Surrender the Dark

by L. A. Banks

  “Would you like me to turn the mirror to the wall?” he asked in a quiet voice, remembering her fears.

  “No, it’s okay . . . as long as you’re in here with me I’m not afraid.”

  It was a great compliment she’d given him, one of many, and he allowed her soft response to flow through him as he closed the door and sat down on the chair against it.

  He watched her remove her sneakers and then do something strange. She stepped into the tub and closed the shower curtain around her.

  For a moment he wished that the lights had been off so that he could enjoy her moonlit silhouette through the curtain, then he sanctioned himself. He forced his gaze to study the pattern in the cement at his feet as she began dropping clothes outside the dry tub onto the floor.

  “Is it hard?” she asked, breaking him out of his floor-staring trance.

  “No, not anymore. But . . . that’s a very personal question, Celeste.”

  She laughed and turned on the water. “Shooting an automatic. I’m asking if it’s very hard to handle a weapon that size and if it has a lot of kick to it, because you’re stronger than me.”

  “Oh.” He studied the gun in his hands, feeling foolish. “I don’t suppose . . . we’d have to actually go somewhere to try it where no one could get hurt.”

  Making his humiliation worse, the sound of the shower plus all the liquid he’d consumed was taking a toll on his bladder.

  She peeked her head out of the shower for a second and peered around the edge of the curtain. “I am so not trying to be funny, but I left everything halfway across the room. It’s not like my old apartment, where the space was so tight that you could reach everything from the tub.”

  “No problem,” he said quietly, and set the gun down on the floor. But the moment he stood, his eyes practically crossed. “What should I bring you?”

  “Just the soap, shampoo, and conditioner,” she replied, holding the curtain to shield her body.

  Trying to keep his line of vision on the washstand and not glimpse her from the corner of his eye, he walked with his head up and shoulders back, summoning discipline. But for the first time in his existence, he was finding it lacking. It took everything within him not to linger near the small opening in the curtain as he handed her the items she’d requested. His imagination roared to life, awakening his body along with it. Now he had a twofold problem to contend with, and he turned away and stared at the gun on the floor.

  “Celeste . . . may I leave you for just a few moments to go into another bathroom?”

  “No!” she said, yanking the curtain around to poke her face out again. “Like, can’t you just go in here . . . and I mean, if it’s real serious—you know what I mean—I can jump out and stand right outside the door and—”

  “The beer and Jack Daniel’s shot with the sound of the water...” He squeezed his eyes closed. “I’m just getting used to the tolerances of a body, but—”

  “Is that all? Well, if you’ve gotta pee, do it, I won’t hear you over the water—just don’t leave me. Every scary movie has this kind of bull in it.”

  “Thank you,” he said in a rush, hurrying over to the toilet and getting his zipper down as fast as he could. After figuring out how to angle his erection so that he’d hit his target and not the wall, the sense of relief that coursed through him as he unburdened his bladder made him close his eyes and let out a sigh.

  Remembering what he’d learned along the way, he zipped up, then studied the new type of commode for a moment, saw the handle, and flushed.

  Immediately, Celeste screamed and jumped back from the water. He had the gun in his hand within seconds and yanked her out of the spray with his left arm, barrel pointed at the drain.

  “You flushed,” she said, sputtering and wiping soap out of her eyes.

  “Yes, but did that send the demon up through the tub pipes?”

  “Huh?”

  He set her down, naked and dripping on the floor. “Why did you scream?”

  “Because the water went hot when you flushed the toilet.” Then she smiled, now wrapping herself in an edge of the shower curtain.

  He walked away from her and placed the gun on the floor by the chair again and gave her his back. “Before you return to the shower, then, since the water systems are connected, may I wash my hands?”

  “Yeah,” she said with amusement in her tone. “No problem.”

  He quickly washed his hands using the pump bottle of soap on the sink, then seeing no towel except hers, he simply shook them dry. “I apologize for interrupting your shower.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, her voice still holding mirth. “At least I know you’re right on top of anything that coulda busted in here.”

  “I assure you that if anything tries to harm you, Celeste, it will not want to encounter me.”

  She didn’t respond and he was glad that she hadn’t. The sight of her body soap-slicked and naked combined with the sound of her scream of peril adding to the adrenaline rush to kill whatever had attacked her was an extreme confluence impossible to process. He needed a few moments to recalibrate his mind and to throttle his passion. The desire to join with her was overwhelming now, yet he’d made a vow to himself not to view her that way. The best alternative that immediately came to mind was to keep his eyes on the floor and to will away the pulsing throb that consumed him.

  Soon the scent of the shampoo and soap he’d brought her perfumed the air. The female of the species smelled so different and used wondrously fragrant potions that easily melted a man’s resolve. The sound of water pelting her wet body finally made him break his promise to himself not to look at the curtain.

  Even with the bathroom light on, he could see a faint outline of her nude body as she leaned back and allowed the shower spray to rinse through her hair. The sight of her slow, languid motions stole the last of his peace and became a dull ache in his groin.

  When the water stopped, he almost stood, then thought better of it. But she peered out from the curtain again, sending an aromatic burst of fragrance in his direction.

