Nevertheless, there’s no hiding for Anna now. My father knows about her. If she tries to hide she will be hunted, found, and killed. I’m doing her a favor by bringing her to Belial. If he tries to make her work, she’ll be upset, no doubt, but she’ll be alive. My gut twists as I imagine her refusing, and I curse myself for not training her better these two days. Yesterday I selfishly coddled her innocence and soaked in her nurturing spirit, rather than attempting to show her some Neph survival skills, like how to pretend you don’t give a shit. Yeah, I should have done things differently, but now it’s too late.
Anna comes into the room looking fresh-faced with damp hair, and the beast inside me growls. I know, boy, I tell him. She’s bloody gorgeous, isn’t she? Ah, the things we’d do to her. . . .
As I lie there watching Anna braid her own hair, her fingers moving deftly through the smooth, wet locks, I have to bend a knee to block the effect she has on me. I expect my Neph curse to hit with unbearable pain, but it doesn’t. Just a steady, low cramp. I can only assume it’s because this strange other feeling makes me stare at her with an even deeper longing for something far more powerful. I shake off that thought. It can’t last. I allowed myself one day of ridiculous thoughts yesterday, and it’ll have to be enough to last a lifetime. Playtime is over.
When our food arrives, Anna is too nervous to eat. I wish I could take her fear away. I do have something that might take her mind off it for a moment, though, and for once I’m not talking about sex. I reach in my pocket to feel the smooth turquoise stone there. My heart jumps at the thought of giving it to her, and I need to stand.
I move to the window, still staggering from the madness I feel inside. So many thoughts to muddle through. I want to escort Anna into the prison to meet Belial, but they won’t allow me. She is on her own, and I can’t protect her. My only consolation is that she and her father will be surrounded by other people.
One way or another, after Anna meets her father today, she will be changed. It’s inevitable.
“You’ve gotten scruffy,” comes her soft voice. Her hand is suddenly against my face, her touch pulsing through me. I grasp her hand and shut my eyes. Why do I feel this way? I am not myself when I’m with her. I long for this simple touch far too much.
When I look at her, she tilts her head like the timid fawn she is, searching my soul. I wonder if she sees the blackness there. This is our last day, and then this has to end. I let her go and cross my arms, staring from the window.
“I have something for you,” I say.
She brightens and perks up at these words, and I’m suddenly nervous as hell.
Going for nonchalance, I pull the necklace from my pocket and hold it out, but she doesn’t take it. She only stares, making me more nervous.
“I saw you looking at it and thought you liked it.” Does she remember?
Her face slightly pinches and she blinks. I’m feeling like a fool here.
“Have I upset you?”
“No! I’m not upset. I’m just surprised. I can’t believe . . .” Oh, bloody hell. She’s crying. “I mean, I love it. Nobody’s ever given me anything like this.”
Oy, she’s making a huge deal of it. I’ve never been a gift giver. Gifts mean something to the giver, even more so than to the receiver most times. I should know. I receive loads of gifts that go straight into rubbish bins. But I’m afraid this means as much to Anna as it does to me, and that’s not a good thing. I drop the damned necklace into her hand and curse, shoving my fingers into my hair.
What have I done? I know I wanted to make her fall for me, but she is clearly a romantic. Here I am buttering her up just before she goes to meet her demonic father, who will probably be in shock when he sees just how innocent Anna is. Not that he should be too surprised, considering he slept with a fucking angel to conceive her, but still. I’ve changed my mind about letting Anna fall for me. It would not be good for her. It’s bad enough that I’ll likely pine for her like Peter Pan after Wendy. I don’t need her doing the same.
“This was a mistake,” I mutter.
“No.” Her voice is full of emotion when she takes my arm. “It wasn’t.”
“Don’t read into this, Anna. It would be a mistake to romanticize me.”
“I’m not,” she assures me. “It was a nice gesture. That’s all.”
Is it? If she believes that, we are both fools.
