Edge of Heaven

by Rhiannon Leith

  Her only hope is to reach for heaven—and hang on to hell.

  Lily’s psychic “gift” for hearing the dead and helping them pass over into the afterlife has left her friendless and broken, teetering on the edge of sanity. Not much of a challenge for Sammael, a demon who’s been sent to seduce her soul for hell.

  But something stands between Sam and his prize. Micah, the guardian angel whose constant support keeps Lily sane. Yet Sam senses that Micah’s feelings for his charge are less than angelic.

  Excellent. It’ll be his pleasure to tempt them both into pure sin.

  As Lily succumbs to unearthly pleasure, she finds herself caught between the demon who sets her on fire and the angel who lifts her to unimagined heights of ecstasy. It’s a choice she can’t bring herself to make.

  Then a serial killer with preternatural abilities makes Lily his next target. Danger mounts as he repeatedly outfoxes even heaven and hell. To protect her, an angel must fall, a demon must be redeemed—and Lily must travel to hell and back for the men she loves.

  Warning: Contains steamy sex, bondage, voyeurism, and a ménage a trois between a tormented angel, a devilishly sexy demon and a woman who can’t choose between them. And why should she?

  eBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  Edge of Heaven

  Copyright © 2010 by Rhiannon Leith

  ISBN: 9789-1-60928-059-8

  Edited by Deborah Nemeth

  Cover by Natalie Winters

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: June 2010

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  Edge of Heaven

  Rhiannon Leith

  Dedication

  For “himself”.

  With thanks to the usual suspects, Crystal, Elaina, Rowan and Mima.

  And super-editor, Deb.

  Chapter One

  Sammael kept his eyes trained on the uneven stone floor and tried not to listen to the pleas coming from the woman currently entertaining their master. It didn’t do to interrupt him, no matter what the circumstances. Eons had been spent in torment for lesser transgressions, and Sammael had no wish to join those who had earned the displeasure of the Nameless.

  Her begging faded away to inarticulate cries, part pain, and part pleasure, each one degrading. Sammael closed his eyes but it didn’t help. He felt himself harden at the thought of her. Lara, that was her name. She had been beautiful when she entered, afraid, desperate, but very beautiful. The scent of her fear still lingered, tantalisingly sharp. She had walked right by him and he could still smell it, hovering on the air like a trail of smoke. Who knew how she would emerge, if she was released at all?

  Abruptly the sounds stopped. Still Sammael waited until his name was called. Only then, his head still carefully bowed, did he approach the dais on which sat the throne of Hell.

  The Nameless lounged back, his immortal gaze distant and cold. At his booted feet, the woman lay very still. Rumour had it that when she lived, she had been a light, one of those rare and evolved souls who could make a difference to the lives of others. Until her guardian angel spoke of the forbidden and upset the balance. The demon Asmodeus had stepped right in to secure her fall. Sammael would have felt pity for her, but she had brought it on herself. She had made her own choices. They all had.

  “Sammael,” said the Nameless, his voice a whip-crack that snapped Sammael’s attention back to him and him alone. A thin and knowing smile graced his luscious mouth with a curve. They had all been angels once. But only he had been the Morningstar.

  His eyes were hazel. Always unexpected, that. Sammael had never become accustomed to seeing the eyes of the Nameless, the face that spawned all evil. Part of him wondered where the Nameless had picked them up. But somehow they belonged in that face. That was the hardest part of all, to see such human eyes in the face of the inhuman, to face that, and bow his head.

  “You seemed to enjoy Lara’s little display.” The smile broadened as his gaze trailed down Sammael’s front to the erection visible through the tight fabric of his pants.

  “Master?” Sometimes it was best to be vague and subservient.

  “Do you want her? She’s yours.”

  Lara lifted her head, her mouth slack with fear, her beauty all but drained away by whatever he had put her through.

  “You’re generous, Master,” said Sammael carefully, “but I don’t think she wants me.”

  The Nameless laughed, throwing back his head. “What she wants is irrelevant. Just take her. I’ll have someone hold her for you if you cannot manage it yourself.”

  Rape had never appealed to Sammael. It was crude, lacking in skill and finesse. He didn’t need to force himself upon anyone. Besides, why would he take someone against their will, when the delight was in seeing them succumb, to hear them beg for more? The Nameless knew this, of course. It was Sammael’s special talent, and the reason Hell kept him as a pet.

  Sammael was about to try another excuse, but Lara got in before him. “Please, Master, don’t cast me aside. Not yet. There is more I can do for you. I swear I will please you. I swear.” She crawled to her knees before him, nestling between his thighs, fawning like a bitch. Her hands trailed up towards the God Knife, the blade whose forging caused the Fall, but she skirted around its edge. They all knew never to touch it. Even a god would die from that knife’s kiss. That had been its express purpose when it was made, to kill the Creator and put the being now known as the Nameless in His place.

