by Deanna Chase
“Oh no you don’t, cockroach,” he hissed at me through those pointy teeth. “Hold still,” he commanded, grabbing my arms by the wrists and thrusting them up above my head.
Oh, sure. ‘Hold still while I kill you.’ Like that was going to happen. I wasn’t sure if he was going to execute me straight away or beat the crap out of me first, but I figured it was going to be excruciating either way. I wasn’t going down without a fight. I thrashed around with all my strength to see if I could budge him loose from on top of me. I even tried to knee him in the groin, assuming that would do anything. Wrenching one hand loose I flung a handful of gravel and dirt into his face. He shook his head and grabbed, unsuccessfully trying to secure my loose hand while at the same time attempting to pin my legs down with his. I bucked like a wild bull and smacked him with the little bits of energy that I could form. It was all I could manage to break free from the slippery shell he held in place around my energy.
After a few minutes of this, he hissed in frustration, grabbed me roughly around my waist and flung me over his shoulder. My breath whooshed out as my diaphragm smashed against his shoulder and my head bounced on the concrete of his back. While I frantically tried to recover, he began striding off toward the abandoned gas station and my car. Gasping little breaths, I squirmed, kicked and hit and scratched with all my might. Unaffected, he continued on, tightening his grip painfully around my waist to make sure I didn’t manage to wiggle free. Wyatt and Candy were far behind us, not that they could intervene at this point. My mind worked furiously trying to find some way to break his hold, to get enough energy to knock him aside, to do anything, for surely I was going to die real soon. I’d tire physically, and without the use of my energy he had all the advantage.
Suddenly, he shrugged me off his shoulder and slammed my back against the cement block side of the building. My head spun again and I felt the warmth of blood sliding down the back of my skull and onto my neck. Without allowing me even a second to move, he pressed himself against me, crushing me between his body and the gritty, pebbled concrete wall. I felt the stone embed itself into the torn flesh of my head and ground my teeth with the pain. At this rate, I’d be a shredded bloody mess by the time he finished me off.
Slowly and carefully he transferred my wrists to one hand, yanking them above my head and pinning them to the wall. With his other hand, he maneuvered my hips, straddling me and pinching my legs between his own. Within seconds, I was held immobile between him and the building. The only thing still free was my head, so I tried to head butt him and bite whatever part of his face came within range. He was a good foot taller than me, so the best I could do was a light tap on his chest with my forehead before he grabbed my jaw with his free hand and held my head still. At least he didn’t have a third hand to whip out his sword. Of course, he could always bring that item out after I was a bloody mess on the ground.
He held me in place and looked at me a moment, hissing with those pointy teeth, his eyes still huge, black, and horrifying. I hurt. I knew my face was a mass of road rash, could feel the blood trickle from my cheeks and down the back of my head in a slow drip. My arms were extended up at their limit with the joints straining uncomfortably in their sockets. My chest was heaving against his with tiny short breaths, and sharp chunks of concrete dug painfully into my back with the pressure of his body against mine. I was at the point of panic. I was trapped, and there was no way out. My mind helpfully imagined all the ways he could dispatch me in this position. He could rip my arms from their shoulder sockets, crush my jaw, dislocate my pelvis, pulverize my bones and organs against the side of the building, and then shred my flesh with his pointy teeth before finishing me off with the sword. That’s how I would do it.
He took a breath, then he wrenched my head to the side facing my left arm, and I saw him out of the corner of my eye as he bent his head down. I felt an odd sense of disappointment that I wouldn’t get to see him rip me to bits. Anticipating popping joints and tearing flesh, I took a quick breath and tensed. The feeling that came was like a thousand hot needles as he bit down on me, right on the soft underside of my arm, just in front of my armpit. My shoulders ached, but stayed in joint. This was going to take forever if he was going to concentrate primarily on chewing me up. My faint hopes for a quick death vanished, and I felt him bite down harder.
