The_Demons_Wife_ARC (16 page)

“Of course you
do.”

“But it’s what
you want, right? You don’t really care about me. You don’t love me…maybe you
don’t even like me. You’re just using me and my…my weaknesses to get to me,
aren’t you?”

Samael
remained perfectly silent for the longest time. The panic rising inside her was
gathering strength. Claire listened to the loud crunching sounds their
footsteps made on the icy sidewalk. The wind whistled in the wires on the
telephone poles overhead like unseen hands, strumming a guitar.

“Do you really
want the truth?”

Claire bit
down on her lower lip to keep it from trembling and nodded.

“I do.”

“All right,
then.” Samael cleared his throat. “At first—yes. All I was interested in was
getting you to damn yourself.”

“To damn
myself,” Claire echoed.

“Come on,”
Samael said with a brief wave of his hand. “I mean—It’s not that bad. Fact is,
you’ll hardly know you’re damned.”

“What?”

“If you were
damned…you’d barely notice. The soul’s not such a big thing.”

“That’s easy
for you to say. You don’t have one.”

Samael looked
skyward and shook his head. Something—a smile or a sneer…Claire couldn’t tell
exactly what—twitched both corners of his mouth. When he looked at her, his
gold-flecked eyes held a faraway gaze, like he was focused on something far off
in the distance.

“That’s just
it,” he said at last. “I do.”

They hadn’t
slacked their pace even though the wound on her foot was aching in the cold.
They walked past the Mercy Hospital parking lot when Claire paused in the bus
stop enclosure, hoping to relieve the pain and get out of the wind for a few
minutes. She glanced up at the warm, yellow glow of lights spilling from many
of the hospital windows. On a cold night like this, it looked so warm and
inviting, but all she could think about was all of the suffering and death and
despair that was taking place—right now—inside that building.

“You’re
telling me—You want me to believe you have a soul?”

Somehow, she
had regained a grip on herself because, as afraid as she was, she had to know
the answers to the questions that were tormenting her.

And then
another thought hit her.

What if this
is all part of his plan, too?

What if his
goal is to tease me and torment me with all of these questions?

Samael nodded.

“I do or, at
least, I did. But you see, that’s what’s wrong.”

Samael’s voice
was so faint and strangled it sounded as though he was much further away than
he appeared to be. Claire wondered if this, too, was another trick of his to
get her to lower her defenses.

“But,” he said
in a low, gravelly voice, “ever since I—”

His voice
broke, and he turned and grabbed her by both arms and pulling her so she was
facing him directly. Claire winced and shied away, bracing herself because she
was convinced he was going to either kiss or kill her right there on the spot.
The wind hissed loudly as it blew up the street, but his voice was pitched with
frantic desperation that was mirrored in his gold-flecked eyes when he said, “I
had a soul, and ever since I met you, I want it back.”

Claire was
speechless. She put her hand out and touched his arm. He folded her gloved hand
into his bare, warm ones.

“At first, I
thought you were just another score—a single chick on the make. An easy mark
for someone like me. But as I got to know you—that night. When I saw how you
handled yourself when you were attacked, I realized that you’d be a unique
challenge.”

Claire
frowned, not sure she liked what she was hearing.

“You’re
strong, Claire, in ways I don’t think even you fully understand. And
you’re…you’re kind and gentle and caring. I like being around you.”

“Well,
thanks…I guess.”

She eyed him
warily, but Samael’s eyes were blazing with a shifting golden glow.

“And the more
time I spent with you, the more I wanted you.”

“My soul, you
mean.”

“No. Not your
soul. Your—”

He paused,
unable to say the word.

“My what?”

Samael tilted
his head back and, looking skyward, cleared his throat.

“When you sent
me away last Sunday, I actually felt pain.”

“Demons can
feel pain?”

“Not usually
like this. For the first time in…in a long time, I felt like my heart was
breaking.”

Tears welled
up in Claire’s eyes as she looked at him. He was still staring upward.

