Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Colleen Gleason

  How could he explain who he was, what he’d been, how he had fallen so hard, so fast? He didn’t understand it himself, and some days he found it hard to comprehend what exactly he had been thinking all those years ago. “Do you believe me when I tell you I’m immortal, that I was an angel once, now a demon?” he asked.

  Her eyes were so wise, such a deep blue, so full of the knowledge of life that came from hard living, immense joy and agonizing pain. She nodded. “I believe you’re something more than what I thought or can truly comprehend.”

  “I was sent to watch humans, to guide and protect them. But I wasn’t prepared for the suffering, the sadness, the devastation of emotion that radiates from mortals. It was so hard to watch, so difficult not to be able to ease pain, and it was overwhelming. When I drank, it was easier to handle. I could simply ignore all of it.” That was his shame, but he wanted to face it, admit it, forgive himself for it, and move forward.

  “I understand that. I do. I couldn’t sleep you know, like I can’t sleep now, and I would lay there and my mind would race with guilt and grief and fear and I just wanted it all to go away. I wanted oblivion. That’s what the sleeping pills gave me.”

  “And now you still can’t sleep.” He touched her cheek, brushing his thumb across the deep bruises under her eyes, the stain of months and months of inadequate sleep.

  “Yeah, but it’s better this way. Better to not sleep and be in control. To face my grief, to deal with it.” She turned her head, rubbing her lips over the inside of his wrist, her eyes drifting closed. “And do you notice,” she whispered, “that I can sleep when I’m with you?”

  “I’m glad that you sleep better with me.” He wanted to repeat his earlier words, to tell her that he loved her, but it wasn’t time yet. She needed more answers, and when he spoke his feelings, he wanted her ready to give him the same in return.

  “And you know what is so very strange? You’re telling me the most fantastical things… things I shouldn’t believe. I should assume you’re a lunatic and walk away, but I believe you. It’s like I knew, in my gut, that coming to you would give me answers. And here they are. They’re odd, and overwhelming, but for the first time in a year, I don’t feel afraid. That fear isn’t pressing on me. I feel sick that Marguerite would do this, and I’m worried that she’ll do it again, but at the same time, I just feel relief. The bogeyman has a face, you know?”

  “I understand. And I promise you, that Raphael and I won’t let Marguerite harm anyone else. Raphael bound her to him.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Gabriel sighed. “There’s a lot I need to tell you. A lot. Let’s wake Jocelyn up and go somewhere and talk.”

  An hour later they had dropped Jocelyn at a hotel after securing her apartment door shut with plywood and feeding her a ridiculous story about rambunctious teenagers running wild through the apartment complex after too many beers. She seemed baffled that she had somehow missed it, but Sara had convinced her she’d had way more wine than she actually had. Now Gabriel and Sara were standing on the deck outside an ice cream shop overlooking the beach and the ocean and he was telling her about his punishment.

  Sara leaned on the wooden railing and blinked at him, a strawberry smoothie in her hand that she wasn’t drinking. “You’re saying women become addicted to you? Like they crave you and have to have you?”

  He nodded. “Yes. It happens when I touch women.”

  “Like Rochelle?”

  “Yes.”

  Sara shivered. “Oh, God, that’s awful.”

  “That’s why I can’t… why I’ve tried so hard to stay away from you.” He frowned, realizing that he may have tried, but he hadn’t completely succeeded. “I haven’t done a great job of that.”

  “But you touch me. I’m assuming way more than you ever touched Rochelle, and I’m fine.”

  “That’s true. I only touched Rochelle on the arm once. But it just means your stronger–a lot stronger–than her. She has a weaker will. But eventually you’ll succumb if I were to touch you as a lover.”

  “I’m not sure I believe you.”

  “Believe me.” He was absolutely sure of it. “Don’t you remember the letters from Jane Gallier? The court records of the women fighting? Think of Rochelle, her tears, that blood running down her wrists. I don’t want you to end up like any of them.” He wanted her to understand exactly what he was saying. “That would be my biggest regret, if I was what finally broke you. After all you’ve survived, if it was me that finally stripped away your strength, I couldn’t stand that. I couldn’t.”

