by Eden Bradley
“But…I remember choosing.”
“Yes. You chose.”
“Yet here you are anyway. With me again.”
“My loyalty is astounding.”
She hung her head, her hair falling around her face, covering her naked breasts. “More so than my own. There are reasons why I’ve been rejected by the Dark God.”
She looked up, and the demon nodded, his black gaze on hers.
“Is this to be my punishment?”
“Being with me is a punishment? I have guided you, taught you. Loved you.”
“No, I…I meant to be in this nowhere place. To feel such pain.”
“I am with you. As always.”
“Asmodeus…”
She was full of sadness. Full of fear.
“I would comfort you, little one. I would put my arms around you. But you are untouchable.”
“Even now? Now that my body is no longer sacred?”
“I did not say your body was not still sacred, still consecrated.”
“Yet you cannot touch me.”
His voice was low, seductive. “I would touch you in the way I always have.”
“Yes, Asmodeus.”
She took a step toward him, absorbing the fiery heat of his body, the hard shell gleaming with desire, his dark golden cock rising.
“Tell me what you desire, my beauty.”
“To be touched,” she answered, as she so often had.
“I will tell you how I would touch you, how you would touch me.”
“Yes…”
Already her sex was plumping, filling, her breasts aching.
The demon’s hand began a slow stroking motion, up his rigid shaft, down again. He was pure beauty, her demon lover. His skin was like polished gold, impossibly smooth. And his hair was pale, pale silk, the long strands floating weightlessly about his broad shoulders, his perfect face. But at this moment, nothing was more beautiful to her than his hand on his cock, the flawless instrument of pleasure that was ever denied her. His long fingers brushed at the swollen head, and her mouth watered.
“I would put my lips there, Asmodeus, and taste you,” she told him while the heat built in her system, scorching her with need.
“Yes. And I would wrap my hands in your long hair, wrap it around and around my fist, holding you tight, pushing my flesh down your lovely throat.”
“And you would be sweet on my tongue…”
“Show me how I would touch you while you sucked me, beauty.”
“Oh…”
Her hands went to her breasts, teasing the nipples. They went hard as two stones immediately. But she needed more. With one hand she parted the lips of her sex, looked up at Asmodeus as pleasure seeped into her system, warming her all over.
“The perfect pearl,” the demon told her. “I would taste you, as well.” His tongue darted out, the luscious pink tip running over his full lips. “I would drink from you, my tongue pushing into you, suckling you. You would grow hard in my mouth.”
“Yes…”
She used her other hand to tease at her entrance, to tug on her clitoris. She watched as he stroked his thick member, the head growing darker, like burnished copper. With his other hand he smoothed his fingertips over one of his dark, bronze nipples.
“You would put your lovely mouth on me here,” he continued. “And here.” He arched his hips into his fisted hand.
“I want you, Asmodeus.”
“As always, my beauty.” He pumped into his fist, faster and faster. His eyes burned like the darkest coal, brighter with his pleasure. “Spread your pretty thighs for me, little one. Press onto that needy nub of flesh, rub at the entrance to your tight, virgin center with your fingers. Yes. Beautiful.”
She did as he told her, her fingers teasing, pushing in the slightest bit, then slipping out again. With her other hand she circled her clitoris, hard and aching and needing release.
Their hips arched together, into the cool air that separated them, and always would. And as the demon’s gaze burned red, then blue with fire, his roar reverberated in her body as he came. The roaring made her tremble inside, with need, with fear. Like some deep, unearthly vibration, bringing her closer to the edge.
Asmodeus was still roaring, his voice hurting her ears, her head. The ache grew, fanned out, enveloping her. But this was no sharp stab of desire, no exquisite release. It was pain and pain and pain. Drowning her.
She gasped, her hands going to her head, trying to hold it still in the screaming light blinding her eyes, numbing her mind. She couldn’t see, didn’t know where she was.
Was Asmodeus still with her? She didn’t know.
The light pierced, and behind it was a veil of shadows. She blinked, and saw his face once more.
Her stranger who was not a stranger. He blinked at her, his blue eyes fringed in dark lashes. She felt the strength in his face. The concern.
She tried to focus on him, but the pain was too much. She couldn’t bear it. She closed her eyes, called out for Asmodeus in the dark.
The pain faded, and Asmodeus was with her once more. His skin shone golden in the enveloping blackness, like some sort of guiding light.
“Asmodeus. I saw someone. A man.”
The demon’s dark brows drew together, his mouth going tight. “Would you choose him over me?”
“Who is he?”
His voice burned with a simmering fury. “I am the one who comes when you call, am I not?”
“Yes. Of course. But he was here…or somewhere. And I think he is…my protector, somehow.”
“Ha!”
“Please, Asmodeus. Won’t you give me some answer?”
“Do you not love the Dark One?”
“Of course!” she said, fiercely, but knew in her heart some of the fierceness was to cover the lie.
“We must all suffer for love,” the demon said. “You chose to suffer.”
“I did not know that was what I was choosing.”
“You chose to turn your back on the Dark One. You chose to turn your back on me.”
She couldn’t answer him. His fiery gaze burned into her.
