Fallen Angel (Hqn) (13 page)

“There is a photograph of the two of you in her office. She explained it to me when she was talking about confidentiality and conflict of interest. I do not see it as a conflict.”

Declan shifted, looked out the window.

“Dec? Do you have a problem with Angel seeing Ruth?”

“No, of course not.” Declan shrugged. “Seems she’s the most qualified.”

“That wasn’t what I was asking, son.”

Declan turned to his father. They looked almost like mirror images of each other in profile, other than the color of their hair, and the texture of Oran’s skin was a little rougher with age.

“Yeah, I know.”

There was bitterness in his tone, which surprised her. Oran had caught it, too. The two men were staring at each other, each with eyes that had narrowed a little. She sensed there was some sort of power struggle she couldn’t quite understand going on between them.

“So?” Oran asked. “Is it okay or isn’t it?”

Another pause before Declan finally answered, “Yeah, it’s fine. Fine.”

“Okay. It’s good to air this stuff. Ruth has been teaching me that.”

Declan nodded, picked up his coffee cup, his gaze going to the window once more.

Declan had healing to do, just as she did. And just as he was helping her, perhaps she could help him. His obviously damaged relationship with his father might be a good place to start. She would do what she could to encourage him in that direction. It would feel good to help Declan. And Oran.

She liked Declan’s father. He was a good man; she knew that much right away. She understood he was part of the reason Declan had grown to be such a wonderful man, whether Declan wanted to admit it or not.

She also understood love was not always unconditional. That was something she had come to on her own. A decision she had made very early in life: to love those she had in her life, no matter who or what they were. Even in the books she read, she had come to see that in each person was some kernel of something to love. Even when they did things that were hurtful, it was still possible to love them.

She could teach that to Declan. She wanted to.

She had found a great deal in him to love already. And she would discover more, day by day. It didn’t have to take away from her love for The Grandmother. For Asmodeus. Love was something that multiplied. Love was limitless. She believed that in her very soul.

The idea struck her that perhaps this meant she didn’t have to give up Asmodeus. That she could love him and Declan equally, without measure or a need to balance or choose.

She had so much to give. She felt as if her heart was an overflowing well she’d never had an outlet for. But she did now. Liam helped with that; he accepted her affection easily, and loved her back. But people were more complicated than dogs.

If only Declan would accept her love. If only he would return it.

And meanwhile, tonight, when she was alone in her bed in the dark, she would call to Asmodeus. She would give him her pleasure once more, since Declan would not take it. Perhaps Asmodeus would teach her what she needed to know to please Declan so that he would no longer refuse her.

Yes, she would call her demon lover to her, her lord of lust. She would seduce him with her body, her beauty, her words. And someday, she would seduce Declan, as well.

CHAPTER EIGHT

D
ECLAN
HAD
BEEN
QUIET
ever since seeing his father at lunch, and Angel hadn’t tried to get him to talk. They’d come back to the house, and he’d gone for a long walk, leaving Liam with her. She’d spent her time reading through an old book of poetry—lovely, silly pieces by Edward Lear. The pages were yellow with age, fragile, and the leather cover was worn. In the front of the book was a bookplate: Mary O’Connell. Declan’s mother, she guessed, and when Declan returned from his walk, he told her that had been his mother’s name before she’d married, but it had been obvious he hadn’t wanted to talk more.

He was still a little withdrawn after his walk, if not as much so. The walk had healed him, at least in part. She understood the power of solitude, and was happy enough to let him be. They’d had a quiet dinner, then had listened to an opera together, Declan explaining the story. She had found the tale of Lakmé, a tragic fable of forbidden love, sad and sweet, the music itself exotic and beautiful. Exquisite.

Declan had claimed to be tired and gone to bed early, and she’d followed suit. Now she lay in her bed, naked and ready for Asmodeus, should he come to her tonight.

But sleep would not come. She was too anxious to see him, her body melting, ready. In need of both her demon lover and the man who slept in the next room. Asmodeus as a conduit, perhaps, to reaching Declan. Or so she hoped.

She got up, hobbled to the window and opened it, letting the night air in to calm her. The crickets hummed in the night shadows. The moon was a sliver in the sky, casting pale, silver light onto the tips of the trees and across her bed.

What was it about the moonlight that made her yearn for Declan even more?

She lay down on the bed once more, willing her mind to release its thoughts, her body to still. And with the song of the crickets to soothe her, she finally drifted off.

She knew the dream place. She was falling into the warm, womblike darkness. It was familiar, that strange plane where she found Asmodeus. She called to him.

“Asmodeus!”

She fell, alone, the wind making serpentine coils of her hair around her naked form.

She called again.

“Asmodeus. Come to me.”

He was there, just out of reach. She felt his heat, but he did not reveal himself. She knew he was toying with her. They were still falling through the dark.

“Come to me, Asmodeus, and let us be as we were before. I need you.”

“Ah, you need me now, do you, little one?”

