Wickedly They Dream

by Cathrina Constantine

  “Paisley’s going out with someone?”

  “Yeah, didn’t she tell you?” Cayden checked her cell. “No text. She’ll be here.”

  “Finally,” said Rolly, rotating toward a drum roll. “Bruce said a band would be playing. I thought he was bluffing, but it looks like they’re all set up. Oh, look.” He pointed an arm. “There’s Paisley. By the band.”

  Jordan glanced at a cabana complete with a portico. Underneath, cords and instruments lined the pavement as the band warmed up. Like a moth attracted to a flame, Jordan flew down the steps.

  “Hey, Jordan,” said Paisley, smirking as if she’d just won first prize. “Meet Stringer.”

  Jordan gawked at his lackadaisical, shit-eating grin. What should I say? What should I do? What can I do? Absolutely nothing.

  “I think we’ve met, haven’t we?”

  Tits, Ransom, and Dallas, the whole band was assembled. Are they all half-breeds?

  “We met at Twisted Tour, right?” Stringer seemed completely at ease.

  “You never told me you met the band.” Peeved, Paisley cast Jordan a scowl and as a show of possession, drew Stringer’s arm around her. “He met Bruce at Taste last week to make arrangements for the party, and we’ve been seeing each other ever since.”

  Stringer clasped Paisley with his tattooed arms and kissed her on the temple. “Yep, can’t get enough of my girl.”

  Jordan’s mouth gathered to the side and explored his eyes. No red-ring, for the moment. Half-breeds were a conundrum, one minute human, the next demonized. She thought of calling Markus. No, not Markus anymore. Uri.

  “Here, Jor.” Thrill had found her and pushed a tall paper cup into her hands. “Drink up.”

  She peddled the sudsy beer to her mouth and drank.

  LEST EVEN YOUR

  FRIENDS WILL DECEIVE

  JORDAN DIDN’T KNOW Bruce Wellington, except for seeing him in the hallways at school. He was one of the elite kids with money, and she’d been not so well to do and considered a geek. He’d graduated and was heading to Harvard or some big-wig college.

  After ingesting three cups of beer, and not caring if she acted like a total butt-kiss, she confronted him. He’d been smoossing Jody Stoetzel when Jordan hip-checked Jody to the rear and took her place. “So how’d you get Cult to play at your party?” she asked point blank.

  Jody glared daggers at Jordan.

  “Jordan Chase, right?” Bruce’s eyes browsed her body as if she was offering him something. “Aren’t you with Thrill?”

  Batting her feathery eyelashes, Jordan was starting to get the hang of this flirty thing. He wasn’t the best looking guy in the bunch, however, he was wealthy and girls buzzed around him like bees on honey.

  “Thrill drove me here. But . . .” She arranged her arms on his shoulders and slithered her body to the music, and then repeated her question. “How’d you get such a kickin’ band to play in your backyard?”

  “Money, babe, money.” Wrapping his arms around her, Bruce squashed her against his chest as they moved to the melody. “I met them at Twisted Tour.”

  Jordan felt odd, very odd. She blamed the beer. Her vision blurred as she strained to make heads or tail of Bruce’s haircut: buzzed on the left and stringy on the right. It was the mu sic, so unlike the head banging metal Cult had performed at the Twisted Tour.

  Within a microsecond, Jordan received a vision. A body jettisoning through a shattering windshield, sprawling lifelessly over the hood of a corvette. Bloody and broken, Bruce Wellington’s pupils dilated and reflected her image in his dead eyes. She gasped.

  An interior voice disrupted the vision. ‘Hey, love. Go for a walk. We need to talk.’

  Ignoring the inner voice, she asked Bruce, “What kind of car do you drive?”

  “So you’ve been spying on me, huh?” Bruce dug his fingers into her back, keeping her close. “My parents purchased a corvette as a graduation present. It’s still under wraps in the garage. I was saving that as a surprise for later. Did you peek?”

  “No, I-I don’t like corvettes.” The sight of Bruce’s bloody carcass was stamped on her brain. “You should get rid of it.”

  Again, Uri broke in, ‘Get out of there. I want to talk to you.’