  “Can I bother you one more time to toss me my towel and my nightgown?”

  “Sure.” His voice sounded a little deeper than he’d expected. He made quick work of the task and watched her reach up inside the curtain to hang her gown on the outside of it so that it wouldn’t get wet.

  Everything within him told him to back away from the curtain, but for a few moments he was riveted to where he stood as she dried herself off. When she opened the curtain again, this time only a graceful hand came out holding the towel.

  “Thanks so much.”

  “You’re welcome.” He accepted the towel and laid it against the porcelain washbowl, watching the nightgown slide up and over the top of the shower curtain.

  This time he could not turn away and watched her faint silhouette as she sheathed herself in the lacy silk fabric. When the shower curtain opened, he stopped breathing. The sight of her wearing the gown replaced anything his imagination could have conceived. Human language failed him.

  “You’ll feel better after you have one of these,” she said with a shy smile.

  It took him a moment to process the words she’d spoken or to move out of her way.

  “The floor is hard and dirty . . . your feet look so soft,” he said, standing in front of the tub, blocking her exit from it. “I don’t mind lifting you and setting you down on a clean surface in the next room.”

  She smiled. “If it’s all right with you, can I just stay here like you did and sit in the chair?”

  He nodded, then looked at the sweat and demon splatter that covered his chest and pants. “Wait,” he said, grabbing her used towel and laying it on the floor, then creating a path to the chair with her clothes. He gathered up her lotion and toothpaste and brought it to the sink, then returned to her to offer her his hand to help her out of the tub.

  “You are so...just, I don’t have a word for what you are, Azrael.” She placed her hand in his and wa
lked along the path he’d created. “I’d say heaven-sent, just as a phrase before . . . but you really are. This is still so hard to comprehend.”

  Azrael nodded, understanding, yet she didn’t realize how much she looked like an angel to him. The white gown had stolen reason from his mind and words from his lips. All she needed was a pair of wings, and yet it was only because of her that he once again had his.

  He watched her go to the sink to brush her teeth and couldn’t tear his gaze away as she bent and cupped her slender hand beneath a stream of cool water from the faucet. The gown whispered across her buttocks, allowing him to appreciate the form of her thighs, which tapered into her shapely calves.

  “I promise I won’t look,” she said in a cheery tone, which made him finally gather his wits and turn away from her.

  “I trust you, Celeste,” he said quietly, kicking off his dirty shoes and stripping off his pants.

  “I don’t know,” she said, laughing. “We humans can be very unreliable . . . and we are prone to mischief.”

  She glanced over her shoulder just as he stood. Turning away quickly, she bent to the sink and splashed cold water on her face. She’d seen his back . . . but mercy claim her, seeing the entire package was like a vision from the stone-carved Greek pantheon.

  Waiting until she heard the curtain move and the shower go on, she stood up slowly and air-dried her face with her hands. His back was a work of art . . . but his ass was majesty in form and function. A deep gully at the base of his spine had given rise to tight, unblemished lobes of flesh. Thick thighs corded with sinew tapered down into developed calves. She shook her head as she grabbed the lotion and tiptoed her way to the chair to sit down.

  The only way she knew of to break the tension was to come up with topics of conversation. Celeste opened the lotion and began applying it to her legs and feet, working feverishly to apply the cream to her semidamp skin but also to distract her wandering mind.

  “Have you noticed that the guys seem to have collected things from different eras and just put it all together in here—it’s kinda cool and funky, but what’s really great is that they’ve lived through it, too, you know? It’s not like they were just going to thrift stores to affect a look.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She stared at the curtain for a moment, envisioning what he looked like with soap running down his sexy chest and abs.

  “And it must be really hard to just keep your spirits up when you see all this tragedy and drama every day. I really give them a lot of credit.”

  “As do I.”

  Celeste began applying cream to her elbows. “So, like, you guys are elite battalions of angels . . . and you fought together before?”

  This time he turned and looked at her, standing so tall that he could see over the curtain. “Yes, it was a glorious battle time indeed. Those of us who came into the density during the first war retained our wings. We fought without rest, night and day, beating back the forces of darkness. Michael, our general, was at the fore, swinging a blade of pure Light and taking demon heads. Some of us were called back to fight another day . . . some of us got trapped when the gate closed. But we all remember that time and we wait for its return.”

  His gaze held hers captive for a few moments before he turned away again. “For many years I didn’t understand the angels in the lower choirs, the ones who came through as peacekeeping forces . . . those who cleaned up the aftermath of raging battles that caused natural disasters in the cosmos. In my tier, we warred. Maybe that has been part of our lesson . . . to connect with an individual human and to care deeply about the outcome.”

  “I think you’re too hard on yourself,” she said softly. “I think you’d make a perfect guardian angel—and I sorta like the fact that you can really kick ass. Sometimes that’s what’s required, you know?”

  He turned his head and glimpsed her from over his shoulder, lathering his body before turning back into the spray. “You truly think so, Celeste?”

