by Lisa Hughey
He hadn’t felt anything in so long.
He’d been empty. A vessel without function, destined only to hold all the ills of the human world around him. Eternally lonely and wanting succor, comfort...some intangible.
Until Angelina. She was a gift he’d been bequeathed solely in the dream realm.
However, now she summoned him to her dreams more and more frequently. She drew him in, like a whirlpool he could drown in. Desire swirled through him. He would explore her bounty with his tongue and hands, licking and stroking her flesh.
The taste of her skin was an aphrodisiac of brimstone and gardenia and filled his mouth and flooded his body with the intoxicating elixir of woman. Drunk on her taste, drunk on her essence, he cupped the bounty of her breasts in his palms, exploring, rubbing, and massaging the symbol of her femininity. The balance of the Universe was bound up between their two bodies, the yin and yang of copulation, the symmetry of her channel and his rod, the perfect way they fit together.
Exaltation poured through him. His body throbbed, and his mind filled with her thoughts, her arousal, her longing for love. And he hadn’t had the heart, an emotion he’d thought vanished forever, to deny her surcease from her sadness.
Instead he’d worshiped her. Showered her with reverence. And now, even as he berated himself to resist temptation, the same thing happened every time she summoned him. And the feelings that originally had only been hers were now his as well. He needed to leave these emotions behind and begin her training, before he did something they’d both regret.
FOUR
Brandt trudged into the house. Poor guy was sicker than a dog. Nothing reduced an ‘almost man’ back to toddlerhood faster than the stomach flu.
“Get your track bag and I’ll wash your clothes.”
“Don’t worry about it, Mom,” he croaked.
Angelina wished he’d let her give him a hug, but they’d moved to the point where hugs, even in private, embarrassed him. Too bad ‘cause she could have really used a hug today. Lately it seemed as if the only place she had any kind of physical contact was in her dreams.
She brushed the buzzed, fuzzy brown hair on his scalp, feeling a little queasy herself, then handed him a plastic serving bowl. “Sorry you don’t feel good. Go ahead and get in bed.” The need to pick him up early from school disrupted everything she had to get done today. She had her final divorce hearing, the car needed an oil change, Lina needed poster board for a project due tomorrow. She supposed she should be happy Lina texted her during the day instead of waiting until eight o’clock tonight but gee, the errand threw a wrench into her already packed schedule.
Then she thought about how awful Brandt looked and knew everything else could go out the window. Her baby needed her. No matter that he topped six foot two and outweighed her by at least sixty pounds. He was still her baby.
Going back to the car, Angelina grabbed Brandt’s track bag and lugged it back into the laundry room. She unzipped the bag gingerly and tried to hold her breath through the awful smell. The stench of unwashed socks and damp, sweaty shorts assaulted her senses.
Gah, he stunk. Teenage boys, gotta love ‘em, because you can’t kill them.
She loaded Brandt’s track clothes in the washing machine, dumped in the detergent, pressed the button and waited for the little ‘dink’ sound to indicate the load had started.
Might as well clean out the whole bag and spray some Windex, her absolute cure all for any cleaning need, inside. She pulled out empty G2 bottles, oops a sock she’d missed, and his sprinting spikes. Tucked into the shoe was a plastic baggy.
Innocuous on its own but, it was plastic. She used wax paper bags for the kids’ lunches. Angelina pressed a hand over her forehead. She didn’t want to look, didn’t want to know. But she had to, right? There was no one else here to take that responsibility for her.
Oh shit. Did she have to deal with this now?
Angelina sank onto the cold linoleum floor of the laundry room. She reached out her hand, hoping there was evidence of food. Maybe someone gave him their peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich and he’d stuffed the baggy in his track bag. But of course, that would be too simple.
The contents didn’t look like a sandwich. It looked like marijuana. But just in case, Brandt had taken some extra herbs to school to throw on a meatball sandwich that she hadn’t packed, she lifted the baggy to her nose and sniffed.
Ding, ding. Give her a gold star. She was correct.
