by Michele Hauf
Chapter 11
Zaqiel startled upright from the bench outside the Rome airport. The sound of a wailing child alerted him. Mortal younglings were obnoxious.
He glanced to the overhead clock. It was five minutes after the estimated arrival time he’d verified earlier. He’d not missed her, though he’d fallen asleep, which was weird. He never slept. Didn’t have to.
Standing and tugging the ragged jean jacket closed over his bare chest, he sneered at the old woman who cringed upon sight of him. Mortals were so judgmental. Everyone had a judgment.
Even his master.
“Former master,” he muttered, and spat on the ground. “Time to get this show on the road.”
He kicked open the glass airport door, which shattered. Safety glass skittered across the tiled floor. As he entered the building, glass shards rained off his body without cutting his hard mortal flesh. A few people yelled in surprise, but no screams were more audible than the insufferable wails of the child held in a woman’s arms outside a restroom.
Zaqiel focused beyond the noise. The beacon was strong. He scanned the crowd’s faces, seeing eyes and mouths open in dismay. Everyone had a discernible expression. None was unremarkable as had been the muse.
If she spoke he would see her voice. But right now the calamity of cries would mask the clear green color he sought. It felt like she was near, within arm’s reach. Unless his kiss had transferred to another by touch, as it had with the restaurant waiter.
Zaqiel eyed the crying infant. Damnation! The beacon was coming from the babe.
Strutting up to the loathsome lump of noise and snot, Zaqiel gripped the babe’s wrist and saw that the angelkiss had reddened his stubby fingers and meaty palm.
“Let go of my baby!”
He shushed the mother harshly in Italian. “I’m not going to hurt the bitty thing. See here, he has a rash. Poor ugly lump of mortal skin.”
“It’s been bothering him a while,” she said frantically. “I don’t know what it is.”
“It’s a contact rash,” Zaqiel said over the wailing. “Where is the woman this babbler touched? Hmm? The child touched someone. I know it.”
“I…” The mother, confused, tugged at her baby, who only screamed louder because Zaqiel had no intention of letting go of its arm until he got answers. “Are you a doctor?”
“Do you want me to be?” he asked, and influenced her mind to calm and cooperate. It was easy to enter a mortal’s mind, especially when it was not focused.
She nodded. “A while ago a woman walked by and my boy grabbed her pearl necklace.”
“Ah, yes, the neck. That would be her.” He snaked out his tongue, remembering the salty taste of his muse. “Where did she go? Who was she with?”
“A man. Tall. Handsome. In a hurry. But he was so kind to my baby. Is it dangerous? Will the rash go away?”
“How the hell should I know? I’m no doctor.”
“Help!”
Grabbed from behind, Zaqiel struggled against the security guards who had the nerve to touch him. He released the baby’s arm, because to wrench it loose would serve him no boon. The security detail literally dragged him down the slick, tiled floor, away from the woman and child.
“Don’t you know it’s illegal to assault babies?” one of the pair said in Italian as he kicked Zaqiel in the spine to force him off his feet and to his knees.
Enough. He would not endure humiliation from mere mortals.
Zaqiel stood, spreading his arms and flinging the officers away from his body. Thrusting back his shoulders and opening his chest, he let out a cry to Above that pierced the higher ranges of human hearing. Overhead the windows shattered and glass rained down. Before him, the crowd parted with a sweep of his hand, bodies flying through the air and landing in the cutting glass.
How he relished chaos.
Reining in his cry, Zaqiel stomped toward the woman who still held the blubbering child tucked to her breast. The glass had avoided her completely, as he’d commanded.
He placed his palm onto the babe’s forehead and sought its vision. A flash of dark hair curling about its fingers. Glossy pearls. The gentle coo of a dark-haired man as he tugged the faceless woman away from the child. The Sinistari had attempted to quiet the child?
