Devil's Paw (Imp Book 4)

by Debra Dunbar

  Hush. I won’t make you if you’re not ready.

  He rubbed against me, gently smoothing my new scars and shielding me from my surroundings. Feeling safe again, I opened my senses. I was gathered against him, joined in a strange combination of ecstasy and comfort. He felt like home — warm, powerful, and safe. I had a longing to join with him all the way, to swirl our spirit selves and make him part of me, but I was curious about the flame we shared. It wasn’t truly fire. It was some kind of strange energy source I’d never seen before.

  What are you? I asked.

  An angel, he teased. What are you?

  Your Cockroach.

  It just came out of me, an involuntary response. The derogatory name he’d always called me had turned into a strange endearment, and I’d just formalized it, honoring him by making it part of my official name. Not only that, but I’d made it clear this was a private name. Only he could call me this, only he would know this name and its significance. I was his Cockroach.

  I felt his surprise, and an explosion of emotion, like water bursting free from a dam. It was overwhelming, sweeping over me with its intensity. The humans always saw angels as a loving, happy bunch, dedicated to singing praises about the benevolence of their deity. Not the angels I’d met, and especially not Gregory. He always appeared to be serious, grim. He rarely laughed, and in the ten months I’d known him, he’d never seemed happy, but suddenly he was. He was more than happy.

  He curled himself even closer to me, increasing the sections where we were joined, and stirring up all sorts of sensations. My thoughts blurred, all thought of the forest fire vanishing along with my fear of death. I relaxed and enjoyed the feel of him in and around me.

  Give me magnesium, chlorine, oxygen, sulfur and carbon.

  Huh? I shifted against him in confusion, and felt him brush against my store of raw energy.

  Create it, and let me share it.

  That was a new one. He’d asked me to create things before in what had become our private lesson time, but never when we were semi–joined like this.

  How do you want them? And how much? This was important. Chlorine wasn’t the most stable atom in the periodic table. This I knew from personal experience.

  I felt him wince, as if he’d shared my rather explosive memory. Four oxygen on one chlorine. The others standalone. A few ounces. I can dispose of any unused.

  Safe in his embrace, I used my raw energy to create a few ounces of each, carefully combining the chlorine atoms with the oxygen ones.

  Without a physical form to hold it, I expected the chemicals to just drop to the forest floor, which, given the fire around us, would have been a rather violent disaster, but the angel held it aloft. His flame changed, and suddenly the lot ignited, in a sizzling ball. He launched it, and it exploded just above the tree line, sending fireworks of silver–white to the sky in a burst of light and color bright enough to penetrate the thick, dark smoke. I knew he watched for my reaction, and I felt his pleasure in my delight at his trick.

  Calcium chloride this time instead of the magnesium.

  How are you doing this without black powder? How are you propelling the stars? I’d explored human–made fireworks before. They were a dual–stage explosive, with initial propulsion, then a secondary, hotter ignition of chemicals. Magnesium had given his light show the silvery color, emitting light as it vibrated under heat. The worrisome chlorine and oxygen molecule created the heat needed, and the sulfur and carbon served as a reducer. But how was he getting the primary explosive?

  I am not completely without talents. After all, fire is a skill of mine. His voice was teasing and affectionate.

  I guess fire included explosives of all sorts. Nifty skill to have. I was downright envious.

  Come on. I’m not getting any younger here.

  Yeah, at six billion or more years old, he certainly wasn’t. I obliged and saw orange sparks fly and explode like an immense marigold of fire as the calcium chloride heated to the exact temperature for maximum color. He continued to request chemical combinations, and our movements became synchronized as we worked together. Gregory instructed me, explaining the optimal ignition temperatures for each compound, and how the addition of chloride enhanced the shade. The shapes above us grew complex, a kaleidoscope of color. I relaxed, safe in his embrace and enjoying his skill and knowledge.

  Your turn.