Marijuana. Brandt had pot, weed, whatever you wanted to call it. Drugs. In his bag. She leaned back against the laundry room cabinets, knees bent, arms looped across her knees, and dropped her head down into the cradle of her arms.
She should go confront him right now. But she needed to talk to Gary and see how they should handle it, assuming he would even help.
She was so tired. So tired of being the one to keep everything together.
The kids whose world had changed almost overnight. Her sister who was having a surprisingly hard time with Grammy’s decline in health. The house. The bills. The paperwork. Was the universe so unkind that it decided to give her one big cosmic dump?
Really, what else could go wrong? And how much freaking more could she take without breaking?
Angelina thought about her dream man. She had started to notice little things, the satin strength of his muscles under skin almost sizzling hot, the way his wings seemed less and less substantial as if they were disappearing. How he was careful never to touch certain places on her body. How the dream was changing. He had his eyes open longer, and the disgust was starting to change into desire.
It was unhealthy, this dream. Angelina had so many things she should be focusing on, not sleeping in so she could have a few more minutes with her dream guy. She was crazy. Absolutely crazy.
Her head dipped and startled her awake.
Angelina listened but the washer hadn’t started. No dink. No drum filling with water. Dammit, not now. She couldn’t afford the time or the repair. The stupid washer was only a year old.
She slid up the wall and then checked the washing machine. It hadn’t started. Nothing lit up except the ‘On’ button. She pressed the button on, then off, and fiddled with the other buttons for thirty seconds. Dead. Done. Dammit. When was she going to fit in a trip to the laundromat?
If that wasn’t enough, she had, hopefully, her final divorce hearing in one hour.
Of course that didn’t mean Gary would be gone. She still wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. Sometimes dealing with life on her own was easier than consulting him.
Angelina wandered into the family room and dropped down onto the sectional sofa, a pretty, soft olive green that usually gave her a soothing little boost. The weight of responsibility, for everything, invaded her arms, her legs, her brain. Everyone needed a piece of her. But she just wanted to sit and be. Everyone seemed determined to keep her ultra-busy, even her friends who with their well-meaning nights out suffocated her with the weight of having to get dressed up and made up and smile and pretend she was doing okay. Pretend that there were days her heart wasn’t breaking for the death of her life before.
Stages of grief. Of course Angelina knew about them but she sure as heck didn’t want to dissect the way her life was falling apart. Did it really matter what the stages were? They were going to happen no matter what.
The only place she had any respite from the crushing responsibility of life these days was in her dreams. Angelina’s eyelids drooped. Even with the dream time she wasn’t getting enough sleep. Too many things kept her up at night. Too many worries, too many heartaches.
She tilted her head onto the soft velour cushion and inhaled softly.
If she could just rest for a little bit. Tired. She was so tired. She inhaled slowly, deeply, then let out her breath and slid gently into slumber and longed for her dream angel.
***
Rafe’s assistant Nathan stood straight as Gabe’s divining rod. “Archangel Raphael the Healer,�
�� Nathan proclaimed.
Rafe sighed. “Call me Rafe.” They did this dance every Monday morning, month after month, year after year. And since the very moment he’d become Rafe’s assistant, Nathan insisted on formality and stiffly followed protocol, always beginning his report with Rafe’s official title. He was frighteningly efficient.
Rafe slouched in the oversized leather chair with his chin propped in his hand and listened with only a fraction of his attention, while he contemplated the bookshelves full of musty old medical tomes.
“Things in Africa seem to be better.” Angel Melissa Gates had managed to accomplish a lot with her programs. There was no way his Angels on earth could eradicate HIV without destroying themselves. Tragically several had died before Rafe had forbidden them to use their healing gift to control a disease of that magnitude. He’d had to encourage thinking outside the box and have them come up with creative solutions.