He stood before her, then, radiant. His hard, naked body golden and sleek, his coal-black eyes burning. Beautiful. Full of danger.

Desire swarmed her system.

“Yes.” She knew it would do no good to make excuses for her absence. “I’ve missed you.”

“Have you? Not always, I think. You have other diversions, now that you are no longer The Gift.”

“I have a name now.” There was a certain pride in that. She didn’t quite understand it. “I am called Angel.”

It was the first time she had thought of her name—her identity—in her own head. It was a strange and lovely sensation.

Powerful.

“You are different, little one.”

“Yes.”

“He has made you different.”

“Yes, in part. But some of it is simply my freedom.”

“But are you truly free? Are you not still ruled by your desires?”

It was true. But not in the black-and-white way her demon lover presented it. “I’m free to choose whether or not—and how—I act on those desires, Asmodeus. It’s different. I am…a person. My
own
person. I belong to no one but myself. The first possession that has ever truly been mine.”

She felt a surge of power as the truth of the idea hit her. They had stopped their fall, suspended now in the heat and the darkness, the demon’s body giving off a golden glow, illuminating the empty space around them.

“I am not certain I like these differences,” Asmodeus said, his dark, perfect brows drawing together over his glittering eyes.

“You do not like that I have any sort of independence.”

“On the contrary, I have always enjoyed your sense of independence. That you never simply bowed to my instructions, to the plan for you. I have loved that tiny, fierce spark.”

“Yet that was my downfall in fulfilling my duties.”

“Yes.”

“And you never told me.”

“Had the Dark One accepted you, we would never have seen one another again. You would have been entirely his.”

What was he telling her? That he had manipulated her for his own ends? Or was it something else, something less malevolent?

“Is this some sign of…affection for me, Asmodeus?”

“I have told you I love you, little one.”

“In the way you are able. I expect no more from a creature such as yourself. But I need more,” she informed him, watching his face very closely, seeing the shadows crossing his flawless, stony features.

“You believe this man can give you more?”

“He does.” She paused. “In his own way.”

“You cannot be fulfilled entirely by either of us alone. This is why you still come to me.”

She held her chin high. She saw no shame in doing what she needed to do. And he was a demon; he could not be truly hurt by her actions. “I need your help, Asmodeus.”

He smiled then, a flash of white teeth that was almost a gnashing snarl.

“I am here to serve,” he said.

She ignored the sarcasm in his tone. That was simply his way. She could see from his naked, hardening flesh that he would happily do as she asked, if she asked in the right way.

“Asmodeus, you are the demon of all things carnal, a prince of lust. You have taught me so much. But I know there is more you can show me. I ask you to make me a siren whose call is irresistible. To complete the task you set out to do when you first became my mentor.”

“And if, in doing so, I can convince you to stay with me, rather than giving yourself to him?”

“I don’t believe that will happen.”

“You are honest about your intentions, at least,” he said. “You are enjoying the world too much. You want to explore it. You want to be loved on human terms. But the world is a complicated place, little one.”

“I’ll take it on those terms. Yet, I still think of you, and yearn for you. And know you are the only one who can teach me what I need to know.”

“You flatter me.”

“It is not empty flattery, Asmodeus.”

His smile widened, making her think of the fairy story she had read many times.

The better to eat you with.

She shivered, longing coursing through her body. If only she could
touch
him.

She shifted, trying to move toward him but there was no gravity where they were. He did nothing to move closer himself.

“Do you not still want me, Asmodeus?” She ran her hands over her bare breasts, cupping them.

His hand went to his erection, began to stroke.

“I never cease to want. It is intrinsic to my very existence.”

She smiled at him, squeezing her stiffening nipples between her fingertips. Pleasure surged, a warm, piercing sensation, arrowing through her breasts, into her sex.

“You will come for me,” Asmodeus said, his voice thick with need.

“As always,” she answered, one hand slipping in between her thighs to find her damp cleft. “Tell me how best to please a man, Asmodeus.”

His stroking fingers paused, his brows lowering. “You ask me to help you seduce this man?”

“Yes. I beg it of you, Asmodeus.”

She spread her thighs, slipped one finger between the swollen lips of her sex, pulled it out wet with her juices.

“Ah, you torture me, little one,” Asmodeus groaned. “Tell me, would your flavor be as sweet as you are?”

“Sweet and full of salt. Full of desire. For you, Asmodeus.”

“Tell me what you desire,” he demanded.

“To see you watching me, growing harder and harder as I caress my breasts, my sex.”

She stroked the swollen lips, letting her fingertip delve inside once more. “Young and virgin and tight.”

“Ah…” he moaned. “Tell me more.”

“My body is like velvet inside. Hot and soft.” She pulled in a gasping breath, pleasure making her warm and loose all over. “I want to feel you slide into my body. To feel that first painful piercing of my maidenhead. To grasp your hard flesh within me.”

She was growing wetter as she spoke, her own words bringing desire, hot and stinging, like a current in her veins.

