Demon's Delight (12 page)

She swept inside his mind, grateful, relieved, now ready to offer her body.

Turning in his arms, she jerked his shirt out of his pants, anxious to feel his skin. He pulled back so that she could unbutton his shirt with shaking fingers. Then she slid her hands over swells of muscle and firm skin. Leaned in to press her mouth against his chest and lick a masculine nipple.

He groaned. “We've got to get you out of this dress,” he said raggedly, slipping it over her hips. It fell in a silky pool around her feet. She stepped out of it, wearing nothing but the sexy black lace bra and panties that he'd insisted she buy.

Gabe stared at her, his expression reverent. “God, you're beautiful.” He ran a hand down her trembling body, over her stomach, and between her legs, stroking her through the damp panties. His other hand drew her close, as he lowered his mouth to hers—

“Rachel!”

She jolted from the fantasy to find Gabriel glaring at her. Anger didn't begin to describe the expression on his face. He was
furious
, his features harsh and terrifying with the force of that rage. Fire sparked around him, forming a painfully bright halo. His hair and clothing blew wildly, although she couldn't feel any wind.
Avenging angel
, she thought, backing away.

“Damn it, Rachel!”
His voice was pure, cold fury. “How could you try to force mind sex on me?”

“I don't—I just—” She couldn't begin to explain the demons that had driven her to protect herself from intimacy with him—not even to herself.

“I'm not one of your johns.” He took a threatening step toward her. “I asked you for honesty, but apparently that was too much to expect. If you didn't want to have sex, all you had to do was say
no
or
stop
. That's all. But you couldn't even respect me enough to do that.”

His disdain speared through her like a German bayonet. “I'm sorry,” she whispered.

“You should be.” There was no compassion or understanding in his voice.

The pain exploded inside her. She reached for her automatic defenses. “I don't owe you anything.” She pulled the dress up and slipped her arms into the sleeves. “So I don't want to have sex with you. Big fucking deal. I gave you your seven nights. It's over and done.”

Grabbing her purse and wrap from the chair, scooping her shoes from the floor, she told herself Gabe was being a bastard, and it was just as well they were through. But she felt shattered inside. She couldn't look at him as she went to the door and opened it.

“Wait.” It was a steely command, and she froze.

She sensed him behind her, felt him zip up the dress. “As you said, our time is through. And maybe it meant nothing to you.” His voice was emotionless. “What happens next—if anything—is totally up to you.”

She closed her eyes against another wave of pain from those words and started through the door.

“Rachel.” His voice stopped her. “I will be here a little while longer. If you want anything from me, you'll have to seek me of your own volition. But if you can't be totally honest with me, don't bother.”

Then she was outside, and his door closed behind her with a terrible finality. She was alone again. This time forever.

 

Somehow Rachel got through the next days, although there were times when she felt like she was crumbling inside—which was ridiculous. Her life was exactly the same as it had been for more than sixty-five years. She was safe, she had a roof over her head, transportation, and ready access to blood and funds.

She was free of entanglements that could only bring more loss and pain into her life…well, except for Gertie. Now that the antibiotics were finished, she really should return the cat to the Dumpster, should get on with her life. But she just couldn't bring herself to do that.

The flash of gray and white following her around every night, chasing anything that moved; the warm body settling against her whenever she sat down or went to bed, offered the only relief from the bleak rote of existing.

This evening, Rachel walked along Harry Hines between Regal Row and Empire Central, feeling listless, trying to force the thoughts of Gabe from her mind. She hadn't seen him since that disastrous night, six days ago. Every time a silver sports car passed, she found herself looking to see if it was him, but it never was. How stupid of her. He was gone. She tried to tell herself it was for the best, but it was hard to be convinced when she felt so empty inside.

Even worse than the emptiness was the emotional pain, as if she'd lost a loved one. Not debilitating, like when her family had died, but it still hurt—like she was grieving. Damn it! She'd had enough grief during the war. Plus she'd been just fine before Gabe upset her life and messed everything up. She wasn't ever going through this again.

It was for the best, she told herself. As she turned and headed north on Harry Hines, she saw a white Acura driving south, slowly and erratically. Cars behind it were honking. It finally turned into a parking lot and jolted to a stop. She was pretty sure it was Caitria's car.

