The_Demons_Wife_ARC (6 page)

When they got
there, the fire didn’t seem as bad and, as Samael passed by the window first,
amazingly, the fire seemed to abate for a second or two in order for him to
pass.

“Hurry up,” he
called back over his shoulder, still holding her hand.

Claire’s heart
was racing now, and waves of dizziness swept over her, but she focused on where
to place her feet—step by careful, painful step. She crouched low when she went
past the open window, fully expecting a blast of heat flame to turn her into a
charcoal briquette.

When she was
beside the window, she looked inside for a split-second glimpse into hell. What
had been a beautiful upscale restaurant mere minutes ago was now a raging inferno. 
The walls and floor were engulfed with flame. Fire had stripped the walls down
to the frame. Chairs and tables that had been shoved out of place and
overturned as the patrons had fled were blazing like torches. She thought she
saw a slumped human shape sprawled on the floor, its clothes burning, but she
couldn’t be sure. Samael kept a firm hold on her hand and guided her forward.

When they got
to the front of the boat, they mingled with the last few stragglers who were
lurching out of the restaurant, waving their hands in front of their faces as
they made their way up the gangplank. Only when she was a reasonably safe
distance away from the fire did Claire let her guard down. She looked at
Samael, who still appeared unfazed by what they had just gone through.

Hell, his hair
was barely mussed, and no sweat or soot smudged his face the way it did all the
other survivors. The firefighters were quickly knocking down the blaze before
it spread to the wharf or other buildings, but a good-sized portion of the
floating restaurant was severely damaged. A column of black smoke rose like a
pillar into the blue sky. People were being treated onsite for smoke
inhalation, and ambulances were speeding from the parking lot with the most
seriously affected people.

With Samael at
her side, Claire sat down on the asphalt and watched it all, trying to take it
in. She was swept up by a powerful sensation that none of this was really
happening.

How could it
be?

She had to be
dreaming…or imagining this.

News and
camera crews were already on the scene—

How did they
get here so fast?

—and were busy
interviewing survivors while filming the blaze.

“Do you want
to go to the hospital?” Samael asked after a long, silent moment.

“Not again,”
she said, lowering her head.

It struck
Claire as rather odd the way he was surveying the situation. With his arms
folded across his chest, he was smiling faintly—a look of what Claire could
only describe as contentment or, perhaps, thinly veiled amusement. The
firelight flickered wickedly in his eyes, making them appear golden.

“Amazing…absolutely
amazing,” he said, shaking his head slowly from side to side.

Claire still
couldn’t get over the simple fact of what had happened and the crazy…yes,
crazy…and dangerous way they had escaped. Her stomach ached with a cold, hollow
dread whenever she thought about how they might have died in there.

Finally,
Samael looked at her earnestly and extended his hand to help her stand up.
Claire was certain her legs—especially her wounded foot—weren’t going to
support her, but somehow—with Samael’s help—she stood up.

There was a
sudden roar as flames tore through the restaurant where the kitchen,
apparently, had been. Moments later, a large portion of the outside wall
collapsed inward, sending up a spiraling shower of sparks. They looked like
fireflies dancing in the daytime. The restaurant barge lurched to one side and
then suddenly began to sink in the shallow water. It went down fast and came to
rest with the upper deck lying at the water line. Blackened debris and a wide
oil slick rose and fell on the gentle swell of the water.

Claire looked
at Samael and was about to say something about how unbelievably lucky they were
to make it out of there alive when her stomach suddenly lurched. A cold, sour
taste filled the back of her throat, and then—without any more warning—she
dropped to her knees, hitting the pavement hard, and began to vomit.

Chapter

4

Trapped

“I think I’ve had enough
excitement for one day,” Claire said as they stood outside the door to her
apartment.

Before leaving
the scene, they had to give statements and leave their names, addresses, and
phone numbers with the authorities. Obviously, the Fire Marshal would have to
investigate to find out what caused the fire. After that, Samael drove Claire
home. It was time for her medication, anyway, and she knew she should lie down
and rest. The thought crossed her mind—several dozen times, in fact—that she
should invite Samael upstairs, but there was no way she felt like
entertaining…much less consider jumping into bed together.

Besides, he
had ditched her twice already, so if he felt a bit of rejection, let him. If he
thought taking her to a fancy restaurant and then saving her
life—literally—when a fire broke out was his ticket into the sack, then—as her
mother used to say—he had “another think coming.”

Still, Claire
lingered in the entryway of her apartment because she didn’t want to say
goodbye to him just yet.

The truth was,
she did feel safer and more secure when he was with her. She couldn’t begin to
identify what, exactly, she was feeling, but it both frightened and intrigued
her.

Attraction?

Hell, yes.
Just look at him. Who wouldn’t be attracted to him?

