Demon's Delight (10 page)

She whirled, her fangs bared.
“I don't want to talk about it, damn you!”

“Sorry.” He raised a placating hand. “It's just that the more I know about you, the better I can help you.”

“I don't want your help! I keep telling you that, but you're too stupid to get it. I just want to be left alone.”

He was quiet a long moment. “If that's what you want when the seven days are up, then that's what you'll get.”

“Thank Go—uh, good.” She sank against the seat, dismayed to find she was shaking.

“Do you mind telling me when you were born?”

He was relentless. Why couldn't she have gotten a wimpy angel who she could glamour or beat to a pulp? She knotted her hands in her lap, hissed out her breath. “May 17, 1921.” She'd supposedly “died” in the concentration camp in 1940. She hadn't even made it to her twentieth birthday.

“Have any boyfriends when you were growing up?” he asked.

What did that have to do with anything? “No. My parents would never have permitted that until I was older.”

“So you never went on a date?”

She turned and glared at him. “
No.
I was seventeen when they—”
When the soldiers came and took them away in the middle of the night.
She pushed away the pain, struggled to explain. “Back then, girls from conservative Jewish families didn't date like they do now. And when they did, it was a man their father picked. Now, can we change the subject? I might not be able to hurt you, but I can kick the shit out of your car.”

He shot her a shocked look. “You wouldn't!”

“I would.” She leaned back, quite pleased with this new power over him.

Gabe shook his head, a pained expression on his face. “Fine. No more questions for now. But I'm not telling you where we're going, either. It will be a surprise.”

“Fine,”
she mimicked back. “By the way, I
hate
surprises.”

A smile flirted at his lips. “Better get used to them.” He shifted gears again, and the car blasted down the road. “Man, this baby can hum,” he said reverently.

 

The State Fair of Texas. Art deco buildings with their odd domes, countless exhibits and aromatic food stands, a cacophony of music blaring from various stages mingled with hundreds of voices, and a terrifying press of bodies. Rachel was overwhelmed as Gabe commandeered her hand and led her into the heart of the melee. Not even his hold on her could stop her panic tonight. She tried to break free, to run, to get the hell out of there.

“Rachel! Come here.” He stepped between two food stands and pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her. Under normal circumstances, she would have decked any man who did that to her, but right now, Gabe was her lifeline.

“Breathe,” he commanded, his breath warm against her ear. “Just breathe, be calm.” Gentle compulsion whispered through her, and she welcomed it over the dread suffocating her.

Miraculously, the magic of his voice and touch soothed her, gave her the strength to shove unwelcome memories and her compulsive reaction to them back into the secret corners of her psyche. Her chest heaving, she leaned against him. He had his own special scent, warm, musky, and—as much as she hated to admit it—heavenly.

“Why the hell do you always have to take me somewhere that has so many freaking people?” she muttered.

“It's not about the people. It's about experiencing life,” he told her. “You never had a chance to enjoy life the way you should have. You were forced to grow up way too fast, without experiencing the fun years of college and dating and falling in love. The state fair is a great slice of life.”

He turned her toward the crowds. “Look out there, Rachel. Look at all those people, laughing and talking and having fun. Smell the food. Hear the music. Feel the joy and the excitement of being
alive
. Feel it sing through your body.”

She found herself
wanting
to do as he suggested, wanting to experience, if only for the moment, what
real
,
normal
people did at events like the fair. Calmer now, she took another deep breath and inhaled the scents of fried food and sugary concoctions, cigarette smoke and beer, livestock dung. She saw the bright lights and rides, heard people laughing and talking, over the rhythmic beat of country, rock, and even Cajun music.

Resigned to the fact she was stuck there, she walked around with Gabe. He sampled different foods, sharing them with her. In general, most foods were too rich for her system and gave her indigestion, but she could eat small amounts. She had her first taste of cotton candy, was amazed at how it compressed from spun pink strands into hard lumps of sweetness. She wrinkled her nose at Gabe's beer, but took a sip.

He dragged her inside the auto exhibit before she knew what he was about. They spent thirty minutes there, him salivating over the newest sports cars, and her salivating over the sound of beating hearts and the scent of blood rushing through veins.

