by Davis, Lia;
You saw the Devil. You talked to him.
Gail asked if she’d dreamed him. She must have fallen asleep at Val’s bedside and dreamed the man.
Zin scrubbed her hands over her face and started her car. She needed sleep. Real sleep. Not a half-assed nap spent with her cellphone in her hand, waiting for somebody from the hospital to call. She’d lost ten pounds in the last week, so a meal wouldn’t be a bad thing either. She drove home, hating herself for being so…
She didn’t know the word. She wasn’t lonely. Wasn’t gullible. Definitely wasn’t naïve.
Valdus had been a good guy. Weird or not, their time together had been good. Once he warmed up to her, he’d been a good friend. He could carry a conversation and he paid attention to her, to everything she said.
It was impossible for her to actually fall in love with him so fast. It was unrealistic. Irrational.
Yet when he was dying in her bedroom, his blood staining her carpet and her hands, all he’d wanted was to hold her. Once she knew help was coming, she’d gathered him into her arms without thinking twice. Dirty dreads pressed against her cheek, his grimy skin against hers, and she didn’t care a bit about any of it. He was dying, and it was destroying her.
She made it home before the storm inside her broke loose and swept her away.
Chapter Eight
He carried his mother’s letter in his backpack, wrapped in a plastic sandwich bag to protect it from the elements. In his other pocket, he carried another letter, this one addressed to a woman he tried desperately to forget. He paused at every mailbox he passed, hand on the letter. Each time, he kept walking.
The bearskin was gone, the Devil’s jacket was gone, and he was acutely aware of how vulnerable he was out in the world without their relative protection. Because he looked mostly normal now, as he had when he took his first steps away from domesticity, he was a target for the predators on the street.
He was tough. He took no prisoners, gave no mercy. Soon, nobody messed with him. Left alone, Valdus established his territory, a small nook between two rocks beneath an overpass four states away from the woman he couldn’t forget.
He didn’t have a picture, but he knew every curve of her face, every line and wrinkle. Every night when he closed his eyes and tried to ignore how badly he smelled and how much the dirt itched, how weak and tired and hungry he was, he pictured her face. Her hair. The way she laughed and the stupid jokes she made.
The Devil gave him one more chance. Apparently, he was a sucker for love stories. He probably didn’t want that getting out. He’d spoken to Zinnia and been amused by her pleas for Val’s soul back that he wanted to see how things played out.
There was a new wager on the table. Finish out his seven years. That meant six more months on the streets. Same rules as the last time: no bathing, no washing, no trimming hair or nails. He didn’t have the jacket this time, or the bearskin. He walked away from the hospital in ill-fitting lost-and-found clothes, with nothing else to his name but the letter from his mother. He felt every single injury with each step. It had taken a month in Gus’s back yard until he felt strong enough to move on. Gus felt sorry for him and tried to get him to at least sleep in the garage, but the rules were still the same: he couldn’t spend more than one night under the same roof.
Too much as at stake.
If he finished the next six months without breaking the rules or dying, and Zin still wanted him, he’d get his soul back, plus the fully-functioning jacket, with no strings attached.
If he returned to her when his time was up and she turned him away, the Devil would take his soul right then and there and do it in the most painful way possible.
After just two months of hard traveling up the East coast, he was nearly as dirty as before. His beard had grown back, thick and bushy, and his hair was a shaggy mess of dirt, debris, and general grossness. His wounds had healed, although it was hard to catch his breath sometimes if he really had to exert himself.
More than anything, he wanted to be home with Zin. He didn’t care if it meant the only time he got to see her was in the little park down the street from her house. He couldn’t recall any greater memories than the nights spent out there with her, watching the stars and fireflies while she talked about her life and encouraged him to recall his.
The letter in his pocket told her everything—why he’d left, why he hadn’t tried to contact her. He couldn’t bring himself to send it. Despite it being the Devil’s game, he had the morbid desire to find out if she truly meant it when she said she loved him.
