by Dianna Hardy
“So, you’re going to meet me at Karl’s then?”
“That okay?”
“Uh-huh,” she nodded. “What are you picking up? Loin cloths?”
He laughed, and his dark eyes twinkled. “Well, yes, it’s on my list, although,” he added as he stepped into his new Calvin Klein briefs, “these aren’t too bad.” He leaned over the bed and planted a kiss on her lips. “You’ll make a human out of me.”
“You’re already half way there without my help at all.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Hey, I like being human. Give it a chance. You’re not your father.”
His shoulders stiffened as he pulled on his T-shirt, and she wished she hadn’t mentioned his dad.
“I know. But it takes time to wipe the slate clean when others have laid three hundred years of their own fucked up garbage on it.”
“Yeah.” She knew. Did she ever.
Tell him, whispered the voice in her head. Tell him what’s been bothering you the past week.
She gave her subconscious a mental ‘shush’ and bit her tongue for good measure. She wasn’t ready. And now wasn’t the time anyway.
“Okay, I’m all set.” He took a last look at her, and his eyes glazed over. “Damn, girl, you look so sexy sitting there all naked with your hair ruffled up.”
Heat flushed through her, and she smiled a genuine smile this time. How did he do that – be so playful and serious at the same time?
“You going to teleport to Karl’s or catch the tram?”
“Tram,” she replied. “It’s a cold night, but clear – crisp. I like the nights like this.”
He nodded, then leaned in for a final kiss.
Before he could pull away, she grabbed his face and brought him down to sitting on the edge of the bed, deepening the kiss, revelling in the flavour of it.
She grinned. “That’s better – that’s a proper goodbye kiss.”
“I’m not complaining, but this isn’t ‘goodbye’, this is ‘see you in an hour’. Amy…” He hesitated. Pulling back, he searched her eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay? If you don’t want me to pop back home—”
“I’m fine! Really … I’m just more tired than I’d like to admit, but if you’re going to keep dragging me into bed at every given opportunity, then that’s hardly surprising, is it?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Dragging you?”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “Kicking and screaming,” she nodded.
“I see. Baby, if you’d like me to drag you kicking and screaming, you only need to ask.”
Oh, my…
And with a devilish grin, he whispered, “See you later,” and disappeared in front of her eyes.
She let out a little giggle. Was it only four weeks ago he’d looked at her with that same grin, perched at the end of this very same bed? He’d dematerialised then too, right before…
Her laugh died in her throat as Etienne’s hard-lined face flashed in her mind’s eye. It quickly morphed into Paul’s soft, kind features, and a whole new torrent of confused emotion rushed through her.
She leapt off the bed before she could examine them further, and threw on her clothes, forcing herself to think about the tram timetable instead so she could calculate when she would arrive at Karl’s.
You should have told him, came that annoying voice again.
“Oi!” she said out loud to the empty room as she fumbled for her gloves through her underwear drawer. “Didn’t I tell you to shush?”
Damn, she could have sworn she’d chucked her gloves in here after the last time she’d worn them.
“And I will tell him, when I’m good and ready … and when I’ve removed all breakable objects from anywhere near his vicinity,” she mumbled.
Her hand hit a small, satin pouch, right at the back of the drawer.
She froze. She’d forgotten that’s where she’d put it.
With a shaking hand she lifted it out. It was still loosely knotted at the top, just the way she’d left it.
Will you let him know before, or after you tell him you love him?
Love.
Amy sighed. Yes, she did love Pueblo. She’d come to realise it over the last few days. Maybe their bond accentuated the fact, but a blood bond could not change a person, and there were elements of Pueblo, and how she responded to him, that had nothing to do with their union. It was in his dedication to her; in the fact that he went out of his way to ensure she got her space, even though she damn well knew all he wanted to do was envelop her in a bear hug. It was in the way he’d never once told her he loved her, even though it was as clear as day in every action he took. He’d given her everything she’d asked for and more, and little by little, her heart had yielded to him just as her body had from the beginning.
She tugged the knot at the top of the pouch. It came undone far too easily.
Yes, she loved Pueblo, but how could she tell him when … it just wasn’t that simple.
She tipped the pouch upside down over her palm. Elizabeth May’s wedding band fell heavily into her hand.
Two things from 1956 had come back through the wormhole with her: the dress she’d been wearing, and her wedding ring, which she’d also been wearing. The dress, she had given to charity. The ring…
No. It wasn’t simple at all.
Chapter Four
Reaching Sophia was easy. The flames were inconsequential to her.
When Mary lifted her up into her arms, the supernatural silence that entombed the girl was broken, and she let out a little sob, throwing her blistered limbs around Mary’s body, and holding on tightly to her neck.
“Sshhh … it’s okay, honey. We’re getting out of here.” The fact that she was a demon, and probably centuries old, held little weight in Mary’s mind. At this moment, she was a child in pain, and no one – demon or human – should be bound to Hell.
Abaddon’s bound to Hell, whispered a voice in her head. She blocked it out.
