Sentinel of Heaven (26 page)

“You maddening
son of a bitch,” she grated, gathering up the sides of his black shirt in
crumpled masses in her fists, provoked and possessive.

He turned the
tables on her again, freeing his hands to draw her face down with utmost
tenderness, rising up to meet her with a kiss.

“Moira,” Leo
breathed; it sounded like a hymn in his mouth.  “Make love to me here.”

The tones of
longing and desire in his voice melted her entirely.  He could have whispered “Let
me cut off your head,” in those same harmonics and she'd have gladly bared her
neck to the axe.

“I can't like
this, though,” it crushed her to have to demure.  “My knee will give out before
long.”

He eased
gentle fingertips under her shirt, over the waistband of her jeans, eager to
feel her flesh.

“Do you trust
me?” he queried... and the old sadness gathered at the corners of his eyes. 
After all they'd discussed on the way home – after all the heights and depths
to which he'd pushed her – Leo would not be surprised to hear her say no.

Moira took a
moment gazing down at him, freeing her hand to brush his hair back from his
face where it fell at his temples.  Strange how his features, heavy and craggy
as they were, could be so incredibly cherished in her mind.

“I do,
completely,” she whispered, “and always will.”

Leo ran his
hands up her sides – she felt no change but first her jacket and then her shirt
and bra disappeared.

“Inside, on
your old bed frame,” he answered the unasked question.  She nodded acceptance.

His shirt
vanished out of her distracted grip; he was back in the silky wrapped-bandage
of his wings, the sweatpants he'd actually worn tugged down to mid-thigh.

“I have an
idea,” he drawled,” but you're going to think I'm crazy.”

“Say it
anyway.”

“I want to
make love to you in the rain.”

Moira considered
it; at first blush it
was
crazy.  “It's November, baby – I would hope
you've got some way of keeping me from dying of pneumonia?”

“I do,” he
answered, and opened the car door.  “Hold on as best you can.”

Then he was
standing up on the sodden grass, his arms around her holding her to his chest. 
She clung to him with thighs and hands, chuckling in sudden amusement – all the
human weight that burdened her every day was as nothing to him.

My Leo, my
lover – stronger than sin and a thousand times more irresistible!

He carried her
to the patio, kissing her lips, her cheeks, her chin.  And, true to his word,
not far above his head the rain met an invisible field that hissed with heat;
the drops that reached their flesh were warm.

Leo straddled
one of the patio table's benches and lay her down; she felt old quilts
appearing wadded beneath her back to cradle her and prop her up on the
unornamented wood.

“Oh my love,”
he sighed.  His hands were gentle under her back and neck, raising her to the
ministrations of his mouth.  She combed back her damp hair with her fingers and
let her head tilt into the impossible rain that slipped down their bodies.

As he worshiped
her with his lips his wings untied themselves quietly and restored to their
normal shape, flicking over them both to cut off the worst of the downpour; she
opened her eyes to watch him move back and forth greedily between her nipples.

Moira fisted
her hands in his silvered locks, shifting her hips on emptiness, feeling her
need growing.  “Don't wait,” she urged, “oh don't wait, love – I want you.”

Leo groaned at
her words, in his distraction murmuring under his breath in that other
language, the one of his home.  His big hands were lifting her and drawing her
to him.  A flash of pain as he began to ease into her, gone almost before it
was felt – Moira was definitely going to be paying for all this tomorrow but
oh, was it worth it!  She locked her heels together behind his waist.

It worked out
well on this bench.  By just leaning forward he was able to thrust and all of
her body was available to him; his weight wasn't uncomfortable on her and she
was fully supported beneath.

“I like it
like this... this position,” she whispered – and gasped when his fingertip found
her clitoris.

“So do I,” he
smiled.

Leo loomed
over her like the gray sky itself, sheathed entirely and setting up a slow deep
rhythm, his free hand braced on the surface of the bench behind her head. 
Moira wrapped her arms around his neck and rose up as best she could to meet
him.