  The Nameless reached down and tangled his fingers in the lengths of Lara’s golden hair. He jerked her head back so he could look in her face, and whatever he saw there made him relax his grip just enough so she could lower her head. Her shoulders shook, and though no noise came, Sammael felt certain she was weeping.

  One damned soul was the least of his worries. The attention of the Nameless had returned to him, and under that kind of scrutiny he didn’t dare blink.

  “There’s a new light that needs putting out, Sammael. I think you’re just the man to do it. Here.”

  The Nameless stretched out his free hand and the necessary information slammed right into Sammael’s head like a full-blown migraine. The force with which the Nameless delivered it nearly sent Sammael sprawling onto the slick stone floor. He kept his footing, barely, but staggered back a step or two. The soles of his boots skidded before they found purchase. Blood on the floor again. There was always blood here. There was always death.

  And there too, it seemed, in the mind of the woman he saw now, his intended victim. His prey. The light in her was dwindling, her hope going out. Fear as strong as Lara’s, and just as intoxicating to a demon. It surrounded her. And with it went despair.

  He tried to see her face but couldn’t. It didn’t matter. Not really. He would seduce her, and he would lead her down the paths so she would damn herself, but he preferred it when they were beautiful. No matter though. Vulnerable was almost as good.

  “You know what to do,” the Nameless said, his gaze straying from Sammael, back down to Lara. The woman began to shudder, her skin shiverin
g. “You may depart as soon as you are ready.”

  He pulled Lara’s head to his crotch and Sammael heard a choking sound as she took his cock fully down her throat. The Nameless tightened his grip on her hair again, moving her head as if she was nothing but a tool. Which she was. She just didn’t know it yet. As Sammael turned to go, he heard the Nameless speak again, calling forth Asmodeus, and despite the best of Lara’s efforts, his voice was perfectly calm. Soon enough he would cast her aside once more and let whichever of his legions had pleased him for that moment have her. Each and every one of them. Then he’d take her back and do it all again. She couldn’t escape it. No one could.

  It was worse when the voices came unexpectedly, out of a quiet afternoon, when Lily was doing nothing more than reading or listening to music. When she wasn’t expecting it, relaxed and at peace, completely unaware that such harmony was about to be snatched away from her.

  “Do you know where I am?”

  It was a young voice, a man, hardly more than a boy. He sounded so scared, so alone.

  “Can you hear me? I know you can hear me! Help me, please help me.”

  A woman, older, but not by much. Lost, terribly afraid and bewildered.

  “Where am I? What’s going on? There was a crash, and it hurt and then… Oh God, am I dead?”

  The third voice chilled her, carrying the weight of years and dreadful deeds.

  Lily’s shaking hands folded into fists, her nails digging into her palms, a prickling of sweat standing out on her cold skin. Why couldn’t they just come one at a time anymore? She forced a steadying breath into her aching lungs.

  “It’s all right,” Micah said, his voice clear as a bell, cutting through the confused babble. “I’m here. Just take it one at a time.”

  The smell of cinnamon swirled around her and for a moment she thought she felt a hand close on her shoulder, like a dream, or a memory. So vivid, but not real. She was remarkably good at discerning real from unreal. Or at least she had been.

  But having him with her was the comfort it always had been. All her life.

  One at a time. Right. One by one.

  One.

  “Where am I? C’mon, this isn’t happening! Help me. I know you can help me.”

  “Listen to me. You need to step into the light.”

  “A light? What the hell are you—”

  The voice—young, male, brassy—paused and Lily heard the relief flooding the next words.

  “Oh God, I see it. Oh God.”

  And he was gone. One down, and the knot of tension inside her loosened just a little. Next.

  The sound of sobbing filled her mind. Despair stretched its clammy fingers into her brain.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “Really, just find the light. Go into the light.” Moments ticked by and the voice stilled to silence. Lily waited, rocking forward and backwards.

  “I see my family.”

  There was no hesitation. The spirit rushed on its course.

  One remained. She reached for him, only to find a shadow, a slick of tar in spirit form. Her mind and soul recoiled, repulsed by what she found.

  “You have to help him,” Micah insisted.

  “But he’s…” She couldn’t say evil, but it was true. This was a stained and miserable soul. He’d done dreadful things. He was terrified, not of death, but of what came afterwards.

  “Am I dead? Talk to me, you bitch.”

  She shrank back, wrapping her arms around her body, curling in on herself as his presence assaulted her mind.

  The floor shook and the lights in the living room flared, bulbs popping in unison. The room plunged into darkness and from the next apartment the alarm started up, an insistent whine as painful as the spirit battering against her.

  “Micah, I can’t do this. I can’t.”

  “You can, my bright one. Just keep calm and bid him depart. If he will not pass to the light, send him—”

  With an almighty crash, the coffee table before her was tossed aside like a child’s toy. Lily screamed and her heart jerked up in alarm. Bile burned the back of her throat.

  “Get out,” she yelled, her voice thin and sharp with terror. “Get away from me. If you won’t go to the light then you can go to Hell and be damned. Those are your only choices now. You have no place here. Not anymore. You’re dead, you hear me? Dead!”