A burning sensation shot down into my chest and a mixture of vibrations shook me. Was there some poison in his bite? Was it that white stuff that Althean had shot at me? Would my insides dissolve like my hand had? It burned clear through my flesh and into my personal energy, branching out and searing tiny pathways. “This is it,” I thought, my mind blurring from the agony tearing through me.
Then unexpectedly, underneath the pain, a far more enjoyable heat surged through me. Pleasure and pain are not mutually exclusive to my kind, and sex frequently involves what humans would consider abuse. Even so, I didn’t believe the angel intended to kill me in an act of rough sex. The warmth flooded me and the burning pathways in my personal energy filled with an electric glow. Reddish purple soared through my being. ‘Mine’ I thought silently as I floated in the stream of color. It was a faint and fleeting thought, without intent or power; almost like an echo from someone else. Strange.
I didn’t think revealing my strange state of sexual arousal would do my current situation any good, but I couldn’t help the quick gasp and relaxation of my body as tension fell away and I ceased trying to struggle. Well, at least I’d be easier to kill now. And death would be a hell of a lot more fun.
The angel paused for a second, then pushed himself harder against me ensuring I was held fast and continued with the hot needles in my arm. The pain was quickly changing over to pleasure and I wanted to give in to the incredible sensation. Dissolving in a huge wet orgasm at the point of death seemed like an undignified way to go out so I tried to think of things like zoning hearings, taxes, when my next oil change was due. Anything but the red purple waves singing through me. Shit, I hope he killed me soon, this was taking fucking forever and I was running out of boring things to think of.
Floating in the pleasure, I was halfheartedly daydreaming about useless kitchen utensils when I felt a pull deep within me. Like strings had been embedded throughout my body and the angel was trying to draw them out. At first it didn’t hurt, then the strings stopped moving and Gregory began to yank, pulling with increasing irritation and frustration. Finally, there was an agonizing pressure, like he was digging in on a tug of war contest with all his might. The strings didn’t budge, but it felt like my whole body was about to turn inside out. Then there was a crack and snap as everything rebounded into me. It was a good thing I was held so firmly against the building because I probably would have fallen ten feet backwards from the release. I waited for it to begin again, but I only felt a stinging sensation and that familiar warmth as Gregory bit down again.
An eternity seemed to pass before he finally lifted his mouth from my arm. I felt him stare at me, although I couldn’t see him clearly with my head held sideways against the wall. “Here it comes,” I thought. My bitten arm throbbed. I held my breath, waiting for my death. Slowly, he loosened his grasp and relieved the pressure holding me against the wall. I didn’t know what was coming, so I dropped my arms from their achingly extended position and stood there, looking at the front of his shirt and trying to slow my breathing. Finally, he took my arm, the one he hadn’t been gnawing on, and walked me over to the police car. That was it? A chewed up arm? Perhaps he was going to continue the job over here?
“Fix yourself,” Gregory commanded, pushing me to sit on the ground beside the car while he reached in and finished whatever he was doing to the cop. I was pretty sure the cop was dead. I wondered if he was sticking angel wings on his forehead too. Covering this one up and making it look like the cop had it coming. So much for benevolent messengers of the gods.
I had scrapes down the front from my slide across the gravel; my face was raw, bloody, and was bruised and sw
ollen from his blow. My wrists hurt from the handcuffs, my shoulders ached from being held at that impossible angle, and the bite still burned and throbbed in an enjoyable kind of pain. I was a fucking mess. I wasn’t sure I could fix myself right now, I was shaking so badly. Why wasn’t I dead? And why did he bite me like that? What the fuck was that about?
Gregory put some finishing touches on the cop, who appeared to be asleep in his squad car, then turned to me. He looked me over and shook his head, his face still grim but no longer glowing with pointy teeth and huge black eyes.
“Fine. I really don’t care what you look like, or if you bleed all over your seats. You will get in your car with me, and you will drive to Waynesboro. You will obey all the human traffic laws or I will destroy your vehicle and slowly break every bone in your body. Repeatedly. Over the course of several days. Do you understand?”