Making love
outside meant he didn't have to worry at all about where his sometimes unwieldy
wings would wind up, she saw; he could let them flex or extend however they
wished.  The feathers glowed in the shadows of the stormy afternoon, sparkling
under the runnels of rain.

They traded
blows indolently, relaxed and with little or no sense of urgency.  The only
sounds were the rain through the pine branches, the soft noises of their
breathing, their whispered expressions of pleasure and tenderness.

She loved the
look in his eyes, how they fastened on her face, filled with hope and
devotion.  How when they finally closed briefly in bliss at the advent of his
first climax, his fingertips brushed lightly over the jewel at her throat.

They made love
until the rain began to fade and the clouds broke apart; Leo felt a low ray
from the setting sun strike his back.  Through the bond, Moira felt it as well.

“Can you
recharge and keep doing this?” she asked.

“Yes, my love,
although I do not require it now...”

“Do it anyway,
dearheart – I want to see how it feels.”

He smiled
indulgently at her demand.

Warm, yes...
and the satisfaction of sating a hunger no human could ever experience.  His
wings told him silently how best to hold them to capture the light and draw it
in, spatial ideas of self for which she had no reference – it was like hearing
strains of music from another room.

And it
tingled... a ripple of shifting sensation brushing through her core intimately
that startled her into an orgasm.  She laughed in delight as the spasms took
hold and then Leo was gathering her close to him with wings and arms both,
voicing a sound that was half-groan and half-hum, moving his hips
instinctively, driven by an urge older than civilization.

He buried his
face in her hair, hissing above her ear as the strength of his climax seized
him.  It doubled back through the bond in a loop and now she was moved, now she
strained and bucked in his grip and cried his name as it tore through both of
them again.

She gave
herself back to the pleasure, blind and helpless against the onslaught, hearing
in full at last the sunset music as he did –

Desperate to
break the feedback loop he shut down the bond, leaving Moira alone in her own
head and body.  She was glad of it; much more and she would have blacked out
entirely for who knows how long...

Leo was calling
her name softly when sense returned.  “I am sorry,” he said when she responded,
all trace of the accent gone again.  “I do not believe I had ever tried to feed
and to make love at the same time before, along a bond, and certainly not
with...”  He trailed off delicately.

“A mortal? 
You can say it, angel...”  She nuzzled the corner of his lips, seeing that
tears stood unshed in his eyes as they did in hers. 

“It is not
something I would normally share with a human; it is very personal – and with a
celestial there is no need.  I can only hope I did not cause you harm.”

“It felt
amazing, love.”

“Too amazing,”
he corrected, revealing a measure of his dismay.  “Usually feedback loops decay
naturally – that one was only growing stronger.  If I had allowed it to
continue I cannot say with certainty that you would have survived it undamaged
in mind or body.”

She had the
urge to say something flippant like “What a way to go”, but he was obviously
upset.  “Leo, angel – it's okay, you didn't hurt me.  It felt wonderful, and
you stopped it before it got dangerous.  That's all.”

“I cannot
afford to be careless with you!” he replied stridently; the hands that cradled
her were possessive in the strength of his fear.

“Leo –”

“That is not
my name!” her seraph cried out, vibrating with apprehension and frustration. 
He lowered his head and shut his eyes, allowing the curtain of his hair to hide
him from her.

Moira gazed up
at him for a long moment, considering.  Even as close as he still held her it
felt like he was flinching away from the touch – as if he feared
her
as
much as he feared
for
her.

She pulled
herself higher in his arms to kiss his forehead through the thick silver
strands of his mane.  “Whatever your name, you are my beloved,” she whispered;
the sun set behind his shoulder.  “Whatever you are, I love you.  And no matter
what, I want you to stay.  Promise me you'll stay with me, angel.  No matter
what you fear, no matter what trials come.  Don't leave me to protect me.”

“You cannot
know,” came the soft answer, “how dangerous it could be to love me.”

“Even if I
did, it wouldn't stop me.  Promise me, angel.  Promise the woman who wears the
work of your hands around her neck.”