  ‘Not now.’

  “Corvettes are sleek and fast. What’s not to like?” He glided his fingertips over her neckline. “Did you go in the house and indulge in the coke line?”

  Before she could answer, Thrill appeared by her side, drawing her under the crook of his arm. “Bruce, you trying to steal my girl?”

  “No, man.” Bruce defensively upstretched his hands. “She’s one kooky chic.”

  “She’s my kooky chic.” Thrill’s tone was more satire than sincerity. “Remember that.”

  Drums rolled, the guitar sang, and Stringer screamed into the mic. Cult was setting the place on fire and Jordan’s head was swinging with the beat.

  “I need some fresh air.” She scuffed her fingers over her temple.

  “We’re outside. There’s fresh air all around us.” Thrill escorted her from the dancing throng. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “Great idea. My head feels funny.”

  “In a good way, I hope.”

  She gazed into his alluring amber eyes. “Kind of funky. I drank too much.”

  An adamant Uri said, ‘Markiel wants to talk to you.’

  Jordan laughed aloud.

  “I guess you’re feeling real good,” Thrill said, and led her well past the cabana into a secluded grove where the foliage reduced the musical cadence. They rested near a giant tree trunk, and a plaid blanket had been spread on the ground.

  “Is that preplanning, Thrill?” she slurred.

  He took her into his arms. “I was hoping to get lucky tonight.” His mouth overtook her protest, kissing her fervently.

  She felt like putty in his arms.

  ‘Hey, I’m warning you for the last time.’ Uri persisted. ‘Stop what you’re doing. You’re not right in the head, love.’

  Feeling uninhibited, she let Thrill pick her up and lay her on the woolen blanket. His firm body stretched out next to hers.

  “Go away. Can’t you see I’m busy,” Jordan murmured.

  “What?” His callused palm, smoothing the skin along her waistline, stopped.

  “Not you,” she said, totally limp and pliable. Even though warning bells clanged in her head, she was completely at Thrill’s mercy, melting under his touch.

  His tongue parted her lips while his fingers fumbled with the button on her jeans and then she heard the sound of the zipper.

  Markus doesn’t love me. I have Thrill. No, that’s not right. She was all mixed up. Markus loves me. That’s why he left. None of it made sense.

  Thrill cooed her name like a lullaby as his hands expertly explored her body. She moaned, thinking of Markus. Markus touching her. Markus’s lips skimming the column of her throat. Markus’s body covering hers, but it wasn’t her angel, was it?

  A feeble, “No,” spat from her mouth. Feeling like a flaccid noodle, Jordan banded Thrill’s wrist with her fingers, halting his progress. “Stop. Please. I…”

  Why can’t I talk? Am I under a spell? Not Thrill. No. Not Thrill.

  “C’mon, Jor. It’s time.” His hot breath tickled her ear. “I want you so bad.”

  He wasn’t taking no for an answer, and shifted on top of her, his elbows bracketing her head seeking her lips. She felt threatened, but for some bizarre reason, she couldn’t resist.

  The pressure of his body weighted her down, hurting her, and his knees wedged between her legs.

  “No!” She writhed beneath him.

  All at once, his demands ceased. Literally, he was peeled off her.

  “I believe the girl said no.”

  Jordan blinked, the fuzz blocking her vision. Markus, or rather, human Mark was standing there, holding Thrill by his shirt collar. Thrill’s feet were actually dangling in the air, his toes grazing the ground.

  “Put
me down!”

  Mark released him.

  Thrill landed on his feet. After righting his mussed shirt, he clinched his fingers into a fist. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Mark said through clenched teeth.

  “Do what?”

  “Just go back to the party and leave Jordan with me.”

  “Why would I do that?” Thrill stretched and furled his fingers. “Jordan is my girlfriend. She came to the party with me, not you.”

  “It’s all right, Thrill. I want to talk to Mark.” Jordan climbed to her shaky legs. She brushed off her shirt and zippered her jeans.

  “You’re mine!” Thrill turned on her, eyes furious. “My girl. Not Mark’s.” He jerked his head at Mark. “And where did that prick come from?”