I nodded. And we drove to Waynesboro in silence. No singing. Fifty five the whole way.
Chapter Fifteen
We sat outside in the parking lot of some local restaurant called The Lamb waiting for Wyatt and Candy. I was hoping from the name that they had Greek food, but it didn’t have the usual décor of a Greek restaurant. Maybe they did English food and specialized in mutton? I was starving and we’d been waiting here for quite a while. Candy must drive like a ninety year old lady on her way to church because there had been no sign of them. I thought about calling Wyatt on my cell phone, but was trying to be subdued and careful around Gregory. Just in case he was wondering whether to finish chewing my arm off.
“Fix yourself, or you’re not going in,” the angel commanded again.
Back home, it was typical to see those of my kind looking like they’d had the shit beat out of them. It was a point of pride. When someone higher up the hierarchy chose you for a fun romp, they conveyed their status on the energy signature in your wounds. Displaying them showed your peers that you’d been found worthy of someone higher up the food chain, and that you were tough enough to survive it. The more battered you were the better. Limbs dangling by a tendon, chunks of flesh burned off; all that revealed that you were tough and powerful. Leaving a significant sexual encounter with just a few flesh wounds was embarrassing. It meant that you’d been found to be uninteresting, or too fragile to enjoy properly.
Here though, looking beat up just marked you as a victim. Especially if you were female. A guy could pull it off by implying that the other participant was just as damaged, or claiming to have been in some kind of vehicle accident. No one believed the lies if you were female, though; everyone knew you were covering up domestic violence. Going into The Lamb looking like I did would probably result in the police being called and Gregory taken in for questioning. I liked the idea, but given our last encounter I didn’t think it would turn out well. Gregory didn’t seem to have any problem taking out civilians when necessary. He’d proven that he wouldn’t shy away from murder when it came to thwarting an escape attempt.
I sat there as if all the spirit had been crushed out of me; channeling the submissive, obedient servant. It wasn’t easy. I didn’t own any submissive people, I liked the fight and challenge too much and submissive humans were boring. Slowly, I fixed myself, taking some time to do it as if I barely could manage even this. It was painful, repairing my wounds this slowly, but definitely in keeping with the wounded, broken spirit I was trying to portray.
“Do your clothes, too,” he ordered. “They’re torn, dirty, and covered in blood. You’re not going in looking like that. It will cause too much attention, and I’ve got enough to think about without having to enthrall all the humans in the restaurant.”
My shirt was a disaster. The jeans weren’t too bad, especially since torn and tattered jeans were in style right now.
“I can’t do clothes,” I told him truthfully.
He stared in disbelief. “What do you mean you can’t do clothes? That should be ridiculously simple for you. Even I can do clothes.”
Implying that he couldn’t do much else beyond clothing? So angels weren’t good at matter conversion? They were legendary at energy conversion, and they had unparalleled skill when it came to manipulating dimensions and creating gates. I knew they couldn’t do the physical form conversion to the extent we did. From what I’d seen so far, their human form was pretty pathetic. I’d just assumed that converting inanimate objects would be a skill they would have. Perhaps that wasn’t where their talents lay.
“We don’t wear cloth back home,” I replied. “If we’re cold, we just make ourselves furry or up our metabolism. If we have a humanoid form at the time, it’s always naked. We do sometimes skin another creature and wear it like a trophy, but we don’t create cloth. Here, it’s just easier and quicker to buy it than learn to make it. Especially these weird blends with altered petroleum molecules in the fibers.” I looked at my tattered poly blend shirt fondly. Humans were actually pretty clever. I predicted amazing things from them in another hundred thousand years. If they didn’t manage to wipe themselves out before then.
He made a motion as if he were going to take his shirt off and give it to me. I wasn’t sure how he was going to manage that maneuver in the confines of my car. That I wanted to see. And I did want to see him without his shirt on. Crap, I bet he was ripped beyond belief. Yes, crazy me. The guy pummels me to bits and vows to kill me and I’m all revved up to see him semi–clad. Of course, the shirt wouldn’t come close to fitting. It would be huge on me; bigger than Tinkerbell, even.