Perplexed, Rachel waited until it was clear, then crossed the street. When she saw the figure slumped over the wheel of the Acura, she ran to the driver's side and wrenched open the door. “Caitria, what's wrong?”

“Hey li'l bitch…” Caitria gasped weakly. “Not feeling…too…good.”

She was battered and bruised, her entire face swollen. Danyon had really done a number on her. Rachel felt rage bubbling inside her, but then Caitria groaned. “What can I do?” Rachel asked helplessly.

“I'm thinking I might should go…to the doc…. Not sure I can get there.”

Panic flared. Surely Caitria wasn't dying. She couldn't be. “I'll take you,” Rachel said. But Caitria was too weak to get out of the driver's seat, and Rachel ended up lifting the large woman out and sliding her into the backseat. Caitria's cries of pain intensified her alarm. She drove to Parkland Hospital, pulled into the ER drop-off, laying on the horn.

The next hours were a blur. Caitria was rushed off to surgery, and Rachel used her allure to convince hospital personnel she was a relative. She sat helplessly in a surgical waiting area, unsure what to do.

A part of her didn't want to leave Caitria here, possibly
dying
, alone with strangers. Another part of her wanted to run, to put distance between herself and this place of death. Still another part of her yearned for Gabe, for his warm, calming presence. For him to assure her Caitria would be all right. On another level, she cursed Gabe for making her
feel
all these things. So, confused and battling myriad emotions, she simply sat and waited.

Finally a young female doctor in rumpled scrubs came through the doors and called, “Family of Caitria Washington.”

Rachel hadn't even known Caitria's last name before tonight. She stood and walked slowly to the tired-looking doctor, who appeared surprised to see a white woman. “You with Ms. Washington?” she asked.

Rachel nodded, and the doctor, who didn't look a day over twenty, said, “Okay. Well, Ms. Washington suffered various blunt-force traumas, including a heart contusion and a broken rib, which punctured a lung. She's in pretty bad shape. But she's through surgery and in recovery. Later, she'll be put in Intensive Care, if she sur—” she caught herself. “We'll just have to see how she does.”

Rachel hadn't understood much of what the doctor said, but she got the implication. “She's going to die, isn't she?”

“We don't know.” But the sad compassion in the young woman's gray eyes spoke volumes. “Ms. Washington is heavily sedated right now,” she added. “You can't see her until she's moved to ICU, and that will be in the morning. I recommend that you go home, get some rest.”

Relieved to get out of there, Rachel headed for her condo. She stopped long enough to take blood from a panhandler who was too mentally ill to have sexual fantasies, so she paid him cash instead.

She returned to Parkland the following night, drawn there despite the almost-overwhelming urge to stay away, to avoid the pain of losing someone else. The news wasn't good. “I'm afraid Ms. Washington's internal injuries were pretty severe,” Dr. Martin, the same young woman from the night before, told Rachel, outside Caitria's ICU room. “The cardiac contusion caused a severe arrhythmia, and we think there's still some internal bleeding. She might have to go back to surgery. It's still touch and go. I wish I had better news.”

Very reluctantly, Rachel entered Caitria's room. She stared at her unconscious friend—although she had no idea how that
friendship
thing had happened. Caitria was lying there, completely still, with tubes running in her, and monitors humming and beeping. She looked awful.

There was death here, its black aura snaking through the room. It closed in on Rachel, and she couldn't stay there any longer. Couldn't watch Caitria die. She stumbled out, went down to the main lobby, intending to leave. But she couldn't do that either. She just couldn't totally desert Caitria. Freaked, she leaned against a wall, hugging her arms around herself.

Out of the blue, a memory rolled through her—that of family members taking turns to sit with her terminally ill Aunt Sophie. Jewish law and tradition demanded that someone always be at the bedside of a dying person. Yet no one had been with Rachel's family as they lay dying in Dachau.

No one had been able to sit shiva for them, either—the traditional seven days of mourning after a loved one was buried. In so many ways, Rachel felt she had let her family down, although she'd been in the throes of her own death, and rebirth as a monster.

Now she was letting Caitria down, because she couldn't bear to go back to that room, to watch another life fade away. But what could she do…?
Gabe.
They needed Gabe—assuming he was still around. He might have some angel magic that could help Caitria. Rachel fumbled in her purse for his cell phone number. She found a pay phone and dialed with trembling fingers.

