by Abby Knox
Ada did not press back, but she responded with her body. He watched her let go. She relaxed into the message he sent to her. She could have easily fought back, or been outraged at the intrusion at this intimate and private moment. Her hands slowed and began slow circles, tugs. Her hand at her breast let go and smoothed across the skin of her chest. Her other hand stroked her thighs.
Samuel memorized every note; it was his new favorite song. Learning her pleasure was his occupation, his hobby, his obsession. Every move, every stroke, every moan she drew from her own throat, imprinted in his memory, and he savored it like the heavenly vibrations and healing he badly needed. Her hands savored herself and her sighs were delicious.
She was so beautiful, splayed out like that on the bed. He longed to go in and touch her. It was madness that he wasn’t sliding between her legs right this moment. But she was too small, and it wasn’t time.
He watched as she spread her legs even wider apart, two fingers sinking into her pink. And the other hand…fuck. His body jerked when he saw her fingers sweep lazily and slowly over her exposed anus. Good gods, he could no longer take this. He closed his eyes and swept aside the thin layer of material draped around his waist to grasp his naked, demanding shaft.
At the same time, her body began to tremble as her stroking took on a rhythm. He joined her in that rhythm, beating himself up for watching but also rewarding himself. He had caught her, the most heavenly creature he had ever chanced upon. The one his body and soul reacted to. That hot-headed, lustful, disobedient woman was in his bed. When he was done with her—or when she was done with him—he would have to burn those sheets or be forever cursed to reach for her in his dreams every night.
Sharply, her back arched off the bed and she gripped the sheets with one hand while her other stroked herself through her climax.
He gritted out a string of such heated obscenity that his voice could have set the room on fire if his temperament could harness the elements. Samuel’s seed splashed out onto his sweat-and-water-drenched stomach.
The more her aftershocks wracked through her body, the more he let go. The amount of cum that burst from him shocked him, and not much in this life shocked him anymore.
Ada writhed on the bed, continuing to be overwrought with aftershocks. He had never witnessed a human derive so much pleasure, on and on. Keeping in time with her aftershocks, his body pulsed as well, spilling out more and more of his essence. Holy fuck, what was happening? He should be alarmed, but the temporary relief overshadowed any concerns.
At the same time that Samuel cursed his perverted, intrusive self for watching her display, he congratulated himself.
You chose the right prisoner. She is delicious.
Samuel watched as she caught her breath, calmed herself, and stared at the ceiling in shock for several minutes, then mumbling and laughing to herself. He found himself wishing he was in on the joke. Eventually, she curled up under the duvet in his bed and drifted off to sleep, completely spent.
He desired nothing more than to slip comfortably into bed next to her, feel his arms around her. In his current state, he would never wake up if he did that. He needed water and he needed some heavenly juice.
First, the water.
After he’d replenished himself in the fountain, Samuel made his way to the nave at the easternmost end of the cathedral.
Once inside, he unfurled his wings again and approached the altar. Before him was an ornately carved table with seven orbs that looked like crystal balls. The giant placed his hand on the violet one, and instantly he felt the charge.
The choral music latched onto his fingers as they touched the orb and worked its way through his hand, up his arm, over his chest, and on and on until his whole body felt as if it no longer existed. He could have been nothing but waves of sound.
The music of the stars, of the planets and heaven, entered him. The sacred song was one the Cherubim repeated over and over, far away in his ancestral home, the home he was not permitted to live in, even though it was his birthright. At least, that’s the way he figured it to be. He kept those opinions to himself. Speaking such a thing out loud could get a Nephilim killed, but he knew they all thought it.
He resented the fact that he needed the music, the vibrations of the holiest Cherubim, to survive. Yet, once he made the connection, the feeling was perfection. Bliss. He could not deny his connection to heaven was what gave him so much life, restored his energy, filled every unsatisfied nook and cranny in his lowly half-human body.
Why were the others so much more angelic than he was, that they submitted to this without any internal conflict? He’d never noticed this level of inner turmoil among his six brothers.
But he put all of that out of his mind for the moment.
Fully blissed out, healed and reconnected with the universe, his wavelengths restored, it was time to rest.
On Samuel's way out of the nave and into the gallery that led to the outer colonnade, however, he ran into the rangy, tattooed Dev, his bald head shining in the candlelight and his fierce eyes assessing him.
“What’s up, brother?” Dev asked, suspicion clouding his usually mischievous face.
Samuel nodded. “Didn’t expect you to be back home already.”
Dev looked from Samuel to the altar up in the front, the violet light fading and turning into a light lavender glow as the vibrations dissipated. “Been pressing much today? Usually doesn’t take that much out of you when you find your mark for The Bacchanal,” Dev said with a smirk. “And have you found a companion now, for the first time in, what, thirty years? It feels like you have. What’s she like? Are we all doing the abductions at the same time this time or what?”
Samuel bristled at the word “abduction.” None of them except Dev liked using that word. Dev never cared to pretend that what they were doing was anything but a crime.
“What I do with my personal life is just that,” Samuel replied.
Dev stepped back, clearly not used to being spoken to that way by his closest brother and best friend. “All right. Take it easy. So what about it? Did you find what you needed at the festival?”