She wears the necklace to meet Belial. I have to remind myself it’s just an inanimate object. An accessory. Not a big deal. But she keeps reaching up and touching it as she stares off, deep in thought.
I have bunged things up royally, and I haven’t a clue how to turn it back. Nothing good can come of this, especially once she meets her father. I want to give her a list of warnings—don’t tell your father about me, don’t let him know how good you are, guard yourself and be careful what you say—but I can’t say any of this because we’re in the prison parking lot now and Belial could be listening.
The visitor doors open and I swallow hard. “You’re up,” I say.
I feel ill when she enters the building and leaves my sight. I remain still and listen carefully as she makes it through security, moves into an echoey room, and sits. Soon there are sounds of chains and feet shuffling. I cannot move. I feel paralyzed with helplessness. I’m listening so intently I can hear the shake of Anna’s breath. I nearly jump when a guard tells “LaGray” to sit. I didn’t know Belial’s earthly name.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” says a deep, scratchy voice. I assume this is Belial, and I’m momentarily floored by the gentleness there. He goes on, “. . . I wanted you to have a normal life.”
“There was never any chance of that,” Anna says softly.
She doesn’t sound scared, and I feel my own fear subsiding. Especially when Belial asks, “Have they treated you well, the people who raised you?”
His voice is filled with concern. And as I continue listening for a bit, realization soon hits me—he loves her. Of course he does. Patti was right. I’m certain Belial can sense the depth of her goodness, just as Duke Alocer can sense the goodness in Kopano. They are the sort of Neph who can soften even the hearts of demons. They are the kind of Neph who deserve love.
A knot that cannot be swallowed forms in my throat. Knowing Anna is safe, I start the car and drive away.
I peruse L.A. like a sightseer for a couple hours, but I don’t really see anything because my mind’s a disaster. I don’t understand the things I feel. I’ve always been a moody bastard, but this is beyond my normal scope. I go from rage to tenderness to terror to happiness in a few blinks. Anna’s angel voodoo is a dangerous tonic. This is worse than being piss-arsed drunk—it doesn’t seem to want to burn off.
I return to the prison with only minutes to spare—L.A. traffic blows.
I push my hearing through the walls of concrete and steel until I find that gruff voice once more, “. . . might be different for you. Your mother’s good might cancel out my bad. We don’t know . . .”
I let out a full breath. She’s fine. For the first time ever I feel strange about eavesdropping, so I pull back and ponder his words. I wonder if he’s talking about what I think he is: hell. And the fact that Neph are sent to hell after death, no matter what kind of life we’ve lived. Yes, perhaps it will be different for Anna. Her soul is too good for that kind of darkness. It would be the ultimate injustice, and I’m deeply disturbed pondering her suffering.
I step from the car and lean against it, waiting. From what I can tell, Anna didn’t get a verbal beating from her father, and I’m glad for her. When the doors open, and Anna filters out with the others, all the madness I felt today disappears. My blood rushes at the sight of her. But as she gets closer, the look on her face halts my thoughts.
Something is wrong. She ignores me and climbs into the car. I go around to the driver’s side and get us out of there. I want to ask what he did and what he said, but we’re still within his five-mile hearing range.
Whe
n we’re far enough away, I’m about to ask how it went, but she buries her face in her hands and cries the most pitiful, heart-wrenching tears I’ve ever heard. I have no idea what to say or do to make this better, which makes me feel weak and powerless.
Have I mentioned I hate when girls cry?
Thankfully, after five minutes of this she gives a loud sniff, wipes her eyes, squares her shoulders, and swallows away the rest of her tears.
“Were you listening?” she asks in a thick voice.
“A bit at the beginning and end, to make sure you were all right.”
She nods and proceeds to tell me every detail of their conversation. I usually zone out when girls talk this much, but I’m completely rapt with Anna’s storytelling. She pulls one knee up and turns her body toward me in the passenger seat, talking fast. I listen to the story of her parents’ epic, forbidden love—how they were soul mates in heaven before the Fall, and how he became a Duke to search for her on earth, finally finding her working as a guardian angel. Anna’s mother, Mariantha, broke all heavenly rules to inhabit her human charge’s drug-sickened body and be with Belial. He never cared about hurting humans, though he pushed drugs to keep his position and he was good at it. But all along, he only cared about Mariantha. For the first time ever, I find myself relating to a Duke.
