by Brenda Huber
Throwing his hands up, palms out, he shimmered from the room. Walking wasn’t fast enough. If he’d lingered even a moment longer, he would have helped her with her bra. And the rest of her clothing. He’d have climbed right into that tub with her and helped himself. To her.
Mentally kicking those images out of his head, he conjured himself clean, dropped down on the sofa, and pulled out his phone. Speed dialing number five, he settled back and, crossing his ankles, he waited.
He didn’t have long to wait. Three rings earned him a gruff, “What?”
“I need information.”
“It’ll cost you,” Asher said.
“Doesn’t it always?”
“What information?”
“Theoretically, if a demon fed from a human and only took a part of the soul, how would it affect the demon…and the human?”
A long pause followed. Then a dubious, “Theoretically?”
“Yeah.”
Another long pause. “I’ll get back to you.”
And the line went dead. Unsurprised by Asher’s abrupt manner, Xander snapped his phone closed and tucked it into his pocket. With a concentrated thought, a roaring fire blazed to life in the hearth, burning the chill from the air.
Abruptly sitting upright, he swore. The furnace in the cabin hadn’t been run in two weeks and it was quite a bit cooler up here in the mountains. She was probably freezing in there. If she hadn’t already drowned. Instinct had him concentrating on the bathroom, preparing to shimmer. But then he stopped. She was in the bathtub. Naked.
Naked!
Sweet Heaven above.
Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air. How was he supposed to check on her if she was naked? Or, more precisely, how was he supposed to not take advantage of her being naked?
Kyanna. Naked.
Sweet Mary and Joseph, he had to get that word out of his head.
He crossed to the closed bathroom door and stared at it for a long moment, bracing himself, before knocking. “Kyanna?”
No response. Frowning, he knocked a little harder. “Kyanna?”
Again nothing. Fear poured through him in icy waves. She’d drowned. He just knew it. He’d turned his back for five damnable minutes, and she’d drowned.
Without a second thought, he opened the door and pushed his way inside.
There she lay, head tipped back, arms draped along the rim of the tub, eyes closed. Her hair, freshly washed, snaked over one shoulder and dipped into the water, fanning out between her breasts in an island of bubbles. One knee broke the surface of the water and rested against the side of the tub. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. He watched, mesmerized, as a bead of moisture trickled from her temple down the side of her face, before skimming along her neck to pool at the base of her throat. And once that sweet hollow had filled, the water spilled over, tracking down, down the deep valley between her plump breasts, disappearing into more bubbles.
Every ounce of spit in his mouth dried up.
His body went instantly, painfully rock hard.
Her head lolled to the side and her foot slipped along the tub until her knee disappeared. She started sliding down. When her chin hit the surface of the water and she didn’t even stir, Xander jumped forward, panicked. His hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He couldn’t touch her. He didn’t dare touch her.
Oh God, how he wanted to touch her.
“Kyanna,” he called hoarsely. “Kyanna, wake up.”
“Xander?” Turning her head, she blinked, smiled. And then she went back to sleep.
Gritting his teeth, he dug deep for control. Xander snatched up a towel, and somehow managed to coax her up out of the water, all the while keeping his eyes carefully averted. Not an easy task when the woman he was trying to keep his hands off was soaking wet and limp as a noodle. This was his penance for lusting after her. Reparation and punishment. And he didn’t want to falter. But the urge to take care of her, to see to her needs in her exhausted state wasn’t as strong as his lust. And the blasted towel kept slipping. The sooner he got his hands off her, the better it would be for both of them.
Oh, to hell with good intentions. Where had they gotten him anyway?
Xander conjured her dry and clothed and shimmered them to the loft.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, desperate to get his mind off the memory of her in her bath.
“No. No food.” She gave a lusty yawn and swayed on her feet. “And no sweats.”
“What?”
“Can’t sleep in a sweatshirt and sweatpants,” she complained. “Too hot.”