While a part of her anticipated hearing his voice, another part of her cringed at the thought of talking to him, after the way they'd parted. She got voice mail and almost disconnected. Hearing just a recording of his voice shook her more than she'd thought it would.

She marshaled her senses and said, “Gabe, this is Rachel. Caitria was beat up so badly by Danyon that she might…” She paused, drew a deep breath. “She's in ICU at Parkland. If there's anything you can do for her, please,
please
come. I—I guess that's it.” She hung up, feeling totally lost.

Still unable to return to Caitria, but not able to leave, she roamed the hospital aimlessly, pausing when she saw a small chapel. She stared at the rose-glass panes in the door, feeling the tug of a long-forgotten lure, a call to worship:
Sh'ma Yisrael…Hear O Israel…
The ancient Jewish prayer echoed in her head.

Somehow, she found herself opening the door to the chapel. She took a small step inside, hesitated, wondering if she'd be disintegrated or struck by lightning. But nothing happened. She took another cautious step forward. The chapel was empty and quiet, with an air of holiness she hadn't felt in decades.

She walked tentatively to a bench. Well, she was still intact. She sank down, and the calm washed over her. More of the ancient prayer came to her:
And these words that I command you today shall be in your heart.

She guessed she still had a heart, because of the pain beating inside her. She pulled her feet to the bench, resting her head against her knees. Then she did something she hadn't done since Dachau—she prayed.
Dear Go—Dear You. Please heal Caitria. Then help her leave that son of a bitch—oh, sorry for the profanity.

She was quiet for a moment, before giving in to the urge to add,
And please, take away this pain inside me. I'm so tired of hurting…Amen.
She thought about what Gabe had said, and added,
Or maybe that's Awoman.
Who knew anymore?

A sense of utter peace flowed through her, and she stayed there a long time, resting both body and spirit. She might have even dozed. A stirring of the air pulled her from her drifting state. The bench shifting jolted her fully alert. She looked over, and there he was.

“I got your message,” Gabe said.

S
HE
drank in the sight of him, familiar and handsome in his brown leather jacket and khakis. She shouldn't have been so glad to see him, but she was.

“How's Caitria?” he asked. His voice was cool and impersonal, as if they were very casual acquaintances.

Rachel pushed away the regret and sense of loss. “Bad. She might not make it.”

“And you're here instead of with her.” His eyes were as cool as his voice.

Guilt speared her. “ICU visiting hours are over. And she's not even conscious.”

“Do you care for her, Rachel?”

She nodded, too tired to fight it anymore. She finally admitted the truth to herself—she considered Caitria a friend.

“Then it's time to stop thinking only of yourself. Caitria needs you.” Gabe rose from the bench. “Come on.” He didn't offer his hand or take her arm, nor did he slow his steps for her.

They rode the elevator up in distant silence. Then Gabe strode to the ICU doors, supposedly locked at this hour, but they swung open at his approach. The hospital personnel didn't spare them a glance as he led the way to Caitria's room, without any direction from Rachel.

Caitria looked the same, unconscious, battered, and death-shrouded. Gabe moved to the bedside. He looked down at her, and his eyes lost their coolness, transforming to a deep, glowing blue. He placed his hand on her forehead. Light flared around him, so bright, Rachel had to squint against it.

“Caitria Shanice Washington,” he said softly. “Someone is here to speak with you.” He shifted his hand over her heart, and the light grew brighter. “Listen.
Listen
, Caitria Shanice.”

Was it Rachel's imagination, or did her friend stir slightly? Gabe stepped back, his gaze pinning Rachel. “All right. Talk to her.”

Shock barreled through Rachel. “
Me?
What can I say to her?”

“Tell her you're here. That you care. That she has more to live for than a life of prostitution and an abusive man.” Gabe's gaze softened. “Speak from your heart.”

Oh, man. Said heart was pounding so loudly, Rachel could hardly think. Wiping her damp palms on her jeans, she moved slowly to the side of the bed. Cleared her throat. “Caitria.” She stopped, overwhelmed by the responsibility Gabe had just thrust on her. She understood instinctively that he had done as much as he could—or would—and the rest was up to her.

She drew a deep breath, focused on Caitria. “Hey, bitch. What the hell are you doing in that bed?” She stared at her friend's slack, bruised face. “You need to stop lying around on your fat black ass. There are people who need you. Your kids, your momma—” She cleared her throat again. “And me. I'm going to be really pissed if you don't get well and get out of this bed.”