From there, they went to the midway, Gabe's hold on her hand somehow keeping her grounded, and watched the various games and the astounding amount of money changing hands. He talked her into playing some games, and for a few moments, she felt like a young girl again, the girl she'd been before war and hatred had permanently darkened her horizons.

He won a huge purple bear and stunned her when he presented it to her. “I can't take this,” she said. “You won it. It's yours.”

“That's what the guy is supposed to do, Rach. Win his girl a prize.” Gabe tucked the unwieldy plush bear under one arm and playfully wrapped his other arm around her neck. “And you're supposed to kiss me for doing it, but I'll collect later.”

They staggered along, his arm still around her neck, stopping near the Texas Star, a huge Ferris wheel. Gabe checked it out with a whistle of appreciation. “That looks like fun.”

“Oh, no!” Rachel pulled free and backed away. “I'm not going on that thing. I don't like heights.”

“What?” He followed, his voice low. “You're immortal. What have you got to be afraid of?”

“
No.
I'm
not
getting on that thing. Absolutely not!”

What the hell am I doing in a small cage, hanging more than two hundred feet up in the air?

“Contrary to popular belief, vampires are
not
bats. We don't like being airborne.” Frozen with fear, she stared at the ground, which seemed dangerously, impossibly, far away.

“You're not going to fall.” Gabe pried her fingers from the seat edge and took her hands. “Feel the night, Rachel. Feel the rush of the wind, the flutter in your stomach as we circle down and back up. Look at those glorious stars, at that full moon.”

“Why don't you go howl at it? Then stick it up your—” She screeched as they started down again and clutched his hands.

He laughed and drew her against him. “Then think about something else.” His voice dropped into a deep, seductive tone. “Imagine you're still in high school. Your boyfriend—who's angelically good looking, by the way—has brought you here. He wants to show you a good time, to let you know how much he likes you. And now that he's got you right where he wants you, high above the ground—”

He took Rachel's chin in one hand, tilted her face toward him. “He's going to do this.”

He kissed her, just a brush of his lips, and she thought that was it. But then he was back, his lips a warm, sensual pressure. She felt his thumb push on her chin, forcing her mouth open, and then his tongue was dancing with hers in a full-fledged kiss.

If she hadn't been so shocked, she'd never have allowed this…. She'd
never
been kissed before. She put her hands against his shoulders, started to push him away…
wow
.

He wasn't trying to cram his tongue down her mouth like some johns visualized doing; instead his tongue stroked hers suggestively, created startling sensations. A tantalizing heat wound through her body, along with a little hum of pleasure. That jarred her back to reality, and she shoved Gabe away.

His eyes were glowing, and she could swear she saw stars sparkling against their deep blue. “Of course your boyfriend, being a red-blooded teenager, would want more than a kiss,” he said huskily. “So he'd try to cop a feel, too.” She jerked back with a hiss, and the idiot grinned at her. “But I want to get out of this gondola in one piece, so we'll skip that for now.”

 

Later that night, as Rachel took a mark behind a building, she couldn't stop thinking about Gabe's kiss. How it had freaked her, yet at the same time made her body come alive with sensations she'd never experienced before. She was so distracted she almost lost her mind lock on her john.

“Hey!” he protested, as she paused in the middle of pulling off her sweater. “Whadda you doin'? I told you I want to see you buck naked. Get it on!”

She removed her sweater, kicked off her boots, and seductively shimmied out of her jeans. She wore a lacy thong, which excited the john, although he motioned for her to take it off. She turned for a moment as she did, giving him a nice view of her fine ass. Then she pressed her back against the wall, sliding partway down and spreading her legs wide so he could look at her like he wanted. As he freed himself from his pants and moved forward to bang her, she found her mind wandering to a different fantasy—one that involved a mind-blowing kiss that wasn't lewd or tainted by shadows.

And while the john experienced an explosive orgasm and she sank her fangs deep, it was Gabe's face she saw as she flashed to the stars and back.

 

The big purple bear was leaned against her front door when she got home two hours before sunrise. A spark of joy shot though her when she saw it, and she couldn't help smiling. She noticed a folded piece of paper tucked between its legs and pulled it out. Scrawled in a bold, masculine handwriting were the words:
Rachel, Another creature for you to care for. Stuffed toy bears need love, too. G.
Little angel wings had been drawn on each side of the
G
.