What in Beneath was wrong with that demon? He wasn’t playing this game right. By all means Zaqiel should fear the Sinistari’s approach. And yet the demon was holding back, lurking in the shadows. It set Zaqiel off. He wasn’t sure how to play the return hand.
But he would. He’d find the muse. But he couldn’t kill her until after she’d given birth to his child. Yet the demon wouldn’t allow her to conceive, let alone give birth. What to do?
“They cannot have gone far,” he decided, shoving the woman aside and tromping over the fallen glass.
Eden parked the car under the canopy of ancient chestnut trees before the villa. She hadn’t been here for years. The place looked the same, thanks to monthly visits from the groundsman and a housekeeper. Ivy snaked across the stone front of the three-story house, spreading pink blooms across it like a fairy tale. Each story was painted a different shade of yellow, for the painters were never too concerned about matching. The wood shutters were various shades of gray with some slats missing on the lower floor.
The fieldstones tiling the front courtyard were in need of sweeping. The tree boughs hung low and a double-wide hammock swung in the breeze opposite the courtyard where she stood.
Eden remembered the summer her father had tied the hammock between the cypress trees. She’d been upset about missing her best friend’s sweet-sixteen party back in the States. Why had her father insisted she come along with him to Italy? She’d spent half of July pouting in the hammock. By August she’d resolved that a vacation away from the city wasn’t so life-crippling as she thought it to be. And she did have a cell phone with unlimited long distance. She and Cammie’s friendship had survived despite her exile to a beautiful, sunny foreign country.
Now she got out of the car, stretched her legs and twisted at the waist. Jet lag was imminent but the evening air, tainted with lavender, worked wonders on her drowsy state. She leaned on the car hood, breathing in the freshness.
The Italian air was so different from New York City’s. More expansive. Old, yet subtle, steeped with centuries of strife, endurance and joy.
Since that dreadful summer turned wonderful, Eden always felt as though she could stretch out her imagined wings here and float.
Ashur peeled his large frame out of the car. She hid a laugh at the sight. Like a giant contorting to get out of a clown car, he twisted his head and shrugged his wide shoulders to pop free. He set her suitcase on the ground by the front tire and stood beside her, silent.
She was too tired to figure out his mood, and perhaps he didn’t have moods because he’d said he’d lost all the emotional stuff.
Though the way he’d calmed the baby in the airport still impressed her. She suspected he wasn’t aware he had expressed compassion.
“I’m tired,” she admitted. “Of running.”
“You can get a good night’s rest here.”
“Sure. And then what? Another day of running away from the maniacal angel?”
It was apparent Ashur couldn’t kill the angel unless it was already attacking her. She did not like being bait. Surrendering her control was not tops on the menu. It made her feel small, humiliated. A feeling she was all too accustomed to whenever she brought up her dreams.
“I don’t think I can do this, Ashur. I’m not as strong as I like to believe. Why don’t we…let the angel do his thing?”
“I am surprised at your easy defeat. You would allow Zaqiel to rape you?”
She didn’t like hearing it put that way. No, she would have nothing of the sort. But what could she do?
Eden walked to the stone wall edging the courtyard that spread before the house. From here she could look down over the vineyard. Beyond that, a few kilometers, lived a family who t
ended the vines year-round. The wine was put out under the villa’s name, though Eden’s father oversaw all the profits and marketing.
“I’m good with a blade,” she said, “but as you saw, the angel is too quick for me. Besides, I left it at home.”
“That little stick is worthless against an angel. The best defense against Zaqiel is to allow me to handle the situation.”
“Right. I’m the bait. Got it. Don’t like it. But I don’t have much choice. Though, really…”
“What?”
Something about the air here always loosened her defenses, made her want to be open and true. And perhaps the truth would stop it all.
“Ashur, there’s something you should know. It doesn’t matter what the angel does to me. If he tries to get me pregnant it won’t work.”
“He will not try. He will succeed.”
