Ink & Fire

by R. K. Ryals

  He drops his arm and slides it around my waist. “Preparation.”

  Silence.

  The embarrassment finally washes over me, thick and uncomfortable. “Oh, God.”

  Lucas’s arm tightens. “It’s only going to get worse. The stronger he becomes—the more energy he pulls—the weaker and sicker you’re going to be. I can’t stop him until he’s here. I can’t go where he is.”

  A solitary tear slips down my cheek. It’s all I care to give the being tormenting me. One tear packed full of fear and resentment.

  “I bet this makes me the first girl you’ve ever watched vomit blood,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. It comes off too soft to be funny.

  Lucas combs my hair with his fingers. “You’re the first girl who’s ever channeled a demon with a vendetta against me. You shouldn’t have been drawn into this. If I was able to enter where he is, you wouldn’t be his way of getting to me. You also wouldn’t be my way of reaching him.”

  Something in his voice catches me off guard. “Do I hear regret?”

  “Don’t push it,” he mumbles.

  I can’t help it; I laugh.

  Nausea slams into me again, out of nowhere, and the laughter ends on choking sobs.

  Lucas rushes to help. I heave over and over until there’s nothing left. Until I’m a crumpled mess of weakness. As limp as the washcloth.

  Blood and anguish.

  A burning pain replaces the nausea in my gut, and I cry out.

  Growling, Lucas stands, dragging me up with him. “Damn you, Levi.”

  Without bothering to ask, he tugs my shirt up and off. Drained, my head hangs, my gaze falling on fresh claw marks on my skin, deeper than the ones that had been there before. Blood drips from the wound, the liquid soaking into the band of my jeans.

  Lucas unbuttons my pants.

  “What are you doing?” I try struggling, but spots dance before my eyes.

  “Remember earlier when I suggested we have sex?” he asks while dragging my jeans down over my thighs. “Maybe you ought to have taken me up on the offer. Into the shower with you.” He leaves my bra and underwear on, but everything else goes.

  Near the bathroom’s entrance is a small stand-up shower. Lucas slides the beveled glass door open and steps inside, bringing me with him. The stall is barely big enough for one person, much less two, but this doesn’t deter him.

  “Hold on for me, Harper.” Resting my hand on the bar inside, he releases me, and with a swiftness that doesn’t help my lightheadedness, he sheds his clothes, chucks them outside, and slides the door shut.

  “What—?” He turns on the shower, and the initial blast of cold water tears a yelp out of me that drowns out any protests.

  Pulling me against him, all of him, Lucas slides his hands over my wound. “I can’t stop the nausea, but this I can fix.”

  Cool heat flares where he touches me. Blood mingles with water at our feet.

  The world spins away from me, making all of this seem surreal: his hands against my skin, the warming water pounding us, the blood, and the sensations pouring through me.

  Lucas slips his fingers into the sides of my panties, and when I don’t fight him, he slides them down before unsnapping my bra.

  His arms circle me, steam rising around us.

  I’m ashamed to admit my brain is too foggy and my body too weak to remember much about the shower. He washes me, gently stroking my skin while silently cursing the demon under his breath. He also makes promises to me. Promises to avenge everything Levi has done.

  Afterward, he enfolds me in a terry cloth towel, helps me brush my teeth, and carries me to the bed. I’m a limp doll with a sodden heart.

  The mattress dips when he sets me on it, and I clutch his bare arms. “Stay . . . please.”

  His blue eyes darken.

  Unlike me, he’s not wearing a towel. He’s comfortable in his nudity, comfortable with himself in a way most people can only hope to be, and I draw strength from that.

  He climbs into the bed in front of me, and I curl into his chest. His arm slides over my waist, my towel the only thing separating us.

  He’s warm, and even though he couldn’t stop my vomiting, he feels safe.

  Sudden tears leak down my cheeks, the ferocity of them frightening. Shaking me. These tears have nothing to do with the demon and everything to do with me. These tears are deeper. Personal.

  For the first time since I was a child, I let someone hold me. And he’s not only someone, he’s a stranger. A Stranger.