“It’s cold in here,” he protested. And that was when he made a colossal error in strategy. He looked at her. Her hair was still slightly damp, clinging to her neck and shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed a rosy hue, like the dew-kissed petals of a rose. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, just like he imagined they would be in the deepest throes of passion. And her luscious mouth begged to be ravished. She looked like a goddess just risen from the sea. The scent of her wrapped itself around him and wouldn’t let go.
“More blankets. No sweats.”
He blinked down at her, lost. Blankets? Sweats? What the hell had they been talking about?
He forced a swallow, dragging his mind from the king-sized bed that filled the room and presented way too much temptation. As if the woman before him wasn’t enough temptation on her own already. “What do you want to wear?”
“T-shirt.”
Groaning, he silently vanished the dowdy clothing he’d dressed her in and seamlessly replaced it with an oversized T-shirt.
She immediately frowned, opening her eyes to blink drowsily up at him. “No bra.”
Sweet Mother Mary! She’d be the death of him yet.
He licked his lips and vanished her bra. His control, already stretched to the limit, suffered a thousand tiny fissures at the sight of her hardened nipples thrusting against the soft white cotton.
She wound her arms around his neck and leaned into him, tugging his head down. A contented smile curving her lips. “Thank you.” And she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Those tiny fissures widened into irreparable cracks.
The feel of her breasts pressed against him took his breath away.
Just like that, his control snapped. Sinking his fingers deep in her damp hair, he dragged her head back and fastened his mouth over hers. His free hand rode the ridges of her spine down, down until he cupped the soft curve of her bottom, squeezing, lifting her to the tips of her toes as he ground his throbbing erection against her soft belly. Moaning, he sank his tongue inside the sweet, silky heat of her mouth. Over and over, Xander thrust his tongue against hers. He groaned aloud when she slid one knee up his leg, hooking her thigh around his.
His body engulfed in need, he gripped her generous bottom in both hands and picked her up. Xander’s body quaked when she wrapped her long legs around his waist. Kyanna’s arms tightened around his neck. She angled her head and kissed him back with enough need, with enough demand, to make his knees shake. She set fire to his blood. He took an unsteady step toward the bed, convictions and good intentions rapidly falling to the wayside in a pile of ash. Single-minded determination drove him. In minutes, he’d lose himself inside her. Nothing else mattered.
The phone in his back pocket suddenly began screeching. It took several long seconds for the sound to penetrate the haze of lust fogging his mind. The noise hadn’t seemed to catch up to Kyanna, however. Her mouth continued to slant over his, her deft tongue dueling with his. And all the while she wrapped herself around him, rubbing her full breasts against his chest, grinding the juncture of her thighs along the ridged length of his throbbing erection.
Cursing himself, Xander tore his lips from hers. His chest heaved as he stared into her dazed eyes and battled to regain his senses. He’d been moments from spilling her onto
the bed, stripping them both naked and plunging himself inside her sweet body until both of them were mindless.
He’d been in way over his head, and he hadn’t even realized the danger until it was too late.
He watched as she blinked at him. Her pupils were dilated. Whether from passion or exhaustion, he couldn’t tell.
No. Not like this.
He took a mental step back, then slowly settled her on her feet. When—no, if, not when, as when implied determined certainty—if he took her, he wanted her wide awake. Fully cognizant of what they were doing. He wouldn’t leave room for doubt for either of them later. He had enough guilt to live with as it was. Taking advantage of her in her weakened, emotional state might not be the lowest point in his existence. But he had a nagging suspicion it might well be the one act that truly haunted him for the rest of eternity.
“I have to take this call.” He could barely get the words out. Xander took Kyanna firmly by the shoulders, and nudged her back a step, giving them both some much needed space. “Get into bed. Cover up.”
Before she could speak, he shimmered to the living area and sat down on the sofa once more. His body shook with his need. His erection was so painful, he gritted his teeth against the urge to stroke it himself just to relieve the pressure. He refused to do that though. The pain was his penance for slipping, for giving into the lust.
