"We failed the werewolves," he answered, deep gloom and shame flowing through him.
"I don't think you did," she replied. "I see what you were fighting, and what the only outcome could have been if you truly had failed them." She met his eyes. "That never happened. The world wasn't taken over by Deathwalkers, ghouls, or Rakshasa. We... I mean humans, don't know that they exist. There hasn't even been a sighting of any of them. Other things, yes, but never those." She shook her head. "You may not have won directly, but somehow you won in the ways that matter. And if you're right, then the gargoyle genocide wasn't as complete as my government claimed."
"What does that mean?" he demanded. "You keep referencing that, but I don't understand."
"Years ago, the vampires admitted their existence. They met with very mixed welcome but were eventually mostly accepted. Because of what could only be considered a success for vampires, your people also came out to the world." She felt her own shame and heartbreak swell. "They were slaughtered wholesale. People thought they were demons..." A tear fell from her eye and landed on her leg where it sat lonely and black against her pale skin. "We were told they were eliminated."
"That is not your fault, Sarah."
"Neither is what was done to you. But that doesn't make either of us feel better, does it?"
He picked her up and cradled her in his lap. "It's hard to feel your sadness and not be able to help."
She took his face in her hands. "A bad man wouldn't regret, Abaddon. He wouldn't feel sorrow, or pity; and he wouldn't cry for those he injured through no fault of his own. You are a good man, a decent man, a strong man. You were given only terrible choices, and you managed to make the right ones from what you had. I feel honored to even be in your presence, and deeply humbled that you would be interested in me at all." She ignored the tears that slid from his eyes, knowing it would wound his pride if she acknowledged them. "I'm not going to ask that you marry me, and I know you won't be with me if you don't. But if I don't die, you'd be stuck with me, because you're that kind of man. A man who'll never give up, never quit, no matter what. I would like to believe that there's a woman out there good enough for you, but I honestly don't think that's possible."
He shook his head, pulling her close again. "You make it sound like I'm perfect, and I'm not remotely close."
She chuckled. "No one who's as obsessive, guilt-ridden, rigidly old-fashioned, overly serious, and rabidly moral as you are is perfect. But within your faults lie your good qualities also, so you can't give up one and still have the other."
She looked up at him then, and found what was almost a smile on his face. The skin above his left eye lifted, a strange event without the eyebrow to mark its passage. "Well, you know, Sarah... although you are reckless, thrill-seeking, overbearing, irresponsible, stubborn, arbitrary, and driven... You are also kind, compassionate, gifted, wise, generous, and deeply loyal." He stroked his hand down her face, his own serious again.
She scowled at him. "I am not overbearing." Then she gave up the pretense at outrage. "You can read my life, too?" He had pegged her rather well, if she was going to be honest about it--and she wasn't. Except about the last half, perhaps.
"I can't read minds or lives, but I can sense souls and intents," he admitted. "It must be strange to read minds and lives."
"I can't read minds," she answered. "And I didn't see much of your recent past, because I stopped the reading. It didn't seem polite to pry."
"It often feels like you can read my mind," he answered wryly. "You seem to know everything about me."
"Only about the past," she admitted. "Most of the rest of it is guesswork. You're a bit predictable in your thinking and emotional responses. Most of it comes from pretty long-term baggage."
She ran her hand across his chest. "I love the feel of your skin. It's like expensive low-nap suede over stone. So soft and smooth." She laid her head down against him and rubbed across his skin, loving the feel of it against her cheek and lips.
"Sarah," he warned her, "you are testing my resolve to do the right thing by you."
He still thought that being 'stuck with him' would be a sentence worse than death. So she told him the truth, "I'm not going to stop trying to seduce you, Abaddon. Not when your reasons for refusing are so utterly ridiculous."
Chapter 13
Abaddon stood up, Sarah still in his arms. Despite her cheerful attitude, he could feel how low her energy levels were. They needed to gather up what sunlight remained in the day.
"We must replenish ourselves," he warned her. She shifted in his arms, and he worried for her. She still retained her human fear of the water. As a human, it had crushed the breath from her lungs when she jumped in. As a gargoyle, it would do nothing to her at all except feel like weight pushing on her.
He said nothing, however, and jumped down. For several hours, they sat as statues in the weak sunlight that barely penetrated to their depth. It gave him a lot of time to think. He found himself trying to justify the idea of marrying Sarah. She was a gargoyle. She wasn't as confused as when she first arrived, so he wouldn't be taking advantage of her.
Except that he would be, he had to admit to himself in the end. She wanted to be happy while she was dying, but if she didn't die, she would never forgive him. He wouldn't marry her, because that could never be undone. But what he could do, and would do, was make love to her.
He'd lain with women in the past because he'd been forced to. This time, he would lay with her because she wanted him. He would give her both... the freedom to find someone worthy of her if she survived, and what pleasure he could bring her until she either died or survived and finally realized he wasn't as wonderful as she told herself he was.
He was already damned. At least this time he would be damned for doing something that brought someone joy. Or at least pleasure. He knew that her soul was too beautiful and genuine to be damned. It was only his own damnation possible... and that had happened long ago.
