Guardian of the Abyss (3 page)

'Fear is the mind-killer', she had always heard. Now she understood, because she did feel like it was killing her, along with the hunger and the lack of air--or the poor air.

She was also torn by what had just happened. She was caring, though not gentle by nature, and what she had just done had offended and hurt the gargoyle. Yet she couldn't help it. She had been raised Catholic, and although she had never been devout and didn't really believe, she couldn't break the programming that told her that these creatures had to be fallen angels. Demons. Beasts.

She had been appalled at the slaughter against them, but some part of her had always thought it was more than possible that they really were demons. Now she was trapped with one that could pulverize her bones with a mere look, no doubt.

It was in that moment that she came to the only conclusion that made sense to her. Here there was no sunlight. There was water she could never go into, which for her was a horrific punishment. There was only fish and kelp to eat. She was sick and breathing was nearly impossible. Life had become suffering.

She had at first thought that it was because someone had knocked her unconscious and was using her as an experiment, but now, she felt, she really got it. The presence of the gargoyle confirmed her worst possible fear and the beliefs that had been hammered into her since her childhood. She'd had sex out of wedlock. She'd left the church. She didn't believe.

Now she was in hell with a demon to torment her. Because surely this could be nothing but hell. No fire for her... no. Hell for her was being locked away from the outdoors forever, her lungs burning with agony, and water she could never go into. No wonder there was no way out of here. It was hell, literally.

She stared at the hulking stone form of the gargoyle as he returned and immediately went back to his stone form. Indistinct, it was nearly unrecognizable... though it had been nearly impossible to take as a natural formation, it was even harder to recognize as an actual living gargoyle's stone form. It looked like it had melted or been in an explosion.

Pity swelled in her. From what little she understood, gargoyles spent most of their time in their stone form. What must it be like to have such a terribly ugly stone form?

Staring at the water, she wondered if she was his punishment as much as he was hers. Poor fellow if that was true. On the other hand, it could have been a lot worse. It could have been a lot worse for her, too, she supposed.

So far he hadn't raped her that she knew of. Maybe he wanted her conscious for that, though. She looked at him again. He sat silent and still in his stone form and nothing displayed any reaction at all to her presence.

It seemed that if he was going to rape her, it wouldn't be anytime soon. She settled on the floor to wait. Soon, the shivering began. God knew that she hated the cold far more than the heat, apparently. Great wracking shudders passed through her body and she curled up against the damp stone wall of the cave. Moments later, she felt herself lifted. She struggled against the stone arms around her, but the demon just shushed her, pulling her closer.

Too tired to fight long, she gave up. He sat down, leaning against the wall of the cavern. Then she was surrounded by golden wings that began to glow slightly. Warmth seeped into her from his body and his wings. She was cocooned inside a warm shell, and slowly the warmness brought relaxation, and with the relaxation, came lethargy.

It seemed this demon wasn't very good at torture. Didn't he know he was supposed to let her suffer for her sins? Instead, there she was, curled up in his arms, warm and dry.

He leaned his head back against the stone and closed his eyes. She shifted position and found her cheek brushing against his chest. Against her will, she noticed the astounding softness of his skin. It was like expensive suede; softer than human skin. Unaware that she was doing so, she brushed her cheek against that soft skin again. Then again. It was so soft and it smelled of sun-warmed ocean rocks like those she had laid on at the beach as a child.

Her mind too far gone to the nitrogen narcosis, Sarah rubbed against the gargoyle like a cat.

Chapter 4

Abaddon stilled when the woman began to rub against him like those small domestic creatures humans always kept as pets. He couldn't remember what they were called just then, but they made pleasant sounds not unlike those the woman was making. He liked those better than the loud companions the humans had kept.

He knew the woman was out of her mind. He didn't remember a whole lot about humans, but he did understand well enough that she was acting impaired in some way. She didn't know what she was doing. He couldn't bring himself to stop her, though, so he sat as still as his stone form and simply let himself experience what she was doing. Alternately, she would rub on him and then stop to take deep breaths against his skin, sniffing him.

The heat from the exhaled breath made him want more, while the rubbing brought up strange emotions that he couldn't name, but wanted to hold onto.

After a while, she seemed to get tired of the sniffing and nuzzling. She grew still for a protracted moment, until her hand reached out and touched his bicep. The touch was light, the merest flutter as of the tiny fish that sometimes slipped past him, a fin touching on the way.

He had no problem identifying his response to that touch. It was entirely different from when fish fluttered past him, and he had never forgotten that particular feeling. He stayed still, wincing with a level of embarrassment that he hadn't realized he could still feel as his penis swelled beneath her. Arousal darkened the moment and he felt embarrassed.

She stilled and her hand retreated. He felt her tension and fury at himself swirled through him. She was afraid again. There was nothing he could do, though. He didn't really have control over that part of himself, and it had been so long since he had bothered to put the appearance of coverings on his body that he would need to take time to focus on doing it. He hadn't had any warning that she was going to rub all over him like... like a cat, he remembered belatedly.

She was stock still for a while before slowly climbing off of him and sitting on the far wall away from him. He felt his embarrassment deepen to humiliation. Reminded of a time so long ago that only the primal, torturous nature of it kept it alive in the dimmest recesses of his mind, he concentrated until he formed the loincloth that had been given him by his makers. Because it was fashioned of his own skin, he was able to draw it across in front of his penis and pull it in snug against him. He doubted she wanted to see it jutting out when he stood to go outside. That she was afraid of him because of it hurt him.

So he scowled and stomped out of the lair, jumping down into the water not caring if it splashed her or not. Here he was, using up all of his precious energy to warm her. He was using his resources and wasting his time to catch her food and cook it for her. And what was her response? She treated him like some sort of monstrous fiend.