  Ever since my father left Havenwood Falls and I accidentally caused the death of the man in town, I have pushed people away. Even Aunt Eloise. For years, I stepped out of her hugs because anything longer than a brief touch was too much.

  “Let someone help you,” she had begged.

  I was scared of hurting people and of getting hurt.

  Sobs wrack my body. I cry for Eloise. I cry for my mother. I cry for my father. I cry for myself. Years of tears.

  Tipping my face up gently, Lucas studies my tear-stained eyes, and then kisses me, his lips closing over mine, his warm mouth catching my teardrops.

  Tender. Soothing. Fleeting.

  Gone as quick as it began.

  “Quit thinking,” he whispers. “Pain can be so deep that it’s hard to bring the people you’re too close to into that hurt. Sometimes it takes giving it to a stranger before you can open up to someone else.”

  “How—”

  “Just trust I know.”

  I stare at him through eyes swollen from tears and madness. “Do you have anyone you’re close to?”

  “A few.”

  “Someone you love?”

  “Friends.”

  I let the word sink in, and then, “Have you ever been in love?”

  “No.” The answer comes too fast.

  “You’re a high-ranking fallen angel, and you’re telling me after all of the years you’ve existed—”

  “An eternity.”

  I glare, but fatigue takes all of the bite out of it. “You could have kept the eternity part to yourself because now that just makes this,” I point from him to me, “weird.”

  He chuckles. “No, it makes me experienced.”

  “Not helping. Now I’m self-conscious.” My lips curl into a smile. “And you’re changing the subject. You can’t tell me that in an eternity you haven’t fallen in love at least once.”

  With his finger, Lucas traces a line from my forehead to my nose. “Three times,” he admits carefully. “Once before my fall. Two after. A mortal in the middle ages, a demon, and a witch.”

  “What happened?” I ask.

  His finger drops to my lips. “The mortal died. The witch and the demon fell in love with each other.”

  I stare, unable to speak.

  “And you, my little psychic?”

  My head shakes.

  “No one?”

  Taking his finger, I remove it from my lips. “It’s hard to do relationships when you have to limit yourself so much. No cell phones, no texting each other, no movie theaters, or restaurants with fancy-scripted menus.” Reaching out, I caress his face, surprising myself with my boldness. He leans into my touch, the gesture boosting my confidence. “I had crushes. I even tried the whole boyfriend thing, but,” my fingers run through the stubble on his face, fascinated with the roughness, “it didn’t work out.”

  “What about when you were in school?”

  I shrug, one bare shoulder rising. “I was kept separated. There are two high schools in Havenwood Falls: Havenwood Falls High and the Sun and Moon Academy. The latter is a private school for supernatural students who don’t or can’t fit into the public school system. Guess where I went?” My lips curl. “They tried teaching me to read and write. I learned, but not without consequences. It took everything the Court’s witches had to keep the evil things I kept channeling contained. So, they developed a new way to teach me. I listened to audio textbooks and took verbal tests. Each of the Court members
worked with me. Alone. I owe them so much.”

  Tears prick my eyes again. “This town . . . it’s everything to so many people. To me.” I inhale. “Saundra Beaumont and her granddaughter, Addie, helped teach me science by doing experiments with me. Addie’s a year older than me, and it helped that I wasn’t the only child. The shifters would let me join them in the woods, tracking and learning. What I couldn’t learn outside the classroom, they found other creative ways to teach me. There’s a coffee shop in town, Coffee Haven, owned by a fae, Willow Fairchild. She displays art from local artists in the shop, and she’d bring pieces to show me outside. All kinds. Oil. Water color. Photography. I fell in love with the photography. Then . . .” My words trailing off, I cover my eyes. “You need to tell me to shut up.”

  His hand cups my hip, and even through the towel, the touch burns. “Talk, Harper. Talk as much and as long and as big as you need to.”

  I drop my hands, my incredulous gaze finding his face. “Where did you come from?” He just doesn’t seem real.