What an odd thing to say. Gabe was totally whacked out. Had a death wish, too, which might come to pass if he didn't stop messing with her. Still, she couldn't resist running her hand over the plush material. A memory flashed through her mind—that of a Steiff teddy bear she'd had years ago, a little golden bear named Ludwig. That was long gone, but for once, she didn't feel the rush of loss and pain that usually accompanied memories of her previous life.

She lugged the purple bear inside. The cat streaked toward her, meowing loudly. Rachel didn't even have the door closed before the cat twined around her legs, still crying. Almost tripping, Rachel set down the bear and her purse. “What?” she demanded. “What is it, cat? Are you hungry?” That must be it. She fed Gertie and gave her a dropper of medicine, then scooped the cat litter. Ugh. How could such a little creature make so much shit?

None of those things seemed to satisfy Gertie, and she kept dogging Rachel's steps with intermittent meows. She attacked Rachel's toes while Rachel was brushing her teeth, chased her own shadow on the wall, and then tried to catch her tail. Rachel found herself smiling at the cat's antics. When she finally sat down to relax and brush her hair, the cat leaped into her lap, turned twice, then settled down and began purring. Hesitantly, Rachel stroked the animal, and it pressed its paws into her thighs, purring even louder.

Rachel couldn't understand why this cat would want to be around
her
. With their exceptional senses, surely most animals recognized
what
she was—a monster, a depraved creature of the night. Yet Gertie didn't seem to care.

Rachel continued stroking the cat, found its purring was oddly soothing. Later, as she was sinking into the fathomless void of her kind, she was vaguely aware of the cat settling on the pillow beside her head.

She felt a sense of comfort she hadn't experienced for decades.

T
HIS
surprise business was fun, Gabe thought, watching Rachel's utter amazement as she took in the Meyerson. He'd gotten tickets for the Dallas Symphony, center floor—probably had been some heavenly intervention involved in that one. He'd also had the foresight to purchase rhinestone earrings, an evening purse, and wrap for Rachel.

Those had taken her aback, especially when he didn't ask her to pay for them. Then she'd been excited, although she'd tried hard not to show it. He had to help her put the clip earrings on her dainty, unpierced earlobes. He suspected she'd never worn earrings, just as he was pretty certain she'd never been kissed before last night.

That kiss had been pretty special. Heavens, it had practically blown his wings off, not to mention the wicked things it had done to his human libido. But more important, Rachel hadn't been immune to it. He'd heard her breath hitch, felt her heart speed up, been blasted by pheromones—from
her
.

Rachel had been turned on, although she might not understand exactly what had happened. But it was real progress, because part of living on Earth meant experiencing the sensations of the flesh—and not just through mind sex.

Gabe's flesh was having plenty of sensations of its own, but he would have to control them. Not that there was anything wrong with, or any celestial laws prohibiting, sex between angels and humans, as long as the angel was in a physical incarnation. But it wasn't the right thing for Rachel, at least not yet.

Beside him, Rachel turned full circle, gaping at the elegant Meyerson with its incredible expanses of glossy white granite, banks of exterior glass panels, and the two imposing radial stairways going to the upper level. It was crowded, but she didn't seem to be panicking tonight, although he kept a firm grip on her hand, just in case. It seemed like they were making progress in that regard, as well.

She looked fabulous in her black dress, which had been dry-cleaned. She'd put her dark hair up in an elegant twist, and it shone in the light. The earrings swung and sparkled from her ears. She could give every one of the elegantly attired patrons a run for their money. Gabe glanced down at his impeccable dark gray suit, crisp white shirt, and burgundy-and-gray striped tie. He wasn't too shabby, either.

They had arrived forty minutes before performance time, so they sat at a table in the west lobby and sipped wine—red, of course. Rachel kept looking around. “How did you know I like classical music?”

“That's the only kind of music you had next to your stereo.”

“You still didn't have to get symphony tickets.”

“Rachel, don't you get it yet? I'm here for
you
. To show you how to have fun and enjoy life. To do whatever it takes to bring you back to the living, to fulfill your potential.”