He knew what 'demon' meant. Apparently 'deamonium' had not changed very much in the time he'd been in this trap. She'd called him one, which didn't surprise him. After all, the sorcerers who had betrayed and then created him in order to force him to protect their monasteries and other religious institutions, had ensured that everyone would be petrified of him and his offspring.

Being unsurprised by it, and knowing it was certain to have been the way that she was indoctrinated from the beginning, didn't make it hurt any less. Strangely, he remembered his life before being made into a gargoyle better than he remembered life since then. He'd always been frightening to women. A big man to begin with, he had never been handsome. Other men either feared him or sought him out in order to fight him. Women generally feared him or thought him stupid... the idea of a ham-handed giant being generally accepted as synonymous with a balatro--idiot or fool.

He caught a fish and brought it inside the cavern. As he leaped out of the water, she gasped and scrambled backwards. This time, he recognized the anger that flared in him. Not bothering to moderate his tread, he stomped back to the hole she used for her eliminating--a disgusting process about which he did not complain, thank-you-very-much-for-noticing--and extended a nail into a claw. He decapitated and cleaned the fish, dropping the viscera down the hole.

When that was done, he stood up and took the fish in his hands. Reaching deep within himself, he called upon his sorcerer's abilities. He teased the molecules in the fish until they sped up. Soon the fish was heated and cooked through.

He dropped it at her feet without looking at her and stomped the five paces across their tiny living quarters. There, his back deliberately turned towards her, he shifted with his gaze to the wall.

*  *  *  *

The demon was having a temper tantrum. Sarah stared in awe. It was a wonder to behold. His heavy stomping literally shook the chamber they lived in. More than that, though, he was beautiful. Oh, not in the conventional way, certainly. Most men didn't have skin literally the color of gold, gleaming slightly with its own inner light.

And for a human man to get muscle bound like that would take a dedication to his body that would exclude all else. Nor did human men run around in gold loincloths. He was bald and had no eyebrows. By all rights he should have looked ridiculous.

He didn't. He looked masculine, primitive, and magnificent. With a formidable scowl on his face and muscles twitching in his jaw, he made her heart hammer with a mixture of fear and appreciation that defied her understanding.

Sarah had always been one to flirt with death. She loved that adrenaline that came from free-diving. Dancing on the razor's edge between going home alive or in a body bag had always thrilled her.

The demon set to see to her punishment was having the wrong effect. He was frightening without a doubt, but that made him that much more alluring to a woman addicted to adrenaline and the rush that came from surviving the terrifying.

Although aside from the glowing, the black eyes, and the wings, the guy wasn't all that demonic. No wonder he got the crappy details like being stuck in a grotto out of sight, out of mind.

Then when he huffed and turned his back on her, she stared at him. He sank down into his stone form too quickly for her to follow. One moment he was standing, the next he was stone. The part that bothered her, though, was the question of where his wings were. They seemed to... disappear at will. How bizarre!

Eagerly, she reached out and grabbed the fish. Fish or not, it was food and her stomach was screaming from hunger. Biting into it, she ate several mouthfuls before her manners won over her hunger. What was she thinking eating when she hadn't even thanked him? What was wrong with her!

Taking a deep breath, uncertain of how he would react to her overture, she went over with her fish and sat down against the wall in front of him. She wondered how often anyone touched him. Did demons touch each other like humans did? Probably not, unless they were torturing each other. Did demons torture each other? Shaking her curiosity away, she reached up and laid her palm about where she thought his cheek was, or would be.

"Thank you," she said with as much sincerity as she could infuse into it. She was pretty sure he didn't understand English--or pretended not to, anyway. Something else entirely unexpected.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then just as she was about to start eating again, he shifted, the glow from his body filling their home, such as it was, with warmth. "Vos es exspetata," he said.

She had no idea what it meant, but it sounded a bit like Latin to her. Of course he spoke Latin... he was a demon. That was one part of the mystery solved. On the other hand, it sounded as if he was accepting her gesture of truce.

She offered the fish to him, just to check.

He made a face and pulled away. "Haud," he grunted.

Definitely Latin, she knew then. 'Haud' was 'no' in Latin. Well, since they might be in hell together, they just as well get along. At least a little.

"Sarah," she said, putting her hand on her chest. After all, all the movies and books said that was the way to go about introductions when you don't speak someone's language. Doing it again, she pointed at him, "What's your name?"

From the squatting position he had been in, he sat back onto the cavern floor. Then he scratched his head. "Eh... Villiam." Then he shook his head. "Haud." He looked at his hands, then heaved a heavy sigh. "Eh...mmm... Abaddon." He got a pleased look. "Etiam, Abaddon." He gestured at her. "Sarah," he said. He gestured to himself, "Abaddon."

Sarah's fish was forgotten. Holy criminy, she was imprisoned in hell with the demon overlord. She'd tried a stint as a Protestant, and they were fascinated by end times stuff as described in the Revelation. Abaddon was the big boss demon, trapped in the abyss, who would be released for the end times to rule for a while. He would break into the courtyard of heaven and overrun the saints.

And she was trying to make friends with him. She was surely damned, especially since the hurt look on his face was tugging at her heart-strings as she fought between fear and an unwanted compassion for him. Weren't demons absolute, pure evil? Didn't they pervert everything and torture people?

She was too sick to think about it. She couldn't get past her fear, and she should never had tried this. Everything was all mixed up. He was so beautiful, and he seemed so fragile for such a huge... person. Well, emotionally at least. Of course, evil could masquerade as a creature of light. Hadn't she heard that all of her life?  And wasn't Abaddon supposed to be charismatic? He would appear to rescue the entire world and everyone would love him. Then he would make war on heaven.