“Somehow…I
have no idea how…you’re bringing me back to my better nature…my angelic
nature.” He heaved a heavy sigh that was whisked away on the breeze and then
lowered his head to look at her.

“But why me?”
Claire asked as tears carved warm lines down her face. “I’m nothing special.
I’m not pretty or even interesting. I’m just a girl from the County. I don’t
get it.”

Samael
shrugged, and a sly smile lit his face.

“Maybe it’s
your hair,” he said.

“My hair?”

She couldn’t
tell if he was putting her on now or not, but hearing him say that, in that
tone of voice, somehow made up for all those years of being called “Carrot Top”
and “Ginger.”

“I’ve always
had a thing for redheads.”

“Oh for
Chr—for Pete’s sake,” she said, swatting his arm.

“That doesn’t
help, either,” Samael said, his smile widening.

“What?” Claire
asked, confused.

“Saying ‘for
Pete’s sake.’ It’s a reference to Saint Peter, you know?”

“Yeah…I guess
so.”

“Well, he and
I had a bit of a falling out a few…well, millennia ago. But the truth is,
Claire.” He turned and stared straight into her eyes. “I love you.”

“Was that the
word you weren’t able to say earlier?”

Samael nodded
and said, “But I can now.”

Chapter

8

Samael and the
Detective

The next morning, Claire woke
up early—an hour or so before sunrise. She didn’t have to get up and start
getting ready for work for another hour or so, but she was already thinking
about calling in, asking for a “mental health” day.

Mental
health…There sure as Hell is some irony in that!

Smacking her
lips and wincing at the sour taste of “morning mouth,” she sighed, rubbed her
eyes, and took a deep breath. She didn’t need to reach out or roll over to know
that Samael was still lying in the bed next to her. The mattress sagged from
his weight.

Rolling over
onto her back, she laced her hands behind her head on the pillow and gazed up
at the ceiling. It was a gray blur in the predawn light. Thin, hazy floaters
drifted across her vision every time she blinked.

You’ll hardly
know you’re damned.

Those words
echoed in her memory, and she couldn’t stop wondering if she was damned already
and simply didn’t know it.

It certainly
seemed possible.

Most people
didn’t fall in love with a demon without losing at least a little piece of
their soul.

She let her
gaze shift over to Samael. He was still asleep—

Or is he
faking it?

—with one leg
lying outside the covers. The smooth, dark skin of his thigh and calf, nearly
hairless, looked like hammered copper in the early morning light.

They had
covered a lot of ground last night, but Claire still felt unsettled. She kept
telling herself she had to accept things as they were—that she would never
really know if anything Samael said or did was true…or a wide open door to
Hell.

But she also
couldn’t tell him to get out of her life. He did so many things that—right or
wrong, good or evil—made her feel good.

And how can
that be wrong?

She rolled
over onto her side and was staring at him, his head cradled in the soft well of
the pillow. Her thoughts drifted back to the things they had done last night
after they had gotten back to her apartment. A warm glow radiated from her
stomach and into her chest, arms, and legs. Her forehead was warm, too, as if
she were running a slight fever. The word “content” came to mind, and that
seemed apt enough; but she wasn’t sure any word could come close to describing
the levels of pleasure she—no, they—had experienced last night. Even a demon
like Samael couldn’t have faked or masked the physical and emotional release
he, too, received from their encounter.

She recoiled
when Samael’s eyes suddenly snapped open, and he was staring at her, fully
alert without the slightest hint of sleepiness in his gold-flecked eyes.

“Jesus!” she
said, and then she immediately covered her mouth with her hand when she saw his
reaction. “Sorry.”

“It’s all
right,” Samael said. “I guess I…I’ll have to get used to hearing things that
used to cause me considerable pain in the past.”

When Claire
nodded, her head made the pillow stuffing crackle like a string of firecrackers
going off inside her head.

 “I don’t have
to get up for work for a while yet,” she said.

She wasn’t
sure if she wanted to go another round before she got out of bed. She certainly
didn’t want to walk into work bowlegged.

“So you’re
going to work today?”

