by Deryn Pittar
“I’ll stop if you don’t like it,” he said. “The very moment you object. I promise.” His breath wafted the feathers. “Let me love you.”
She nodded, and relaxed and let him make love to her.
Chapter 7
HE SAID, ‘THAT WAS PERFECT’. He really had said that. He thought she was beautiful and even liked her feathers. Although his weight comforted her, she moved until they lay side by side. She trailed her fingers along his strong jawline, his defined cheekbones, then stroked his forehead, easing the parallel worry lines between his eyebrows.
What a climax. No wonder people raved about good sex. Her mind still felt bruised from the connection. Well bruised was probably an exaggeration more like recovering from a shock, but certainly her mind had joined with his at that moment, sharing his delight, his desire, with her passion and rapture. It had been absolutely magical. If she woke him could they do it all again?
“I love you, Lewis,” she whispered quietly. He was asleep and wouldn’t hear, it wouldn’t matter that this was probably too much too soon for him. She’d heard about human males and their reluctance to commit.
He released a long deep breath, but he kept his eyes closed. “I love you too,” he said.
So, he hadn’t been sleeping, he’d just been lying there quietly like she had. It’s not that she didn’t believe him, but could men really fall in love that quickly?
She tentatively reached into his mind, to check. She could see memories of her, when she first arrived at this house when he was fourteen, her watering the garden after she had dug and planted it, her bounding down the front steps, it looked like she was going into town. Memories of their past marched by, year after year of them, sometimes wrapped in the warm pink glow of love, or the soft white of admiration, and then as he became older, the hot red of desire.
“Oh,” she said. It was as if he had colour coded what he had felt for her over the years.
He opened his eyes and rolled over, so he was half on top of her.
“See how long I’ve loved you?” he asked.
“You know our minds can touch?”
“I hoped that’s what happened while we were making love, and not that I’m even crazier than I thought I was.”
“And you can control what I see in your mind?” She had felt the dark recesses of threat and fear that he had pushed back to give her the vision of his love. He did that for her.
“It seems I can.” He lowered his head, so his lips brushed across hers gently. “And that is a good thing, there are images in my mind you wouldn’t want to see.”
She let her love flood into his mind. He’d put aside all that fear to protect her.
“That’s beautiful,” he said, and she could feel him sinking into the flood of emotion. The fear and darkness in his mind moved even further back. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be all one sided, maybe she could help protect his mind the way he was protecting her body.
“Can we do it again?” she asked.
“The mind thing?” he asked.
“No, the body thing.” Her hand slid over the perfect contours of his shoulders and back.
“Lucky the army keeps me fit.” He entered her again, and they moved slowly, the perfect communion of body and mind.
Afterwards, as they lay together, her mind roamed through the memories, then stilled. She dozed warm and more contented than she’d been in years.
She woke slowly, feeling safe in his arms, then in the half sleep she dreamt her harp was calling – then screaming – and it was!
She sat up, heart pounding, adrenaline coursing through her and shook Lewis’ shoulder.
“Wake up. My harp is screaming. He’s coming.”
Lewis sat up. While Emma had slept tight against him, he had been making plans. He’d resign his commission, and then they’d get married and buy a house. He’d get a job. He must be of some use to someone. They’d make a dozen little half angels together. He’d have to ask her how that worked. And they’d live happily ever after. Now, suddenly shocked out of those dreams, he shook his head, and felt around the bed.
“Where’s the damn gun?” The gun hadn’t accompanied them to bed. Why would it? Too late now to think of such a precaution.
The angels he had fought in the driveway stood in the doorway and behind them two more looked over their shoulders and sniggered.
Emma grabbed the crumpled counterpane and pulled it up over her breasts while Lewis leapt off the bed and stood facing the men.
“Leave, you’re too late,” he stated. “Emma is no longer a virgin. I saved her from the likes of your lot; evil, nasty scum that you are.”
He didn’t seem to mind being stark naked. Perhaps it had something to do with living with men in a war setting.
