Sweet Temptation (10 page)

“Oh.” She sounds surprised. “Okay, thanks.”

She pulls her arms out of the blankets and clasps her hands under her chin.

She's really going to do it, right now. It's so bizarre. Her eyes close and her face calms in meditative peace. My eyes dart about the room, expecting a beam of light or something, but the room remains calm and comfortable.

Anna is talking to God. I could never do that. We are so different. Opposites, really.

Her eyes open and I realize I'm staring like a total creeper. What the hell have I become? I want to laugh at the complete lunacy of my turnabout. It's like I'm a bloody woman or something. Next thing you know I'll be petting puppies and cooing at babies.

Ugh, no. Babies is where I draw the line.

“Good night,” Anna whispers. I nod, slightly discombobulated, as she turns out the light, bathing us in darkness.

“Don't wanna let you down, but I am hell bound.”

—“Demons” by Imagine Dragons

I
wake with a low, underlying ache in my gut.

I am not right in many ways at this moment. I slept so hard last night and this morning that I didn't even hear when Anna woke before me. I only just opened my eyes when I heard the shower cut on. Whisperers could have been swarming the room and I wouldn't have known. I drag a hand through my hair.

The feelings I developed for Anna yesterday haven't gone away—they're still there, glaringly bright and agile inside of me—but a bit of the idiocy has worn off and I can see straighter.

I feel as if this trip has been a joy ride at our own private theme park, teetering dangerously above reality. I'm still on that ride, but the end is in sight. This cannot last forever. On
one hand my chest drops into my stomach when I think of being apart from her, and on the other hand I'm eager to get us back to safety, apart from each other. It's stupid to tempt fate, to endanger ourselves.

Just another day or so of this ride, and then it's back to reality.

Speaking of reality, my body is right furious with me. The ache thuds as I imagine Anna in the shower, covered in slick bubbles, her hands sliding over every peak and valley and . . .
ugh, damn it.
I have to stop.

I stand and yank on a pair of cargo shorts and a T-shirt, modifying myself in a way that makes my issue less noticeable. I lean my fists against the side table and squeeze my eyes shut, breathing through the pain like a fucking woman in labor. Then I order room service, because Anna will need her strength when she finally meets her father, Duke Belial, in a few hours.

I haven't let myself think much on their meeting. Now, as I lie back on the bed, I feel dazed at the thought of what might become of the little half angel after this day. When I met Anna's adopted mother, Patti told me she believes Belial has Anna's best interests at heart based on what she was told by the nun, but I am skeptical. He is a demon, and they can be quite convincing.

Nevertheless, there's no hiding for Anna now. My father knows about her. If she tries to hide she will be hunted, found, and killed. I'm doing her a favor by bringing her to Belial. If he tries to make her work, she'll be upset, no doubt, but she'll be alive. My gut twists as I imagine her refusing, and I curse
myself for not training her better these two days. Yesterday I selfishly coddled her innocence and soaked in her nurturing spirit, rather than attempting to show her some Neph survival skills, like how to pretend you don't give a shit. Yeah, I should have done things differently, but now it's too late.

Anna comes into the room looking fresh-faced with damp hair, and the beast inside me growls.
I know, boy
, I tell him.
She's bloody gorgeous, isn't she? Ah, the things we'd do to her. . . .

As I lie there watching Anna braid her own hair, her fingers moving deftly through the smooth, wet locks, I have to bend a knee to block the effect she has on me. I expect my Neph curse to hit with unbearable pain, but it doesn't. Just a steady, low cramp. I can only assume it's because this strange
other
feeling makes me stare at her with an even deeper longing for something far more powerful. I shake off that thought. It can't last. I allowed myself one day of ridiculous thoughts yesterday, and it'll have to be enough to last a lifetime. Playtime is over.

When our food arrives, Anna is too nervous to eat. I wish I could take her fear away. I do have something that might take her mind off it for a moment, though, and for once I'm not talking about sex. I reach in my pocket to feel the smooth turquoise stone there. My heart jumps at the thought of giving it to her, and I need to stand.