Him. Dirty, homeless, worthless.
In a month, he would make his way back to her town. It would take him the better part of the next month to get there. He ticked off the days on a pocket calendar he kept in the owl-print vinyl lunch bag. On his way out of town, he’d waited by her house until it was empty and crept in. At first, he hadn’t been sure where to look, but one glance in her bedroom and he found it on her nightstand, right next to a picture of her mother.
It was the most valuable thing he owned. He couldn’t wait until he could leave the bag on her doorstep.
Chapter Nine
Zin’s last day at work passed in a fog. She wasn’t sleeping well. She’d dreamed of Val dying in her bedroom every time she fell asleep. Every time, he asked her why she left him alone. She couldn’t explain fast enough that she hadn’t left him before he died.
Coffee was her best friend for the majority of the day. Doctor Raj took pity on her and wrote a script for a couple of sleeping pills to help her get a restful night’s sleep. She hated taking them, but she was desperate for a night’s sleep with no nightmares. Over the last four months she’d tried therapy, anxiety medication, and even alcohol but nothing worked. As a last resort, she took a leave of absence from work so she could find a new place to live. She hadn’t decided if she wanted to stay in River Park or move away completely. Getting out of that house would help. Living somewhere that she didn’t have to drive past the park where she fell in love with the world’s craziest hobo might be the change she needed. She needed to be in a town where she wasn’t looking at every bum, staring at dull-eyed homeless people as she drove under overpasses, and checking the morgue a couple times of week to see if Val had been brought in.
She drove home, hoping Hugh wouldn’t be there. He never stopped apologizing. He was hitting the bottle pretty hard and spent most of his time in town, and most of his nights who-knew-where. It was a miracle he still had a job.
She pulled into the driveway and parked in front of the house. Somebody was sitting on the front steps, holding a hot pink bag.
Not just any hot pink bag. The hot pink lunch bag with the cartoon owls a coworker had given her as a joke when she first started at the hospital.
The bag she packed for Valdus, the first night she met him. The bag she had slept with every night for a month, until it disappeared. She accused Hugh of taking it.
The man stood up, rangy, so thin he looked unhealthy. The insanely bushy beard was back, along with most of the dirt, but his hair was short, and he wasn’t wearing a grungy corduroy jacket or bedraggled, balding bearskin anymore.
She shot out of the car and took the fifteen feet between them in three steps. He dropped the bag and made a move like he was going to reach out for her, then stopped. She couldn’t bring herself to look into his eyes yet.
She took him in from the feet up. He wore heavy boots, like the ones he’d worn before. Jeans so ragged, the only thing holding them together was dirt. A ripped t-shirt in nearly the same condition.
She fought back tears that burned like fire. She was so angry with him she couldn’t bear it.
“Why did you leave?” Her voice sounded like broken glass.
“I had to finish it.” His voice was gruff, quiet, like it had been the night they met.
Despite the dirt and his musty, sweaty smell, she flung herself into his arms. “I hate you so much,” she sobbed into his shoulder. “I can’t bear it, how much
I hate you for leaving me!”
She could feel how weak he was. When he lowered himself down to the porch again, she went down too, straddling his thighs on her knees.
Zin realized she was crying and swiped her tears away. She couldn’t keep up with the tears. Val pushed her hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ears.
“I’m done with it now,” he whispered. “You saved my soul, Zinnia.”
She frowned. “How? I didn’t do anything. I begged for him to let me do something.”
“You made an impression. If there’s anything the Devil likes, it’s being entertained. He wanted to see how this played out.”
Zin gave up fighting her sobs and threw her arms around his neck. She cried while he rubbed her shoulders, her back. When she was a shaking, weak sack of flesh, he pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“You’re done? Forever?” she whispered.
“Forever.” He paused. “Almost. It actually all depends on you.”
“Me? What am I supposed to do?”
He pulled the dreadful green corduroy jacket into his lap. Zinnia recoiled. “Why do you have that?”
