by Deryn Pittar
“Why do they want you especially?” he asked after a while.
She shrugged. “Because I’m a virgin. The Chosen One must be a virgin.”
Another shock to the system. She was a virgin. A delightful one, full of warmth and goodness. How could her brother even think of delivering her up to harm?
The cuckoo clock leapt out of its hole eleven times and screamed with frenetic energy. Lewis rolled over and kneeled to stoke the fire. The embers wafted soothing warmth over them, and they watched the clock. Quarter past; half past; quarter to; the cuckoo reminded them.
Their tension climbed as they sat and awaited the witching hour. As the twelfth call of the cuckoo faded the room seemed to darken. The curtains swayed and furniture creaked, as if preparing against an attack.
Lewis stood, picked up the gun and cocked it. “I’m going to shoot anything that moves,” he said and held the gun steady. He turned slowly as he covered the room. Curled at his feet Emma looked up and smiled at him. Pride warmed his soul. He deemed it an honour to be her personal defender, the man who would kill to protect her. Rather than kill her by mistake, but he thrust that thought away.
Suddenly a strong smell of damp, fetid earth crept into the room; the air chilled and the curtains rustled. The candles flickered but as each flame failed it lit again, holding the ring of light. The fire hissed and smoked. The flames fell to almost die away, but a small spark caught deep in the embers and a tongue of flame climbed through the logs as if struggling against a heavy presence and inched its way upward. The fire multiplied in a burst and wrapped the logs in its flaming embrace, as before.
The front door shook. The knob turned back and forth, but the lock held. The Irish harp in its corner twanged and moaned its base strings then switched to its highest cord to screech a warning. The aspen tree scratched and groaned across the roof and for a moment Lewis saw the mirror on the wall lose its reflection. His eyes saw men sitting around a fire under a star riddled sky, but he recognised the flashback and thrust it from his mind, buried it deep and concentrated on the present.
“Bring it on, you bastards. Just let me get a look at any of you and I’ll drill you full of holes—and enjoy every minute of it.” Lewis swung the rifle back and forth covering the room, his back to the fire, then moved to stand astride Emma, daring her brother and his friend to appear. Was this too a symptom of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder he wondered?
A cold zephyr crossed the floor, moving the garlic corms, rolling them inward several inches where they stopped and then rolled back to their original position.
The circle held.
Moments passed before the musky smell of evil dispersed, replaced by the pungent tang of peppermint from the burning pinecones. The harp played a soft, single sweet note which vibrated and fell away. The room settled and the air stilled. Firelight rippled like a wave into the corners and bounced off the mirror where the reflection had returned.
Only the crackling of the logs and a hiss as something dripped down the chimney broke the silence.
“We won,” Lewis yelled.
Emma sprang to her feet and wrapped her arms around him. With her head on his chest and the stroke of his hand on her back, she whispered, “Do you believe me now?”
“I do.” Though truly, nothing had happened that couldn’t be explained away by the wind outside making the smoke in the chimney swirl and falter. The rifle fell to the floor. He cupped her head and kissed her delicious lips. “I most certainly do my angel.” His attraction to her hadn’t diminished with her revelation, if anything, the fact she was completely crazy made her even more desirable. They were a good match.
Chapter 4
HE DEEPENED THE KISS and felt Emma relax into it. Her hair smelled of roses. It tumbled over his hand and he remembered how that scent had always reminded him of her.
She pulled back a little. “You are so sweet,” she whispered.
Nobody had called him sweet in a while. She just brought out the best in him.
“And you’re lovely,” he said. He wanted to make love to her and not just because that would solve this delusion of hers that the Devil wanted her because she was a virgin. But mainly because it was her and he’d always wanted her. Emma. Sweet, caring, beautiful Emma.
“I want to love you, now,” he whispered.
She hesitated and then smiled up at him. He was sure her eyes matched how his must look. Filled with desire and heat. But he couldn’t understand the hesitation he saw there too.
“I’ll be gentle.” He put his arms around her again and nuzzled her neck and felt her melt into him. “We’ll go slowly.”
“It’s not that,” Emma managed to say breathlessly. “I want to make love too.” His mouth moved to her throat. Did she really want him to find out what was making her so reluctant? He was so perfect. Everything she could want. She loved the security of his arms and his strong body.
“Then we’re in agreement.” She could hear the humour in his voice. Was he making fun of her again?
She looked up into his eyes. No, all she could see was caring, desire and warmth, and the lovely person she’d watched grow up over the years.
She pulled away again. “But there is something I have to tell you, before we go any further.”
“What’s that?” His nuzzling continued. Now his lips followed the v of her top. “Though you do realise you are talking all the way through every adolescent fantasy I ever had.” He breathed into the hollow between her breasts, his breath a warm flutter on her skin.
A sigh escaped her. She closed her eyes and relaxed into his caresses. “I am an Angel, but I don’t have wings,” she exhaled reluctantly. “But I do have feathers.”
“Why?” he asked.
“It is how the Devil marked me as his when I was young.”
“Where?” He continued to drop kisses at the base of her throat and didn’t seem perturbed. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind?