She got the rebellious expression that usually indicated she was about to deliberately provoke him. “I do a damn good job as a whore. I don't need any improvement, or to develop my
potential
there.” She turned and glared at the shocked faces staring at her from the next table, daring them to say anything. The elderly couple hastily looked away, and she lowered her voice. “And what exactly is the potential for a vampire? Drinking blood from higher-class humans?”

“That's not a bad idea. You can drink my blood any time.”

She jerked upright, her eyes narrowing. “Wouldn't that be lowering myself?”

But he had her number, understood her need to erect defenses. “Rachel, you don't have to insult me every time I make you feel uncomfortable or mad.”

She took a gulp of wine. “Is that what you think I'm doing? What the hell do you know?”

“I know you're running from yourself. From your pain and your fears.”

She looked away, her jaw clenched. He could almost hear her fangs grinding. Taking pity on her, he rose and held out his hand. “Come on. Let's just enjoy the evening and the music.”

Their seats were excellent, which they should be, considering they'd cost a small fortune. The orchestra was onstage, doing its disharmonious tuning and warm-up. The concertmaster came out, and the audience applauded. Gabe watched Rachel flip open the program, felt immense gratification at the expression of delight that filled her face.

“Beethoven.” She said the name reverently, like a prayer. “One of my favorite composers. Symphony No. 3.” She scanned further. “Rachmaninoff, Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor. Not one of my countrymen, but another favorite.”

The lights dimmed, and the conductor entered to thunderous applause. Then the music swelled. Gabe watched Rachel more than he watched the orchestra. She was rapt, riveted, her body practically vibrating with the music. During particularly evocative passages, she closed her eyes, swaying slightly.

When intermission came, she looked at Gabe, her eyes shining. “Thank you.” She leaned forward impulsively, brushed his cheek with her lips. She sat back, her face flushed.

He felt his own temperature rise a few degrees, along with a great satisfaction that he'd found something that gave her such pleasure. “You're welcome.”

The second half of the program was also excellent, the piano notes soaring to mingle with those of the orchestra. During the slow, plaintive second movement of the concerto, a few tears slid down Rachel's face. Gabe rejoiced silently. Where there were tears, there was emotion.

“This was my mother's favorite concerto,” she said, swiping at her face, her eyes still damp.

He took her hand. “Try to think of the joy it gave her. And the joy
you
gave her.”

“It's so hard,” she said sadly.

He squeezed her hand. “I know.”

She turned her attention back to the orchestra. Gabe blew out his breath.
Progress.

They went out for coffee afterward, then he took her home to change before he drove her to Harry Hines. He parked the car and came around as she got out.

Her demeanor, which had been relaxed and receptive, changed subtly as he rounded the car. She stiffened, watched him warily. “What is it?” he asked, perplexed.

“You'd better not be thinking about doing what you talked about last night.”

He searched his memory. “What was it I said?”

Her chin went up. “That a boyfriend would cop a feel.”

He almost choked, then struggled not to laugh. “Oh. Well. That was
last
night. Tonight, we're imagining that you've graduated from high school. Now you're more grown up and dating a more mature man.” He stepped closer, ran his hands along her upper arms. “And while he, like every male who can get it up, would definitely like to jump your bones, he would never treat you with such disrespect—at least not the first few dates.”

He leaned in, ignoring her flare of panic, and kissed her lightly. He stepped back, dropped his hands. “Of course, relationships do have a way of progressing, so I am going to take a rain check on that.”

He grinned at the look on her face—relief warring with disappointment and apprehension. She was so expressive, so easy to read. “Good night, Rachel. Jeans tomorrow night.”

 

The next night, which was the fifth night—not that Rachel was counting, or anything—Gabe had another surprise. But this one wasn't fun. She stood inside one of the playrooms at Children's Medical Center, appalled by the illness and misery she saw. This hospital was for very sick children, and many of them were just babies, although there were older kids as well.

Apparently the mobile patients were encouraged to move around the hospital. Those who could walk rolled their IV stands along with them. Those who were too small or weak to walk were pulled around in little red wagons by parents or volunteers. Many of the patients were bald from treatments, or had various tubes coming out of them, or heavy bandages.