Nathan continued to ramble about Antarctica and Europe. Technically the Archangels were supposed to be the guardians and their foot soldiers were the Angels on Earth, but the world had gotten so large, they’d added more Angels in the Third Sphere to help the Archangels and moved responsibilities around. Delegated. So, he spent the bulk of his time in the Realm lab and searched for cures to biological weapons and disease rather than among actual humans.
Nathan scrolled through his overview on Rafe’s area of responsibility, the health of the earth’s inhabitants. “There seems to be a certain dearth of spirit in the Americas. The financial markets continue to bounce like a pogo stick.” Nathan loved similes, especially ones that involved moving parts. “And I think that is contributing to the general malcontent. At this point, the situation might reverse itself but we should definitely keep an eye on the situation.”
The Americas reminded Rafe of Angelina. And her dreams. And the fact that he had not started her training.
“Europe feels out of balance.” Nathan paused, and stared out at the nebula that lit the angelic realm, his blond eyebrows curved downward in a frown. “I sense a disturbance but I can’t seem to find it.”
Rafe forced himself to focus on Nathan. “What kind of disturbance?”
“It seems to be isolated in the more rural areas. Just a flutter of unease, nothing specific.”
Rafe wanted to care. Instead his thoughts drifted back to Angelina. “Should we alert the Virtues?”
“I...don’t think so. I just haven’t encountered this before.” Nathan waved off his unease. “It’s probably nothing.”
But Rafe had to wonder. He hadn’t been paying attention lately. All of the Seven had their own staffs and assistants similar to Nathan. “Any other Archangels report anything out of the ordinary?”
“Good point, sir.” Nathan jotted a quick note in his state of the art PDA. “I’ll check with the other aides. Thank you.”
“Just keep me apprised.” But already his thoughts had returned to Angelina. Once he got started on her transition and he ascended, these problems would be someone else’s. His conscience pricked at him.
And then it started. A tingle began in Rafe’s toes. The mild burning spread upward through his limbs and torso, and heat poured into his heart and then his mind. He knew he should resist the temptation, the sheer fascination, but this contact filled him with a joy that had been missing for a very long time. Every time Angelina initiated contact with him in her dreams, their bond grew stronger and the desire to move beyond the boundaries and rules put in place centuries ago ballooned into a longing he couldn’t ignore or deny. And he had no idea what to do about it.
He knew this was wrong.
He could not have sexual congress with her, a human. Hadn’t the lessons of the Grigori and Nephilim been hammered into them all? If he continued on this path and the Virtues discovered his activity, he could forget about his ascension to the Second Sphere, because he would be fallen.
And yet, he couldn’t deny her.
Her sadness overwhelmed him. Instead of progressing with her training, he’d yet to speak a single word to her. The time was coming. He had to explain, had to begin her education. Once they began her transition, this erotic fantasy would have to stop. Right now, he skated the line but as soon as she was aware of who he was and her role in the Angelic Realm, all physical contact would be strictly forbidden.
He had avoided consummation of their relationship.
Fortunately, it was easy to do once he opened his eyes. The reality of his transgressions struck him with all the might and wrath of the Angelic Realm.
The tingle grew stronger.
“Uh, Nathan, we need to postpone the rest of your report.”
“Sir?”
“I’m being summoned.” And he disintegrated.
FIVE
She knew he would come. Almost as if she had conjured him.
“You’re here.” She sighed.
He looked magnificent. Tall and strong and sure. His shoulders were a place to rest her burden for a little while. His muscles were sleek, his skin hot as she trailed her fingertips from his heavily defined bicep and down to his hands. A smile curved her mouth and her eyelids drifted shut.
He was here. Her own personal stress buster and mood enhancer.
He clasped her hand with his, fingers strong and solid. His other hand cupped her face and his thumb caressed her cheek. His lips brushed hers, and pulled the tension and sadness from her as if he had inhaled the emotions and blown them away.
“Angelina,” he whispered, seductively, like a siren beckoning sailors to the shore.
She blinked. Wait a minute. He hadn’t ever spoken before. And she didn’t want conversation.