She looked down then ran her hands down the front of her body. She raised her eyes and saw warmth and longing.
He reached for her again. “Are you going to let me see them?”
With his eyes locked on hers, he undid each button carefully, then eased the top from her shoulders. The fabric slithered off her arms and fell, revealing her secret.
He stepped back and studied her again from the base of her throat to her waist. A smile formed and widened to a beam. “So beautiful,” he whispered.
She knew the line of fine white feathers formed a perfect heart shape, curving over the rise of her breasts they hugged the sides and continued to curve inward below her waist to form a point just above where her flesh divided. She’d viewed her feathered decoration often in the mirror, wondered at its curves and also despaired at its presence.
“You are unbelievably gorgeous,” he murmured.
“But…” she passed her hands down her body again, following the line of the embellishment, her gestures protesting at the feathers’ presence.
He pulled her close and stroked her bare back, stopping at the waistband of her skirt. “Let me see it all.” She nodded and held her breath as he slid the zip down. The skirt dropped to the floor. The scrap of lace she wore followed. He studied the two perfect arabesques of feathers running the length of her body. They finished at her pubic bone with a soft flick. A heart shaped covering of velvet silkiness.
“My angel, my perfect angel.” he said after a long moment. “The fantasies don’t even compare to the reality.” She finally took a breath. “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want this, Emma Manuelle.” His hands spanned her waist, heating her skin where his palms rested on her feathers.
“It’s actually Emmanuelle,” she corrected.
“Another thing I didn’t know.” He kissed her lips.
“I don’t think I can live up to your fantasy.” she murmured. “I haven’t done this before.”
He dropped soft kisses on each breast and murmured, “That makes it even more perfect
He thought
her feathers didn’t matter. Anticipation stirred a longing deep inside her. She ran her hands through his hair. A shudder flowed through him.
“Lewis—”
“Don’t say anything.” His voice was husky with desire
Touching, and kissing, they lay there together until she stopped shivering. His tongue sought hers and they kissed until she ran out of air.
“You taste like toffee and hazelnut caramel,” she murmured. “I wish I was perfect for you.” Though, from the look on his face and his erection pressing against her thigh he hadn’t been put off by her secret.
He stroked the white downy feathers around her breast.
“You are perfect. Who else gets to make love to an angel?” he asked.
She giggled, happiness fizzing through her., “You’re crazy.”
“I know, but crazy usually doesn’t feel this good.” His caressing hand moved lower.
In the back of her mind, all the problems with Sebastian, and the Devil, and trying to live in this world of humans were still there. He rested his head on her chest his cheek touching the feathers and she tensed.
But he murmured, “So lovely,”
His fingers slid between her legs. “This is everything I ever imagined.” He stroked her gently. It was everything she’d ever imagined love could be.
Emma’s heart beat harder, her skin warmed, her hips lifted in response to his deep caresses until she clutched at the blanket beside her.
Lewis heard her moan, and her pleasure pulsed through his mind. He lived the wave with her, answering her need with his caresses. She cried out and her delight and ecstasy took them both to the peak as she climaxed. He held himself back, savouring the moment, strong enough to resist.
“Lewis. Please now,” she said, and he could feel her longing, the need to have him inside her.
“Just a minute.” He pulled off his clothes then felt in his pants pockets for the condom.
“What are you doing?” She sounded puzzled. He showed her the packet.
“Oh.”
He got the thing on then lowered himself slowly over her.
Emma’s hands slid over his muscled back and pulled him closer, urgently.
He entered her moving slowly and carefully. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Oh,” she said. “Oh.”
He stopped. “Does it hurt?”
“Yes, no. Don’t stop. Just don’t stop.”
He started again and felt her legs lift and hug his hips.
They moved together, and their minds merged and twined as if they were as joined as their bodies were. He could feel her every emotion, and knew she was experiencing his sensations as well. He moved, rising and falling with her mind and her body, over and over again.
Which part of being crazy made him think his mind was touching hers? Yet fine as silk and strong as wire the thread that linked their minds pulsed with love.
As they climaxed, he cried out, “Emma.” Then collapsed on top of her. Breathing hard, he rested. Her fingers combed through his damp hair and her scent filled his thoughts, conjuring pictures of peace, banishing his nightmares to a far corner.
“That was perfect,” he said, when his heart had slowed. “Beyond any fantasy my teenage mind ever conjured up.”
And that was one hell of a camisole she was wearing. It had to be the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
On their bed of cushions, they dozed, the blankets wrapped around them. They were prepared to ward off another attempt but hoped they’d won this battle. Only when the cheeps of the birds heralded dawn’s arrival did they relax and fall into a deep sleep.
The smell of bacon and pancakes woke her. Lewis must be cooking breakfast. Doubt swelled within her like a wave about to break. All the things she still had to tell him crowded into her mind. Would he cope? Would his protective instincts withstand the stress and the knowledge he’d have to absorb?
He seemed to cope with her revelations last night. So, she’d worry later. They’d survived the night. Would tonight be worse? Perhaps Sebastian had given up on his plan. Perhaps somehow, he already knew she could no longer be the Chosen One.