  “I don’t want to be without–”

  Gabriel cut her off. He didn’t want to hear whatever she was going to say. He couldn’t hear it. Sara was ten times a greater temptation than alcohol had ever been and he needed to clamp down, hold together his emotions, build up his control until it was an impenetrable wall with barbed wire on top. He was going to do that, because he wanted to be with Sara, wasn’t willing to give her up.

  “I don’t want to be without you either. You know, in some ways it would be easier to walk away from you. But I’ve been doing the easy thing my entire existence.” He was sorry for that. Wanted to stand firm and stop passively letting everything slide over and past him. He wanted to control his own destiny and stop hiding from it. “I want to be with you, spend time with you, love you. And while I can’t touch you, I can share my life with you. I want to share my every day with you, do you understand?” It was a hell of a lot to ask, and he shouldn’t, but he had to. He had to know that he had tried, offered her what he could.

  Sara gripped the railing tighter, her hair blowing over her shoulders, the smoothie tipping so far over in her clenched hand he was expecting the lid to pop off. “Be together, but no touching?”

  “No touching.”

  She didn’t say anything, so Gabriel sighed, his heart aching for what he couldn’t have as he looked across the beach. It was a quiet view, the heat of Florida different than New Orleans. There was humidity in the air, but somehow it wasn’t as lush, as damp and smothering as southern Louisiana. The foliage on and around the deck was manicured, the houses in all directions new and crisply white and ivory, the retail buildings all soldiered along the main roads. It was very beautiful, he had to admit that. But it didn’t touch his soul.

  “I’ve never been out of New Orleans,” he said. “I’ve only seen Florida on TV and in movies. It’s pretty here. Peaceful.”

  “You’ve never been out of New Orleans? Why not?”

  “I’m bound to New Orleans in exchange for a shorter punishment.”

  “Then how are you here?”

  Love. That’s how he was there. “I came to protect you.”

  “But…” She rested her smoothie on the top of the railing and tucked her hair behind her ears. “What does that mean for your punishment then?”

  “It means it won’t be shorter.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know when I came here… I was mad at you for not coming with me and I was being stubborn.”

  “And I didn’t know about Marguerite or I never would have let you come by yourself. I thought you would be safe because I knew Raphael was in New Orleans. There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. None of this was your doing, and I made my choice to defy my binding freely and clearly. Trust me, I don’t regret it.”

  “So what do you do now?”

  “I have to go back,” Gabriel said, trying to keep his voice even. He didn’t want her to feel guilty, didn’t want to influence her choice in any way. “Will you come back with me?”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Sara said, even as she knew she wanted to. Her heart was screaming that all she needed was a ticket and she was there. That it should be easy. He said he loved her. She knew she loved him.

  Yet she needed to stay home in Florida, process everything she had learned, reflect, think about what she wanted to do. Decide if it was realistic to accept what he was offering, a p
latonic love affair. That in and of itself was an oxymoron. The idea of living with him, loving him, yet never able to have a sexual relationship sounded torturous, maddening.

  But so did being apart from him.

  What she wanted was to be with Gabriel.

  What she needed to decide was how she could do that and retain her sanity.

  He was immortal.

  She was very much mortal.

  At the moment, staring out at the water, watching wave after wave roll in, she didn’t see how she could have everything. Yet wasn’t sure that she could live with nothing.

  “I won’t push you,” he said. “I know I’m asking a lot of you, and it’s your decision, but know that I want you with me.”

  She glanced over at him, wanting to touch him, to lean against him, stroke his hair, feel his lips on her. How could she ache for that and never have it? How could she not know, just once, what it felt like to have him inside her, their bare skin touching everywhere, her ankles locked around his waist, the sweet scent of sweat and sex hovering between them, his dark eyes staring down at her?

  “I love you,” she said softly.

  His eyes went wide and his jaw shifted, hands clasped together in a fist as he leaned over the railing. “I love you, too.”