She saw a
flicker of inhuman strain cross his face; she smoothed it away with her
fingertips.

“I swear it,
Moira,” he breathed.

Leo kissed her
gently and set her down on the bench, extricating himself from her embrace to
pick up the quilts – now as dry as they would have been that morning.  More of
his magic, of course.

Moira followed
his broad back into the house without a word, leaving him to his thoughts.  She
heard him flop down into the nest as she got a towel, a glass of water, and a
fruit bar to take with her into the bath – however self-cleaning angels may be,
she was human and still required some upkeep.  Besides, it would give him a
while to compose himself.

Feeling very
decadent she ran one warm bath to clean off by, then ran a hotter one to soak
in and eat her small dinner.

Moira didn't
blame him for snapping, or for evidencing at last some of the emotional
fragility she'd suspected he was hiding.  General of a hundred thousand celestial
warriors or no; losing most of one's memory – not even knowing your own true
name! – and falling in love all in the same week would put anyone off-kilter.

She got out of
the bath when it started to cool, toweling off as she mused to herself. 
Without the usual agony or the medication in the way she could feel the muscles
in her arms and shoulders and legs move and flex.  It'd be lovely if Leo could
keep the pain at bay for her to be able to exercise some.

Might be too
much to try to go back to boxing, but at least she could tone up and attempt to
maintain some better health overall.

Clean and dry,
she moved toward the bed-nest, turning off lights as she went.  Convenient to
have a lover that glowed in the dark; made finding them with the lights out
that much easier.

He was curled
up on his side; one wing folded over his body and the other stretched out
behind him.  He hadn't bothered to get dressed, she was pleased to see.  Moira
snuggled down beside him in the sheets; he lifted the wing to draw close to
her, covering them both with its feathered warmth.  In its stardust light she
could see that his eyes were clear and sorrowful.

“Can I keep
calling you 'Leo', until you think of something better?” she asked him wryly.

“Of course you
may, my lady.”

“Why such a
sad look, then?  What are you thinking of?”

“I am thinking
that... a moth may love a flame, but it does not end well.”

“Mmm.  Depends
on what the moth might say, if you could ask it.”

“Angels are
created to harness and control energies that could kill a mortal a thousand
times over,” he mused.  “I truly do not know what would have happened had the
loop strengthened further.  No effect?  Or would it have blasted your mind
clean, leaving you a brain-dead husk?  Or could the energies have crossed over
into the physical world and incinerated you?”

“Let's not
find out.”

“There is much
I cannot remember...”

“Then leave it
'til tomorrow, Leo.  Go to sleep.  It'll look brighter in the morning,” she
insisted as she grimly set the alarm clock.  Monday, sure.  Things always look
better on Mondays.

But he
subsided at last, and together they drifted off to sleep.  If Moira dreamed she
didn't recall it – she slept the whole night through and woke at the sound of
the alarm.

She hit snooze
and considered her changed fortunes, gazing up at the living room ceiling.  A
week ago this time she'd just become the confused foster guardian of a very
damaged ethereal being, and was wracked with agony after a night of attempting
to care for his wounds.

This morning
he was fully healed and shared her bed, and she felt no distress, physical or
otherwise.

His hand was
curling along her side; he moved slow and deliberate as a continent to raise
himself over her and claim her lips with his.

“You and your
kisses,” she murmured deliriously when he allowed them up for air.

“Only your
kisses so move me,” he answered, nuzzling her cheek.

“Mmm... I
don't have much time – I've got to get up and get ready to go.”

“Far be it
from me to keep you,” Leo mentioned, kissing to the point of her chin, then
down the curve of her throat.  His fingers brushed across her nipple, then
lifted away.

“I will be
good,” he sighed.  “For now.”  The angel was pulling himself upright and
lifting her to her feet alongside him.  “Go and prepare yourself for the day;
all will be ready when you emerge.”

“Awww...”