Love?

Don’t be
ridiculous.

She may
say—even now, after everything that happened—that she believes in love at first
sight; but over the last few years, her experience had been that it was more
like lust at first sight.

Let love
develop slowly…always a good—and nearly impossible—thing.

Horny?

Again—Sure…look
at him. He had a fantastic body—slim and well-toned, and she tingled with
anticipation at the mere prospect of making love to…with him and seeing if he
could deliver as good as he looks.  

So what was it
that made her not want to let him go…not yet, anyway?

Maybe never.

He seemed
reluctant to leave, too, but she felt an inner sting when she remembered how
crushed she had been last night when, even though he saved her from her
attacker, he had not been there—twice—when she had expected and needed him to
be.

What were the
chances he was already married…or in a serious relationship…or—is it
possible?—that he was gay and interested in her for nonsexual reasons?

It hurt her
head trying to figure it all out, but before she keyed the door lock, she
turned to him and slid her arms around his waist, pulling him close. She could
feel the hardness of his body against her, the heat of his breath on her face,
and the sensations took her breath away. When she looked up into his eyes—as
dark as coals in the shadowed alcove…no golden glint now—all she could think
was how amazing it would be to be lying in bed naked with him.

Not right
now…not today.

But soon.

Fighting an
urge to do more to him, she brought her mouth up close to his and, closing her
eyes, kissed him long and strong. At first, the kiss was chaste, but then she
parted her lips and playfully darted her tongue between his teeth.

He responded
in kind, and his tongue slid into her mouth, wiggling back and
forth…probing…teasing…tasting.

She felt
suddenly flushed, but even though she was lost in the embrace and the passion
of the moment, she couldn’t help but notice something…strange.

Samael wasn’t
like anyone else she had French-kissed before—even Frankie Sheldon, her sweetie
back in elementary school when she had first kissed a boy.

It was his
tongue.

It wasn’t just
big. That would have been unsettling enough. It also seemed—

This is
impossible!

—like it had a
life of its own.

It slid
between her lips and teeth like a snake, nestling into the ground.

It writhed…It
twisted…It undulated…It throbbed as it moved in and out of her mouth, almost
gagging her with deeper and deeper thrusts but, at the same time, it created a
violently sexual rush like she had never experienced before. Every nerve in her
mouth was, for the first time in her life, truly alive. Warm, tingling rushes
mixed with sharp, jabbing chills that spread up and down her body, centering in
her lower belly. The feeling was so intense she actually imagined that his
tongue was forked, and each moist, pointed tip was exploring depths of her
mouth she hadn’t reached even when she had gone down on a man.

This is
absolutely insane
,
she thought as she clung to him greedily and ground her hips against his hips.

She was dimly
aware that they were in a public area. Anyone passing by on Congress Street
would see them. Any moment now, she expected to hear someone yell: “Hey! Get a
room!”

And that’s all
she could think about.

She wanted him
now—his body, mind, heart, and soul—more than she had ever wanted a man. Of
course, he had no soul to give her. He had forfeited it eons ago when he had
shed his angelic nature and embraced his demonic side.

But Claire
knew nothing of that at this moment.

All she knew
was that as insane as it was, she had to have him.

Now.

She was
relieved to see that Sally wasn’t home when they got upstairs. It was only
then, when they entered Claire’s bedroom and he began to undress that she saw
his tail.

Her first
thought was that it was a trick of the light or…or something…a shadow cast by
the gloom in her bedroom because all the shades were drawn. Then, when he
pressed her naked body down onto the mattress, she got a better look over his
shoulder at the fleshy appendage as it flicked back and forth.

She had never
heard a scream like the one she let out.

It—like his
tail—was not human.

It all but
took the paint off the walls, and she couldn’t help but wonder what her
neighbors would think. They probably thought she was being raped and murdered,
and as she struggled to free herself of his weight pressing down on her, she
thought that’s exactly what was happening here.

She kept
making strange squealing, grunting, impassioned sounds as she tried to break free
of him.

Samael, for
his part, wasn’t expending much energy to pin her down on the bed and hold her.
Even though his grip was firm, it also had a gentleness that made her think how
safe she had felt when she was a little girl, and her father had hugged her
when she was frightened by lightning and thunder or had had a bad dream.

This is a bad
dream!

It can’t be
real!

The heat of
Samael’s body was…amazing. Even through her outright panic, she was amazed how
holding him—she was hugging him even as she was trying to wriggle away—filled
her with a feeling of contentment and excitement…as if he was both the source
and the relief of her panic.

“What’s…What…How
can you…?”

“Shhh…” Samael
said, holding his forefinger to his lips and gazing deeply into her eyes.