“Is it too late to change my mind? To choose differently?”
He shook his head, and faded away, leaving her alone among the rocky cliffs once more, the light fading with him, until all was dark as night once more. Pain gripped her, terrible pain. Cool steel touched her skin, cut into it. She bled. She wanted to call out for him, Asmodeus, but her mouth wouldn’t work. Her head wouldn’t work. She was blind, unable to move, unable to scream.
Was this what she had condemned herself to? This empty place, with nothing but her own failure, her guilt, the endless and abiding love she had been raised for unanswered? That was the worst part of all. Her mind worried over that, until the physical pain surged, her lungs pressing down on her, filling, taking her under like a heavy tide she couldn’t resist.
* * *
FOUR DAYS. AND FOUR LONG nights, listening to the quiet beeping of her monitors. Waiting for her to wake up. And the whole time Declan had been certain she was in there, that she would wake up and be whole.
Or, as whole as someone who’d been through the weird shit she had could be.
Stephen had warned him she might never wake up. Or that she could wake up with nerve damage, brain damage. Still, Declan couldn’t argue away the impossible hope he’d been hanging on to after that first night with her here, in the stifling, sterile white and linoleum and illness of the hospital. As silent and still as she’d been, he felt some strange connection to her.
You’ve been living alone too long. Starting to lose it… .
Maybe. Or maybe there was something special about this girl. This young woman.
He hadn’t for a moment been unaware that she was a woman. Even now, with her life hanging by a thread, he was aware of the curve of her lush breasts beneath the white sheet. The beauty of her face under the tubes and bandages. From his seat in the big, beige, vinyl chair the nurses had brought in for
him the second night, he watched the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, moving with the rhythm of the machines that were keeping her alive.
She’s in there somewhere, my fallen angel. If only I can find her.
Find her? He didn’t even know what he meant by that. Giving himself too much credit. As if there was anything he could do to pull her out of wherever her mind was. So why was he so convinced he could? That staying with her every moment was so damn crucial?
God, he was tired. Tired and apparently delusional.
He rubbed at the stubble he’d allowed to grow on his chin, his cheeks. He hadn’t been willing to take enough time away from her bedside to do more than grab a quick shower, check on Liam, who was safe and cared for at his father’s place.
His father.
They’d hardly spoken since his mother died. He’d avoided the house, had only seen Oran when they’d inevitably run into each other in their small town. His father called every now and then, but it had been less the past year or two. The old man had finally had to give up, he guessed, in light of his son’s constant rebuffs. Or maybe part of it was that he knew damn well Declan wouldn’t like that Oran had a new girlfriend. Well, not so new anymore. But a hell of a lot newer than the woman he’d been married to for almost twenty-five years.
It had been harder and harder not to think of his mom. Not to remember her in a room in this same hospital, pale and suffering, swollen from the chemo and the aftereffects of her surgeries, her dark hair gone. She’d been sick for over a year, but round after round of chemo hadn’t allowed it to ever grow back. It had bothered her. She hadn’t complained, but he’d caught her once, standing in front of the vanity mirror in her bedroom at home, smoothing her hand over her bald head, tears in her eyes. He hadn’t said anything. He’d wanted to allow her the dignity of privacy with her grief.
That was right after they’d learned that more chemo wasn’t going to help. Right before she’d signed the DNR order.
“Damn it,” he muttered, rising from the chair to look out the window, trying to ignore the way his gut still twisted up whenever he remembered what she’d gone through. His own helplessness to do anything about it. To help her.
Calm down.
The morning was heavy with fog, as it was year-round on this part of the Northern California coast. Beyond the rows of cars in the parking lot he could see the trees, dense and dark green against the gray-and-blue skyline.
His mother had loved the fog, which was one reason he’d had to escape after she was gone. There was a span of years when he couldn’t stand to see it: the fog, the ancient redwoods, the wet and the green of the Mendocino coastline. All the things she’d loved so much. He’d joined the military to get as far away as possible. And he had. He’d gone to the other end of the goddamn earth.
Not that that had been any better. In the Middle East he’d merely traded one grief for another.
He turned back to the woman in the bed, barely alive, kept that way by the breathing tube and Lord knew what other machines they had her hooked up to. He had to wonder if his optimism meant she’d really make it, or if he was screwed up enough that he had to make something up. Something to believe in rather than watching another woman die before her time.
“Hey, Dec.”
He turned at his father’s voice, annoyed that he’d been caught in this condition: brooding, worried. Weak.
“Dad.” His father’s gray eyes were watchful, taking everything in at once, making Declan even more self-conscious. He gestured to the chair. “Do you want to sit down?”
“You look like you need to sit more than I do. You been here all night again?”
“Damn right.” Why did he feel the need to lash out? Defensive?
Oran let out a small sigh. “Well, that’s nice of you, son. Nice of you to sit with the girl. Any news about who she is yet?”
“I figured you’d know more than I would, being part of the old-boy loop.”
“I haven’t heard a thing yet.”
“Neither have I.” Declan’s hands fisted at his sides. He pulled in a breath, reminding himself that everything didn’t have to be a confrontation with his father. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll come and get Liam soon.”