Val reached into the pocket and pulled out a small box. “The day in the hospital, I made a new deal with the Devil. If I finished out my time, and you welcomed me back into your heart, I could keep my soul and the jacket, no strings attached.” He opened the box, revealing a small, sparkling ring. “If you can’t see me in your life, I’d rather be in hell, Zinnia.”
The ring caught the sun. Tiny prisms sparkled on his shirt, his beard. Zin couldn’t find her voice. “Val,” she finally croaked out. “Valdus, if you ever, ever leave me again, I’ll hunt you down and give your sorry hide to the Devil myself.”
Val broke down in an exhausted tide of laughter and sobs. Both of them crying, they hugged until the mosquitoes drove them inside. Once inside, Zin asked, “So, can you take a shower now?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I can.”
“Good. It’s going to take forever for us to scrub all this dirt off. I don’t mean to ruin the mood by being mean, but I’m coating you in lice shampoo and then shaving every inch of hair off your body.”
“Us?”
“Is that all you heard?”
“Well…”
Zin grinned and nodded. “Us. This is a two-man job.” She led him into the bathroom off her room and started the water. When it ran so hot steam billowed over the curtain, she pointed at him. “Strip.”
While he started the laborious process of scrubbing the six months’ worth of filth from his skin, she carried his clothes out back and dumped them in the garbage can. Back inside, she found the year-old bottle of lice shampoo and passed it to him through the curtain. While he worked on that, she changed into a tank top and a pair of tiny shorts that didn’t do much to hide her ample hips and breasts. She set out Hugh’s electric razor a regular razor blade, uncertain about what he would prefer. There was an extra toothbrush somewhere under the sink in the upstairs bathroom…
The water was off and the electric razor buzzing when she knocked on the doorframe to let him know she was coming in. He glanced up and his eyes met hers in the mirror. The towel was low on his hips, revealing his scarred back and the dimples above his ass.
There wasn’t going to be much that could stop her from touching him. Everything had always been so sweet between them. Something about the time apart lit her up. She listened to the fierce little voice in her head and stepped forward, gliding her hands up his lean sides. Every one of his ribs stood out. She stroked her fingers down his spine, each vertebra defined by the lack of muscle.
He was a full head taller than she. Zin leaned over and kissed his scars—the ones from the bear claws, the ones he’d gotten from shrapnel in the injury that ended his military career. On tiptoe, she kissed, the gnarled scar that left the top of his shoulder and upper arm a ridged, red mess. She glanced up in the mirror. He’d stopped shaving and just stood there with his eyes closed, the razor buzzing in his hand. He had half his beard left.
“Put it down,” she whispered. “I need you to kiss me, Valdus.”
He clicked the razor off and obeyed. He broke apart when they were both starving for air. “I used your toothbrush. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Tell me that tomorrow and I’ll probably be a little irritated,” she replied. “Right now, though, I need you.”
He chuckled and kissed her again, his tongue tangling with hers. Desire, hot and bright, charged through her entire body, alighting every nerve ending. His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs circling her tightening nipples. His mouth left hers and trailed down her jaw to her ear. She sighed and arched her neck, giving him more access to the sensitive spot behind her jaw.
Zinnia bent to his shoulder, the one unmarked by scars and kissed the dip of his collarbone, his throat. He chuckled when she found a particular spot, so she lingered there, kissing and licking his shower-warmed skin. He smelled like soap and shampoo, with just the faintest hint of chemical undertones.
“You are everything I have ever wanted,” he growled in her ear. He turned her around and pulled her tight against his chest. His hands started at her breasts again, sliding under her tank top and tweaking, pulling, gently twisting her nipples until she was grinding her ass against his towel-clad erection. His hand slid down her belly. She suppressed a little flutter of shame. She was always too soft, too curvy. He pressed his hips against her butt and pulled her even closer. When his fingers slid between her legs, she forgot all about her insecurities.