He snapped into the phone, “Speak.”
“It’s only been done once before that I’ve been able to learn about,” Asher cut to the chase, taking up the conversation as if it had never been interrupted.
“And?”
“It didn’t go well. For either of them,” he qualified.
“Explain.”
“By absorbing only a portion of the soul, the demon inadvertently bound his life force to the human. Another demon found out, captured the human and killed him. The demon’s own life force withered and, no matter how many times he fed, he died not long after.”
Xander swiped a hand over his mouth in a vain effort not to burst into a fit of wild ranting and swearing.
“Doubtful the human would have survived anyway.”
That brought him up cold. “Why?”
“A few hours after the partial feeding, the human began to sicken. Seems they don’t thrive well with only half a soul.” Asher’s tone left a careless go figure hanging at the end of his pronouncement.
Panic clenched an icy fist in his chest, but he did his best to calm himself. A matter of hours, Asher had said. It had been well over twenty-four hours, and Kyanna hadn’t displayed any sickness yet.
She’s strong. She’ll be fine.
But worry niggled again. He’d never seen her so tired as she was tonight. He’d never seen any human that worn down. Maybe it was a delayed side effect. Panic began to blossom inside him once more, clutching his chest in an icy fist. What if she was displaying the first signs of the side effects of his feeding? “What if the human was of angelic descent?”
“A Halfling?” Asher was definitely interested now.
“Very diluted, but yeah. A Halfling.”
“Theoretically speaking?”
“Just spit it out.” It took everything in him not to crush the phone in his hand before he got the information he needed.
“Impossible to say. That, to my knowledge, has never been done. Ain’t too many Halflings running around, you know. Could be the same effect. Could turn out in the end to have no effect on either party.” Asher was quiet for a moment, and then he added, “Man, one thing’s for certain, theoretically speaking, whatever fool it was that did something so stupid had better be finding a safe place under a lock and key for that Halfling. Just in case.”
“What do you mean?”
“Halfling dies, demon dies. That’s an awfully big damned risk to take on a maybe. Anything else?” That was Asher. Always cut and dry. Always closing the deal, ready to move on to the next contract.
“No,” Xander muttered before snapping the phone closed. Dropping the phone to the sofa beside him, he tipped his head back against the cushion and ran both hands over his head, scrubbing.
What in the name of Saint Peter have I done?
Still painfully erect, he stalked to the counter and, resting his clenched fists on the edge of the sink, he stared out the window, restless. Itchy inside.
I should be out there hunting. I’ve got more important things to do than play babysitter to a Halfling that means absolutely nothing to me.
Creepy-crawlies skittered down his spine.
He wiggled his shoulders in a vain attempt to shake them off.
Damn it. The cabin was the one place he wasn’t supposed to have to worry about his curse. There wasn’t supposed to be anything here to intrude on his peace of mind or his confidence in the path that he’d chosen for himself.
Out of all the places in the world he’d ever been, this small cabin in the woods—this quiet oasis on the side of a mountain—was where he’d always been able to find his center. Right now, at this very moment, he’d never been more off balance. He didn’t have to turn and look over his shoulder to see the source of his troubles. He knew she was still up there. Asleep in his bed. He felt her presence in his bones. Deep in his soul. Just like the seemingly permanent hum her essence had given him.
He couldn’t be with her, not like he wanted. He’d chosen this path for himself. He’d walked this path for two centuries. And yet he couldn’t walk away from her either. For more reasons, if he were being totally honest with himself, than because her soul might somehow be connected to his. No, he didn’t think he’d be able to walk away from her, even if it meant facing the fires of Hell once again. Or greeting Oblivion without a sword in his hand.
If he were being honest, he’d admit she was more than a bump in his road. Somehow, she’d become the destination on every road sign.
He didn’t like it. Not one bit.