“Of course.
I’ve got bills to pay.”

Samael’s face
twitched into a funny expression. He looked like he’d just bitten into a lemon.
He passed his hand over her head and wound his fingers into the flame-red
curls.

“I was
thinking you didn’t have to have a job anymore,” he said.

Claire looked at
him, not sure she had heard him correctly.

“I thought…I
was hoping that from now on I could…take care of you.”

Whoa, hold on
there, Charlie,
Claire thought.

“That’s—umm.”
She shook her head and heard more faint crackling sounds from the pillow.
“You’re being a touch hasty, there, don’t you think?”

Samael gripped
the top of the bedcovers and tossed them aside, exposing the entirety of his
naked body. Claire couldn’t help but try to take it all in and was surprised to
see that she no longer reacted at the sight of his lack of genitals. Her mouth
actually began to salivate when she looked at his long, sinuous tail curling
and twitching on the edge of the bed.

“I thought
after everything we talked about last night you would…you know, be okay with
that.”

Claire sniffed
and said, “Don’t get me wrong, Samael. I can’t stand my job—especially my
fucking boss—but there’s no way I…” She shook her head, determined. “I’m not
ready to quit just yet. I can’t afford to be…you know…”

Her voice
drifted away because of the utter disappointment that washed across Samael’s
face.  

“I was hoping
I could take care of you from now on,” he repeated, a little wistfully.

His words sent
an electric jolt through her, but it was equal amounts of fear and thrill.

“What do you
mean, ‘take care’?”

Samael smiled
sweetly, the most irresistible smile Claire had ever seen.

“I think you
know exactly what I mean. I mean we should—I want to live with you, and since I
already have a house and more than enough money, and no roommate, I don’t see
why you can’t quit your job and move in.”

“Today?”

“Yes, today.”

“That’s a
pretty big step, don’t you think?”

“Imagine the
satisfaction you’ll get when you call your boss and tell him you won’t be in
today…or ever!” He paused, and the smile on his face now was positively
devilish. “Unless you want to do it in person, so you can see and savor the
expression on his face.”

Claire rolled
away from him and, self-conscious, now, of her nakedness, clutched the
bedcovers to her body.

“I’m sorry,”
Samael said.  “Did I say something wrong? I didn’t mean to rush things.”

He eased
himself out of bed and, entirely unselfconscious, walked around to her side of
the bed and, bending down, took her into his arms. His embrace was tight…and
hot. For a moment, she resisted, but then she caught a whiff of his scent—musky
and strong—and yielded to the steel bands of his arm muscles crushing her
against his chest. How could she resist? 

“I know I’m
jumping the gun here,” he whispered into the cup of her ear. The heat of his
breath on her neck sent tingles rippling through her. “But I thought…after last
night…that you understood.”

There he goes
again, Claire thought, back to his same old self, but the moment was tinged
with as much sympathy and love as bitterness and doubt.

Maybe more
sympathy.

Her heart went
out to him, and she recalled how vehemently last night he had vowed to her not
only that he loved her, but that he was going to do everything in his power to
redeem himself, to reclaim his soul.

“Oh, I do
understand. Believe me,” Claire said. Her voice was muffled against his chest.
The mere touch of him nearly took her breath away. “But I…Shouldn’t we be, you
know, like, cautious?”

“Cautious?
Whatever for? Life’s for the living…and the taking.”

She knew she
was on the edge of a precipice, and that what she said or did next would have
tremendous consequences. She was painfully aware that she could end up involved
in something that was way beyond her. It would be difficult—if not
impossible—to control or get out of.

But he was an
irresistible force.

And she was
hardly an immovable object.

Slowly, she
peeled herself from his embrace and looked at him, her eyes blinking rapidly to
force away the tears that were gathering there.

“What are you
saying, really?” she asked.

She searched
his gold-flecked eyes…eyes that looked so inhuman…trying to see beneath the
surface to the being—not the person…the spiritual being inside him. He held her
gaze steadily, unblinking as he nodded ever so slowly.