Samuel nodded and said nothing else about it. “You?”
He could be mistaken, but Dev did not want to talk much about himself either, now that the focus was on him. He lifted a shoulder and said, “Yeah, slim pickings this year. Plus, I might have run into Malek.”
“Malek? What did he want?” Samuel did not like the sound of that. Shit, he didn’t even like the sound of the name of that particular messenger Seraphim.
Dev tried to play it off like it was no big deal, but something felt grave about the whole thing to Samuel. “Nah, you know, the usual. Wants me to play guardian angel to some special little snowflake.”
Samuel relaxed his shoulders. “And you told him to fuck off, as usual.”
Dev glanced around the room but didn’t answer with a definite yes or no. “I’ve been thinking and maybe, with everything going on, it might be a good idea to get on the good side of The Authorities.”
None of that sounded like the Dev he knew.
“Seriously? You don’t think a little crack in the cathedral wall means anything, do you? Dude, it’s a thousand years old.”
Dev looked at him. “Listen, I didn’t say I’d take the job, I said I was thinking about it.”
“OK, OK. Jesus.”
“Anyway, what are you up to? Feel up to doing some campsite shenanigans? I hear the mountain is crawling with peepers. We can go move their tents forty-five degrees, do some shit to make them sure that Bigfoot exists.”
Samuel was not feeling up for it. “I think I’m going to go lay down.”
Dev cocked his head. “It’s not bedtime yet. We don’t sleep until after The Bacchanal, which is after the concert and after the Summer Feast. It’s tradition, as you well know.”
Samuel saw the way Dev was eyeing him and he did not like it. His best friend knew something was off. “True,” Samuel said. “But we do lie down from time to
time even if we don’t sleep. Real talk, though? I think I’m getting old. I’m gonna go put my feet up and read.”
Dev’s jaw rippled as if he wanted to say something but refrained.
“Old. Yeah. Well, OK, old man, have a good rest or whatever. I’m gonna go into the woods and fuck some shit up. Let me know if you wanna join me later, go outside and do some of that old-fashioned Bigfoot hollers and tree knocks that the Sasquatch hunters love to talk about, OK?”
Samuel nodded and could not remove himself fast enough. “Will do!”
His wings sped him home, across the great hall and down into his suite, where he listened at the bedchamber door.
He was determined to avoid the mind control or the pressing through walls. He couldn’t let on to his brothers that he was having this much contact with a human who was so exhausting to his psychic abilities, nor did he even want to do that to her anymore. Instead, he opened the door silently, crept inside, and watched her as she slept. She was out cold.
He loved to watch her sleep. He resisted the urge to kiss her, this time, but he did give in to the urge to help her experience the most restful sleep. Samuel lifted back the sheet and slid into bed, spooning up behind her. He stilled himself when she felt him and readjusted, stretching out from her fetal position.
Gingerly, he slipped one arm and one giant wing underneath her and curled it around her front. His opposite arm caged her on the other side, and the wing on that side folded around her until it met in the middle with the other. Arms and wings blanketed the human woman, and he felt her exhale a long, satisfied, sleepy sigh and nestle deeper into the cocoon of safety around her.
He did not sleep, but stayed that way for several hours, listening to her breathing. When she began to stir, fully rested, Samuel slipped out of her room and silently closed the door.
Chapter Fifteen
Ada
Ada woke with a rumbling belly, a revived spirit, and a hungry, clear mind.
First, it was obvious to her the giant had been in her room again while she slept, because not only was the fireplace freshly tended to, but shelves of books had appeared along that wall, and next to her bed stood a table laden with food.
Why is it that whenever I turn away or close my eyes, I open them again and everything is different here?
On closer inspection, she saw the bookcases filled with all manner of religious and mythological texts, classics, an outrageous amount of horror, and surprisingly, comic books.
She ran her fingers over the spines of some of the books, seeing that many of them were first editions that should be kept not in a bedroom that could acquire a buildup of dust but in an archival library somewhere.
In fact, the entire room looked different. Along the outside wall was a long window seat laden with pillows meant for cozy reading. Those small comforts had not been there before either. Although the place had no electricity, the window gave enough light for reading.
Her curious mind was ready to delve into the books, while her practical mind suddenly became aware that she was naked and wandering around the room with no shame. She wondered if her clothes were there somewhere. She wondered what time it was. She had the vague feeling that she was supposed to be somewhere, or that someone somewhere might be looking for her, but she couldn’t remember any details.
Warily, she went to the closet and opened it. There, to her surprise, was a rack of new clothing, all in her size. “Did my prison guard go shopping while I slept?” Everything had a peculiar look to it that she couldn’t put her finger on. When she donned a long embroidered tunic, she felt it was the softest cotton she’d ever touched in her life. The tunic fell to her knees and could easily be worn as a dress. Too bad he hadn’t thought of a kicky belt and some espadrilles to complete the look, but she wasn’t going out for brunch anytime soon.