“Angel,” whimpered the girl. “I just need a drop…”
Before she could even wonder what she meant, Sophia had fastened her mouth onto the side of Mary’s head, and gently sucked at her drying blood.
She stilled, not quite knowing what to do – then she noticed the girl’s body healing. The blisters disappeared, her skin became less red and grew back in the patches where it had peeled away. The fire licking at her skin, now no longer affected her.
When Sophia was done, she gave Mary a little smile. “Thank you, angel.”
Good God.
“Mary … just call me Mary.”
She hauled them both out of the fiery chamber where Gwain was waiting, his furious eyes hurling bolts of lightning at her.
Uh-oh.
Sophia scrambled out of her arms, and the next thing she knew, she was up against the wall, Gwain’s hand pinning her there by her neck.
“What the fuck did you just do?”
Her own anger mounting, she shoved hard against his chest. He didn’t budge.
“I wasn’t leaving her.”
“I thought I’d lost you again! Most people die when they walk into a blazing fire!”
Oh.
He didn’t know?
“I’m immune to fire.”
“No bloody kidding.”
She shoved him harder. “Look, I didn’t mean to give you a heart attack, but I wasn’t going to leave her.”
“She’s a demon – the pain she felt wouldn’t have been as—”
“Don’t you dare talk to me about pain. I know exactly what she, and a host of other people have felt in the middle of that inferno!” Tears of anger, at both Gwain’s reaction and the unwelcome memories of those burning victims she’d dreamt of over the years, pricked her eyes.
His anger faded a fraction, and he stepped away from her. “Fine,” he stated, flatly, then grabbed her arm, and pulled her along behind him.
She yanked it back. “Quit it – I can walk,” she snapped, and reached down to retrieve his
rag of a shirt before bouldering her way in front of him.
What the hell had crawled up his arse?
She heard him mumble something about stubbornness as she hurriedly threw the top back on.
She had told herself she wouldn’t look at Abaddon’s dismembered body once she’d walked back into the larger part of the stony cave, but that didn’t stop her from blinking at the scene in astoundment as she came to an abrupt halt.
The carnage. The Hell-God was pulp. Practically liquefied.
“Gwain … Jesus Christ…”
He looked at her, annoyed. “Hours, Mary, that’s all. Remember how I healed you? How all your blood rejoined then sank back into your skin? Same thing here. He’ll reform himself. So we’re leaving – now.”
Tearing her eyes away from the mess, she followed him into a short passage which led to an adjoining, large alcove. She couldn’t see an exit. “How do we get out?”
“Same way I got in, only in the opposite direction.”
“Ha fucking ha … I’m serious.”
He sighed as they reached the far wall. “So am I. Look up.”
She glanced up, and gasped when she noticed what she hadn’t before: directly above where they were standing, there was no ceiling. Just miles and miles of what looked like a deadly cliff face that seemed to be throwing out balls of fire in random places. She couldn’t make out where it ended. She turned her attention back to Gwain, and took in his wings. Guilt wrapped itself around her heart and tugged hard. He’d lost those wings because of her.
“How—”
“We’re climbing.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Are you insane? Sophia and I can’t—”
“I’m climbing … and I’ll carry you both.”
He was insane.
“You really think you can do that? How long will it take to reach the top?”
“Three or four days, maybe.”
“Days? But you just said we’ve only got hours before—”
“Then we’d better get a move on – or are you going to stand there arguing with me all day?”
She was still gawping at him when she felt a tug at her hand.
“Mary,” said Sophia, who had reappeared so quietly she hadn’t even noticed. “Your blood can heal.”
A strained laugh left Gwain’s throat. “No no no no no no no…”
“My blood?”
“You are impervious to the fire,” explained the girl-demon, in that steady voice that made her sound like she was very old, and a little creepy. “Your blood healed the wounds I suffered. Gwain’s wings were burnt when he fell, by the fires that guard the passage to Hell.” She pointed upwards. “We’ll have to go through them again.”
“Are you saying that my blood can heal his wings?” asked Mary in a hushed tone. If that was true, she’d gladly give it – she wanted him to have his wings back.
Sophia nodded. “And it will also build his immunity to the flames for a short while.”
“Did you hear me say no?” cut in Gwain.
“But if it helps—”
“Mary…” His tone was a warning.
“Sophia drank it.”
“That’s different – she’s a demon.”
“Oh, so my blood’s fine for demons, but not good enough for you?”
He rounded in on her fast, anger painted all over his chiselled, ageing-rock-star looks, now splattered with blood and grime. “When demons drink angel-blood, nothing happens other than a basic exchange of properties. When angels drink each others’ blood, we bond.”
She huffed in irritation. There was that ‘bond’ word again. She’d had enough of hearing about shapeshifter-bonding, and soulmate-bonding, over the past few weeks; now she had to hear about angel-bonding too?
“And believe me,” he continued, “when angels bond it’s not all la-di-da, I-can-feel-you-wherever-you-are, shifter-love crap – it’s an all-consuming, soul-destroying mergence, which is why most angels never bond.”
She rolled her eyes at his melodramatics. “Sounds like me with my first boyfriend. Besides, I’m human … mostly.”
