Cover Him with Darkness (18 page)

The first loop fell open, revealing a little more of my cleavage. Azazel had me sat semi-facing the other people round the table. I wasn't remotely interested in them, but I wondered if they were watching. A glance from under my lowered lashes told me they were, sort of, though carrying on their own conversations.

“Will he come after you?”

“What?” Azazel's voice was lazy and full of husky tones that made me shiver. His lips brushed the whorls of my ear.

“Will the archangels come to lock you away again?”

“They might. Would you be sorry?”

I shuddered. There were hot and cold flashes running up and down my body, and I could feel the tight points of my breasts poking against the sheer fabric of the dress. A second loop slipped, and now my neckline was not just low but plunging.

Azazel celebrated by touching my nipple through the cloth and tracing a circle that made me whimper under my breath.

“You like being watched,” he said.

“That's not true.” My mouth had gone dry.

“You like me touching you in public.”

I was sweating lightly.
It's shame
, I told myself, as he returned to the toggles and slipped a third.
It's shame, not excitement
. The men around
the table had mostly stopped talking now, their conversation stumbling to a halt. A woman giggled.

“Please,” I whispered, closing my eyes.

“I own you,” he said. “You are mine. These are mine. If I want to…I will bare you in front of everyone, Milja. And you will let me.”

He tugged the slash of my dress open—just a little, not enough to be obscene—and slipped a hand beneath to play with my breast. Just fingertips. My nipple felt like a blazing sun as he traced orbits.

“What're you doing, man?” someone said weakly. “That's not right.”

“Azazel!” I whimpered.

“Do you want them to see, Milja?” His voice, thick with lust now, was hot against my ear. “Do you want them all to see how you belong to me? I will let them look at your breasts. Then I will pull up your dress and put my hand between your legs and make you come. You won't be able to stop me. You won't be able to stop yourself. All these people will see.”

“Smile everyone!” A burst of light went off beyond my closed lids.

I looked. I couldn't help it. The little cluster of socialites at the table were blinking and staring and didn't know where to put themselves. Two photographers stood before us, and another flash went off capturing the whole group.

“Hey,” said one of the paparazzi, realizing what was going on under his nose and suddenly focusing in on Azazel and me in our big armchair. “We have seen.”

I didn't have the wits left to wonder at his odd phrasing.

“You're mine,” the fallen angel growled. Then he let his fingers drift out from their nest, catching the cloth as they went. He revealed my left breast in full, my nipple haloed in pink like a rising sun.

Flashguns exploded.

He took the loose cloth at my shoulders and drew my open dress off, baring me from throat to waist. Back straight, eyes lowered, blushing and shuddering, I sat upon his lap and knew myself owned.

Bang
went the cameras:
bang, bang, bang!

Bang!

The rut in the road pitched me simultaneously out of sleep and forward
onto my face, crashing into Egan. He had to grab me to stop me flopping onto the floor with legs and arms flailing.

“Ah!” I yelped.

“Wakey wakey,” he laughed, propping me back onto the seat. “You all right?”

I looked around wildly. The van was climbing an unpaved farm track. We were right out in the countryside. I clutched at Egan's arm to stop myself sliding down the metal bench and clear out of the tailgate.

“I can't believe you slept the whole way, Milja.”

“I…I've been sleeping a lot lately.” My whole body throbbed with arousal. My breasts were tingling, and under the scratchy lace of my bra I could feel my nipples hard as bullets. My panties were soaked. “I don't know why.”

I desperately wanted Egan to grab my breasts.

“Well we're nearly there now, I think.” He wedged his leg across the width of the van, fencing me safely in as the vehicle dipped and bounced. I held on tight to his arm and guiltily breathed the scent of his clothes—and wondered what the hell was happening to me.

Our destination was more than just a house, it turned out—and less. Perched on a knoll of rock, with a sharp drop to one side and an orchard and vegetable garden on the other, it was—or had been once—a small fortress. One tower still stood, bushes growing like stubble on the crumbled battlements, but most of the building seemed in ruins. The bottom floor still looked occupied though; there were plastic chairs outside under a grape trellis, and a satellite dish bolted to the ancient stonework.

Egan paid off the driver. “Don't talk to them about who we are or where we're going,” he told me as a middle-aged couple emerged from the door and approached us.

I didn't
know
where we were going, I said to myself.

The householders were Petar and Jelena. They welcomed us, smiling, and took us round to the terrace at the back for dinner. Their dog took one look at me and fled into a back room, which made my heart sink. But the cats liked me. In fact, by the time we had finished eating there were six cats lined up on the wall separating us from the valley, two under the table rubbing against my ankles, and one in my lap.

When I'd done with my bean soup, I went to use the outhouse (there was no indoor plumbing, we were warned, which made me think wistfully of my father's house) and took a walk along the ridge of the rocky little hill. I wanted time to think about Father and Vera and Uncle Josif, as if guilt might suffice to fill up the crumbling hollow in my breast. But my mind wandered. I kept recalling the way Azazel had held me on his lap in my dream, and how comforting it had felt to surrender my fear and shame to him. I wanted to feel his arms around me again.

The land around here looked very green, with swathes of scrubby oak and hornbeam, but it was a false lushness. This was proper limestone karst, the soil little more than pockets between the cracks of chaotic limestone boulders. Different to the bleak uplands I knew, but just as inhospitable to agriculture, and—I suspected—almost impassable on foot. A long way below our hillock, on the other side of the house from the steep little valley and stretching silver into the distance, was a huge plate of water ringed by hills. The shoreline looked rocky, and green islands studded the smooth sheen of the water. Lake Skadar, according to Petar—and the setting sun at my back put us on the western shore, pretty near both the sea and the southern border. Did Egan mean to get us out through Albania, I wondered?