Angelina leaned into him, her nipples already aroused from his scent, a mix of herbs and flowers that triggered a rush of hormones. Her breasts brushed the wall of his pectorals as he skimmed his hand over her skin. Her nerves shivered in his wake.
As if she wished away her clothes, Angelina was naked.
She rubbed against him, and ran her free hand around to his hard sleek deltoids, then down to cup his ass. She undulated, and pushed her hips into his to seek relief from the building pressure.
The hard ridge of his erection brushed at her belly.
She swept a hand up his back, distracted at the suppleness of his skin, then slid her hand over his shoulder blades. No wings. Just muscle and bone. As the reality of the muscles in his back registered, she blinked at him in shock. “Your wings are gone.”
“They’re really just for show. It’s what humans expect,” he replied as he gazed at her. “We start out with wings and then as you come into acceptance, we get rid of them.”
Now they would skip straight to the part where he looked at her in horror. She braced for the rejection, and waited for the incredible sense of betrayal that followed his look of shame. Then his words registered. Come into acceptance? What was to accept?
And why did her subconscious pick now to have her dream man talk? She didn’t want talk. She wanted him to worship her.
Angelina’s head dropped back as she looked up at him. His pupils dilated as he held her gaze. Liquid, lost, on fire. She wanted him. She wanted to lick every inch of his body, explore him with her lips and teeth and tongue. Then start all over again.
He curled his arm around her, his palm hot and insistent on her butt. His forearm braced her body to stop her from melting into a puddle of arousal at his feet. As if she’d lost the ability to move, his erection pressed into the cradle between her hip bones.
He twisted her wrist and exposed the weird new sunspot. Or maybe it was an age spot. But, she wasn’t even forty yet.
Gaze still on hers, he brought her wrist to his mouth, and very, very gently, he pressed his lips to the mark. As if he were made of electricity, a current sparked from his mouth into her body. She could tell it wasn’t meant to be sexual. But the sensation was indescribable. Power rushed down her arm and flooded her body, fizzed through her blood, mushroomed into a storm, and sensitized her skin. Her womb
clenched. Her breasts swelled. Her whole body trembled on the brink of an incredible orgasm.
Every nerve ending was on fire, on the cusp of imploding and bringing her to her knees.
He frowned at her. Shadows hovered in his slate gray eyes. His face was implacable. No emotion. No horror. But no happiness either.
Their bodies touched, Angelina aroused and on the precipice of falling over that edge. But he never fell with her. Not once in the entire time they’d engaged in this dream had he fallen with her. And suddenly she was pissed.
“How come you never....” She waved her free hand at him.
His gaze shadowed and his face unsmiling, he pressed his erection against her clitoris, right on the sweet spot, and she was drowning. He moaned, low and deep, and the rumble vibrated through his chest and into her.
She shook with the force of her orgasm, coming down from the high with a sudden rush as she realized once again he had not come with her. “Why not?” she asked fiercely.
“It is forbidden.” And he disappeared.
SIX
Her almost ex-husband brought his girlfriend to their divorce hearing.
Angelina’s blood boiled. Thank goodness the kids weren’t with her. She waited for the rush of anguish and the crushing sense of failure that usually accompanied her contact with Gary. As Angelina studied them both, she realized that she really was over Gary. She may have failed her marriage. Likely, she’d failed because of a poor choice. The good news was that even if he wanted her back, she wasn’t interested. Time and distance had given her the perspective she needed.
The family courtroom, devoid of embellishment, was a stark reminder of what she desired. To simplify her life and focus on her children.
That was all she wanted. She didn’t need any more complications or distractions.
She glanced cursorily around then rested her gaze on Gary and his girlfriend. The sad fact was she had hired Candy, yeah that really was her name, the personal fitness trainer, as a Christmas present to help Gary get into shape and into better health. Candy had been excruciatingly thin and muscular, with fake boobs that Gary always said he hated. He started out as an overweight, doughnut-eating, scotch-swilling surgeon, but by the time Candy was done with him, he’d lost his love handles, his gut, and Angelina.