  “From Hell,” he answers soberly. “From Hell and Heaven and everything in between. From myth and legend. From gods and goddesses. From the beginning of time until the end.”

  “Why does that sound sad?” I ask.

  “Because eternity is a very long time.”

  Now I know why this feels so good and hurts so much. We are both lonely strangers. To each other, and maybe even to ourselves.

  This time, I kiss him, my hands framing his face, my lips tentative. He opens for me, and our tongues slide together, the sensation sending a pool of heat to my core.

  His hand tightens on my hip, his fingers digging into the towel.

  My fingers slip into his hair, and suddenly I don’t care if I don’t know him. I don’t care if he isn’t human.

  He runs his hand up my side, his fingers brushing the edge of my breast, and I arch against him.

  “Harper,” he whispers.

  “Please,” I whisper back.

  He undoes the towel I’m wearing and replaces it with his skin. His mouth leaves mine, his lips leaving a trail of fire down my jaw, my neck, and my breasts.

  I close my eyes because the feel of him is so much better than anything I could have imagined. He doesn’t demand anything. He simply gives, and I wonder if it’s because I’m not experienced.

  What is happening with my life?

  This isn’t the way I saw any of my firsts.

  I certainly don’t hear any Van Morrison music.

  Instead, I feel everything. The hard length of him against my thigh. His hands sliding over parts of me I’ve never shared with anyone else. His mouth creating heat in places that make my face burn.

  Waves of pleasure so intense it’s almost painful.

  When his mouth returns to mine and he presses into me, I meet his thrust with my hips, my body tense because I expect pain.

  There isn’t any.

  Startled, I meet his gaze.

  Holding himself above me, his arms caging me in, he says, “Relax. This much I can do, too. You’ve endured enough pain.”

  The tension leaves my body, and he thrusts deeper, my body taking all of him.

  My legs wrap around his waist, my fingers digging into his shoulders.

  “Oh, God,” I breathe.

  Chuckling, he kisses the side of my neck, and then whispers, “Now let me show you what heaven feels like.”

  Chapter 8

  Lucas isn’t in the bed when I wake.

  I rise with the sun, my body sore, my mind so full of thoughts I don’t quite know where to put them all, and I’m glad he’s gone.

  Too much, too fast, I think.

  First house. First time having sex. First time having sex with an angel. First one-night stand. Vomiting blood. All within days, even hours and minutes, of each other, because I’m an over-achiever like that.

  I grab the pillow next to me, stuff my face into it, and scream. A good scream, not the bad kind. Unlike Aunt Eloise, I have no desire to take back my virginity.

  If anything, I want to thank Lucas. It might not have been what I imagined—sex with someone I’ve had at least three dates with or a guy I am head over heels in love with—but it was everything I needed. Right now. At this moment.

  Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I rush to my closet, quickly donning the usual skinny jeans and sweatshirt. Heavy coat. A knit cap. Solid colors. No words.

  My camera bag sits on the living room floor, and I sling it onto my shoulder.

  Everything outside looks and feels new. The snow on the ground, the white powder dusting the trees, the way the rising sun paints the sky a rainbow of blues, pinks, and purples. The way the air smells, crisp and tinged with smoke.

  Taking my camera out of my bag, I turn back to my cabin, focus the shot, and shoot a picture of the arched front door.

  “I’ve heard of people skipping out on one night stands, but never on me. I think I’m offended.”

  Smiling, I spin to find Lucas standing in the snow, his hands cradling two cups of coffee, and I know by the way he’s gripping one of them, he’s hiding a logo.

  “You went into town?” I ask.

  “More like blinked in and out. Here.” He hands me a plain white Styrofoam cup.

  The awkwardness of our situation slams into me like a high-speed train. “I don’t drink—”

  “It’s hot chocolate.”

  Accepting the cup with my free hand, I sniff the contents. “How did you know? I didn’t tell you . . .” My gaze swings to Lucas, then back to the cup, my eyebrows practically shooting to my hairline. “How did you know?”

  His silence is telling.

  I groan. “Oh, no . . . don’t tell me.”