“Yes, Claire
McMullen.” He took a breath as though this was extraordinarily difficult for
him, but he finished with, “I want to marry you.”

~ * ~

The
greasy-haired jeweler slid the ring onto Claire’s hand, his touch lingering
perhaps a bit too long. Samael shifted uncomfortably and stared at the man.

“Now this is
our very best. Practically flawless. Just look at the fire.” His smile was more
of a smirk, and he seemed to be aware that Samael was watching him closely.
“It’s almost as bright as your hair.”

“You like it?”
Samael asked.

“Are you
kidding? I love it!”

Claire
extended her hand and turned it from side to side, admiring the diamond on her
left ring finger. One and a half carats, and blazing with light. The platinum
band had delicate scrollwork along the edges. It was perfect. She had never
dared dream that she would ever wear…much less own…a ring like this.

The clerk
behind the counter seemed pleased, but it was obvious he was only pleased that
he had up-sold them. The ring cost more than half of Claire’s annual salary…
before taxes.

“Plus, we
guarantee that none of our diamonds are blood diamonds—”

“Too bad,”
Samael said, and then he glanced at Claire to make sure she got that he was
joking.

“This
particular stone is from—”

“Please,”
Samael said with a casual wave of the hand. “Spare me the sales pitch.”

Claire glanced
at him again, catching the edge in his voice that she didn’t appreciate. Was he
baiting this guy? Please, not here. Not now. She wanted to treasure this
moment, unsullied. But it seemed as soon as they started dealing with this
jeweler—His nametag read: Jeremy—Samael had slipped back into his old ways. The
mockery, the taunting tone in his voice was obvious—to her, anyway—and the icy
gleam in his gold-flecked eyes made it all too clear that, under any other circumstance,
Samael would have done something absolutely horrible to this poor man who was,
after all, simply trying to make a living.

“Can we—can
you afford it?” Claire asked, turning to Samael so her back was to the clerk.
She put her fingers to her lips, and he got the message to ease off the guy.

“Of course I
can…Whatever you want, dear.”

She
deliberated with herself, but only for a moment. She couldn’t believe this was
actually happening, and she didn’t want to say or do anything that might burst
the bubble only to wake up and discover she had been dreaming all along.

“I love it,”
she said.

“Then it’s
yours.”

Samael turned
to the clerk and, in a totally different tone of voice—this one icy with
command—said, “When can you have it ready?”

“We can size
and fit it, and have it ready for you in…three days, if that’s satisfactory.”

Before Samael
could say anything, Claire said, “That will be perfect.”

“Excellent,”
the clerk said. “So when’s the happy day?”

Claire froze
where she stood.

“We haven’t
set a date yet,” Samael said, his voice as smooth as oil. “But soon.” He and
Claire exchanged glances, but there was no way she could read his mind.

“Well, you two
seem very happy together,” Jeremy said. “Now, if you’ll step over here, we can
execute the paperwork.”

Fifteen
minutes later, Claire and Samael walked out of the jewelry store holding hands.
Claire noticed that Samael’s hand was hotter than normal, and as they crossed
the parking lot to his car, she couldn’t help but comment on it.

“Why’s your
hand so hot?”

“Is it?”

“Very.”

“I don’t think
it is.”

It was a sunny
day, but the wind was still coming in off the ocean. It had a damp coldness
that bit through her coat, making her shiver.

“It most
definitely is,” she said as much to herself as to him.

She knew by his
reaction that something was up. And he obviously didn’t want to talk about it,
but it was clear he was holding something back from her.

“So tell me.”

“Tell you
what?”

“What’s the
matter?”

“Nothing’s the
matter.”

“Honest?”

The final
proof that something was, indeed, the matter came when he kept walking, looking
straight ahead and studiously avoiding eye contact with her instead of stopping
and talking to her. She drew to a sudden stop in the middle of the parking lot.

“Tell me right
now. What is it?”

Samael tried
to avert his gaze, shifting his gold-flecked eyes back and forth, but he was
unable to make or maintain eye contact for long. He looked like a guilty
schoolchild.