“They won’t let you in the place without a shirt on,” I told him reluctantly. “It says there right on the sign.”
He paused and looked around the car as if he expected a shirt to appear out of nowhere. Nope, none in the glove box or under the seat either.
“Put on a shirt from the bags you had back at the hotel.”
“They’re all in Candy’s car,” I told him. “My trunk is really small and full of beer, so we put them all in hers.”
He sat for a moment contemplating his options, then opened his door. “There’s a gift shop in there, they’ve got to have some novelty t–shirts for sale. Stay here.” He got out then paused. “In the car,” he added, leaning in to look at me sternly. “And the car stays right here in this spot in the parking lot. You and the car don’t move.”
I had to bite back a smile. He learned quick, this angel did. To hide my amusement, I trembled a bit and tried to look properly cowed. I even tried to squeeze out a tear from big soulful eyes. Gregory frowned at me. “Do you feel sick? Do you need some crackers or something?”
I shook my head at him. So much for my acting skills.
While the angel was doing his shopping, Candy and Wyatt finally pulled up and parked beside the Corvette. Wyatt practically launched himself from the car, running around my car to pull open my door and inspect me.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his face tight with worry. “You’re shirt is torn and bloody, what did he do to you?”
“We had an incident,” I said vaguely. “I’m okay, though,” I lied. I was reluctant to let Wyatt know all the details. My arm still stung from the bite, and it was in a place where I couldn’t really see it without a mirror. I was glad it was my right arm, and Wyatt couldn’t see it from where he stood. I really wanted to get a look at it first. When I fixed myself, it hadn’t repaired. I could feel the red purple strands of it snaked throughout my body down deep into my personal energy. It worried me. I didn’t want to check it out with Gregory in the car, but I was desperate to see what the fuck was up. What had he done to me?
“She drives so slow,” Wyatt said, looking at Candy with frustration. “You took off, and I knew something was going on. I kept trying to get her to drive faster and she wouldn’t.”
“She’s smart,” I told him. “No sense in you both getting yourselves killed in the crossfire.”
Wyatt reached in the car and brushed my hair back from my face. I appreciated the gesture.
“Come on, get out of the car,” he said gently, as
if I were a child or an invalid.
“I can’t,” I told him. “I have to stay here, in the car, and the car needs to remain right here in this spot in the parking lot.”
“What has he done to you?” Wyatt asked. I sensed his agitation.
“Wyatt, you need to get out of here,” I told him. “I’m going to give you my car keys. Sneak out when we’re in the restaurant and get as far away from here as you can. I mean it. Things are getting really bad, and I want you to be safe.” He had to know it was bad if I was willing to let him drive my car.
He glared at me. “I’m not leaving you, Sam. I won’t abandon you like that.”
“You are way out of your league, here,” I told him as gently as I could. “Fuck, I’m out of my league, here. I’m trying to get away as soon as I can manage it, and I’m really worried that if I slip out of his grasp, he’ll take it out on you. I’ve seen what he can do. He will hurt you, Wyatt. He won’t lose any sleep over killing you.”
At that time, Gregory came back out of the restaurant with a little bag. I quickly slipped my car keys into Wyatt’s hand, and tried to resume my subdued mien. The angel nodded at Candy and Wyatt and seemed pleased to see me with my butt rooted to the seat of the car as when he had left me. I yanked my torn shirt off as he tossed me the bag.
It was a small pink tank top. Really small. You’d think he would have had a better idea of my size from crushing me against a building. I snapped the tag off and unfolded it, pausing a moment when I saw the design. A stylized geometric angel in gold with a triangle body, triangle wings, circle head and a halo was featured prominently on the front, filling the shirt from neckline to waist. I hadn’t realized Gregory had a sense of humor. I had to force myself not to laugh as I pulled it over my head. Submissive, meek, obedient, I chanted to myself in my head.