  Abruptly, the assault on her stopped and the room around her fell silent.

  The strength drained from her, leaving her like a wrung-out dishcloth. She slumped onto the sofa again, still clinging to herself.

  “That’s it, my bright one,” came Micah’s soothing voice. “There, there, rest now.”

  If she closed her eyes she could feel his fingertips smooth back her sweat-drenched hair from her forehead. But closing her eyes meant succumbing to sleep and, exhausted though she was, her dreams brought only nightmares.

  “It’s not fair, Micah.” She stared at the ceiling. It blurred in and out of focus, and lights danced before her. “Are you here?”

  His hand stroked her neck, strong and gentle fingers.

  “If only you were real.”

  “I am real,” he assured her. “And I’m here for you. Always.”

  “I wish you could show yourself to me. I wish…”

  His sigh broke over her like a wave, regret and pain combined, more weight than she had ever heard from him before.

  “So do I. But it’s impossible. Rest now, my bright one.”

  “I don’t feel bright, Micah. I feel—”

  “Sleep, Lily. Sleep and let your body and mind replenish themselves.”

  She tried to obey. Her heavy eyelids slid closed and her breathing relaxed. It only took a moment. His touch lingered, stirring the sensitive hairs at the back of her neck, almost as if he were lying by her side, breathing with her. The hand strayed lower, insubstantial and yet perfectly real, a sensual touch that was at the same time comforting. Her spirit guide, her beloved companion, her friend.

  If only he existed in more than her addled mind. Twenty years of his voice, keeping her back from the brink, calming her and soothing her fears, she needed him as surely as she needed air. Ever since she was a teenager, Micah had been with her.

  “I wish you were real,” she repeated, exhaustion muffling the words.

  “I am.” His breath played on the skin of her ear. If she turned, her lips would meet his, if he were real. If he weren’t a figment of her fevered imagination.

  She moved, rolling on the sofa, her mouth opening to greet his lips. He drew in a breath—an illusion, she assured herself. He didn’t breathe. He wasn’t alive. Not anymore. If ever. His hand closed around her shoulder, tightened, and she held her breath, waiting, praying that his lips would brush against hers.

  Half dazed, she tried to lift herself but the dream washed over her. This was a dream, wasn’t it? Or a vision. She knew them, knew the difference. But right now she didn’t care. She wanted it to be the future she was seeing and not some fantasy. Right now she wanted—

  A fist thundered against the door of her apartment and Lily started, tumbling off the sofa and landing heavily on the floor.

  “Lily?” The building superintendent yelled from the other side of the door. “Lily, are you okay?”

  She scrambled to her feet, picking her way through the jumble of books and papers, piled up and abandoned newspaper clippings, printouts and journals. Her shin glanced off one pile, sending it skittering across the carpet in an avalanche. She stumbled, but caught herself.

  “I’m okay,” she called, tripping forward and catching herself just as she fell against the door. She fumbled with the chain and jerked the door open. Cassini’s reddened face peered in at her, more concerned than angry, but both emotions were there. She smiled, but when he didn’t return the expression, her face fell. “Again?”

  Cassini nodded slowly. “Every fuse in the building, bella.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know. You’re okay though?”
<
br />   “Yes. Fine.”

  He turned slightly and behind him she could see Mr. Hopkins, her only neighbour on this floor. Middle aged and grey, of hair, clothes and manner, he wrung his hands in front of him, gazing at her with concern.

  “See, Mr. Hopkins. She’s fine,” said Cassini, a little too heartily. “Not a thing to worry about here.”

  “Well,” Hopkins muttered, shuffling from one foot to the other as if reluctant to withdraw. “If you’re sure, Lily. I’m right next door, you know?”

  She tried to smile. He meant well, she knew that, and he’d been here longer than anyone could remember, even Cassini. He took care of things in a proprietary manner, and sometimes that included the tenants.

  Cassini waved at him cheerfully until his door shut, then rolled his eyes before giving Lily a conspiratorial wink.

  “Listen, can you try to keep it down tomorrow? I’m showing the next-door apartment. I don’t need no weird while I’m with prospective tenants.”

  Damn, she was lucky to live here. Lucky in so many ways. “I know. I’ll-I’ll do everything I can.”

  “Can’t ask no more than that.” He patted the door. “You take care now, honey. Get some rest. Say hello to my mama, will you? Tell her we still miss her.”

  “When I see her, I will. Thanks.”

  Lily closed the door as he walked away, twirling his screwdriver between his fingers. She pressed her forehead against the wood and tried to breathe calmly.

  This couldn’t go on. This simply couldn’t go on.

  Micah hated it when Lily left her little apartment. The city streets were not her friend—too many dead voices, too many lost souls. It was worse when she was between contracts, like now, and had nothing to distract her. Sometimes the need to just get out of the apartment would strike her forcibly and she had no choice but to obey. He understood that. Fear, that was the problem. She was afraid of staying inside all the time, afraid of losing her mind if she did, afraid of being locked away, alone.