I move to the window, still staggering from the madness I feel inside. So many thoughts to muddle through. I want to escort Anna into the prison to meet Belial, but they won't allow me. She is on her own, and I can't protect her. My only
consolation is that she and her father will be surrounded by other people.

One way or another, after Anna meets her father today, she will be changed. It's inevitable.

“You've gotten scruffy,” comes her soft voice. Her hand is suddenly against my face, her touch pulsing through me. I grasp her hand and shut my eyes. Why do I feel this way? I am not myself when I'm with her. I long for this simple touch far too much.

When I look at her, she tilts her head like the timid fawn she is, searching my soul. I wonder if she sees the blackness there. This is our last day, and then this has to end. I let her go and cross my arms, staring from the window.

“I have something for you,” I say.

She brightens and perks up at these words, and I'm suddenly nervous as hell.

Going for nonchalance, I pull the necklace from my pocket and hold it out, but she doesn't take it. She only stares, making me more nervous.

“I saw you looking at it and thought you liked it.” Does she remember?

Her face slightly pinches and she blinks. I'm feeling like a fool here.

“Have I upset you?”

“No! I'm not upset. I'm just surprised. I can't believe . . .” Oh, bloody hell. She's crying. “I mean, I
love
it. Nobody's ever given me anything like this.”

Oy, she's making a huge deal of it. I've never been a gift giver. Gifts mean something to the giver, even more so than to
the receiver most times. I should know. I receive loads of gifts that go straight into rubbish bins. But I'm afraid this means as much to Anna as it does to me, and that's not a good thing. I drop the damned necklace into her hand and curse, shoving my fingers into my hair.

What have I done? I know I wanted to make her fall for me, but she is clearly a romantic. Here I am buttering her up just before she goes to meet her demonic father, who will probably be in shock when he sees just how innocent Anna is. Not that he should be too surprised, considering he slept with a fucking angel to conceive her, but still. I've changed my mind about letting Anna fall for me. It would not be good for her. It's bad enough that I'll likely pine for her like Peter Pan after Wendy. I don't need her doing the same.

“This was a mistake,” I mutter.

“No.” Her voice is full of emotion when she takes my arm. “It wasn't.”

“Don't read into this, Anna. It would be a mistake to romanticize me.”

“I'm not,” she assures me. “It was a nice gesture. That's all.”

Is it? If she believes that, we are both fools.

She wears the necklace to meet Belial. I have to remind myself it's just an inanimate object. An accessory. Not a big deal. But she keeps reaching up and touching it as she stares off, deep in thought.

I have bunged things up royally, and I haven't a clue how to turn it back. Nothing good can come of this, especially once she meets her father. I want to give her a list of warnings—don't
tell your father about me, don't let him know how good you are, guard yourself and be careful what you say—but I can't say any of this because we're in the prison parking lot now and Belial could be listening.

The visitor doors open and I swallow hard. “You're up,” I say.

I feel ill when she enters the building and leaves my sight. I remain still and listen carefully as she makes it through security, moves into an echoey room, and sits. Soon there are sounds of chains and feet shuffling. I cannot move. I feel paralyzed with helplessness. I'm listening so intently I can hear the shake of Anna's breath. I nearly jump when a guard tells “LaGray” to sit. I didn't know Belial's earthly name.

“I can't believe you're here,”
says a deep, scratchy voice. I assume this is Belial, and I'm momentarily floored by the gentleness there. He goes on,
“. . . I wanted you to have a normal life.”

“There was never any chance of that,”
Anna says softly.

She doesn't sound scared, and I feel my own fear subsiding. Especially when Belial asks,
“Have they treated you well, the people who raised you?”

His voice is filled with concern. And as I continue listening for a bit, realization soon hits me—he loves her. Of course he does. Patti was right. I'm certain Belial can sense the depth of her goodness, just as Duke Alocer can sense the goodness in Kopano.
They
are the sort of Neph who can soften even the hearts of demons.
They
are the kind of Neph who deserve love.