  Taking a deep breath, she felt her head begin to defuzz and an increasing strength filtered into her limbs. “I don’t know what’s happening here,” she said. “I like you, but you’re pushing the limits.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. You teasing little witch.” Thrill’s expression was volcanic.

  Before he could utter another word, Mark grabbed his shoulder. “I think you’re through here,” he said, his tone as sharp as the edge of a razor.

  “Go to hell!” Thrill rammed a fist into Mark’s jaw. It sounded as if he’d connected with concrete. His knuckle popped, and he cupped his hand. “What the fuck?”

  “You better leave before I lose my temper,” Mark said. A charged undercurrent whipped around the area.

  Jordan detected flashing blue sparks in her angel’s eyes. “Go, Thrill, please, just go.”

  Clutching his hand, Thrill turned to Jordan, his face stricken. “Are you sure about this? I’ve always thought this guy was some kind of dick-bag stalker.”

  “I’m sure.” She wanted him to leave. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Thrill straightened his shoulders, and with a snarl at Mark, headed back to the party.

  Jordan felt small under Mark’s hypercritical stare, and guilty, as if she’d been cheating on him. She took a stab at desensitizing the situation. “Why did you decide to pop in? I thought you were off to who knows where, fighting who knows what.”

  “Come here.” Extending his arm, he stood unswerving.

  “Where’s Uri?” her voice quavered, sounding tentative, but she wasn’t afraid of his charged energy.

  “Come here,” he ordered again. His body erupted into brilliance, diminishing the shadows. He was no longer human. He waited for her to come to him.

  She reached out, the tips of their fingers touching him and igniting a series of pure crackling bolts.

  Swiftly, she was drawn into his muscular body. Overwhelmed with passion, the last thing Jordan remembered was the incandescent, white light.

  FUTURE EXPECTATIONS

  “WHAT WAS THAT?” Jordan’s legs felt like Jell-O. She closed her eyelids against the sheer intensity of light. She would’ve toppled if Markus hadn’t supported her with his arms. Cradling her to his chest, he carried her to the hammock, depositing her onto the soft twine.

  “I thought it was quicker than walking. I don’t have a car anymore.”

  “Am I home?” The brightness dimmed, though she held an arm over her eyes, shielding them from his glow.

  “Yes.”

  “You might want to extinguish your light before Henry comes marching out here.”

  Once Markus converted into his human figure, she glimpsed the white house, reassuring herself of their location. The unanticipated teleportation churned her stomach in a most disagreeable way. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “It’s a form of transport that needs getting used to, if you’re human.”

  Sparkling tiny firecrackers transformed into the angelic figure of Uri. “Oh good, Markiel. You’re here.”

  “You didn’t think I’d come?” Markus gazed at his brother angel, cocking his head.

  “You seemed somewhat indisposed.” Uri’s lips thinned. “Glad you made it out alive, mate.”

  “Thanks.”

  “This girl will not obey me,” Uri said, his voice in tattletale mode. “How can I be the guardian for a warrior if she won’t listen to me?” His stunning eyes bugged out of his head, zipping from Jordan to Markus.

  “After you told me what was happening, I came right away.” Markus tucked in his lips and slowly shook his head. “I watched and waited, hoping she’d recognize the magic spell and deal with it herself.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Jordan hopped to her feet, and splayed her arms in front of her. “Why do angel boys always talk about me like I’m not here?”

  Markus, looking outrageously stellar and a head taller than the dazzling Uri, smiled.

  Jordan groaned. “And,” she continued, “why are all angels so freaking gorgeous. I’m having a hard time concentrating.” She pressed her eyelids shut. “Uri, douse your light.”

  When the area was subdued and dusky, she reopened her eyes.

  “Your beer was spiked, love,” Uri said. “The boy wasn’t playing fair.”

  “And Stringer was casting one of Grogan’s spells over the kids as he sang,” Markus said. “You had a double whammy.”

  “Spiked and spells?” In a vexing mood, Jordan flipped her hair over her shoulders. “Spiked with what, and who would do a thing like that?”

  Markus arched an eyebrow. “You should’ve been able to ward it off, but I understand you have feelings for the boy, which overrode your thought processes in combating the elixir.”

