by Poppet
I feel indecisive. I just want to press myself along the length of his body and reassure myself this is real.
His commanding strength makes the move for me, pulling me into his body and wrapping tight arms around me, squeezing the breath out of me, “Don't ever fuck with me like that again.”
Nodding, too breathless with relief to speak, I agree.
I do as told, washing my face in the kitchen and returning to him. Sunglasses at the ready to hide my red eyes still stained with grief. I rejoin my tall Tyr at the door, lifting his hand to my mouth, kissing the palm tenderly, before slipping my hand into his.
•
Victor:
The day was planned, except now the dynamic has changed. She's such a good actress. Once I thought I could see right through her, how very wrong I was. She's playing me, and I'm ready to test her, to see just how far she's willing to go in this charade of hers.
I start our afternoon off in Simonstown. Walking with her past the military dull grey ships, explaining warfare to her and the sheer magnificence protecting these waters. She's quiet, nodding and humouring me. Simply increasing my ire.
It's an easy walk into Kalk Bay down the main road. This neck of the woods is littered with second hand and antique shops. This seems to animate her more, as she rifles through dead people's old photos, picking up their teacups, and inspecting old pocket watches.
Spying an ancient looking broach of an angel, I purchase it secretly while she flicks through hangers of vintage clothing. Walking with her into the closest coffee shop, we sit down for a quick brunch. I need a cup of coffee like a man needs a good woman every once in a while. Does a good woman exist? Is it a myth like the muse that inspires the artist whose soul is shades of ghostly charcoal to draw forth his creativity
Sipping the hot brew, I watch my angel. Dirty filthy fallen angel. Her photo came so close to being developed. Only pregnancy will save her now. I refuse to stop her judgement. She honestly has fucked with the wrong man.
I slide the broach over to her, smiling with all of the charm I can muster. “I found something for you, angel.”
She stares at it, her little hands pick it up and finger it, worry creases her brow as she looks at me with fake hurt in her eyes, “Thank you.”
“Put it on.”
I'm not in a debating or bartering mood. If she doesn't do as I say, she'll be sorry. I'm not sucking up to her with support today. Today she will do the sucking. All of it.
She examines my face with deeply blue eyes before pinning the broach without a word to her t-shirt. I smile, lifting one of her hands and brushing a kiss over a knuckle. Barely making contact. I let my focus stare over her head. Watching milling pedestrians wandering past the window.
“What would you like to eat?” I finally ask as she's being so quiet.
“I'm not hungry.”
“Sulking doesn't suit you.”
“I'm not sulking.”
Scouring her with disdainful eyes, I force a humourless smile, “Is that so?”
She literally pouts, and stares away to examine the painting on the wall opposite. Deciding to draw it out, I order their largest English breakfast, eating leisurely, happy to simply watch the idle traffic of people, completely ignoring her.
It must be at least thirty-five minutes later as I sip my third cup of coffee, when she finally whispers, “Victor, I really am sorry.”
“How sorry are you really?”
Her expression is pained, that cute mouth trembles slightly as her hand reaches out to cover mine. Her voice cracks as she whispers, “I'd do anything to prove it to you.”
Arching a sardonic eyebrow, I challenge, “Anything?”
She nods at me, biting her lip.
Smiling, I stand, walking to pay, then walking out, leaving her to walk quickly to catch up with my long legs. I walk straight into a tattoo parlour I spotted earlier. Her huge frightened eyes watch me furtively.
Walking straight to the lay-about moron behind the counter, with more piercings than a voodoo doll, I order, pulling up my shirtsleeve, “This tattoo, on her.” I indicate Shauna with a nudge of my eyebrow.
He looks at her, “You want this on your arm or where?”
Stuttering in shock, shooting me reproachful glances, she tells him, “Inside my wrist.”
“Which arm?”
I answer for her, “Right.”
He gives me a challenging frown but addresses Shauna, “You sure?”