“Yes. I want you, little one. To slide into your body, to push inside, to feel the warmth of your innocent virgin blood on the perfection that is my fallen flesh.”

He strummed his fingers up and down the rigid shaft.

“Is that how I would touch you, Asmodeus?”

“Yes…” He let his head fall back, ecstasy on his hard features. “Teasing at first. Tempting. Merciless.” His fingers stroked lightly up, then down, and she mimicked his movements with her own hand between her thighs. “Then you would grasp my hard and blood-filled member, and squeeze.”

He did so, his fingers tightening, until the head was a dark copper.

Pleasure stabbed into her at the sight. So beautiful. Her fingers pressed onto her clitoris, plucked at the swollen nub.

“Spread your legs wider, little one, and tilt your hips. Let me see the pink flesh there. Ah, yes…”

She did as he asked, and as he lifted his head to gaze hard at her open sex, she felt the heat of her fluids trickling down one thigh. Her sex ached, a hard pulse-beat of need.

“And how would I please you most, Asmodeus? With my hands? With my mouth? With my tender, open sex?”

“With all three. First with your pretty hands, then with your hot, wet mouth. You would suck me in, your tongue twining around the tip.”

She dipped her fingers into her opening, heard with pleasure his long sighing breath.

“What else, Asmodeus?” she asked breathlessly.

“You would open your mouth wider and take me in, sucking hard and deep, opening your throat for me.”

He was hard and golden, perfect, swelling even more. She loved the sight of it. Loved to see his pleasure.

“I would pump into you, girl. Hard strokes that showed no mercy, feeling your lovely body clasp around me. Soft and tight and…just…like this…”

His hips arched, and he came, spilling out into the darkness. And she came with him, her body tensing, pleasure pouring through her as she shook with it.

“Asmodeus…yes!”

She shivered as her orgasm went on, pounding through her system like thunder. She was left panting, weak.

She looked up to find her demon lover staring at her.

“That, my little beauty, is how you will seduce this man you want so badly. With the innocent desires of your body. It is beautiful, always. Pure. Do you understand?”

She nodded, still too breathless to say more than “Yes.”

“Do not forget that it was I who taught you these things.”

She shook her head. “I will never forget.”

“Ah, but someday you will.”

The wind had come up again, warm and gentle against her damp, naked flesh. Asmodeus’s eyes burned black as hot coals. His long hair, so pale it was nearly translucent, whipped in the wind, lashing at his golden cheeks. There was a small frown on his otherwise perfect face.

She realized the truth of what he said: that someday she might forget him. Not forget him, but cease to need him, perhaps. And she felt herself float away from him, bit by bit.

* * *

D
ECLAN
DIDN
’
T
GET
AS
keyed up anymore, walking into Ruth Hehewuti’s office. Angel always told him how wonderful Ruth was to her, which scored points for the woman, in his mind. He still didn’t like being faced with her relationship with his father, but it was Oran he was pissed at, not Ruth.

She smiled as she waved him in. They both sat down, Ruth across from him in the big chair.

“Declan, it’s nice to see you. How have things been going? It’s been two weeks since we last spoke. And Angel has been with you how long now? Two months?”

“About that, yeah. She’s changed a lot. Well, maybe not a lot. She’s basically the same. Cheerful, curious about the world. Incredibly intelligent. Eager to know everything, and she picks up information and absorbs it at an amazing rate. She’s definitely more confident than she was even a month ago. More relaxed.”

“She seems so to me when she’s here. I’m glad that’s translating to her behavior at home, as well.”

“It is. She’s getting around a lot better with the cast off. Maybe that makes her feel more independent.”

“I’m sure that’s helpful. She’s been drawing a lot of pictures of your house when she’s here. That tells me she feels at home.”

“You still have her draw here?”

“It’s useful in therapy, as I mentioned before. It tells me a lot about how she sees the world. There are also pictures of Bitsy’s café, one of the waitresses there I gather she’s become friendly with.
Life,
as opposed to simply pretty things. It’s a sign of growth. But there’s more. She’s drawn The Grandmother—several pictures of her.”

“Jesus.” His hands curled into fists. “I don’t know if I even want to see that.”

“I understand. But I should tell you that Angel has given me permission to send the drawings to the state police, as well as copies to some of the people Oran knows.”

He nodded, his pulse accelerating. “The pictures could help find her, maybe.”

“Yes, it’s possible.”

“That’s good.” He pressed his hands onto the tops of his thighs, rubbed at the denim. “That’s really good. Are they… When I think of that woman’s face, I see the old witch from
Snow White,
from when I was a kid. A nightmare.”

“They are all part monster, part mother, which doesn’t surprise me.”

He shook his head. He was having a hell of a hard time with the “mother” part.

“So, tell me, how are you doing with all of this?” Ruth asked.

“Me? I’m fine.”

Ruth smiled. “Can you expand on that a little?”

He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, then, feeling foolish, pulled them out again. “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”