She found underwear on a shelf in the closet. None of it had any elastic to it but was fitted with a drawstring, like some kind of strange, old-fashioned undergarment. Was this some kind of kink she was unaware of? Speaking of brunch, she went to the bedside table and poured herself some juice, then sat in the window seat. The exquisitely soft cushion and the plush blanket gave her comfort while she ran her hands over the stained glass window she could not see out of. The juice tasted like some exotic fruit she could not ever recall tasting before and could not possibly guess its origin.
Ada pressed her hand against the glass and felt the edges for catches or latches but found none. She looked up and saw a design in the stained glass. Standing and moving back from the window seat, she regarded the most intricate stained-glass window perhaps ever crafted, a stylized solar system. It was so intricate she studied it for a while as she finished her juice; the artist had not only done the planets in exact detail but most of the major moons.
Could it be she was starting to like this room?
She walked to the bookcase to look for something to read with her breakfast when something else new caught her eye. Another door that she swore had not been there when she’d first awoken, hungover, yesterday. Or the day before. Or maybe it was an hour ago. Jeez, this place is like a casino. Exploration of the room that hadn’t been there before revealed that she now had a full bathroom, complete with a tub, a shower, toilet, sink, and even a bidet.
The answer came to her, finally. He’d simply moved her to another room. Maybe this is some kind of hip new boutique hotel experience where they kidnap you? Probably too cutting edge for small-town Appalachia, but it was a fun theory to entertain.
After having some fun exploring her new captivity bathroom—what prisoner gets a drawer full of lotions and potions and the softest towels ever woven in all of human history?—she picked up the oldest, dustiest book she could find from the shelf and made her way over to the breakfast tray to pick something to eat while she read.
Her plan to fill her belly was cut short, however, when she dropped the huge, ancient-looking book, sending waves of panic over her. She may be a prisoner, but she was a guest there, and she shouldn’t go around destroying the spines of old books.
As she bent down to inspect the state of the book, she saw that when it had hit the floor it had fallen open to a pre-medieval illustration that grabbed her curiosity. It was as crude as cave wall paintings and as unsettling.
Crouching down over the book, Ada squinted at a drawing of the sea, and under the sea a solid line, and then under that, a group of hideous and mischievous creatures with long tongues leering out at her from the page. The most unnerving thing about the image was the drawings of figures above on the shore, writhing and climbing over each other, reaching toward the sea. Floating on the water was a boat. The people on the shore were less than half the size of the underground winged creatures. The whole scene was difficult to look at and sent shivers down her neck. The illustration told some version of the Great Flood story.
Her eyes traveled down lower on the page, but the strange moving light in the room made it difficult to focus. The text was in Hebrew, of which she could only feebly translate words here and there.
Her curiosity piqued, Ada heaved the book over to the window seat and turned the page.
More drawings, and more Hebrew, told the story of some strange winged beasts. As she turned page after page, the drawings became more and more sophisticated, all relating the tales about giant people, some with wings, some without. She read on and on, each page elaborating more and more via illustrations and a mixture of Greek, Hebrew, and Aramaic. She only recognized words here and there. Besides English, Ada was fluent in Spanish, but had a pretty good knowledge of a few indigenous spoken languages, and knew enough Latin to get by.
Soon, she was completely immersed in roughly—really roughly—translating a story about a tribe of giants in the Middle East, although she wasn’t clear if the word was Giant, or Moabite, or Nephilim. The text used all those words interchangeably. Pages later, words like Amalekites started getting thrown in.
It didn't take long for her to realize the book co
ntained the history of the creature who was her captor. And either she was in his room, or he had left the book there on purpose for her to find.
The stories, what she could make of them, were confusing, fantastical, and interconnected. A brief mention of a biblical prophet named Enoch made everything clearer. She knew about the Book of Enoch, one of the incomplete texts discovered among the Dead Sea Scrolls but not included in the Old Testament. She also recalled seeing references at times to the Book of Giants, which went deeper, darker, and more fantastical. A few of her contemporaries had tried to make connections between Bigfoot sightings and fallen angels, but Ada had always dismissed that as religious fanaticism. There were fairy tales, and then there were real, unexplained phenomena that could be tracked down and verified or disputed. None of it had anything to do with antediluvian folklore.
She set the book down on the window seat with a thud and paced the room, deep in thought.
If she were to consider the stories and prophecies in that book to be true, then that would mean her captor could be—or was related to—what did this book say? “Warriors of old…men of renown…the Nephilim giants.”
No way.
But why no way? You have felt and recorded enough physical data to support this theory. He’s big. Huge. Much larger than humanly possible. You felt feathers. You felt yourself flying. Did Nephilim have wings?
No, she was not ready to accept the theory. It could all be an elaborate cosplay. She needed to see him for herself. After all, he’d spied on her. Peeped in on all of her.
Oh god, she thought as the memory from last night flooded her with sudden embarrassment. He watched me masturbate. She could not believe she’d done that. Did he make her do that? Did she hate him for making her do that?
She checked herself in the ornate bathroom mirror, more out of habit, she told herself. Not because she was trying to pretty herself up for a freaking giant. Or whatever he was. “Ugh, this is not who I am.” Still, she tied up her hair in a pretty braid that flattered her face and complemented the diaphanous goddess dress she was forced to wear.