  She knew that, but it was lovely to hear him say it again, even if there were no easy options for them. “But I need time to think and I’m exhausted. Let’s go get a room at the hotel. There are no flights to New Orleans until the morning anyway, I’m sure.”

  He nodded.

  Sara had no idea what she would decide to do in the morning, but she knew how she wanted to spend the night.

  And it wasn’t sleeping.

  Chapter Twenty- One

  Gabriel wanted to say something to Sara, anything, to convince her to go back to New Orleans with him, but he knew what he was suggesting was a huge sacrifice for Sara, more than it was for him. He was asking her to live with him without any hope of marriage or children or a normal sexual relationship, giving up the chance to date and meet a man who could give her all of those things.

  It was more than he should ever expect her to have to live without.

  So he bit his tongue and kept his damn mouth shut when he really wanted to coax and cajole and remind her of the love he felt.

  And she was tired, overwhelmed, processing what she had learned about demons and the death of her mother. She didn’t need his selfish whining, didn’t need to make an impulsive decision based on emotion and wake up in two years, five years, regretting the choice, the time she had wasted.

  So Gabriel didn’t say a word, getting them a room at the hotel they had put Jocelyn in, a standard chain hotel with pleasant staff and lots of floral prints blanketing the lobby and the room itself. He didn’t have any luggage, and Sara had left her bag at Jocelyn’s apartment, so he secured toothbrushes and other necessaries at the front desk, and was putting them in the bathroom as Sara kicked off her sandals. When he walked back out, he was a little surprised to see her standing in her tank top and bikini panties, bent over the bed and systematically removing all pillows but two, tossing the unwanted extras onto the other bed in a way that made her ass shake a little with each throw.

  The view was one he certainly appreciated, and it created an immediate response from his own body, but it also confused him. Sara wasn’t one to run around in her underwear. But then again, she was clearly just getting ready for bed and she had no pajamas with her, so it meant nothing more than she wanted to be comfortable.

  “I’m going to call the airline and see about getting a flight back tomorrow,” he said. “Check times.”

  “Okay,” she said, heading into the bathroom.

  He heard the water running and her brushing her teeth. That wasn’t the answer he had wanted. He had really been asking if he should get two tickets or one but he didn’t want to ask that straight out. So he just called the airline and got flight times and asked about availability. Reassured that there were plenty of seats on the three o’clock afternoon flight for the next day, he left it at that and hung up. Sara had gotten into bed already and was lying with her eyes closed.

  She was so quiet. Gabriel didn’t like that. It made him nervous. He shucked off his t-shirt and used the other toothbrush. In the bathroom he debated leaving his jeans on or not, and decided they were dirty, he was tired, and he wanted to be completely comfortable. The jeans went and he got into bed in his boxer briefs.

  He was already accustomed to sleeping with Sara beside him. He enjoyed her presence, her scent, her breathing, her soft sighs, her warmth. He would miss her if she didn’t go back with him, in every part of his life. In a short amount of time, she had become a part of the fabric of every day, the voice he listened for, the person he shared his thoughts with. She was his balance, his temperance, his advocate, his champion.

  Letting her stay, knowing he had to respect her decision, felt like the most difficult thing he’d ever done.

  Sara rolled over and scooted in beside him, her hand sliding across his chest, her leg entwining with his. Gabriel froze, the embrace unexpected, his defenses not adequately in place. She was next to him, touching him, and it felt so damn good. His arm automatically went around her back and he wanted her nestled up against him, but it was a very dangerous place for them to wander.

  “Are you okay?” he asked her, wondering if she was scared and just needed reassurance.

  “I’m okay.”

  Her hand stroked across the waistband of his boxer briefs, making him grit his teeth at the kick of desire that nailed him in the groin. Maybe it was an absentminded touch on her part, but it was downright painful for him. An erection was already springing to life from her leg rubbing over his, and her fingers made the problem worse as they played along his abs, flipping his waistband down then back up. She obviously had no idea what she was doing to him.