  “Thrill?” She didn’t want to believe it. “Why? How? I-I don’t understand.”

  “Young humans are real pieces of abstracted contradictions,” Uri said, now also shaking his head. “From what I gathered by being covert—”

  “Being an invisible angel kind of helps when being covert,” Jordan berated with an eye roll.

  “Yes, that helps a bit.” An impish smirk carved his face. “Let me explain. The boy named Bruce hired Cult to play at his party. And for extra dough, lots of extra dough, Stringer guaranteed Bruce he could weave a spell to get the party rocking, with a little something extra for the . . . let’s say, difficult girls. An elixir that would make females more compliant.” Uri chuckled humorlessly. “Basically melt in their arms. You capisce? I tried warning you, but—”

  “But you’re stubborn and bullheaded,” Markus finished Uri’s sentence.

  “Nothing happened.” She flushed, mortified at her body’s betrayal. “Besides, I’m stronger than Thrill.”

  “Not with that kind of elixir,” Markus said. “It weakens the muscles, so you can’t fight back.”

  “I did feel like a wet dishrag. I can’t believe Thrill was that desperate to get into my pants.” Now enraged, she wanted to bash his teeth down his throat.

  Uri coughed, glancing at Markus. “Actually, Bruce Wellington spiked the entire keg of beer.”

  “Omigosh! We have to do something. We need to get back there and warn—”

  “No need,” Markus said. “We called the police. The party’s over.”

  “The party’s over for me too. Call if you ever need me.” Uri dipped into an exaggerated bow. “Glad Ezekiel knocked some sense into that thick skull of yours, mate.”

  Alone amid the sweet, chirping birds, Jordan looked to Markus. “What did he mean?”

  “Ezekiel is stubborn and as bullheaded as you are.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sit down.”

  “Maybe I’d like to stand to hear what you’re going to say.” She sounded like a childish brat, and he gave her the ole stink eye. “Okay, I’ll sit. But not because you’re making me.” The hammock swayed beneath her. When she looked up at him, his chest expanded, dragging in a cleansing breath.

  Markus grunted before speaking. “I was summoned by my Father, and we talked. Mainly about you.”

  “Me,” she said, incredulously.

  He closed his eyes and his shoulders drew up with an inhalation of b
reath before saying, “Do you know anything about your ancestry?”

  “Not really,” she answered. “I never thought of asking Em or Henry about their roots.” Markus was acting a bit restless tonight. Is he giving me the big sendoff, again?

  “Of course, you know the prophecy that’s been hanging over your head.”

  Jordan flinched. “You mean the one where I die and become one with Lucifer?”

  “That one, yes.” He massaged his shoulder as if it ached. “The coupling of Seeley and Jack was foretold to procreate a great warrior for God. Not Lucifer. Asa was misinformed or mislead by his mystics. And prophecies, whether true or false, have a nasty way of fulfilling themselves.”

  “What about the part ‘And God will weep’?”

  “God weeps rejoicing. God weeps in despair, goes both ways.”

  Markus veered his face toward the moon, and Jordan noticed starlight in his eyes.

  “This is going to sound incredible, but this part I’ve known since your birth.” Swallowing and clearing his throat, he hooked his thumbs into his jean pockets. “You have angel blood in your ancestor’s heritage. The main reason why you and your mother have been instrumental.”

  “Really?” Jordan straightened, stubbing her toes into the soil. How totally, awesomely, cool.”

  “Those are good words to describe it.”

  “So where does the angel blood come from?”

  “We talked about Nephilim, remember?”

  “I certainly do.” She’d never forget the day he’d left her.

  “Your grandfather, Henry, carries the angel’s bloodline.”

  She smirked. “I knew there was more to Henry.”

  “He doesn’t know it, though,” Markus said. “And it’s best to leave well enough alone.”

  “My lips are sealed. Oh, wait, can I tell Mom?”

  “Seeley already knows. But that’s not the only information I was permitted to hear. Seeley has angel blood flowing through her veins on her father’s side.” He unhooked his fingers from his pockets and folded his arms over his chest. “Jordan, you have angel blood from your mother and your father, Jack Chase.”