A knot that cannot be swallowed forms in my throat. Knowing Anna is safe, I start the car and drive away.

I peruse L.A. like a sightseer for a couple hours, but I don't really see anything because my mind's a disaster. I don't understand the things I feel. I've always been a moody bastard, but this is beyond my normal scope. I go from rage to tenderness to terror to happiness in a few blinks. Anna's angel voodoo is a dangerous tonic. This is worse than being piss-arsed drunk—it doesn't seem to want to burn off.

I return to the prison with only minutes to spare—L.A. traffic blows.

I push my hearing through the walls of concrete and steel until I find that gruff voice once more,
“. . . might be different for you. Your mother's good might cancel out my bad. We don't know . . .”

I let out a full breath. She's fine. For the first time ever I feel strange about eavesdropping, so I pull back and ponder his words. I wonder if he's talking about what I think he is: hell. And the fact that Neph are sent to hell after death, no matter what kind of life we've lived. Yes, perhaps it will be different for Anna. Her soul is too good for that kind of darkness. It would be the ultimate injustice, and I'm deeply disturbed pondering her suffering.

I step from the car and lean against it, waiting. From what I can tell, Anna didn't get a verbal beating from her father, and I'm glad for her. When the doors open, and Anna filters out with the others, all the madness I felt today disappears. My blood rushes at the sight of her. But as she gets closer, the look on her face halts my thoughts.

Something is wrong. She ignores me and climbs into the
car. I go around to the driver's side and get us out of there. I want to ask what he did and what he said, but we're still within his five-mile hearing range.

When we're far enough away, I'm about to ask how it went, but she buries her face in her hands and cries the most pitiful, heart-wrenching tears I've ever heard. I have no idea what to say or do to make this better, which makes me feel weak and powerless.

Have I mentioned I hate when girls cry?

Thankfully, after five minutes of this she gives a loud sniff, wipes her eyes, squares her shoulders, and swallows away the rest of her tears.

“Were you listening?” she asks in a thick voice.

“A bit at the beginning and end, to make sure you were all right.”

She nods and proceeds to tell me every detail of their conversation. I usually zone out when girls talk this much, but I'm completely rapt with Anna's storytelling. She pulls one knee up and turns her body toward me in the passenger seat, talking fast. I listen to the story of her parents' epic, forbidden love—how they were soul mates in heaven before the Fall, and how he became a Duke to search for her on earth, finally finding her working as a guardian angel. Anna's mother, Mariantha, broke all heavenly rules to inhabit her human charge's drug-sickened body and be with Belial. He never cared about hurting humans, though he pushed drugs to keep his position and he was good at it. But all along, he only cared about Mariantha. For the first time ever, I find myself relating to a Duke.

When I get to the hotel we just park and sit there while
she gets it all out. She hides nothing—making her joy, love, sorrow, and disappointment plain. Her father clearly loves her, but he'd been brutally honest about her fate on earth and afterward. She would have to at least appear to be working for the dark cause. She had to toughen up. I'd been wondering if her father would have positive news about Anna's afterlife. He didn't. She's as hell-bound as any other Neph, as far as Belial knows. A sharp pang rips at my chest at the thought of that doom for her.

It's not right. It's not fair.

I shake my head and turn off the ignition. I haven't worried about whether or not something was “fair” since I was a small child. It hadn't taken long to realize nothing was fair in life. That bloody word shouldn't even exist. But it's the thought that continues to blaze through me—a soul like Anna's should never be confined to hell. How could the One who made her even consider it?

Yet another thing to fill the churning pit of anger that fuels my daily life.

I'm incredibly edgy when we reach the hotel room. So much so that I stand in the doorway while Anna goes in, her arms crossed, lost in thought.

“This hotel has a gym,” I tell her. “If you don't mind, I think I'll get in a workout this afternoon while I can.”