He came crunching up the pebbly path to find me where I sat, on a very uncomfortable unmortared wall among the plum trees.

“This is,” he said, “the most incredible country. This landscape…” He swept out a hand to indicate the hills and the lake and the mountains ringing us. “Just stunning. One of the most beautiful places I've ever been.”

“Beautiful for a tourist means hard work for the people who have to live there,” I said, but I smiled. It was nice to hear his appreciation. I stood up from the wall, dusting off the rear of my jeans.

“And their farmhouse—castle—whatever—how old is that? There's just so much history.”

“Most of it bloodthirsty. Jelena told me the building was sacked by the Ottomans. I'm not sure how far back.”

“Hm. Well, hopefully we won't be bringing any more trouble on their heads.” Egan stuck his hands in his pockets.

“No.” I couldn't help looking over my shoulder.

“Milja, don't worry. We've slipped out under the radar.”

I nodded, determined to be positive. “What's
the
most beautiful place you have been to, then?” I asked him.

“Me? I'm a big fan of snow, actually. I think…Norway, under the aurora borealis. Mountains and fjords and those curtains of green light.”

“Hah. You should try my home village in winter if you like snow. We can be cut off for four or five months. You can't believe that looking around you here, can you?”

“I certainly can't. How do you manage?”

“Thick socks. Lots of bean soup.”

“Yeah…there is such a thing as too much bean soup.”

“You don't have to tell me. Do you get much snow in Ireland, then?”

He shook his head. “Rain. That's why it's so green.”

I nodded. “And d'you have a family, Egan?”

“I've got two sisters. Siobhan and Brigit.” There was fondness in his voice.

I'd been wondering more about a wife or girlfriend, but I accepted what he gave me. “They're both younger than you, aren't they?” I said with a teasing grin.

“How did you know that?”

“Well. You're very protective. If they'd been older than you and given you hell, you'd be a lot less soft on girls.”

Egan laughed out loud. “Oh, so we men are that simple, are we?”

I slapped at his arm gently in protest. “I didn't say that!”

“What are you saying then?” He was grinning.

“I just think that what happens to us when we're little shapes who we are. Deeply.”

“Huh. How does that work with you then?”

I felt my brief effervescence vanish, and I looked away, letting out a long breath. “I grew up with a prisoner in our cellar. I first saw him when I was seven. And I knew he was there, right there under my feet, until the day I went away to college. Tied up, like this.” I raised my arms briefly in a
Y.
“He didn't get older. Nothing ever changed. Always the same, every time I went down to see. He couldn't stand or turn over or sit up—he couldn't even scratch himself. Every moment must have been agony. And we were the ones who were told to keep him there.” I blinked up at Egan,
my voice twisting. “How can a God who is Love do that?”

“Even to a demon?”

“To
anything
. I mean, why not just annihilate him, if he's that bad? Why the eternal torture?”

For a moment he didn't reply—not that I was expecting considered theology in response to my outburst. Then he said, “I can't even imagine what you've been through, Milja.”

I sagged. “I can hardly believe it myself. Any of it. And now, being hunted like this…”

“You're been extraordinarily brave.” He put a hand gently on my shoulder, his movement a little awkward. I recalled Azazel pulling me with such confidence into his embrace.

“What do you mean?”

“All this, and I've not even seen you cry.”

I blinked at him, my throat swelling, but I knew there would be no release through tears. “I want to cry,” I said. “I want to.” I put my hand on his breastbone just to feel his warmth and solidity, and let my head droop. My skull ached. It seemed natural to rest my head against his chest.

With only the slightest hesitation, Egan's arms enfolded me. I let out a sigh: this was what I needed so desperately: comfort and absolution. Or, at any rate, the illusion of absolution. Someone to say,
It's all going to be okay
and
It's not your fault
.

He didn't say either of those things.

But he held me, his arms furled around my shoulders as if he would protect me from the whole world, and he stroked my hair. I felt the caul of tension slip from my scalp under his caress. His heart was beating fast and strong. He smelled of soap powder and warm skin. I wanted to stay there forever.

A crow in a tree nearby cawed bitterly.

What if Azazel is watching?
I thought, and with that thought came cold fear. I pushed myself away suddenly; for a moment his arms resisted and then he backed off, looking confused.

“It's not safe,” I apologized.

“What isn't?” His voice was rough.

“What if he gets jealous?”

“Who?” The light came on suddenly. “You mean your…?”

“Azazel.”

Egan was holding himself with a curious tension. “Why should he be jealous?”

I blushed. I hadn't said anything to Egan about my vivid dreams. “He seemed…possessive. That's all.”

“You think he's still…interested in you, then?”

“Maybe.” There were unspoken volumes in that word: layers of confession and denial and defense.

Egan's mouth narrowed. “Well then, we'd better get back and not give him anything to worry about.”

Jelena took us upstairs after sunset.

“Don't go that way down the hall—the floor is not safe,” she said on the first landing, and I translated for Egan. She took us left instead, to a heavy door. “This is your room.”

It was bare and smelled of dust and had one large bed. “Um, didn't you warn her we aren't married?” I said in English, trying not to smile and failing terribly.