When I get to the hotel we just park and sit there while she gets it all out. She hides nothing—making her joy, love, sorrow, and disappointment plain. Her father clearly loves her, but he’d been brutally honest about her fate on earth and afterward. She would have to at least appear to be working for the dark cause. She had to toughen up. I’d been wondering if her father would have positive news about Anna’s afterlife. He didn’t. She’s as hell-bound as any other Neph, as far as Belial knows. A sharp pang rips at my chest at the thought of that doom for her.
It’s not right. It’s not fair.
I shake my head and turn off the ignition. I haven’t worried about whether or not something was “fair” since I was a small child. It hadn’t taken long to realize nothing was fair in life. That bloody word shouldn’t even exist. But it’s the thought that continues to blaze through me—a soul like Anna’s should never be confined to hell. How could the One who made her even consider it?
Yet another thing to fill the churning pit of anger that fuels my daily life.
I’m incredibly edgy when we reach the hotel room. So much so that I stand in the doorway while Anna goes in, her arms crossed, lost in thought.
“This hotel has a gym,” I tell her. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll get in a workout this afternoon while I can.”
Physical exertion is exactly what I need.
Anna nods absently and stares at her luggage. “I think I’ll do a load of laundry or something.”
“I can tell them we’d like laundry service when I pass the front desk.”
She gives me a puzzled expression. “Oh, you mean have the hotel do it? No way, that’d be way too expensive. There’s a Laundromat right across the street.”
I cringe. “You mean with the crackheads?”
Anna snorts and shakes her head. She’s already gathering her dirty clothes, and she even reaches for mine, but I step on the shorts she’s grabbing.
“You don’t have to do mine.” I’m a bit appalled. How can she be so casual about this?
“Oh, just let me.” She yanks the shorts out from under my foot. “I’ve had to use a Laundromat lots of times, and it’s perfectly safe. It’s mostly just moms. I’ll just, um, need some money. If that’s okay. I mean, not much, just a couple—”
I whip my wallet out in a flash to erase the embarrassed blush staining her cheeks, and thrust a bill at her. “You’re sure it’s safe? This is L.A., not backwoods Georgia.”
“Ha-ha.” She snatches the ten and stuffs it in her pocket.
“I’ll be listening,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes, but then whispers, “Thanks.”
I keep my hearing locked around her for the hour plus that I run on the treadmill and do a series of push-ups and sit-ups. I’d prefer weights right now, but this poor excuse for a gym has none.
Anna’s been so quiet at the Laundromat that I decide to see if she’s all right with my own eyes. The place is completely dodgy from the outside, but when I walk in it smells clean and there’s a calming whir of washers and dryers going. Two old women are power-napping in chairs on the opposite side of the room from where Anna stands with her back to me, folding clothes.
She bends to pull my T-shirt from the dryer, and within two seconds flat my beast sniffs the air and smacks his lips. Anna is far too cute in those shorts. She raises my shirt in front of herself with a flap and does quick work with her fingers, ending with the shirt in the form of a perfect, flat rectangle. Should I be this impressed?
I’ve moved across the room until I’m just behind her, and I swear she’s so focused and lost in thought she doesn’t notice. Even after meeting her father and knowing fully what dangers are out there, she is still too trusting. It’s a damn good thing it’s only me creeping up behind her, and not some dangerous bloke.
And then I remember I am a dangerous bloke where Anna is concerned. I still plan to keep her safe from my father by taking her virginity at the first possible opportunity. It’s for her own good. The fact that I’ll enjoy the hell out of it is inconsequential. The thought of being that close to her sends a stream of heated adrenaline and need through my blood.