“He may, but it won’t matter.” She sighed and hugged her arms to her chest. She hadn’t spoken of this since it happened, not even to Cammie, who, thankfully, had given her space.
It was late and she was tired. But she had to get this off her chest before she went to bed. It was something Ashur needed to know.
“I can’t carry a baby to term.”
He rested his elbows on the stones beside her. She could feel his intensity permeate her pores like the warm sun. But he did not speak. She was grateful for that.
“A year ago,” she said, “I was engaged. And pregnant.”
She didn’t look to him for confirmation or any of those awkward nods or smiles of understanding she’d gotten so sick of seeing after it had happened. Probably he didn’t know such things were expected, though completely unnecessary.
“I’d been dating my boyfriend for six months when I found out I was pregnant. It wasn’t something we’d planned. The condom broke. And honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted a baby. Well, I knew I did not. But he proposed, saying he wanted to do the right thing.”
The right thing. Catching her chin in hand, Eden closed her eyes. Those were the three most unromantic words she had ever heard. Though at the time, she’d thought she was a princess and her knight in shining armor had rode up to rescue her.
Funny how a few months, and the ability to look over one’s past, changed their perspective. She was grateful for that now.
“I was excited about the prospect of being married—and you know, a ten-carat engagement ring always clouds a woman’s heart to reality. And I was relieved I wouldn’t have to do the single-mother thing, so I accepted the proposal. Afterward, though, I felt my fiancé draw away from me every day.
“After about a month, I didn’t care that he was growing distant. I changed. My heart altered. I could feel my body changing, my stomach expanding. I was going to have a baby. And I could love it and it would love me and never judge me like so many others have. It was amazing. I felt so blessed. I wanted that baby so much.
“I miscarried at four months.” She bowed her head, but the tears didn’t come. She was all cried out for the baby. Or so she had thought. A tight ball clenched in her chest, a smudge of blackness that yet remained. “When you mentioned how you remembered joy by witnessing a birth, that stirred up things for me again. Sorry to have freaked on you.”
“Do not apologize for something that is not your fault. The loss must have devastated you and your lover.”
“Yes, well, my fiancé broke up with me before I was discharged from the hospital. But the weird thing is, I wasn’t upset about losing him. I felt I’d lost him the day I told him I was pregnant. But the baby…” She reached down now, stroking her flat belly, remembering the sweet mound that had begun to develop. “The doctors told me I have a T-shaped uterus. I can get pregnant, but I’m not able to carry a baby to term. So.”
She turned her back to the wall of stone and propped her elbows on it. A glance to Ashur found him standing stiffly, arms crossed over his chest in a defensive pose. It disturbed her. Men were not keen on emotion and girl talk. And demons were obviously less keen on it all.
“Your angel can do his best,” she said, “but I’ll never carry the little monster to term.”
“Why would you be a muse if you cannot carry the child?”
The look he gave her burned through Eden’s heart.
“Way to make me feel afflicted,” she managed. But she was shaking. Her confession had been difficult, and then Ashur’s castigation… Well, she hadn’t been prepared for that.
She charged past him toward the front door and slipped her key into the lock. She didn’t want to talk about evil angels and guardian demons tonight. Nor did accusations help. She’d gone beyond reason. She’d laid out her greatest heartbreak. She just—
Ashur stood in the doorway, his features darkened by the shadows coaxing night closer. Eden hadn’t flipped on the light. She knew the house by heart. This house held only good memories. She did not want to taint it with her sorrow.
But it was too late. Tears pearled down her cheeks. Her vision blurred, and the grief returned as if it were new.
“Ashur, I…need someone to hold me and tell me everything is going to be okay.”
Chapter 12
Ashur clamped his arms across his chest. It was automatic to resist connection. But it felt wrong.
Six stood there helplessly. She simply asked for what she needed. It wasn’t a few words, but emotional contact that would reassure her. He knew it worked like that for humans.
But a hug?
Hell, where was that damned Fallen?