She straightened her back and smiled sweetly. “Such a clever solution wasn’t it?”
The leader moved two steps closer, his two cohorts close behind. “I bet it wasn’t your idea, more likely it was his.” He pointed at Lewis. “Where did you find him?”
She opened her mouth, but the guy waved his hand. “Never mind the details. It doesn’t matter. An angel making love to a human doesn’t count, a mere scratch to the soul, you are still pure. You’re still the Chosen One.” He raised his hands to his shoulders and curled his first fingers forward. Three fallen angels moved around him, to stand closer to Lewis.
Lewis stood his ground and snarled, “Just try it. I suppose you’ll dissolve again when the going gets tough.”
“That was during the day. Now it is dark we have the power to do what we want with you.”
Emma stood and wrapped in the counterpane she reached Lewis’ side. “Where is Sebastian? Why are you here and not my brother?” It’s not that she wanted to see him, but he might be more reasonable than these strangers.
“That brother of yours has disappeared. Levi has sent us to do his work.” The angel seemed disgruntled.
Emma hoped Sebastian had disappeared because her father had found him and hauled him in front of the Council of Angels. She hoped he would repent. But that didn’t help her now.
“Get out of my house all of you. I’m not coming anywhere or being the Chosen One for Levi this Halloween or any other night either.” She pointed to the door. “Go. Now.”
The one beside the doorway shrugged. “I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but you asked for it.” He pointed at Lewis. “Get him, boys.”
Lewis turned to face the first assailant, swinging a punch that connected with the angel’s shoulder and knocking him to the side but before he could turn the second angel punched him behind his ear. Lewis staggered, grabbed the end of the bed for support and crouched. His body wavered then righted itself.
Emma’s heart swelled, proud of her lover’s defence. A man prepared to fight for her, but she found her fist jammed in her mouth as she watched the four angels hit him again and again. Like a paper bag being crumpled Lewis folded unconscious onto the floor. They didn’t stop. The kicking began; first into his body and then they moved to kick his head.
“No,” she yelled, “Stop it. Don’t kill him.”
“No, no,” echoed the harp.
But one drew a knife and grabbed Lewis by his hair, stretching his neck back. Horror filled her, and bile rose in her throat.
“I’ll come with you,” she screamed. “Just don’t kill him.”
At a hand command the fallen angels stopped their attack. “Are you going to come willingly?”
What could she say? To refuse would make her responsible for a human’s death, yet to go would ruin the rest of her life. In the background she could hear the harp screaming.
She had to go, at least Lewis knew how much she cared for him. She would sacrifice herself to save his life. Whatever happened at least she’d had one glorious sexual experience. The memory of it could be her only consolation after tonight.
She looked at his body, the body that had tenderly loved her, such a short time ago. Already bruises were appearing, and blood t
rickled from a cut on his cheek. How injured was he? Had she stopped them in time?
“Get dressed,” the lead angel ordered. He turned to his followers. “Wait for us in the lounge and try and shut that bloody harp up while you’re there.”
She grabbed her clothes from off the floor and as she dressed, she heard the harp’s screaming change to a cacophony of twangs.
“Stop them, please. There’s no need to damage my harp. It’s only doing its job.”
He walked out and she heard him shout an order. In that moment she kneeled and kissed Lewis’ head. “Goodbye my love and thank you.” Her mind fastened onto the memory of Lewis and his love while her physical being walked out of the house to save him.
Alice would be proud of her sacrifice. A few dead roses were nothing compared to this.
A black sea of pain, a piercing agony thumped through him with each heartbeat. It crawled up his spine and bored into his mind like a drill. Had he been shot? Drugged? Did the enemy finally have him, trapped and beaten; a hostage to behead at leisure? His mind surfaced in a slow climb. He moved one leg then the other, wincing as shards of pain shot up his spine. His mind registered that he lay on his side and he tested each arm, his shoulders protesting with each attempt. Finally, he turned his head. A mistake he’d need to repeat if he wanted to get to his feet.