Before I can advise myself otherwise, I’m reaching for her waist. She startles at my touch, and I pull the back of her closer into me.
“Just me, luv,” I say. I shouldn’t let myself get this close, because I can hear the lust in my own voice. I wonder if she can hear it, as well. I wonder if she’s feeling the same. There is barely any space between us now, and I’m breathing in her scent from behind like a fiend who can’t get enough. Why must she smell so lovely?
“Kai . . . you shouldn’t . . .”
No, I really, really should.
I feel her tremble in my hands. “Unless you’re going to be my boyfriend, you shouldn’t touch me like this.”
Boyfriend. I go still, and for a heartbeat I want to smile. Would she want to be attached to me in such a way? Never once in all my life has the word boyfriend had a smiling effect on me. Boyfriend and girlfriend are the most useless, flimsy labels out there, yet people put such stock in them. They trust those labels to mean so much more.
But hearing Anna say it is rather charming and ironic. Like a lethal poison in a candy shell. She has no idea. None at all.
“The Neph are not permitted to be in relationships,” I say against her hair. “Especially not with one another.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “Nobody has to know. Just us.”
I am a maelstrom of emotion, spinning too quickly. I want to embrace this moment, have something all to myself, hide her away where she can remain as she is and say these sweet things to me all she wants. I’m filled with a longing far stronger and deeper than lust, and it makes my heart race. I’m out of bounds. Out of my territory. In a perilous place where I cannot afford to be. Ever.
“It can never happen,” I say. And I wonder if I’m saying it to her or myself.
Her body stiffens and her chin rises as she gently pries my hands from around her waist. I want to thank her for doing the thing I couldn’t do myself. I’m glad one of us is strong enough.
I leave her, taking deep breaths the entire way to the hotel room, attempting to shake off the odd sensations. This has gotten out of hand. I’ve allowed myself too much leniency where Anna is concerned. It began with harmless fun, but now it’s got to stop. Both our lives are at stake, and it’s time for me to control the reins.
Tonight, I will take things one step further and show Anna how good it tastes to live on the wild side. I’ll buy some alcohol. She’s such a lightweight—she’d be seeing the world differently after one wine cooler. I need for her to embrace her fate.
; I’m primed and poised when Anna returns. I go for casual, lying on the bed with my feet crossed and a hand behind my head, pretending to watch the telly. She puts the clothes away and rummages through her bags, finally plopping a large book onto the opposite bed. I ignore her scowl.
“What are you getting into?” I ask.
She shoots me a suspicious and rather annoyed glance before saying, “English.”
Brilliant. Father made me study the great “romantics.” While Anna was memorizing Bible verses in Sunday school, I was memorizing Shakespeare and Byron, and any other rubbish that might get me into girls’ knickers.
I flick off the television and go to Anna’s bed, opening her book as I lie down. I wonder if she’ll be impressed with my skills. I am English, after all. I flick through the pages, and Anna sits as far away as possible. Hm. I’ll need to remedy that. I land on the sonnets but am quickly distracted when Anna begins to unbraid her hair. With each wavy strand that is freed from its binding, the book and all of our surroundings disappear.
Anna Whitt’s hair is bloody amazing. It’s a sin she keeps it held back all the time. It’s like heavy, golden silk falling around her, and her face is in absolute bliss as she runs her hands through it.
Must touch it . . .
Hot, raging longing fills my every cell. Blood pumps so fiercely in my ears that I cannot hear the beast pawing the ground, but I know it is, because I’m salivating. When she glances at me I quickly look down. I think she might’ve caught me.
She flicks through some pages and I can’t make out what she’s muttered.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
I’m afraid she’s about to order me off her bed, but instead she goes on about the summer poetry assignment. Passion is spouting from her pores and I sit up. I can’t wait to throw my poetic genius at her.
She goes on and on, oblivious of her own beauty as she waves her fists and purses her lips in indignation. “The beauty of poetry is that it can mean different things to different people at different times. . . . It’s wrong to dissect poetry like this!”
Sweet Temptation Page 10