She went to
her shower with no small reluctance, especially having to be in it alone but he
was right – back to taking care of business.  Once she returned home tonight,
however... oh, it was going to be on!

And all was
ready just as he'd said when she came out showered and dressed.  Leo waited for
her, chaste and serene in his red pants again, holding her medicine in one hand
and a refillable water bottle that she'd not seen before in the other.  One
more “gift” from his wings, she guessed.

“My ability to
burn the nerve chemical out of your body is limited greatly by proximity – the
pain will return as soon as you are out of range.  Please take one of these
now; hopefully it will go into effect as you begin to require it.”

The
pill-bottle was full to the brim of the little white tablets, fuller even than
it had been when she'd bought it.  She gave him the side-eye as she obeyed his
request but Leo remained the picture of innocence.

He helped her
into the car and sent her on her way, with the water-bottle in her cup-holder
and another raspberry bar for breakfast.  His expression had been slightly
worried but Moira hadn't thought to question it until she got about halfway to
work, when the most likely reason for his apprehension presented itself.

In a nutshell:
the bill for the weekend came due, with interest.

The thing
about pain is that it serves a useful survival purpose, when the system is
otherwise healthy.  It tells the thinking part of the body: “Something is
hurt.  Something is wrong.  Stop.  Help.”

It's only when
pain happens for no reason – or a reason that can't really be fixed, or a
reason that exists but science hasn't yet discovered – that it becomes a
problem.

The body “cries
wolf.”  Pain becomes a signal without meaning, to be ignored even when it might
be caused by something new and needing attention.  And when a very helpful
angel removes
all
pain from the body of his beloved, he may also be
removing the warning voice of excess, heralding consequences...

Her entire
spine was on fire – a singular column of red-hot steel agony.  The muscles in
her arms, back, and legs now felt the strain of the workout they'd gotten
across those lovely hours.

Worst – and
most embarrassing – was the hurt between her thighs.  “A long time since she'd
loved” he'd said, and that was no lie; some women euphemistically called it the
‘honeymooner’s disease”.  Of all the things on her mind over the weekend,
adequate hydration had sadly not been in the top three. 

Goddammit,
she thought bitterly. 
Healthy normal people don't have to worry about
getting themselves consensually fucked into an ER visit.

Moira pulled
the car onto the shoulder of the interstate and put on the emergency flashers,
scrambling for her cell phone and her pill-bottle, glad of the new water-bottle
Leo had given her.  She
could
dry-swallow – needs must, when the devil
drives – but it wasn't fun by any stretch of the word.

She dialed the
number with her other hand, by memory.  “Erica,” she told the voice mail.  “I'm
coming in but I may be up to an hour late; I'm going to need to stop by the
store for some medication.  I'll get to the office just as soon as I can.”

The moment she
even imagined that the pain was easing its taloned grip Moira was threading the
car back into the right-most lane.

From there it
was a short wait in rush hour traffic (during which her bladder began to spasm)
and a short limp of shame into the store (where her purchase of a small heating
pad, cranberry pills, and two large bottles of cranberry juice made the cashier
frown in sympathy) and finally another wait in the car through surface street
slow-and-go until she pulled into the relative quiet of the parking garage.  It
had filled up quickly; she wound up having to park several floors higher than
normal to find an unoccupied handicapped space.

Another pain
pill and two starting doses of the cranberry pills, and an increasingly and
personally painful journey into the office to clock in...

Great
feathered hunk of a male concubine,
she thought darkly in the elevator. 
If
you weren't so damned sexy maybe I would have kept some wits in my head and
treated my body better...

Moira had
barely collapsed in the chair in her cubicle when Erica reared her ugly head.

“Moira!”  Oh,
that false chummy attitude, that insultingly fake camaraderie!  “How good of
you to join us.”

“I felt it
would only be right of me,” she returned, dry as the Sahara, “since management
went to the trouble of opening the office today and all.”

She bent slow
and mindful of her wounds to plug the heating pad into the outlet under her
desk; when she came back up Erica was cataloging her purchases with her gaze,
reaching the same obvious conclusion that the checkout girl had.