  He separated his spirit being from mine, touching only a small part to reassure me that he was nearby. I felt him edge me to the outside of his form, to gently ease me on my own. I clung to his spirit self, desperately trying to merge us again.

  You can do it. I’ll catch you if you need. I’m right here.

  I steadied myself, touching only that small portion of him. I was still inside his physical form, sharing it, and the prospect of attempting to do this on my own was terrifying. He nudged me again, and, in panic, I tried to grab a portion of his physical form, his flame, to steal and use as my own.

  No. Greedy Cockroach. Make your own flame.

  I could feel his amusement. He held firm against my grasping reach. Ignoring my fear, and concentrating, I created a mundane flame, far simpler than his unknown energy. Cautiously, I edged myself into it, like a swimmer at a January beach testing the waters. I was surprised to feel the flame support and cradle my being. I’d done it. I was fire. I could move. I could exist in a flame as long as there were appropriate conditions for combustion. I created a small amount of magnesium, along with the other elements, and sent it skyward in a flash of silver. Gregory renewed his contact with me, the touch turning seductive.

  Nicely done, my Cockroach. Now try orange and blue.

  Calcium chloride and copper chloride. Tricky, since copper required a lower temperature. I kept my fireworks on the ground, and our flames exploded in the colors that mirrored my spirit being. This was fun, but my concentration was beginning to falter with the press of him against me. Giving up the pursuit of fireworks, I turned my attention to the angel and caressed him in return. I didn’t have to ask twice. He snatched me from my flame and gathered me against him, my orange–blue an obscene splash of color against his red purple. We swirled together, and I lost track of everything except the feel of him all around me.

  His spirit self explored every inch, giving wide berth to the massive amount of destructive raw energy I held. As he neared the scarred edges, still tender from the fight with Haagenti, I pulled back. He persisted, maneuvering me until he could again touch the damaged sections.

  I’m still injured there.

  I’m being very gentle. I just want to see.

  It’s not pretty. I was embarrassed. Yes, he had scars too, but his were old and knitted together, trophies from a time of war, while mine were still fresh and raw and had a less than glorious story behind them. I winced, remembering his disgust over my devouring nature. These must repulse him as well, a reminder of who and what I truly was.

  I think otherwise.

  I relaxed, sensing his sincerity. His careful touch actually felt good, soothing against the tender areas.

  So I’m beautiful in spite of my scars, I teased.

  No, you’re beautiful because of your scars.

  It was one of the nicest things he’d ever said to me. I felt a strange sensation of trust, a sense that perhaps this weird mismatch of opposites might actually turn into something beautiful, might reveal a future I’d never considered. I let myself free–fall into his embrace, and the soothing touch turned erotic. With a forest fire around us, a smokeless flame housing us, we merged sections, then pulled apart, always remaining safely attached to our shared corporeal form. I wanted so much more, and I knew he did too. Someday. Maybe someday we could do this all the way again, but for now, this strange exquisite torture of foreplay would have to do.

  We continued to share one flame, caressing and exploring until we finally relaxed in a sort of cuddle. Reluctantly, I separated myself, creating a flame to house my being once again.

  Sorry. I kno
w that wasn’t what either of us wanted. Wasn’t enough.

  He’d once told me it was dangerous for us to do this kind of thing here, that without our physical forms, we ran the risk of coming apart and dying. I couldn’t help from wanting him in this way, in spite of the danger. Having him so close, stroking me, with the fireworks and the joy of sharing his knowledge and skill was more than a poor imp could resist. If he wanted to take the risk, as we’d done before, I wouldn’t say “no”.

  I felt him smile, lost myself in his quick caress. I’m very old. With age comes great patience. Things won’t be this way forever, little Cockroach. Have some patience of your own. It’s a good virtue to cultivate.

  I had no interest in virtues, especially one where I was expected to deny myself what I truly desired. Fun as this had been, I wanted more. And I wasn’t convinced we’d ever be able to have more. Besides the horror of my punishments, the angels wouldn’t allow me in Aaru, even as the Iblis, and there was nowhere else we could exist as beings of spirit. It seemed tragic that we could only tease each other or risk death.