“No need. He’s fine at my place. I like having him around. He’s good company. And Ruth likes dogs.”
He tried to ignore Ruth’s name being brought up. It wasn’t that Declan disliked her. He didn’t even know her. But he resented his father trying to replace his mother. He knew it was ridiculous. It had been ten years, and that was a long time to be alone. But even if his father was ready to move on, Declan wasn’t. But the man didn’t have to care for his dog, so he’d keep his mouth shut about his girlfriend and be grateful. “Yeah, well…thanks for looking after him.”
“Sure. Like I said, it’s no problem.” His father moved closer to the bed. “How is she?”
“No change. They’ve set her broken bones, repaired the internal injuries. They don’t know at this point if she won’t wake up because of the injuries or the drugs in her system. Both, maybe.”
Oran shook his head. “She’s a beautiful girl. Hard to think of anyone wanting to do this to someone. It’s crazy. I’ve never seen anything like it. I heard state police took over the investigation.”
“Yeah. State park jurisdiction.”
“And you don’t like that.”
“I don’t want to be left out of the loop, and right now Tim won’t talk.”
“Tim’s local sheriff—he’s probably being kept in the dark for now, as much as anyone else.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“You should go home, get some sleep. You can’t have slept much in this chair.”
“I keep telling you, I’m fine. I’ll head home to shower in a while.”
His father jammed both hands in his pockets, his lips setting in a hard line for a moment before he blew out a long breath. “Okay, Dec. Call me if she wakes up, will you? Call if you need anything.”
“If you can just keep Liam a little longer…”
“I’ll keep him as long as you need me to.”
Declan could see the unasked questions in his father’s eyes. They were always there. He wanted to know why his son had pushed him away, why he couldn’t forgive him. Yeah, well, maybe his dad would have those answers when Declan did.
He looked back at the woman in the hospital bed. He was a real shit to be thinking about his own problems right now.
“I’ll see you later, Dec. Try to get some rest.”
“Okay. See you later.”
He hated that he acted like some surly teenager around his father. He didn’t hate the man. But he couldn’t let the old blame go. Or maybe he’d never really tried very hard. But it was too hard to think about all that now. He was damn tired. His mind reeling with a thousand thoughts about the girl. Who the hell had done this to her. If she would survive.
A machine beeped and he turned to the bed, but she slept on. Sleeping Beauty. Blonde and sweet, like someone out of a fairy tale, and this never should have happened to her, goddamn it.
The anger was rising again, sharp and burning in his chest, his throat. He swallowed it down. Anger wasn’t going to do him any good. It never had.
“Good morning, Declan.” A nurse came bustling in, a chart in her hands. “This might be a good time to head home for a bit while I change her dressings.”
“Okay. Thanks, Liz. I think I will. You have my cell if anything changes?”
“Of course.”
“All right…”
Liz stepped toward him, laid a hand on his arm. He had to steel himself not to jerk away from this nice woman. “You need sleep. Take a nap while you’re there, too, will you? She’s not going anywhere. We’ll take good care of her. You’re dead on your feet, and no good to her like this. Promise me you’ll stay home and take care of yourself for a few hours?”
“Yeah, okay. Maybe you’re right.” He managed to slip out of her soft grasp. “I d
idn’t sleep much last night.”
“I am right, Declan. Shower. Rest. And do it now. Go on.”
The nurse smiled and stayed put, her arms crossed, until he’d grabbed his keys and the worn copy of Animal Farm he’d brought with him and walked out the door and into the wide hallway. He moved down the corridor, through a set of automatic doors and down another long hallway without thinking about it. He knew the route by heart.
Outside, the sun was just coming through the cloud cover, casting soft golden light on the road, tipping the tall, dusky pines lining the highway. He swung up into his truck and started the engine, let it rev for a moment before he pulled onto Highway One and headed south.
It would be an hour’s drive or more to get home, but he didn’t mind. He switched on the iPod he had plugged into the truck’s stereo and flipped through his collection of rock and country until he found a playlist of classical music. He needed something soothing. Soft. Life had been too intense lately. He didn’t need intense music.
The road was a blur of charcoal-gray against the backdrop of trees. He rubbed his eyes, gripped the steering wheel.
Liz was right. He needed rest. He was exhausted. He didn’t really sleep in the chair beside her bed. He stayed up most of the night, watching her face, listening to her breathe, dozing off for maybe twenty minutes at a time. Praying she would open her eyes. That she would be okay.
He didn’t even know this woman. Didn’t know her name, where she’d come from. It didn’t matter, hadn’t mattered since the moment he’d laid eyes on her. There was something about her…he felt connected to her.
He knew the psychology involved. Hero saves damsel in distress. Yeah, he’d fucked that up the last time, hadn’t he? Were his feelings about this girl nothing more than the need to redeem himself? And if so, what was the insane physical attraction about? Because not one moment had gone by that he hadn’t wanted to touch her, really touch her. Lay his palms over her breasts. Kiss her mouth.
Get a grip.
Or maybe get some sleep. Shower. Pull himself together. Then go back to the hospital. He couldn’t stay away for long.