His thumb stroked her clit while he slid one, then two fingers within her. She gasped and spread her thighs to accommodate his big hand. His other hand moved up her chest to her throat, his fingers seeking her mouth. She swirled her tongue over the tips of his fingers like she would his cock.
Within a few strokes her body started to tingle and quake. She threw her head back, hands over her head, grasping his shoulders, and cried out his name as she clenched her thighs around him. As the spasms eased, he withdrew his fingers. Kissing her neck, he urged her toward her bedroom.
Barely able to walk on legs that seemed to be selective about supporting her, she led him to her bed. She pulled the front of his towel and it fell away from his waist. She cupped his balls and then stroked the length of his cock. At the head, she swirled her palm gently, smearing the silky, pearly liquid gathering there. He shuddered and arched into her touch.
“It’s been a really long time for me,” he said, grunting softly as she touched him. “I’m not going to last long. I’m sorry—”
“Hush,” she said. “If that’s the case, then I want you inside me.”
“I want nothing more right now.”
She pushed her shorts down, her nerve fading a tiny bit when she realized she hadn’t done any personal grooming in a while. Abruptly, she laughed out loud. The man in front of her had half a ragged beard, hair that hung to his shoulders, and had spent the last seven years of his life living on the fucking streets. How natural her pubic hair looked was probably the farthest thing from his mind.
“What are you laughing at?” he asked as he eased between her legs. “Wait, do you have a condom?”
“Oh, shit, no…Well, have you engaged in any risky behaviors over the last seven years?” She pulled his face down and kissed his cheeks, his ear, and his lips.
“Not at all.” He kissed her again and supported his weight on his side while he slid his fingers into her once more, his thumb finding a comfortable rhythm on her clit. She bucked against his hand and held him close. After she came a second time, he moved on top of her, spreading her thighs wider with his knees. “Have you engaged in any risky behaviors?”
She grinned and reached down to stroke his cock against her clit. “Short of falling in love with a dirty hobo wearing the Devil’s magic money jacket? Nope.”
He rolled his eyes and kissed her cheek. “God, you’re beautiful.” He bit his bottom lip as she stroked him against her body faster. “I’m going to c
ome before I even get inside you if you keep that up.”
“Fine,” she murmured, allowing him to position himself at her entrance. He was the perfect size—just large enough to make her feel that pleasant stretching ache, but not so big that long sessions in bed would hurt too much. He thrust slowly at first, groaning against her neck. She arched her back and pulled her legs up higher. Val hooked her thigh over his arm and thrust harder, hitting every perfect spot each time. Breathless, Zin gripped her headboard and met each movement with a tilt of hips.
Val’s breath caught in his throat and he gasped out her name, and a truncated apology. With the next thrust, she felt the way his body tensed, the pulse of his cock inside her, and then the heat of his seed as he came. He growled her name, eyes clenched shut.
He sagged against her, sweaty and weak, his head on her chest. She brushed his damp hair off his face. After a long moment, he shifted around so he could grab the towel on the floor and gently cleaned her up.
She kissed him. “You’re a very considerate lover.”
Val winked. “Not bad for a dirty hobo with a magic jacket, huh?”
“Not bad at all.”
He spooned against her, his face buried in her hair, one hand holding one of her breasts. “Thank you for saving me,” he whispered. “From the Devil, and from myself.”
Zin wished she could get even closer to him. Skin against skin, and she still wanted to just cover herself completely in his love. “The Devil couldn’t have your soul. It was already mine.”
“From the minute we met, it was yours.”
About the Author:
A.D. Roland (AKA Ash) is the author of Wraithborne, Congenital Defects, Dark Consort, A Year of You, The Swamp Song Trilogy, and Candleglow. She writes horror, romance, and dark fantasy. In addition to writing, she designs book covers. She is a sucker for anything related to Kylo Ren and Star Wars in general. She lives in Florida with her kids and her herd of cats.