  Patience.

  I saw through his mind’s eye. He’d existed for billions of years. Waiting another millennium or two would be of no consequence to him. But I was not patient. I was a demon, an imp, and I wasn’t even a thousand years old. I wanted him. All of him. Maybe if we couldn’t do it his way, we could do it mine? An erotic fantasy of him sprouting physical genitals and plowing into me until I cried for mercy began to take hold. Why not? It was unlikely we’d ever be in Aaru together. Why not fulfill our needs, satisfy our significant attraction for each other in a different, non–angelic fashion? As if in agreement, he pressed firmly against me, locking my energy tightly within the embrace of his own.

  Form your human body as I transport us so you don’t burn your house down.

  We were in my kitchen, which felt like it was spinning around me with the now–familiar sensation of vertigo. I’d just managed to create the human form I’d worn for the last forty years as my feet hit the floor. Gregory held me in his odd human form, instead of the flame. I reached down to his skin, pores solid, like marble with an odd glow, and stroked a finger along his arm. Angels could never manage to create true flesh, just this strange attempt at a copy.

  I needed him. Needed more than his teasing. If we couldn’t fuck like angels, I was determined to propose something else. Physical sensation was just as deep, as emotional as the angel joining I’d done with Gregory. We could share that and not risk death, not have to deal with my unwelcome presence in Aaru. I knew deep in my heart that he’d probably never consent to sex, but maybe we could bond in some way physically that we couldn’t fully do spiritually. Did oral count as sex? No, I think that was an exception. But perhaps I should start with something a little less extreme. He was an angel, after all.

  I used a stream of raw energy and adjusted the molecules in the wake of my finger, leaving him with a stripe of perfect human skin. He ignored it, so I continued, converting more of his skin and aligning all the nerve endings to provide maximum stimulation.

  He winced. Not quite the reaction I’d hoped for. I went to run a light touch along the newly formed skin, to soothe and bring pleasure, when he pushed me away, instead caressing me with his spirit being as we had in the fire. I loved what we shared, but I was in human form, naked in my kitchen and pressed against him. The roughness of his shirt and jeans against very sensitive parts of my body were filling me with all sorts of ideas. Reciprocating his caress, I reached up to grab around the back of his head and pull him to me.

  He’d kissed me before, but it had always been as a method to heal. I had something different in mind and merged his mouth with mine, transforming his lips into a more sensitive human form as they touched mine. He caught his breath, hands reaching up to grab my wrists as I held his head in place. Undeterred, I continued to move my lips against his, gently worrying a lower one between my teeth.

  With a gasp, he pushed me away, shaking his head and grabbing his arm, clasping the tan skin.

  “Don’t. Don’t ever do that.”

  “Why not? You teach me, show me your skills. I’m just sharing mine with you.”

  To me, sensation was sensation. That glorious feeling of closeness and affection was just as potent whether it was as a being of spirit, or of the flesh. Gregory had shown me the joys of the spirit; I was simply trying to share the exquisite sins of the flesh with him.

  “I have no wish to experience your skills in human copulation techniques.”

  I rolled my eyes. Of course not. How foolish of me to assume he’d want to fuck like an animal. Bigot. Prude. Why was it always his way or the highway?

  “All right, although that’s not totally what I meant. Yes, I’d be happy to show you my extraordinary sexual abilities, but I was also talking about my skills in creating a more accurate representation of human flesh. Your form sucks. I’m trying to show you how to do better. Just like you show me.”

  “I don’t need to do better.” He snarled. “It’s too much sensation. It endangers my vibration level, my evolution. I chose this manifestation on purpose, to avoid the temptation of sin.”

  That was probably the most honesty I’d ever heard from him. Still, it hurt that I’d come to value and respect his way of life, yet he didn’t mine. “It was just a small strip of flesh on your arm and your lips. If your enlightenment can’t hold up against such brief temptation, then it’s not very solid, is it?”

