1) Like super hunky heroes (they generally get furry)
2) Dig beautiful women (who have a few more curves than the average lady)
3) Love laughing in (and out of) bed.
It goes without saying that there’s always a happily-ever-after for her characters, even if there are a few road bumps along the way.
Today she lives in central Florida and writes full-time with the support of her loving husband and two finicky cats.
You can find Celia online at:
http://celiakyle.com
http://facebook.com/authorceliakyle
http://twitter.com/celiakyle