The vast majority had the sunken eyes and washed-out complexions of the very ill. It was a look that Rachel remembered all too well, and it raised horrific memories. She glanced over to where Gabe, who had brought two large bags of new toys and books, was reading to a small crowd of children. His wonderful voice rose and fell, changing to match whatever character he was portraying. The children were entranced.

Rachel walked in that direction. Several kids she passed smiled shyly at her, and she found herself responding, although she couldn't imagine what they had to smile about. She and Gabe spent two hours in the room, and she ended up playing with a few of the children, helping them to build Lego structures and do puzzles.

They were sweet and innocent, but she could hardly look at some of them, with their wounds and tubes, and the aura of impending death that lingered around them.

She was glad when Gabe was ready to leave. As soon as they got in the car, she said, “That place was awful! Why the hell did you take me there?”

He turned in his seat to face her. “It's not awful. There are a lot of miracles that happen at Children's Medical Center.”

“There's disease and death there. Did you see those faces, those sunken eyes?”

“Of course I did. There are some very sick children there. When you looked at those faces and those sunken eyes, what exactly did you see, Rachel?”

She felt a cold fist creeping around her heart. “You know what I saw.”

“Tell me.”

She shook her head.

“Tell me, Rachel.” This time the compulsion was there. She didn't want to, but she knew he wouldn't let it go.

“I saw death. I saw bodies, stacked like wood.” She drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I saw despair and pain and no way out. No safe place, nowhere to run.”

He placed his warm hands over her cold ones. “You saw those things because of your life experiences. Let me tell you what
I
saw.”

One of his hands went to her chin, forced her to look at him. She stared into his deep blue eyes, mesmerized by the golden star-bursts in them. “I saw the resilient human spirit,” Gabe said softly. “I saw the fierce will to live, despite failing physical bodies. I saw hope, determination, fortitude, amazing inner strength. I saw love, happiness, joy, even in the midst of pain and illness and uncertainty.
And
I saw
Her
there.

“These bodies—” He gestured from him to her. “These are just shells, temporary homes for our souls, which are eternal. No matter what happens to you physically, Rachel, your soul will always live on.”

“You keep forgetting I
don't
have a soul. I'm a vampire.”

“You
do
have a soul,” he said firmly. “And you've been given your body and a life on Earth. Your own religion teaches it's a sin not to live that life fully, a sin to pass up opportunities for joy and happiness.”

“Sometimes those opportunities are taken from us.” She hated the quaver in her voice.

Compassion and wisdom glowed in his eyes. “Sometimes they are. Sometimes you have no choice over what happens to you or your loved ones. But you do have control over how you react to these things, and whether or not you choose to keep going. Those children in there live every moment to its fullest. They don't complain, they play hard, and they
fight to live
. That's what I want you to do, Rachel.
Fight, and live.
”

He started the car. “Lecture's over. Let's do something fun.”

Rachel was silent as they left the hospital, but her thoughts were whirling. Gabe was forcing her to think about things she'd never considered. To her amazement, one of those considerations was the possibility he might actually be right.

 

She'd never been bowling before. The thunderous noise of rolling balls and toppling pins was very disconcerting at first, especially since it reminded her of the sounds of war. But Gabe helped her breathe through it. When she was settled, he got her some bowling shoes. He was very patient as he showed her how to bowl, but she was sadly lacking in natural ability.

“Uh, Rach?”

Dismayed, she stared down the lane. “Yeah?”

“Try to
roll
the ball, not
throw
it. Especially since you have superhuman strength.”

That
was
a pretty big hole in the bulkhead above the pins. She nodded. “Gotcha.”

Later that night, as she was strutting down Harry Hines, she remembered the look on Gabe's face when her ball had crashed through the wall, and found herself grinning like a fool. Then she started laughing—
really
laughing.

Something she hadn't done for more than sixty-five years.

 

The next evening, she was relieved when Gabe didn't take them somewhere sad or depressing. Instead they went to the Pocket Sandwich Theatre and watched a live production like nothing Rachel had ever experienced. It was a spoof of
Phantom of the Opera
, and the actors responded to comments from the audience, even incorporating those comments into the play. The audience also participated by throwing popcorn at the actors.