  He turned away and walked toward the table with its decapitated head centerpiece. “Tomorrow’s meeting will be to address your appeal on the one four–nine–five report, as well as discussion on the two you’ve submitted, and the one from yesterday.”

  “Don’t try and change the subject! Since we met, I’ve tried to understand your history, your philosophy, and point of view. I’ve trusted you. I’ve let you show me a small bit of what it’s like to be an angel. But you won’t give me the same trust, you stubborn, arrogant prick.”

  In a flash, he slammed me against the kitchen wall, his hands painfully digging into my shoulders.

  “I have given you more trust than an angel has ever given one of your kind. I have protected you, lied for you, adjusted my entire life, risked my future because of you. But I will not budge on this. I won’t fall from grace for your selfish whims. Do not tempt me again.”

  He vanished and I slid down the wall to sit with my arms around my knees, mourning the loss of our closeness in the fire. Just when I thought we had a connection, an understanding, he turned back into every stereotype I’d ever heard of angels.

  ~6~

  I was grateful for Nyalla’s help in party preparations because by the time Gregory had gotten me back from our forest fire excursion, I was way behind schedule. Somehow she’d managed to accept a cake delivery in my absence, even with the language barrier. In less than twenty–four hours, she managed to learn a variety of movie and food related words in English, and I’d just taught her the Happy Birthday song. She’d been singing it under her breath as she hung streamers, trying to commit it to memory, while I put together appetizer trays in the kitchen. My mind raced, full of thoughts about Gregory, my near escape from that killer angel, whether Nyalla and Amber would get along. I had a bad premonition that Wyatt’s party was going to be ruined by a catfight of epic proportions. I’d enjoy that sort of thing, but I knew it would hurt Wyatt terribly to have his sisters break into a hair–pulling brawl.

  A bloated sun devouring all in its wake

  Nowhere to turn but the skies above

  A choice between right and left

  Where each path leads to sorrow.

  That didn’t exactly sound like the birthday song. It was in Elvish and quite a bit louder than Nyalla’s previous melody.

  “What are you singing?” I asked, coming around the kitchen to see the girl perched on a chair, carefully taping a streamer to the ceiling. She jumped at my words, nearly falling.

  “I am so sorry. I know my
voice is lacking in depth and melodic quality. I did not realize I had been singing that loud.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with your voice,” I cut her off with a wave of my hand. Every time the poor girl started to relax, began to get a bit of sparkle in her eyes, she’d yank herself back into a kind of wary stiffness. It was as if she was afraid to hope, afraid she’d suddenly wake up and find herself a slave again. She stood before me on the chair, shoulders hunched, eyes on the floor. Her whole body tensed, as if she were about to be struck. I cursed myself for my abrupt words, realizing I’d inadvertently sent her back to a world where no one was kind, at least, not to her.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap,” I tried to keep my voice soft and gentle. “It’s not you. I just get so angry when I think of how you’ve been treated by the elves, how all humans are treated by them. It pisses me off.”

  Nyalla glanced up under blond–tipped eyelashes and smiled slightly. “I wish that they could never take another human unwilling from this world. I wish that all the humans in Hel could be free, either to return here, or own property and be equal citizens there.”

  Me too, although I couldn’t see how that could happen. The elves had been doing this for thousands of years and would be unlikely to stop unless forced. “How is life in Cyelle for the humans?” I asked. “I know your owner was not kind to you, but are others better off? Or worse?”

  Nyalla shuddered. “Aelswith was cold and harsh in his words, but at least I was protected by law from extreme physical abuse. Other kingdoms do not have such laws. In Cyelle, humans could not be murdered, and all deaths were investigated. Wrongful deaths of humans would result in prosecution and punishment; the same with life–threatening physical abuse. No human starved or went without basic physical needs. Of course, accidents sometimes happened, but things are not so good in other kingdoms. In Wythyn, an elf can torture or kill his or her human without any repercussions.”