“Fun weekend?”
the other woman asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No more so
than usual,” Moira answered.

“Mmm.  And
you've got a new necklace on.”

Moira's
fingertips flew to the pendant before she could stop herself.  “Oh, this old
thing?”

“Moonstone,
right?”  Erica's eyes were devouring it; she even stepped into Moira's cube to
get a better look.  “And a feather design...”

“Nothing
special,” Moira said, hiding it in her palm.  Erica raised her gaze to meet her
eyes and sidled back slowly.

“It's very
pretty.”

“Thank you.” 
Moira's lips felt suddenly numb.

“You should
wear pretty things more often; it might improve your outlook.”

And on that
note Erica turned and left, looking flustered and disturbingly triumphant.

Christ, would
it ever be humanly possible to have an interaction with the woman that didn't
leave her defensive and out of sorts?

Grimly
slamming down cups of water alternating with cups of cranberry juice, Moira
tried to settle her morning and focus.  Eventually she managed the trick of it –
two of the last ciphers practically solved themselves as she watched, lending
quiet but proud eureka moments that balanced out Erica and her strange attack
of the day.

Mostly.

The walk out
to the car at lunch was easier than the walk in, even though she had to remind
herself she'd parked on a different floor of the deck.

Still she sat
down gingerly and arranged herself before pulling out the feather to reach out
to Leo.

“Good
afternoon, angel,” she said, and smiled as the bond took hold.  She had begun
to unwrap her sandwich before she realized what room Leo's sending was showing
her.

He was
standing in the parlor.  He transmitted a wave of love and affection through
the connection.

Even cleared
of most of the boxes and all of the furniture, it was painfully small.  The
wallpaper with its huge and faded cabbage roses... the baby blue carpet with
its black blotch where Moira had dropped (then accidentally stepped on) an ink
pen at age twelve and in a panic had tried to clean it up and only managed to
spread it around worse...

The low plaster
ceiling, whose bumps and crackles she'd memorized over the years, listening to
the snores of a mother who would swear upon waking that she had never in her
life snored and never ever would.

Why did this
room freeze her so?

Leo was putting
up shelves over the wallpaper, just simple sanded two by six boards attached
with galvanized brackets all around the room, starting from about three feet
off the floor and repeating every foot higher until a foot or so below the
ceiling, admittedly now taller due to Leo's stretching of the house.  The angel
himself had shrunken his wings again so he could move easily.

“I hate the
wallpaper,” she said after a moment, almost casually.  “And I hate the
ceiling.  And the carpet.”

Leo nodded;
duly noted.  He lifted a new board and laid it into place, using a cordless
drill Moira was sure she didn't own to set the screws on the underside that
would hold it to the brackets and keep it from shifting or sliding.

“Do we need
all those shelves?”

He sent a
picture of the many boxes of books he'd discovered she had.  Some even from her
childhood – no matter how angry her mother had gotten over her leaving, she
hadn't thrown away her belongings.  So many hundreds of books, and her existing
bookcases were already full.

“I don't even
know if you should bother,” she said, some of her morose feeling surfacing in
her words.  “I don't know if I can ever really use that room.  I hate it
entirely.”

And she did,
as much as anyone can hate an inanimate thing or place.  She hated its chintzy
dated look, hated its aging poverty.  She hated it for a place where her father
had never been.

She hated it
for all the memories of self-doubt and dread, for all its lack of privacy, for
all the ten million snores it had heard as she had lain awake, feeling angry
and completely impotent as a child, without even the power to complain because
without Grandmother's charity they wouldn't even have
this
little
space, this little roof and its little dinners and its little love.

Leo felt all
of this, all that she couldn't speak, and relayed to her a steady sine wave of
nonjudgmental understanding.  Then he sent her a rumble of static that
meandered and faded away with a later-than-now time qualifier.  Translated: we
may be able to change it; how you feel at present may not be how you feel in
the future.