He opened one eye, the other refused to co-operate. He had a low-level view of carpet - not dirt; clothes, on the floor - his clothes. He stroked his hip and belly. Why was he naked?
Then it hit him. It hadn’t been soldiers. He wasn’t in some foreign land. He was home—in Haven Falls.
Emma! God forsaken angels had come to take her away. They’d beaten him and yet they’d left him alive.
His plan had failed
He knew all about failure. It was a personal friend. Bungled attacks and death from friendly fire meant failure was part of his war, but this? This was a pain beyond that. Beaten and outsmarted by a bunch of cowardly, dissolving gits. This was too much to swallow. Despair drowned his soul and his heart cried out.
Emma, my lovely angel. What have I done to you? Emma. Oh God, where are you? Did he imagine that? Did she answer? Emma? Can you hear me? he called again in his mind.
Lewis. You’re alive? He heard her gasp. Thank God. In the background he could hear as if in her head, an engine and voices. Those damn angels’ voices; cocky, smart. His fists clenched on the carpet.
Where are you? Speak to me, Emma.
I don’t know where I am. They’re taking me somewhere. When I know I’ll tell you. Be careful, Lewis. They wanted to kill you.
He knelt, ignoring the pain sweeping his body. His stomach threatened to hurl its contents. What a waste of a roast dinner. He swallowed hard.
Be brave, Emma. I will get some help and we’ll find you.
Getting into his clothes became an exercise in agony before he began his crawl out of the bedroom, across the polished wooden floor of the lounge into the lobby to stop by the front door.
He leaned against the wall. A worrying thought hit him. Emma, he called silently. If bullets alone can’t kill these damned angels, what else can I use?
The moments passed, the silence grew, and panic began to tighten his chest, then her reply came. Torrents of water. With sodden wings they have difficulty flying. They can still dissolve but wet wings harness them to Earth. Levi hates water.
Of course, water purifies. He reached and rested his hand on the harp. It lay on its side, several of its strings twisted and torn from the frame. He picked up two of the broken wires, wound them around his hand and twisted the ends to keep them in a circle then slipped them into his trouser pocket. They could come in useful. He stroked the harp’s neck. It wailed softly, a plaintiff twang.
“It’s okay, I’ll find her, I promise,” he said.
Chapter 8
LEWIS ALMOST FELL through his parents’ front door but caught the door jamb as he staggered.
His mother, passing through the hall, took one look and muttered, “Been fighting again I see.” Her lips thinned and she looked as if she’d taken a bite of a lemon, but no further comment issued from her tightly drawn mouth. Just as well. He wasn’t in any mood for smart comments.
Where was his father? He’d remembered their conversation about Mr Cooper from dinnertime. God, was it only about an hour ago? Time had slowed today. He found Cyril in his snug, a corner tucked in the right angle of the hallway, just room for an easy chair and a standard lamp.
“Pops.” His father raised his head, his glasses balanced on the end of his nose and his sparse white hair gleaming under the lamplight.
“Son,” he said. “Good to see you again.” A frown deepened the existing creases on his forehead. “Been in a scrap? I’d hate to see the other guy.”
Lewis sunk to the floor beside the chair and leaned against it resting his arm on his father’s knee. “Remember you mentioned at dinner that Mr Cooper had bought a second-hand fire engine?” His father nodded. “Well, do you think I could borrow it, just for tonight?” He waited in the silence. This had to work.
“He might lend it to me, but I don’t think he’d lend it to you. Why do you need it?”
Could he trust his father? He didn’t really know him well enough to be sure, but he had no other option. “You’re not going to believe me if I tell you why.”
“Try me. I’m an old man. I’ve heard most things.”
“Not like this you haven’t.” Then he told Cyril all about Emma, her brother, the fallen angels, beating them up, being beaten to a pulp in return and how they’d taken Emma. He left out his solution to her virginity. There are some things a father doesn’t need to know.