She paused, feeling her throat tighten. “You have a lot to live for, Caitria. You don't need that man, and you don't need to keep whoring. You're a smart lady. There are a lot of things you can do. You have all kinds of choices.”

She felt a curious shifting inside, a flash of insight telling her she wasn't just talking about Caitria anymore, but also herself. “You can have a good life. But you have to choose to live.” She realized there were tears on her face. She sensed Gabe moving behind her, felt the strength of his presence.

She swiped furiously at the tears. “Come on, Caitria,
damn it
, fight! Fight for your kids and for a better life. And if you—If you die on me, I'm going to kick your fat ass from here to Oklahoma. You got that?”

There was the slightest sigh, and then Caitria groaned. Her eyes opened slightly. “That you, li'l…bitch?”

Rachel felt her heart soar. “Damn right it's me.”

“Where…am…I?”

“You're at Parkland.” Rachel wiped away more tears. “You're a little punked out right now. But something tells me you'll be giving the doctors hell in a day or two.”

“Sure…” Caitria's eyes drifted shut. “So long as they good lookin' and have big bangers.”

 

Gabe and Rachel rode the elevator to the main level in silence. She hated the chasm between them, but she didn't know what to do about it. They stepped off the elevator, and he faced her. “Caitria's going to be all right. You said the right things, and she responded to you.” His voice was cool, distant.

She felt a huge rush of relief that Caitria would pull through. “Thank you for coming and helping her.”

“I merely raised her consciousness level so she could hear you. You're the one who persuaded her to remain Earthbound.”

“I guess.” But Rachel wasn't convinced. She stared at Gabe, wishing things could be different between them.

“Well.” He took a step back. “Good-bye, Rachel. Have a good life.” He turned and walked away. That was it.

She felt her heart twist, felt the familiar wrench of pain. Only, this wasn't the old pain. This was here-and-now pain of foolishly allowing herself to care for someone again. Of losing them. “Wait!” she called out. “Gabriel, wait.”

He stopped and turned. She walked to him, stood there, uncertain what to say. “Are you still mad at me?”

He sighed. “I'm not mad at you, Rachel. Maybe a little frustrated—make that a whole lot frustrated. I care for you, more than you can know. But I can't help you any further, not until you choose to move forward. And the first step is being honest with yourself, and with others.”

She accepted the truth of his words. Willed herself to take the first step. “I don't want you to go.”

His gaze pierced through her. “What do you want?”

The second step was a little easier. “I want to go back to spending time with you.”

“That's not possible.” Her heart sank, but then he added, “Without total truth between us.”

Relief slid through her. She knew honesty would be painful on many levels. It would involve intimacy and caring for someone, and those things still terrified her. But she also knew nothing came without a price. She didn't want to return to the darkness. So, taking a deep breath, she reached for the light.

“I'm ready to move forward. I want to be with you.” Another deep breath, and then she let it tumble out. “I want you to show me what it should be like between a man and a woman.”

She heard his sharp intake of breath, sensed his blood pulsing faster. But his voice was steady as he said, “Be very sure, Rachel. This is not a game. If you commit to this, there will be no turning back.”

“I'm sure.” She looked up at him, trying to ignore the fact her heart wanted to burst through her chest. “Very sure.”

The warmth returned to his eyes, along with a dazzling display of tiny stars that took her breath away. “Good,” he said, stepping forward. “That's
very
good.” He kissed her, right there in the middle of Parkland Hospital.

 

They were at Gabe's apartment, in his bedroom, although Rachel barely remembered the blurred trip there. All she could think right now was that the man—or angel—certainly knew how to kiss. She thrilled at the way he cradled her head, his fingers tunneling through her hair, as he explored her mouth with slow, tantalizing strokes of his tongue.

He released her and stepped back. “No second thoughts?”

She was still afraid—terrified, actually—but not of him. Plus the thought of the alternative—the empty barren existence she'd known before he'd come into her life—was unbearable. He'd given her the desire to reach for something more.

“No.” She took his hand and placed it on her breast, tried to ignore her racing heart, which hadn't slowed since Parkland. “I want to experience life.”

“Thank heaven for that.” He ran a finger down the slope of her breast, teasing the nipple through the sweater. “Undress for me,” he said in a black-magic voice.

