by Sam Cheever
I suddenly found myself standing before her.
She stood in royal robes at the center of the clearing, the rough robes gone. A gentle moonbeam illuminated her form but not her face.
“Why?” My voice was filled with tears and it made me angry. Tears were a weakness I could not afford.
The form shrugged the hood of the lush robe back and the face that was revealed seemed to waver between my Aunt Deirdre’s and my mother’s.
She shook her head and raised her hands toward me. I looked for the teardrop mark on her wrist but it was gone.
“Why do I still dream of this?” I asked her, fear a writhing snake in my gut.
She shrugged. “The prophecy has not yet been fulfilled.”
I gasped, remembering a curtain of soft black hair around my face and the soft roll of hips over mine that rocked my world. “You lie!”
She shook her head, sending the reddish black strands swinging gently around her narrow shoulders. “Prophecy does not lie.”
“But it can’t be!”
She faded away from me, shaking her head and changing face like a kaleidoscope in a viewer.
“No! Come back. It has to be a mistake!”
I sat bolt upright in my bed and discovered that I was sweaty and panting.
My terrified gaze flew around the room until I realized I was safe in my own bed and it had only been a dream.
Or had it.
I flung the covers back and headed into my food service area to make coffee.
My father was waiting for me there.
He handed me a steaming cup and I sipped gratefully, watching him over the cup. “How are you doing today, Father?”
He smiled at me and reached out to tap me on the end of my nose with one long finger. “I’m fine, child.”
I smiled at him. “Good.”
“I came to tell you that you will be getting a new guardian.”
My eyes flew open in shock. “What! No! What’s happened to Myra? Is she okay?”
He shook his head. “She’s fine. He just reassigned her that’s all.”
I frowned. “But why?”
My father shook his head. “He’s found someone whom He thinks needs her more. Someone very special who needs an extremely firm hand. In fact,” he cocked his head at me, “He told me to tell you the name. He thought you’d understand.”
“Okay, what’s the name?”
“It’s a little girl by the name of Suzie O’Connell.”
I frowned, trying to remember. The name did seem familiar. Then suddenly a picture scrolled itself across my mind of a dark hallway, a little girl, a little boy and a chastening voice that brought out a sparkle of mischief in the little girl’s eye rather than the fear that should have been there.
I started laughing.
I laughed so hard in fact that I had to sit down before I fell.
My father watched me carefully as if I’d lost my mind. But I didn’t care.
It was hysterical.
And I wasn’t at all sure who I was rooting for, the cranky angel or the impish Catholic girl.
But somehow I knew they were both in for the fight of their lives.
And I couldn’t wait to see it play itself out.
After my father left I headed for the cleansing tube, planning out my day in my mind. I had much to do to clean up the details of the mess my mother’s plotting had left behind. And I needed to find Raoul. Despite what my father had said I knew he needed me. Even if all I could offer him was a willing ear and a sturdy shoulder. And I needed to find out what had happened to all those people at the mall. PC Cheets would need to be updated. I needed to follow up on the Coltrans…and both covens…
I ordered the jets of the cleansing tube on full, one hundred and three degrees and stood under the pounding heat gratefully. It felt so good on my tired, battered body. My mind continued to churn through my to do list and I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that when I stepped out of the tube and a square golden hand reached toward me with a heated towel I jumped and gave a less than manly yelp of surprise.
“I didn’t sneak,” Dialle said with a spark in each, blue eye. “I shimmered right into plain view, you just weren’t paying attention.”
I spurned the towel and stomped to the drying tube, working very hard at ignoring him. But he wasn’t to be ignored. I soon found myself one of two in the warm luxury of the tube.
He pulled me full length against his long, lean body and wrapped one, large hand around my left buttock to hold me there. He sighed into my nearly dry hair. “I’ve been dreaming about those giant panties.”
I grinned. “Too bad I already took them off.”
I felt his lips curve against my hair and suddenly we were in my bed. “Luckily I have more on hand.”
I looked down and grinned. A fresh pair bloomed at my waist. “I think I’d like them in fire red.”
They were red.
“Or maybe black.”
He peaked a dark eyebrow at me and made them black. “There’s something deeply wrong with the concept of black granny panties, Astra.”
I smiled. “It’s all in how you look at it, Dialle.”
He skimmed his warm hand over my stomach and lower, causing me to shiver in anticipation. One long finger slid under the thin, elastic waistband and moved toward the part of my body that throbbed hopefully beneath the yards of black cotton cloth. “I’m willing to explore this option, my princess.”
“Don’t call me that,” I said on a moan as the unnatural heat of that finger found my happy place.
He placed soft, full lips over my daemon hickey and sucked gently. The finger slid lower, into my waiting heat. “You can deny it all you want, Astra, but you are my princess.”
I sighed. “Bite me.”
And he did. Gently.
Then he proceeded to illustrate just how very much he liked my black granny panties.
I decided maybe I’d never wear my tiny lace thongs again.
Ever.
About the Author
Sam Cheever writes about feisty, fun characters who move quickly from one disaster to another in a world that is filled with unique problems and the constant threat of disaster. Sam's characters meet these threats and challenges with humor, bravado, and a realistic mix of human (and non-human!) frailty and good old-fashioned belligerence. A long-time writer of fiction, non-fiction, and poetry, Sam has found her stride with 'Tween Heaven and Hell. Her fantasy world is brimming with hot devils, cool angels, sexy dilemmas, and dangerous situations.
To pay the bills, Sam started her writing career as a freelance writer and has worked as a business writing consultant for medium and large organizations for over ten years. However, she is much more comfortable in her fantasy world, and plans to stay there as long as the medication holds out.
Sam welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Sam Cheever
‘Tween Heaven and Hell
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