When the light no longer filtered down through the water, he shifted and picked her up. With gentle care, he carried her back inside. As he jumped into the cavern, water sluiced off of them in sheets, even as Sarah turned back into her humanoid form.
"Oh no, I'm all wet," she said through their link. "Whatever shall I do?"
"I have enough magic to dry you off," he informed her.
She laughed and turned his head towards her. Then her lips met his as she told him mentally, "This is the kind of wet that only one kind of magic can solve."
With the words came a fuller explanation, and he felt the power of the suggestive comment blaze a path to his groin, where he grew impossibly harder. He let her legs down until she was standing, holding her mouth with his. When she was standing, he lifted her so that her legs were around his waist. Then he let the loincloth go.
She pulled away to look at him. As their eyes met, she blinked once, a furrow between her brows. He reached up to kiss that look of concern away.
"You're not even going to try to argue?" she demanded.
"No."
"Why not?" She was clearly suspicious of his easy capitulation, and he didn't blame her.
"Well, if the only way that your remaining days can be happy is to spend them under me, how can I tell you 'no'?" He tried for a grin, and it felt unfamiliar, but not unpleasant.
Her eyebrows tried to get acquainted with her hairline at that. "What if I want to be on top?"
Amusement welled up inside him and he made a strange, involuntary sound. Another came, and it sounded so strange and unfamiliar that he made another. For long moments, the strange noises continued until he realized that he was laughing. He hadn't laughed in so long that he didn't know what it was anymore.
It was wonderful, and it was because of this magnificent woman who had fallen into his world and changed it forever.
She was staring at him, bemused. "Are you laughing at me?"
"I suppose I am," he was forced to admit. "If you wish to be on top, My Lady, your pleasur
e is my command."
"Do you think that's going to distract me from the fact that you're laughing at me?"
"No." But now that he knew she felt he should be trying to distract her from him laughing at her--which he'd thought was a good thing--he had an idea of what might do it.
He lowered them to the floor with her still on his lap, and kissed her again. This time, though, he adjusted her so that his penis was trapped between her belly and his. Cupping her butt, he pressed her suggestively against it, pleased when she moaned and arched against his body.
Then, he grabbed her hair and pulled her body backwards until he could lean forward and take one of those perfect rosettes into his mouth. She gasped and wrapped her hands around his head, though his arms easily supported her weight. The position rubbed the wet, sleek skin between her legs up and down the shaft of his cock and made him throb with urgent need.
He ignored his body's demand and focused on tasting her skin. He ran his tongue around and around her nipple, then nipped it lightly. He gave in to his forbidden exploration of her body. Times had changed, and she did not gasp and cover herself as women once had.
He took great pleasure in the sounds she made as she clung to him, teasing each nipple in turn and letting go of her back with one hand to palm the other breast. He tested the limits of her forbearance, sliding his hand down between her legs. When he got only more moans and soft cries, he straightened his legs and laid her back on them, spreading her legs to gaze at the soft pink skin revealed there.
For a gargoyle, who should have been all one color, she was remarkably human in her beauty, even here. He reached down to play with the nub of her clit, and she bucked against his hand. He explored her, sliding a finger inside to watch her writhe and cry out.
As he teased her, though, she obviously had finally had enough. She leaned forward and shoved him backwards. Stretched out as she straddled him, he felt both vulnerable and amazed. When she reached down and took him into her hand and slid down onto him with a single stroke, he nearly shouted with the pleasure of it. It was even better than in the dream.
"No more playing," she informed him, and began to slide up and down on him. He watched, enthralled, as her breasts bounced in front of his face. He reached out to touch them, kneading them. They were magnificent, begging him to touch them and fondle them.
Their bodies slapped together, filling the cavern with the sound of their coupling. Their moans joined the music and the scents of salt water and seaweed hung heavy in the cold air. The heat of her body was incredible, especially knowing that she was so low on energy.
Remembering that, he rolled her over until he was above her. "You are sublime when you're on top, but you must preserve your energy." He tried again for a smile, hoping he was managing. "I'm happy to help."
This time, he controlled his need to slam into her and stroked smoothly, sliding his hand down to spread her labia and slip a finger between them. She cried out, her head thrashing. She looked so amazing, so pleasured, that he could barely stand it. When she finally gave in to his ministrations and slipped away into her orgasm with a scream, he followed with a roar of his own, emptying himself inside her with spasms that ran through his entire body.
Thus they passed the next few hours as he tried to get himself to hold off longer. His desire for her only increased with each bout of lovemaking, however. He wanted more than anything to have the stamina to keep himself from finding his release when she did, but watching her succumb to his touch was more than he could bear each time.
Finally, he could feel exhaustion pulling at her. To his disappointment, she was still obviously aroused and rubbing against him, and he felt inadequate to the task of satisfying her. But he knew that she was hastening the inevitable encroachment of death by wasting so much energy. He gently pulled her against him and murmured that she had to rest.