She sensed he was pushing her, testing the strength of her resolve. He wasn't going to allow her to be a passive participant. With shaking hands, she pulled her sweater over her head and tossed it to the floor.

His heated gaze swept her upper torso, and he gestured to her jeans. “Those next.” His husky voice sent shivers through her. She unzipped the jeans, letting them slip down her legs, and stepped out of them.

“So beautiful,” he said. Moving against her, he reached behind her and unhooked her bra. His hands slid underneath it, covered her breasts. The breath hissed from her lungs. “Like that, do you?” he murmured, his thumbs rubbing her nipples.

“Oh, yes.” She closed her eyes and reached for him, finding his sweater instead of the skin she wanted. She tugged at the cashmere. “Your turn. Take this off.”

He obliged, stripping down to black silk boxers, and her breath caught. He was stunning, golden skinned and beautifully muscled, like paintings of Adonis she'd seen years ago at the Alte Pinakotheka, in Munich.

He pulled her down on the bed, and into a sensual realm of thorough kisses and tactile exploration. The rest of their clothing managed to disappear, and flesh branded flesh.

It wasn't just the slide of his skillful hands over her body that melted her. It was the way he looked at her, the tenderness and caring in his eyes, and the way he touched her, as if she were a priceless treasure. She felt cherished, loved, maybe even deserving of those things.

In turn, she savored the feel of his body beneath her hands, the artistry of his physique. It was difficult for her to express her feelings, so she tried to show him instead. Coherent thought fled when he kissed his way down her breast and took her nipple in his mouth. She moaned, arching against him.

But she tensed when his hand swept down her abdomen and teased the dark curls there. He raised his head and looked at her. “What is it?”

She didn't want to remember the brutality of the Nazi soldiers, or for the ugliness to come between her and Gabe. Yet there was the issue of honesty. “I'm not right down there. I tore when they…” She closed her eyes against the memory. “I'd probably have bled to death if I hadn't been turned. I never healed properly.”

“You're beautiful just the way you are,” he said softly, “but we're going to ensure you can have a normal life.”

His hand moved between her legs and stroked the tender flesh. She'd barely registered that incredible sensation, when he slipped a finger inside her. A heated tingling vibrated through her entire abdomen. “Gabe,” she gasped.

“Shhhh. Just go with it, Rach.” He slid down her body, as his finger continued stroking in and out. Then he lowered his head and licked her, and she almost came off the bed. “Gabe!” He splayed his free hand across her abdomen and held her still as he continued the sensual torment.

Her lower body was on fire, but pleasure overrode the pain, sweeping her along in a fast-moving current that shot her into an explosion of light and sensation. “Oh, oh…Gabe!” she screamed, flashing to the stars and back—only it was far more potent than when she drank blood. And it seemed to go on and on.

When she finally settled, and coherent thought started staggering back, Gabe moved up and took her in his arms. “You're perfect down there now,” he whispered, his lips against hers.

“But, how—”

“What do you think?” He arched his brows at her. “I
am
an angel in my other incarnation.” He rolled to his back, pulling her on top of him. “Now it's my turn to be all better.”

He probed upward between her legs, lowering her slowly until he was deep inside her. Then he stilled, raised his hand to cup her face. “Are you okay with this?”

Taking a deep breath, she stared into his eyes, into an infinite universe of warmth and light and stars.
This was Gabe—not a Nazi soldier.
“I'm…good,” she said, surprised to find it was the truth. She felt safe, and an incredible sense of freedom. She couldn't resist pressing her knees to the mattress and sliding upward, and found the friction sinfully pleasurable.

“Sweetheart, you are way beyond good.” He groaned as she slid back down him. “Do that again.”

She discovered how wonderful it felt to have him inside her as she moved, made headier by being in control, and by the power to render him at her mercy. She kept moving, caught up in his hoarse words of encouragement, urged on by his hands roaming over her. Then she was seized by a need so fierce, so intense, her body instinctively took over the rhythm, moving on its own accord, knowing exactly what to do.

“Yes, that's it,” Gabe groaned. “Oh, yes. God…
yes
!”

And they both flashed to the stars and back.

 

Rachel lay in Gabe's arms, drowsy and pleasantly sore. Her body still hummed from the incredible sensations of two orgasms. She'd have gone for more, but he'd been firm in his insistence that she needed time to recover. “You're new at this,” he said. “Your body has to get used to it.”