Without looking at me, her chin set with determination, she nods, “Yes.”
“Who's paying?”
Answering cooly, I mutter, “I am.”
He nods, showing Shauna to a seat and asking me once more to see my tattoo. She closes her eyes, sitting rigid as a mussel clinging to a rock, waiting as the buzzing begins. She doesn't flinch, but I notice her leg jumping nervously.
Well I have to give her credit. She certainly knows how to put on an act. She's willing to go as far as I say. Smiling, I walk out of the shop while she's stuck in her place, taking out my phone to give Pete my location and next move.
Her chin hasn't stopped quivering. I walk with her over to the beach, sitting her down on a rock with me, wrapping a firm arm around her shoulders, I finally face her.
“What's going on inside that pretty head of yours angel?”
“Nothing.”
“Do I look stupid to you?”
A tear escapes, rolling down her pale cheek as her eyes widen fully to stare at my sunglasses. “Why are you so angry with me?”
“Because you think I'm desperate enough for a fuck that I'll let you play me.”
“I don't think anything like that.”
“Then why try and dump me the minute I save you from him? Why rush back to your old life and lifestyle? Did you honestly think that putting out is enough for me to want to keep you around after such a betrayal?”
Now the precious swollen deep pink lips are trembling. Her voice is so husky, I admit it does affect me physically.
“No.” Staring away at the waves breaking below us, she asks quietly, “Then why the tattoo?”
Smiling coldly at her, “You can take your 'fucking' earring out now. You knew how I felt about it, but still you wanted to take it out. Now you can match me every day, without me ever wondering if it's a hardship for you to give so little back in this relationship.” Slipping my sunglasses up, I glare hard at her, forcing bitterness into my tone, “I asked you for nothing. Except that. You knew I loved that your earring matched my arm. I gave you everything I could. My surgeon's skill, my self-defence knowledge, my patience, my time, financial security, I opened my home and heart to you, and the minute you're free of your friend, you drop me like a viper.” Pausing, I challenge, “Did I deserve that, Shauna? How do you justify that in your head?”
She shakes her head, staring down at her tightly clasped hands. Tears drip off the quaking chin. “I love you. You just heard me wrong. I wasn't rejecting you or dropping you.”
“Have I ever told you how angelic you look in a dress? Why do you insist on dressing like a boy with such a fabulous feminine body? You have such grace, with your long hair framing you, but you make it so ugly with slut pants.”
Her eyes snap to mine, finally anger reveals itself to me. “They are not slut pants!”
“Did your naked slut friend give them to you?”
“Who …?”
“Sarah! That's her name, the whore that got you drunk and got you to open your door naked to me. I could have been anyone on the other side of the door. And you wonder how you got into trouble? How many men have you done that to? How can you wonder why someone stalked you? Where is your logic?”
Her control slips, a sob breaks out. Hiding her face in her hands she sits stiffly beside me with her shoulders shaking. Hiding my eyes back behind my shades, I dispassionately watch the military manoeuvres out at sea. After a long tense stretch of silence, her hand slips over my knee, squeezing it, “You are right. I am ashamed. And I'm sor
ry.”
As I turn my attention back to her, she slips to her knees, crawling between my legs to stare up at me, “Please forgive me. Please.”
She's on her knees, at the altar of her maker. What kind of Avenging angel would I be if I denied her plea? The day's not over yet, we still have a little surprise to keep her in check.
Smiling I cup her chin, leaning over her, staring into her enchanting blue eyes, “You only get one chance to screw me over. I won't forgive you again.”
Then I kiss her, forcing my way into her willing mouth. Her pixie nose is hot from crying. She winds fragile arms around my neck, trailing kisses over my face and neck. Slipping back down she rests her head on my thigh, caressing my hand as if it's her salvation. Weak, pathetic, easily led astray and naturally fallen. Born with the deformity in her soul.