  “I do . . . and I heard you guys talking about blades of death. Wish you had those now, given what’s after us. A Glock nine seems a little anticlimactic.”

  He turned to peer over the top of the curtain again and then closed his eyes, appearing lost in a memory that she wished she could see.

  “Oh, Celeste . . . they were twin battle-axes with double-blade heads, one for each hand, fired by the sun . . . silver alloy, Heaven-steel blades, with custom gold handles inscribed with Divine writ. If a member of the fallen even touched them, the writ alone was enough to cause combustion. Much more effective than human conventional weapons, you are right. But I should not dwell on what is no more.”

  “They brought you joy, so why not remember them with joy?”

  He opened his eyes and stared at her. “Celeste, you always seem to find a way to make room for Light, even when by all accounts you have had reason to look at things darkly.”

  “Oh, believe me, I’ve done my share of the cup-is-half-empty-routine . . . but it serves no purpose. Just makes you feel worse. So, if a small, little thing makes me happy and it doesn’t hurt anyone else, then I try to enjoy it—even if it’s just thinking about it.”

  “Wise again,” he said.

  “No, just observant.” She smiled when he smiled. “How happy were you when you found out you had wings again?”

  “Oh!” he exclaimed, turning around in the water. “I was—I was . . . just...”

  “On cloud nine?”

  “Yes! Exactly!”

  She laughed, but not at him, just sharing his contagious joy and enthusiasm. “Then why don’t you open them out and wash them and use them and enjoy them when regular people aren’t looking?” She stood and lobbied her point, gesturing with her hands. “Az, you were magnificent out there! I have never in all my life seen anything like that—or even imagined anything so spectacular. And you have them hidden in your shoulders? Why? If I had all this space, which is why the brothers probably decided to move in here, man, I’d be playing table tennis from the air . . . I’d be dribbling a basketball and doing slam-dunk shots like highlights from the NBA!”

  He laughed hard and soon she could see iridescent light painting the curtain from the inside. “They’re not supposed to be used for games.”

  “Who said? Is there a rule? Because I’m definitely not challenging the Big Source on anything anymore. But just curious.”

  She watched him pause and then peer at her over the top of the curtain again.

  “I don’t think there is a rule.”

  “Then open ’em up since you just got ’em back and wash the gook off of them.”

  That made him laugh hard and he shook his head. “Demon splatter doesn’t stick to our wings.”

  “Really . . . wow. Okay . . . well, just do it because you wanna get ’em wet—whatever. Does everything always have to be logical? Can’t it just be because you felt like it?”

  Again he laughed. “Would you please throw me a towel, Celeste—the water is getting cold.”

  “Sure.” She dashed into the other room and returned in a few moments with a clean one. “But you’re changing the subject and you know it.”

  “You weren’t afraid,” he said, turning off the water as she met him at the curtain. The mirth had gone out of his tone and his gaze was tender.

  She paused and handed him the towel slowly. “No . . . I wasn’t.”

  “Why?” He continued to stare at her through the slit in the curtain.

  “Because you made me laugh and gave me joy and I forgot for a few seconds about all the terrible things after me or in the world.”

  Her statement seemed to slow his motions and he wrapped the towel around his waist, then pulled back the curtain to stare at her fully now. “Joy is powerful, too. It is a subset of love.”

  She nodded and moved back so he could step on her wet towel on the floor.

  “And in my joy I allowed your feet to get dirty,” he said in a quiet rush.

  “It’s all right,” she
said just above a whisper.

  “No, it’s not . . . and there is a very old tradition that I would like to observe.”

  She didn’t move and didn’t speak, just kept her gaze connected to his until he closed his eyes and took a deep breath and unfurled his magnificent wings before her.

  They were so different now that he was not in battle, and his eyes were so gentle, that she wanted to touch his face. Soft, pristine white plumage framed his dark mahogany skin, and the towel slung down low on his hips made a disorienting combination. He didn’t say a word as he came to her and lifted her up and slowly walked her into the bedroom, setting her down on the edge of the half-made bed.

  She watched him as he withdrew and went back into the bathroom to collect the porcelain washbowl, then filled it with warm water and soap, returning to kneel before her and place her feet one by one into the warm suds. Taking up a foot, he gently massaged it, using his wide palm to cup water in his hand and trickle it over the foot he held.

  “We were told to kneel at the feet of our human beings . . . to love them and care for them and cherish them for their complexity and the joy within them...and for the love they bring to the planet.” His gaze captured hers as he took up her other foot. “Celeste, I am at your service . . . for all of eternity. I wash your feet. You have brought love to the planet and into my heart, along with indescribable joy. I am yours.”

  Unable to stop herself she reached out and traced his lush mouth with a forefinger. He was so painfully beautiful inside and out that it brought tears to her eyes.

  “Have I upset you?” he murmured, cupping her cheek with a damp palm.

  She shook her head. “I’m just so overwhelmed by what I feel for you and it’s only been so short a time.”

  “Human time is something that I do not yet fully understand. All that I am sure of is that you bring joy and love and hope and fear and passion together inside me, all at once in an amazing rush, and I do not know what to do with the intensity of it all.”