On the other hand, he never backed down from a challenge.
Opening his arms felt awkward, but when Six saw his movement she slid close to him, fitting her body to his. Her arms slipped around behind his back and she nestled her head on his shoulder.
Nice.
What was necessary was to close her in a hug with his arms. He’d never done the sort before, not even a millennium earlier when he’d dallied with mortal women. Tease ’em, please ’em and leave ’em had been his MO.
He wrapped one arm across her back. The move had her snuggling her warmth against his chest. The heavy sweetness of her breasts and the taut line of her stomach melded to his body. Women shouldn’t feel so good. Such a delicious sin.
His other arm he hugged gently along her back, lifting his hand to caress her soft hair. It smelled like some kind of fruit, as did her flesh. She was a treasure to hold. He had been denied softness for so long. He didn’t deserve it.
Didn’t need it.
His life had been spent Beneath, tapping, tapping, ever tapping away the moments that moved like the sludge sea behind his throne. Trying to hang on to the goodness he’d experienced on earth, yet unable—save for joy. And though he’d kept it, he had never pulled it out to experience for fear of losing it like a wisp of a forgotten past.
Until now.
Six was good; she was warm. She was ripe for him. He was hardening for her. She must feel his erection growing, but she made no indication.
He should indulge when opportunity presented itself. But could he expect carnal relations after her tragic tale of lost love and hope? She’d relayed the information so clinically, as if it meant little to her.
Women were more complicated than that. That much he did know.
Nuzzling his face into her hair, Ashur stifled a groan of pleasure. It was weak to show such reaction. He couldn’t allow her to expect less from him because he’d touched her.
Yet he didn’t want to release her. He wanted to be closer to her. Inside her. Surrounded by her. He didn’t have to commit the one sin of the Sinistari.
“You can do that second part now,” she whispered.
“What part is that?”
“The part where you tell me everything is going to be okay.”
Something inside Ashur pulsed. It was not a heartbeat, but a rap upon the hard walls of his heart. The stolen souls wanted release.
He was called Ashuriel the Black for a reason. A demon didn’t collect myriads of mortal souls, hold them
within forever and not suffer the consequences. He’d come to accept it as his bane, a bane he required to balance the evil he performed upon earth. A bane too wicked to force upon one as good as Six.
“Ashur?”
“I can’t tell you that,” he said, stepping away and pulling her arms from around his neck, “because I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Even what the next hour will bring.”
She nodded. “Sleep.” A sigh lifted her shoulders and breasts. She was still so close to him, he could breathe in her scent. It dizzied him. “Thanks for listening to my silly rambling. The bedrooms are made up. They’re both upstairs.”
“I want to see if I can track Zaqiel.”
“You said you couldn’t kill him unless he was in angel form. And that would only happen when he tried to have sex with me. So, shouldn’t you stick close to me?”
“In theory, but if I can find him and keep an eye on him, I’ll be able to control the situation. An angel loosed on earth is a vile torment. He will leave chaos in his wake.”
“He won’t harm others, will he?”
“He is capable of anything.”
She looked down and rubbed her bare arm. “Would you stay if I asked?”
“Ask and see.”
“Stay, please. I don’t want to be alone, knowing some creepy dude who wants to rape me is out there. And what if I itch?”
Close to the muse or tracking the Fallen—either place would put him in a position of strength. He had simply thought distance would quell the ache he suddenly felt for Six.
So be it. “Stay I shall. I’ll watch you through the night.”
“You mean like stand over my bed? That would creep me out, too.”
“If you were to scratch in your sleep it would alert Zaqiel.”
She nodded and sighed. “You can watch me, but don’t be obvious about it. I think I’m tired enough to fall asleep with a guard standing over me.”
“I’ll carry up your suitcase,” he offered.
“Thanks.” She took her purse up the stairs with her, and Ashur left her alone in the bedroom, thinking she’d like some time to settle into sleep.