She was
trembling. Her skin was slick and sticky with sweat. Exhaustion wrung her out
as if they had already been making love for hours. When he shifted to one side,
rolling off of her, the relief from the pressure of his body was almost
terrifying.

She wanted…she
needed to have him as close to her as possible.

In every
possible way, she wanted nothing but to have him inside her.

Now!

“Who are you?”
she finally managed to say, no more than a strangled gasp. Her voice was ragged
and raw, her throat on fire.

As she waited
in the silence for his reply, she was relieved to realize that she didn’t hear
the sound of approaching police sirens because someone in the building had
heard her cry out and had called the cops.

Her body was
tingling all over. The pleasurable rushes rippling through her made her drowsy.
She had a feeling of imminent danger but, ironically, both the danger and her
safety from it were in his embrace.

 “You mean
what am I, don’t you?”

His tone of
voice was soothing…mellow, calming, but nevertheless, Claire was jolted by his
comment. A chill worked its way deep into her belly. She licked her lips, aware
of how dry they were…like they were on fire.

Is that from
his tongue?
She wondered.

Her neck made
faint snapping sounds, like a string of firecrackers going off in the distance
as she nodded.

“Yeah,” she
said, hearing the dry croak of her voice. “What are you?”

Samael’s smile
widened, and in the preternatural light, his teeth gleamed wickedly.

“Oh…” Samael
sighed as he lay on his side, propping himself and resting his cheek on his
hand.  “I think you have a pretty good idea.”

Claire did
have a pretty good idea, but there was no way she could articulate it. She was
wondering when this had tipped from “normal” to “impossible,” and why hadn’t
she noticed?

“For real?
Yes,” she finally said.

Gazing into
his eyes was hypnotic, and looking at him—his smooth, flawless skin all but
gleaming a dusky red in the semidarkness of her room—she realized it had
started the instant she had laid eyes on him last night at the bar.

Was it really
just last night?

She had been
through so much since then—the attack and near rape, the trip to the emergency
room, the walk home, lunch at Dominick’s, and then the fire.

How could so
much have happened in less than twenty-four hours?

It was too
much, too fast.

Samael nodded
slowly while maintaining steady eye contact with her. It was creepy, but when
his head was tipped down, she looked in vain for evidence of horns on his
forehead or on the top of his head.

Does he have
horns?

Does every
demon—because that’s what he is…a demon!—have horns?

He certainly
has a tail…and a forked tongue.

Claire kept
staring into his eyes, telling herself this was totally impossible while, at
the same time, trying to accept the impossible.

It had gone on
far too long to be a mere dream. Plus, there was a certain logic to everything
she had done—things she had said and thought last night and today—that weren’t
at all dreamlike. She glanced down at her hand to be sure because, long ago, someone
told her that you can’t look at your hands in a dream.

But she could
see her hands as she flexed her fingers.

“You’re not
dreaming,” he said, as if reading her mind.

Still, as she
looked back at Samael, trying to figure out exactly what she was feeling and
wondering why she wasn’t totally repulsed, a terrifying sense of unreality
washed over her. She shifted so there was a bit of distance between them. Lying
there naked in front of him, she felt vulnerable and open in ways she never had
before, but when she glanced down the length of his body, she was in for
another, even greater surprise.

He didn’t have
any genitals.

“What the—?”
she squealed as she tried to twist away from him. Yet when they broke contact,
she didn’t leap off the bed and run, screaming from the room. Still, she put a
safe distance between them and stared at him, panting hard.

“You don’t
have any…? How can you…? What’s happening?”

Samael smiled
at her, obviously understanding perfectly what had surprised her. He looked at
her and then gave her an almost shy shrug and said, “Why do you think they call
it Hell?”

“You mean you
can’t…? But I felt…when we were lying down…there was something…you know, hard
pressing against my leg.”

“A tail can do
more than wag,” he said, and he followed this with the most temptingly evil
laugh she had ever heard. Memories of his tongue sliding around inside her
mouth like a live snake again both repulsed and attracted her.

As if in
demonstration, Samael lay on his back and hooked his hands behind his head as
Claire stared at his sculpted body. His abs and pecs stood out in sharp relief.
Her mouth actually watered.

What happened
next absolutely floored her.

His tail slid
up between his legs, glowing and glistening wetly in the semidarkness of the
bedroom. It kept extending until it was more than three feet long. The shaft of
the tail was thick and smooth, and the fleshy tip was pointed, shaped like an
inverted heart. She watched in rapt fascination as it began to wave gracefully
from side to side like a cobra being charmed.

The impulse to
reach out and touch it was overpowering. The tail curled and swayed so
sensuously Claire didn’t realize she was licking her lips hungrily. Her breath
was coming faster and faster, whistling in her throat as a hot rush of blood
flushed her face and breasts.