The daylight is waning, taking my cue, I lead her with my arm hooked in her waist. “Let's go to the Brass Bell for a drink.”
he nods, clinging to me like a child rescued from a bad dream. Taking my time, I walk her into the subway under the railroad tracks above us. It separates this pub and restaurant from the road. The stench is almost overpowering as we walk into the dim darkness. Her hold tightens, but she doesn't object.
Hours later, deliberately manipulated, we've 'made up'. Being the romantic lover again, I plied her with alcohol. Enough to get her tipsy. We're the last customers to leave, after having spent at least five hours in both the dining room and then the bar.
Languidly we stroll into the subway darkness. It's pitch dark, the only sounds are the waves smashing relentlessly against rock behind us. Halfway through the dark, a shadow removes itself from the wall, blocking our path.
Shauna whimpers, clutching onto me when she recognises Vengeance.
“Shauna, I have told you not to wear trousers. How dare you defy me again?”
She shakes her head, huge eyes jerk to me before fixating on Pete in full regalia. “I … I … you're dead!”
Stepping closer to her, directly in front of me, he snatches her hair, growling into her face, “What part of angel do you not understand? You simply murdered the body I was inhabiting. You cannot kill me. Shauna you murdered a man, may Father have mercy on your soul, because I won't.”
She squeals, turning to run, but I keep a firm grasp on her, remaining silent.
“You've run out of mercy, Dirty Angel.” He glares at me, “Stay out of this Victor, it's not your fight.”
Gripping her face, he leans in, kissing her, biting her lip until the blood flows down her chin, she's shaking so violently I'm beginning to wonder if she's about to faint.
Licking the blood away while he releases her face, he growls, “I'm coming for you.”
She passes out, slumping in my arms. Hoisting her, I nod my thanks to my loyal disciple, carrying my woman back to the car.
~ Chapter 37 ~
A good snapshot stops a moment from running away.
~Eudora Welty
Victor:
She comes around three minutes away from home. The shocked inhalation announces it.
“Angel? You okay?”
Nodding, she sits up from her slump. Fear has her immediately as she grasps my leg, squeezing it, “Oh god, Victor. What are we going to do?”
“We're not going to do anything. He told me to stay out of it, and after this morning I intend to. I've already got blood on my hands for you, and you haven't even given me a cup of coffee or a shoulder massage. Instead you chose to escape my home. I'm not interested this time, baby.”
“Is that why you just stood there while he threatened me?”
Ignoring her while I concentrate on parking, I kill the idle purr of the engine by turning the key. Sedately unbuckling, before turning to face her in the ghostly light from the street lamps. “Shauna, give me one good reason to be the rock through your storms? You have to give me more than this.”
Her petulant mouth twists unhappily, dropping her head so that her hair falls forward, hiding her away from me in her own private little cocoon.
I watch her shoulders lift as she takes a deep breath, raising her head, connecting her stare with mine. “If it takes me all night, I'll prove to you I'm not lying. I do love you, I'm not just saying it. I need you. I fucking adore you. Don't get involved if you don't want to, but at least give me tonight.”
Now we're talking.
Quashing the smile that almost slipped out, I nod thoughtfully, “Okay. You have tonight. Convince me.”
She's been holding out on me. Her willingness to be forgiven has revealed just how selfish she's been. I've been a saint to her, and only now, at the risk of losing me do I discover that she is excessively skilled at giving a full body massage.
Now this is a skill I can use regularly. She replaced her hands with her tongue after each of my muscles became manipulated into deep relaxation. Reawakening my nervous system with amorous desire. It didn't matter what I demanded, she complied. Giving me the proof I required that she is completely dominated by me and will do as I say.
It is possible that she told me the truth?
Changing the subject while I sip the whisky she poured for me, her long hair covering my hips where she reclines, trailing her fingertips in carnal adoration, “I scanned both of our homes. We aren't bugged. No cameras. Nothing.”
“He's supernatural. I'll never escape him. Not even when I'm dead.”