“No, Mary, you’re an angel – mostly. If you were human, your blood would not have had any affect on Sophia, and I would be trying to drag your burnt, dead body out of that inferno you so happily wandered into.”
Okay, so he was still pissed off about that.
“But—” she bit her tongue. She was about to ask him if they had already bonded an aeon ago, which is what psycho-God had implied, but she didn’t want to press a potential button without having any memory of the event in question. She decided to press his other button instead. “He drank my blood.”
The silence was so heavy she wondered if she’d gone deaf.
Gwain’s face became expressionless, his eyes darkened to a smoky charcoal, and holy shit, that must have been one huge button because the immediate temperature seemed to plummet a few degrees … and those cold waves of fury were coming from him.
Sophia quickly dropped her hand, and scurried away.
Sensible demon.
“He did what?” he asked her, so quietly, she almost didn’t hear him.
“He … er … he drank my blood,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper; then she suddenly felt an overwhelming need to justify herself. “I was chained up – I couldn’t stop him.”
He took a step towards her, and leaned right in, leaving nothing but a few centimetres between them. “Where?”
Reflexively, her tongue darted out to the bruised cut on her bottom lip.
His gaze followed the movement, then rose back up to meet her eyes, and her breath caught in her throat. He was looking at her the same way he had in the prison, with nothing but smouldering, raw desire.
A bolt of lust shot through her, taking her completely by surprise, and her inner-voice laughed dryly. Figures that the first time in your life you ever get turned on by something other than pain is when you’re in Hell. Home, sweet home.
His hand grasped the back of her neck, and he ran the pad of his thumb along her wound.
She let out a little moan at the contact before she could stop herself. Her breathing altered, becoming heavy. Really … it wasn’t right that any man should cause such a sudden response from her. Then again, maybe she only thought that way because no man ever had.
Gwain’s shirt was all at once too tight on her – fuck it, it felt like it was chafing her nipples, which she knew had gone hard underneath the material. She tried not to look at the frame of his face – his set jaw and strong mouth … damn, he looked like he’d been chiselled into creation by Michelangelo – but it was hard not to look, because the alternative was staring into those intense eyes, and they conjured up things for her she wasn’t sure she was ready to know about. Besides, they were making her horny as fuck. She’d never been so sensitised to anything, or anyone, in her life. Maybe it was because of being in the Underworld. Maybe it would be different once they got out of here…
“Did it feel good having him taste you?” he asked.
And if that didn’t wash over her like a bucket of cold water. An unexpected hurt stabbed her in the gut. “What? No.” How could he ask such a thing?
He seemed to realise what he’d just said. Regret flitted over his countenance. “I’m sorry. That was … I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, you shouldn’t. Let me go.”
He pulled her in towards him instead, and for a second, she thought he was going to kiss her, but he stopped just short. He was so close though. Instinctively, she angled her head slightly, so she could breathe him in better. Even after the rough and tumble with Abaddon, he smelt divine – all male, with a woody hint of frankincense and another familiar scent that promised home. Not her newfound Hell-home, but her real home, wherever that was.
“I’d make sure you felt good, Mary.” His voice was thick, his breath tickling her lips when he spoke.
She pressed her legs together in an attempt to relieve the heat building between t
hem. The affect he had on her was bordering on ridiculous. It hadn’t been this way in the prison … but then, maybe she’d been too consumed by her visions to pay it much mind.
“Gwain…” she said, and to her disgruntlement, realised it sounded an awful lot like she was begging.
“You’ve put me in a really difficult position, honey. This is a really bad idea, but every cell in my body wants you unmarked by him.”
She didn’t have a problem with that.
He ran his nose up the side of her neck and through her hair, up to her forehead.
Abaddon had done that very same thing. She refrained from telling Gwain that. Maybe angels were just obsessed with sniffing things.
“You smell like Jasmine flowers,” he stated, hoarsely. “How much do you remember?”
She shook her head, struggling to form words at his nearness. “Nothing … falling into blackness … I…” How did she begin to convey what she was feeling? “Something changed. Earlier, when you were fighting … something changed inside me. I feel … different. He said I couldn’t stop it happening … some kind of transformation.”
He placed a kiss on her forehead, and it was so tender compared to how he was holding her that she shivered.
“I don’t know why this is happening now. I’ve tried my whole life to understand who I am.”
“You’re in a different dimension. More than that – you’re in the place you were created. It’s bound to trigger something. Shock can also trigger changes … awaken memories long forgotten.”
Shock? Was she in shock? Maybe … she had almost collapsed in on herself earlier. “You knew, didn’t you? Back at the prison … you knew who I was.”
He let out a little sigh at her words, and when he next spoke, his voice was soft, apologetic… “I suspected. When I was searching for Amy’s records in the Akasha, I looked for yours too. There was nothing. Not even a record of your birth. Every being born on Earth and in Heaven has an Akashic record of their birth. So I suspected it was you, but I didn’t know for sure. By all accounts, you should be dead, but you never did play by the rules … I’d always hoped…