She pouted but soon gave in. He was unsurprised this time when she drifted off to sleep, her body functions slowing down to what they would have been if she was in statue form. A short time passed and he felt himself tugged into another dream. He gave in and followed her into a strange world where the buildings were pointed and there was sand everywhere.
They made love again in the dream. When they at last reluctantly left it, it was day again in their little grotto. He adamantly demanded that they go outside, despite her protestations. They made love several times that night, but Abaddon stopped it before allowing her to become exhausted. They made up for it in her dreams. He apologized for being a poor lover and she laughed at him.
"You've got it all backwards. If you were a poor lover, I wouldn't want more of you every few minutes. Believe me. You're exactly the opposite. I've never been with a man who puts so much effort into pleasing me. And you still think you're terrible. That's a crime."
The next day he sat in the sun's rays feeling stupidly overjoyed. Days and nights passed and he lost track of the time. But more and more of their lovemaking moved into Sarah's dreams, and the other gargoyles appeared more and more frequently. They stood in whatever dream place Sarah took them to, just staring at her and speaking words he couldn't hear.
It was a statement of Sarah's slipping control, which was a testament to her rapidly failing health. Her light dimmed, and his heart broke each time he looked at her. He refused to join with her sexually anymore, keeping their activity to dreams.
It wasn't until she couldn't shift to statue form one day that the truth struck home for him. Sarah was almost out of time. He found himself pacing the small cavern in fear, unwilling to go outside. He feared that if he went outside, he would come back to find her dead.
It took two days for her to convince him to go. He went, unhappy. She lay on the cold ground, her light shimmering and barely there. Her body had grown distorted, her stomach protruding and her once magnificent hair now muted in color and dull, without the healthy sheen it had first shown.
He spent his time in the sun, every second of it spent in eternal agony. When at last he knew she wouldn't be able to tell that he'd returned early, he went back to the cavern. To his surprise, her glow had strengthened significantly.
Sitting beside her, he felt encouraged, until recognition struck him straight in the heart.
Sarah's glow wasn't brighter, there was a new glow. She was pregnant, and the baby had quickened within her. He reached out to touch her belly, and felt the vague sense of the new life.
"Abaddon?" She touched his face. "I'm dying."
"No." Fear and steely resolve swam through him in equal measure. "I'm not going to let that happen."
He had to save her and their son. There was no choice, no other possibility. He had to do it, and he had to do so without killing the coral. He could sense the sentience within the coral, and he couldn't take one life to save another.
There was a way. A way he'd never take for his own sake. But for his wife and child? He had to try. They were going to die anyway, and they could all die from what he was going to try.
Sarah and his son would definitely die if he didn't get them out. If he failed, they'd all die, and he no longer wanted life if Sarah wasn't in it. He cradled her to his chest, not bothering to wonder when he'd begun to pretend to himself that she was his wife even though they'd taken no vows.
Maybe she would accept him. But she wouldn't get the chance if he didn't get her out of there. So he laid down with her for a last dream before he took her outside and risked everything. But the dream never came, and he looked over to find light once more filtering in through the water.
It was time.
Chapter 14
Abaddon gathered Sarah up and walked outside. She laid with her eyes closed even as he jumped into the water. Knowing how much she feared it, that fact chilled him to the bottom of his soul. Time was almost up.
It took him a great length of time to climb to the top of the stones that comprised the cavern they'd lived in. Once at the top, he looked down and saw the areas that had never recovered from his first att
empts to jump far enough to land outside of the ring of coral. There was a powerful current here; so powerful in fact that it pushed him back every time he jumped.
He turned to face the other direction for a moment. Salvation was in that direction, if he had the strength to make it that far. He looked down at Sarah, pale and still in his arms. Her glow as nearly gone, and their son's was little more than an ember.
Turning to look back the other way, the opposite way he had to face, he felt anxiety seethe within him. He had no choice, he reminded himself. He was out of options. He had to face his terror and overcome it, or all would be lost. Better to die together with his family, than to live eternity without them.
He reached deep inside and called for his wings. Nothing happened. He had trained them never to come out in the water after the first few times he had unintentionally opened them and they had been shredded. It had taken them years to heal--years of agony. Now they refused to come to his call.
Despair rumbled in his heart, rolling over and over like a lead ball. Sarah would die and he would be stuck here without her. Forever.
No. He wouldn't accept that. He couldn't accept that. He tried again. Then again. The futile stupidity of it finally caught in his mind and he wanted to scream. Frenzied rage and desperation rose within him, and with a 'snap', his wings extended to their full range.
With a jerk that nearly tore Sarah from his grasp, he was yanked from his perch. The first time he'd opened his wings, they hadn't extended fully, and thus they hadn't experienced the degree of torque they were now.
It was horrific agony. Abaddon fought with every ounce of his strength to keep his wings straight, his neck muscles corded with the strain even as his legs curled. He fought not to squeeze Sarah, his mind thick with suffering. The hollow, brittle, small bones in his wings began to snap, and the torment ratcheted up several notches. The water filling his wings dragged them out and over the coral. If he lost it now, they would crash to their deaths, taking much of the coral colony with them.
Guardian of the Abyss Page 7