“They’re planning a ceremony for tonight, Pop.” He suppressed a shudder and dug his teeth into his lip, waiting for his father’s answer. Would he believe him?
“Mmmm, they sound like a nasty bunch. Is that the same crowd that tried to push her into a car yesterday? I saw that and I have to say I was really proud of you, son.” His father ruffled his hair, his gnarled fingers massaging Lewis’ shoulder. “I’ve always had a soft spot for that girl,” Cyril said, “Not surprised she’s an angel.”
No disbelief, no argument, just calm acceptance. He really didn’t know his father.
“Where is she? Do you know?” Cyril asked.
“No, but I’m sure I’ll hear as soon as she works it out. I thought with a fire-engine I could park it anywhere at all and people wouldn’t query its presence—or tell me to move it on. It could also help us fight for her if the hoses work. Do they?”
His father nodded.
“Do you know how to operate them?”
Another nod.
“Good, you can show me before I leave. I’m going to get my army mates to help me find her.”
“I’ll ring Ben,” Cyril said, “And tell him we need it for the Halloween parade tonight.”
A fire engine could slip into the line of floats without any problem. Depending on where Emma was held this could be useful.
His father rose from his chair. “The parade starts at half eight and is for the kids to show off their costumes. We need to get going.” He walked stiffly down the hall and into the study.
Lewis used the moments waiting for his father to text Captain Daniel Shaw. ‘Have to save an angel tonight. Need help.’ The smiley face return text proved Daniel’s willingness, so Lewis texted ‘get Zac the Knife’.
He heard his father’s footsteps and looked up. The beam on his father’s face said it all. Lewis stood, hiding his discomfort, he was so sore from that beating he couldn’t wait to get his hands on those bastards; they wouldn’t find him so easy to take next time. “So, it’s all go? We can have it?”
His father nodded. “Only one condition, I have to come with you.”
Surely not!
“And before you say anything, I’m bringing my pistol. I’m a damn good shot.”
“No, Dad. I don’t think so.”
Cyril’s back s
tiffened and he seemed to grow taller. “Listen here, sonny, where do you think I go for hours on end to ease the boredom? No, don’t guess. I’ll tell you.” He wagged his finger. “I go to the shooting range. I’m a crack shot with my pistol.” Lewis opened his mouth, but his father continued. “And I know you’re not allowed to use a gun at present. I know all about your PTSD even if your mother doesn’t, because I answered the phone when your doctor rang here to tell us about your incidents.”
Lewis shrugged. The world had ganged up on him again. “Okay, Pops. Love to have you along.” He gripped his father’s shoulder, feeling the bony frame beneath his hands. “Let’s go and get the bastards.”
“And rescue an angel,” Cyril added, grabbing a coat from the hook by the back door.
“Where are you two going?” Alice popped out of the kitchen as they opened the screen. “Can’t you stay home for even an hour, Lewis?”
“We’re going out to have some father-and-son bonding time.”
“Yes,” said Cyril. “Better late than never,” and scurried ahead down the path. Lewis looked back to see his mother wiping her eyes. She must have been slicing onions.
The fire trunk handled like a tank. No fancy power steering. Turning the wheel wrenched his kicked shoulders but once they reached Daniel’s house someone else could drive. Not Cyril, he hoped. He hoped ‘Zac the Knife’, was there when they arrived. The platoon sergeant had been part of a knife throwing act before he’d been conscripted. This small Latino soldier was fearless and so handy with a knife he could hit a bulls-eye better with a blade than with a bullet. Only difference and it was an important difference, bullets travelled further. But for close targets he was silent and deadly.
“Whoa, pull in here,” said Cyril. “Better fill the old girl’s water tank up. Never know when you need a good blast from a fire hose.”
His father had good instincts. If Emma was right, and bullets only slowed fallen angels, the water hose would be a second string, after brute force and knives. Lewis hauled the wheel to the right and stopped next to a fire hydrant. He hoped his father knew what he was doing.