And that wasn’t the only thing bothering him. He owed her something. She had a right to know what he’d done to her that first night. How he’d absorbed a portion of her soul. Oh sure, he’d told her he’d absorbed some of her essence. But he’d been deliberately vague. She deserved the whole truth, even if she ended up loathing him for it. She certainly couldn’t hate him any worse than he hated himself. Nothing he’d done in his long existence had ever weighed upon him as did that one single event. Suppressing it, ignoring it wasn’t helping. Not knowing what his impetuous actions might do to her, what harm he may have caused her only compounded the issue. The guilt was eating him alive.
Filled with dread, he shimmered to the loft, sat down in the log rocker in the corner. Kyanna was curled up in a little ball in the middle of his king sized bed, dead to the world, the covers pulled up around her ears. His gaze slid to his nightstand, came to rest on the tattered Bible. He reached over and picked it up. He ran his fingers over the worn, embossed cross, desperate for guidance.
He’d pray for direction and place his trust in the Lord’s word, just as he’d been doing for the past two hundred years. After flipping the book open, he dropped his finger randomly on the first page he came to and silently read.
For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Luke 12:34.
A sucker punch to the gut wouldn’t have stunned him more. He gingerly closed the Bible and returned it to its place. Xander rubbed the palm of his hand over his chest, just above his heart, as he settled back in the chair and swallowed. Hard. At length, he braced his elbows on the arms of the rocker, laced his fingers together, and pressed his joined fists to his lips.
And he watched her sleep.
Chapter Eighteen
Unable to cope with the unsettling emotions seething inside him, Xander shimmered to the boulder on the edge of his meadow. Perched cross-legged on the top of the massive stone, he clasped his hands in his lap and tipped his face to the rising sun. He c
losed his eyes and drew a deep breath, released it slowly, deliberately emptied his mind and let it all go.
He let the scents and the sounds wash over him. Evergreens swayed in a gentle breeze. Their pungent aroma, mixed with the crisp fragrance of morning dew drying on fading mountain grasses, seeped through him, familiar and welcome. The meadows vivid colors were so bright they hurt his eyes. Crows squabbled in the distance and flew away. Blue jays and sparrows cart-wheeled and swooped through the skies, perching on trembling branches, calling to their mates in trilling cries or chirp-chirping at intruders who ventured too closely to their nests. Tiny creatures scurried through the underbrush, stockpiling for the winter. Bees hovered and darted, industriously flying to and fro, tending their queen’s dying gardens. Long wisps of white streaked across the pale blue sky. All around him life flourished, indifferent to his quandary.
By rote, he bowed his head and recited the Lord’s Prayer. But when it came to the line about God’s will being done, he paused.
What is your will, Father?
Would he ever find the missing piece to the puzzle? Once he’d turned his back on Lucifer, he’d never questioned his path, never wavered. Not once. He’d steadfastly battled evil on every front and diligently practiced celibacy. He’d aided the innocent whenever the opportunity arose. He’d sacrificed, he’d prayed, he’d repented.
And still, he hadn’t found forgiveness. Just one more battle.
Always one more battle.
Was this to be another trial then? Had Kyanna been sent to test his dedication?
If he caved, if he took what he so desperately wanted, would he throw away all he’d worked so hard for, forever damning himself? Was he already beyond redemption?
If he didn’t take Kyanna, would he be wasting his one and only shot at Heaven here on Earth?
But could she be happy with him?
All these questions were tearing him up inside. It took everything he had, every ounce of his vaunted self-control, not to rage at the sky. Not to leap to his feet and curse God at the top of his lungs, so great was his anger, so great his confusion. He clenched his fists at his side in effort to quell the plasma balls that wanted to spring free and level this peaceful meadow. Darkness swarmed below his calm surface, waiting, biding its time to rise up and destroy. And yet, he wouldn’t let it win, couldn’t let it free. Not out there in the world of man. And not here. Not in his meadow.