Her eyes change hue, haunting sadness sucks the personality and warmth from her face. Instantly the shell stands out in stark contrast. What is personality? All animals have personality, and animal, the word, comes from the Latin anima, which means spirit. Is it at all possible that Alpha was wrong about them having no spirit?
I have to stop questioning, or I'll have a worse punishment than she's ever had at my hands. Father can never doubt my allegiance.
“Shauna, who have you had visit you since living here?”
“You, John, Sarah and Mark. That's it.”
Sitting up she wraps her arms around her knees, resting her chin on a knee, “How sad is that? Oh, and the police obviously.”
I have to double check all of the footage I've gathered. Alpha says there's another male in her life. If there is, I'll castrate him and choke him with it.
“You're not hiding a brother or another lover are you?”
“No. I will not lie to you. I'll never do anything to lose you again. That's a promise.”
“You cannot change human nature, Shauna. You can't make a promise like that.”
She pauses, lifting my foot, kneading it before tracing her tongue over a toe, “Vic, how old are you?”
“Forty-two.”
Her eyes widen and she returns my foot to rest on the sheet, “You don't look it … or act it.”
“It's late, angel. You should sleep.”
She nods obediently, “Do you want anything before bed?”
I'm surprisingly satiated. “Just a kiss. A real one.”
She worms her way up my body to deliver it. Her wrist catches my eye with the bandage on it to keep the tattoo moist to prevent scabbing. I smile despite myself.
I give her half an hour to fall into a deep REM sleep, then I get up and hide in the darkroom. I have to go through the footage to find this elusive male. The cameras have been there since her second day here. If he's been, and she's lied, I'll find it.
•
The Watcher:
Seth is a good son. Named after the angel who Adam was fashioned after. Adam paid homage to this fact by naming one of his sons Seth. My angel Seth has finally opened a window of vision into Victor's Darkroom for me.
Victor seems worried. His calm has deserted him. He struggles, it's obvious to me. Pouring through images in fast forward, he pauses the footage every so often to affectionately stroke her face, running a fingertip over her mouth. His expression changes, it softens. She's infiltrated my warrior. He's been tempted by Eve and does not recognise how close he is to expulsion from heaven.
My
first was expelled. He loved me unconditionally, but he challenged my authority. Why must history repeat itself? This is a cycle we must break or we'll repeat it for eternity.
This son deviates. After a lifetime devoted to me, he's allowed this one to live longer than he should. But he has marked her, which means she is chosen. Our code of conduct prevents me from interfering at this junction. He has four months left. If she can produce twins, like the truly biblically chosen, I will spare her. Then divine law will save her.
Victor, you have transgressed my son. You languish in the forbidden far more than is necessary. Turn now, instil my command in both your lives, or you will leave me no choice. I disciplined you and armed you.
How many must I watch betray me? I'm watching you. The Grigori are never far away. You were chosen my son.
~ Chapter 38 ~
Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes.
Art is knowing which ones to keep.
~Scott Adams (Photographer)
Shauna:
There's only one issue gnawing at me now. The darkroom. I've kept no secrets from him. I've laid my life bare for him to scrutinise, risking rejection but ultimately choosing to trust him.
Is he hiding something in there?
He's never invited me in to share that sanctuary with him. I understand the concept of needing personal space, but I'm both curious and concerned that he's not once shown me the room where he creates his art. Is it that he doesn't trust me?
But we've lived through so much together, I've shown him my unwavering allegiance every way I know how, and I know he loves me, but I just need to appease myself that there isn't something horrific in that room. It's the final barrier standing between me and my future.
I feel so guilty when he leaves to get milk and bread. He said he's in the mood for French toast. Waiting patiently at the window until I'm sure he's gone, I rush with a palpitating heartbeat back to my home across the way. Rifling through the kitchen drawer until i locate the Philips screwdriver. Locking the door behind me I dash back, heading straight to the security panel mounted on the wall next to the safe door of the darkroom.