Once showered, she dressed quickly: underwear, skirt and t-shirt, and grabbed a long-sleeved top. She peered through the bedroom window. Outside leaves danced across the lawn and piled themselves against fences. The breeze whispered winter’s threats as it whistled past the glass panes. This morning the aspen had stopped scratching the house. Either the wind direction had changed, or Sebastian had gone.
In the kitchen, she wrapped her arm about Lewis’ waist. “’Morning, my hero.” She inhaled his scent and stood on tiptoes to kiss his chin, then moved to the breakfast counter. “How long have you been up?”
“Ages. Had a shower, fetched the paper from the letterbox, walked around the house looking for claw marks in the paintwork…”
“Lewis, don’t joke. It could happen.”
“...then decided to make you breakfast.” He whipped a plate from the oven onto the counter, drizzled maple syrup over the small stack of pancakes and placed a tray of crisp grilled bacon beside it.
They ate perched on stools at the bench, not mentioning the previous evening, yet Emma wondered if both of them were avoiding the topic foremost in their minds: In hers the image of Sebastian loomed large. Did it dominate Lewis’ thoughts—or did doubts about her sanity?
A gust of wind lifted a sheet of iron somewhere nearby and the screech jolted her out of her reverie. “Your parents will be wondering where you are, you really should go home,” she said reluctantly.
“No, until we sort this warlock thing out, I’m not going anywhere. And now the Devil shouldn’t want you. We solved that problem last night.”
“I guess we did.” That must have been what her mother had meant. She looked down at her plate, and then back up at him. “I have so many things still to tell you. Things I need to explain, and…” her voice broke, “I’m so scared it’ll frighten you away.” A tear betrayed her and she wiped it away with the back of her hand.
Lewis pushed his plate aside. He stood, took her hand and walked her through to the lounge. The magic circle remained, its edges disturbed by their morning exit.
“What you told me last night was a lot to take in, but I’m still here. I think that’s proof, nothing you could say would scare me away.” His dark curls were ringed by light almost like a halo. Perhaps she’d found her own personal angel, but he didn’t know it?
Suddenly the harp sounded, a repeated arpeggio at speed.
“Visitors, strangers apparently.” She pulled away from him to go and answer the door.
“Wait.” Lewis clamped her arm, holding her back. “What if it’s your brother?”
“It’s not, my harp would have screamed a warning.”
“Handy harp to have,” she heard him mutter.
“It just said strangers. And as you said we solved the problem of Sebastian last night.” She left the room and hurried to open the front door.
Lewis still didn’t believe her, but he’d sensed the evil last night, heard the harp, caught the aroma of sulphur and heard his heartbeat pound in his ears.
He listened to the murmur of voices at the door. The harp sounded a low note, like a growl, which vibrated through him. Then a trill followed as the notes rose, to end in a screaming twanging cry. He’d heard that tone before, last night. He bolted out of the room, sliding across the polished wooden floor of the lounge, pushing aside tea candles and garlic corms. In the lobby the front door was ajar.
He grabbed it and pushed it open so hard it slammed against the wall.
His gaze fixed on the front gate where he could see Emma being pushed into the backseat of a car. Her screams cut off, suddenly muffled. A man’s back blocked sight of her and another man ran around the car to get in the driver’s side.
He was through the door, across the porch in two strides and had hurdled over the railing onto the shell path below. Ignoring the pain, as the shells cut into his bare
feet, he ran, then launched himself at the men and the car.
The combat training kicked in, he hauled the first man away from Emma, slammed a punch into his jaw that flicked his head sideways. The man crumpled onto the grass verge.
Lewis pulled Emma out of the car and stood her upright. Her gray eyes were wide with terror. “Run. Lock the door, ring the police.” With a gentle push he sent her on her way, just as the man at his feet rose, a knife in his hand.
Lewis moved back a step, watching the knife hand as it swayed, whether by demand or because the man was punch-drunk, he couldn’t tell. He watched the blade as one would watch a poisonous snake.
“Getting clever, are we?” he taunted. The man lunged, and Lewis sidestepped.
From the quirk in his lips, the man thought he could take him. “Come and get it.” He beckoned at Lewis with his free hand. The knife swayed more purposefully.
“What do you think you are going to do with that?” Lewis stayed on balance ready to move either way.
The man snickered. “Turn you into a kebab, then finish what we came for.”
Screw that. Lewis spun around kicked at the knife hand. Got it with his heel, knocked the knife to the dirt, and was back on balance before the other man had time to react.
“What the hell?” the man spluttered.
Lewis reached down with one hand and retrieved the knife. Now he had a weapon. He wasn’t too shabby at fighting without one but now he really had the advantage. He grabbed this opponent by the collar.
“Get out and don’t come back, she doesn’t want any of this.”
The man tried to wriggle free. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.” Lewis tightened his hold. “Now leave.” He turned the man and slammed his head against the car door, then let him go.
The man staggered and wiped at the blood on his face and winced when he connected with his bloody nose. “I’ll have you arrested.”