  “I want you, Gabriel,” she said, and her hand went lower, cupping his erection and stroking him through his briefs.

  Fuck. Gabriel sucked in a breath and closed his eyes for a second, enjoying the hot rush of pleasure, the rapid swelling of his cock beneath her fingers, before he forced himself to put his hand over hers and stop her. “Sara. Don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because there’s nowhere to go with this. I can’t touch you. I won’t risk it.” He moved his hand away from hers now that she had stopped stroking him, and swallowed hard.

  “Don’t you want to know?” she asked, propping up on her elbow to look at him, her hair falling on to his shoulder. “Don’t you want just one time between us to hold onto?”

  “Of course I do.” That wasn’t the issue. “I want more than once. I want every night, with you beneath me. But we can’t. I won’t touch you, Sara. I won’t turn you into Jane or Molly or Rochelle.”

  “Maybe I’m strong enough to be able to handle it.”

  She had no idea how tempting what she was offering was. Gabriel lay as motionless as he possibly could, afraid to brush against her, afraid to inspire her hand to start up stroking again, afraid to breathe and catch a whiff of her scent, her shampoo, her femininity. “No, Sara.”

  “You don’t have to touch me,” she said, a wicked smile spreading across her face. “I can do all the touching. Just one time, that’s all I’m asking for.”

  And she brushed his hair off his face, her fingers trailing all the way down to the tips, her gaze following her touch. He shivered from the feel of her gentle and reverent caress as she pulled back and did it again, starting at his scalp and sliding her fingers down his overgrown hair.

  “It’s so soft,” she whispered. “So beautiful.” Her gaze shifted to his lips, to his face. “You’re beautiful.”

  “Men shouldn’t be beautiful.” But it was a token protest. He enjoyed that she thought he was attractive, was proud and pleased by the look of adoration on her face. She loved him and he wanted to hold that, take it inside him.

  “You are beautiful. And I wa
nt you.”

  “Take me.” His resistance was gone. He couldn’t deny her what they both wanted.

  She pulled back slightly. “Do you mean it?”

  He nodded, knowing what he had to do was damn near impossible, but unable to say no. “But I’m not going to touch anymore than I have to. I want to protect you.”

  Her eyes were wide, her mouth open, tongue darting out to wet her lips. “Okay. I’ll do all the work, I promise.”

  It almost made him laugh, but his amusement was cut short by her hands roaming across his chest, exploring and scratching lightly, before descending down to the waistband of his briefs. Her fingers lingered there, wandering back and forth again, while her lips pressed onto his shoulder. Her mouth was warm and she brushed her lips across his collarbone on the right, then the left side, before sinking her teeth gently into the flesh of his shoulder. Gabriel closed his eyes and sighed. The scent of her filled his nostrils, the hot rush of her breath dancing over his flesh, the weight of her hip leaning against his, the smoothness of her leg massaging his calf.

  She touched his arms, her index finger dipping into the bend of each of his elbows. Her mouth slid in alongside his cheek, perilously close to his lips, but she didn’t touch them. She brushed the stubble on his chin, traced the line of each cheekbone, ran her lips over his eyelashes, and buried her mouth and nose in his hair, her chest pressing against his, while he lay with his hands clenched at his side, heart racing, palms sweating. Her touch was sweet and delicate and sensual, and he felt the appreciation, the wonder of her feelings for him, and he was humbled, satisfied, even as his body ached for her. It was worth the torment to have the feel of her fingers and her soft lips on him, and he watched her, the light from the hotel lamp casting shadows over her smooth skin.

  Sitting up, she took her tank top off and Gabriel saw her bare breasts for the first time, her nipples taut and mere inches from his mouth. Her breasts were small and high, proportioned for her petite frame, and her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders. She had slight tan marks, but it looked like it was from her tanks instead of a bathing suit, and he wanted to run his finger over the white line of her skin, but he didn’t. Nor did he encircle her waist, her back, bury his lips in her neck, when she leaned forward and pressed the warmth of her chest against his, her nipples brushing over him.