  He smirks. “It’s an angel thing. Well, a Seraph thing, though a few other castes can do it as well. If it makes you feel better, I can’t really read your thoughts. I don’t know why. Maybe the demons? You’ve trained yourself to block out demons for so long, it’s like trying to break through an incredibly sophisticated security system. I only get small things from you. Things like the fear of touch. Hot chocolate.”

  He walks toward me, and he’s so brilliant surrounded by the snow and the sky, I rush to set my cup in the snow. From a crouch, I lift my camera.

  The click is loud in the still morning.

  “So, all those things I told you,” I ask, still crouching, “you didn’t see them in my head?”

  He crouches in front of me. “No, and it’s refreshing having to guess. Most people make it too easy.” Touching my camera, he raises his brows. “You know this won’t develop, right?”

  “The picture of you?” I’m unable to hide my disappointment. “Why?”

  “Seraph means fiery one. The only thing you’re going to get on that film is a walking blaze. Since I’m fallen, you’ll get a touch of blue fire in there, too.”

  Standing, I peer down at him. “You like being fallen, don’t you?”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “The way your eyes light up when you say it.”

  He stands, instantly towering over me. “It bothered me at first, but over the years I’ve learned to embrace it and what it means. Blurred lines exist for a reason. Some of the best warriors exist in the gray area.” Tapping his head as if it’s a treasure chest full of knowledge, he smiles. “Half your town’s Court among them. Besides,” his gaze slides over the snow-covered mountain, “I’ve been fortunate enough to fight alongside beings and people I would not have fought with if I was still a Risen.” His eyes find mine. “And the ones I fought alongside were in the right. Not all demons are bad. Not all angels are good. Not all people are innocent.”

  Fierce passion makes his eyes glow, lightening them until they are almost colorless, and I suddenly understand why he’s a fiery one.

  Stooping, he picks up my hot cocoa. “Come on, I’ve got you a present, and if you’re in the mood to take pictures, it’s the perfect place for it.”

  He saunters away
.

  I rush to catch up with him, camera in hand. “There isn’t a place on Mt. Souza, or any mountains around Havenwood Falls for that matter, I don’t know.”

  “Oh, it’s not a part of the mountain. It’s more of a thing.”

  We march through the snow, hitting a trail just behind the cabin. My boots leave deep prints in the white powder. His boots leave no marks whatsoever.

  “Another Seraph thing?” I ask, indicating the snow. “Just what all can you do? Other than healing demonic wounds, vanishing, and reading thoughts.”

  Lucas glances at the ground. “A lot.” When he lifts his head, his eyes are shuttered. “Too much.” The tone of his voice tells me everything I need to know. Despite his arrogance, Lucas is not a flashy angel.

  Reaching the top of an incline, he turns and offers me his hand. Even though it isn’t steep, I accept his help.

  A shallow hollow spreads out before us, mountain slopes rising on three sides, majestic and full of power. A cold, pine-scented wind reddens my cheeks before whistling into the valley.

  Nature sings.

  “One of my favorite places,” I breathe, lifting my camera.

  “Not yet,” Lucas says, stopping me. He gazes out over the space, and then points. “There.”

  From the edge of the valley, something lopes toward us, a dark blur on snow. “What is that?”

  “A favor.” He grins. “From a friend.”

  I edge toward the angel, unease trickling down my spine. “Is that . . . oh.”

  From the snow, a lion approaches us, his face surrounded by a magnificent fiery mane, his eyes narrowed. Wings protrude from his back, the appendages large enough to envelop him. The closer he draws to us, the more magnificent he becomes.

  I blink, and he’s in front of me.

  Words fail me.

  Resting on his haunches in the snow, the lion studies me. Like Lucas, he leaves no tracks in the snow. I am tiny compared to him. Strangely, he doesn’t dwarf Lucas at all.

  “Meet the Destroyer,” Lucas introduces.

  “Destroyer?” I whisper, awed. I have met too many supernatural beings in my life to be cowed, but impressed . . . oh, I am most certainly impressed.

  Lucas pats the beast on the shoulder. “Or Desi for short.”