The Devil's Wife (6 page)

      I closed my eyes, continuing to sob. Jason kissed me gently, and I felt his hands sliding over my skin. Something cold crawled up my spine. He wasn't nice about sex, Jason was never nice about sex.

      "There, there," he cooed, pulling me into his arms and kissing my neck. "I love you, Jayce honey."

      I was still wary of him. Jason was furious at me, he must have been. He was never this nice, this quiet. I felt more tears cascade down my cheeks.

      I took a chance. "I love you, Jason," I whispered hoarsely. "Don't do this, please. I'm begging you. Don't do this to me again."

      He laughed, and I recognized the tone of it. A dark, devilish omen that made me tremble and shrink from him in well-founded fear. His teeth sank into the muscle between my shoulder and my neck, and pain spiked in my head, my skull starting to pound as his bite cut off the blood to my brain.

      Just before I passed out, he laughed and whispered in my ear, "Whatever I do, I do because I love you." ~ * ~

      I woke up feeling stiff, my stomach, my crotch, my ass sore. I couldn't move without pain lacing my body. I couldn't even breathe properly, the pain was so bad.

      It was dark, that's all I knew. There was no light shining behind the curtains in front of me, and the room was pitch-black. I didn't know if it was still the same night, or if the day had already passed. Time was gone, hidden in the pain.

      I tried to move my arms, but there was something tying me to the bed. I looked at it, and tried to pull the rope free. It pulled tight around my wrist, and I couldn't pull my arm close enough to chew at the rope.

      "Nice to have you awake, Jaselyn," Jason's smooth voice said from the shadows, making my heart race in fear. "We're so sorry that our performance before was so boring that you fell asleep."

      I stared at the place I thought his voice was coming from. I could feel the wet stickiness of their semen and my blood on my legs, my stomach, and the sheets beneath me.

      "Jason?" I whispered, trembling. "Jason, please..."

      "You hear that boys?" he asked, stepping out of the shadows. "She's begging me for more."

      There was a chorus of laughter from various points around the room as he stepped closer to me.

      "No, please..." I gasped as he pulled out his knife, running the blade up my thigh. "Please, Jason, don't do this! I love you! Please..." I felt a tear leak from the corner of my eye as I watched him. I was distantly surprised; I thought I was out of tears.

      "She loves me!" he crowed, making the other men laugh again. "Not as I love her, it seems."

      I stared at him in fear as he dug the point of the knife into my wrist, just under the rope, and I felt something drip down my arm through the pain. Blood.

      "Jason, please—"

      "'Jason, please,'" he imitated, making the others laugh. He sliced through the rope, and I pulled my arm away, trying to scramble away from him.

      "Jason, please, don't—"

      He slapped me and grabbed my throat. My free hand went to his arm, trying to stop him squeezing, but he sliced

across the back of my hand and I reflexively let him go.

The world went dark once more.

~ * ~

      It was darker in the room when I woke up, and I could feel pain raking my body with every beat of my heart. It was a familiar pain, but that familiarity was not comforting. I looked around the room, but, as far as I could see, there was no one in the room with me. I lifted my head, and realized that my hand was still free. I rubbed at my eyes to make sure there was no one there; I was completely alone in the room.

      In the distance, I could hear the television blaring, and someone talking, but there was no other sound, aside from my pained sobs.

      I have to get out of here. Now. I clawed at the rope holding my other arm still. I'll go to Clarissa's. Surely by now she's forgiven me enough to help. She'll help me, I know she will. She swore that she would look after me, swore to be my sister until our death. She has to help me.

      I pulled the last rope off my leg and held back a gasp of pain as I moved. I was sore, stiff, aching. Every movement was agony, but I needed to get out of there, to move.

      I lurched to the wardrobe and grabbed a blouse and one of my skirts. I didn't stop to pull them on—I didn't know how long it would be before Jason and the Hellraisers came back—instead running to the window and ripping a hole in the screen there with my bare, bloody fingers.

      Once there was a gap large enough, I squeezed out through it, shut the window, and ran for my car. I had a spare key in the garden behind the Audi, in case I ever got up the courage to leave him again.

      If I could help it, I would never return to this house. Ever.

Lucifer Morningstar

      I woke Clarissa up a half-hour later with a bowl of spaghetti bolognaise and a glass of water. There were painkillers I'd ducked out to buy as well, lying on the tray next to the plate. I put the tray on the chest of drawers, turning up the dimmer on my bedroom light so it wouldn't make her squint too much after the darkness of sleep.

      "Clarissa," I said quietly, shaking her shoulder. "I brought you some dinner."

      Clarissa rolled away from the pillow, rubbing at her eyes. "Aspen, what? Who...?"

      I felt a small pang of disappointment. She must have a boyfriend. There's no ring on her finger, so she's not married—or engaged—to him. His name's a little coincidental, considering Sera's brother was called Aspen, but still...It's not exactly a common name.

      I retrieved the tray from the chest of drawers, helping her to sit up and putting the tray across her lap. She stared at me for a second, then seemed to decide that her stomach was more pressing than puzzling out my presence.

      She rubbed at her eyes again. "Wow. I thought being stabbed and meeting the Devil—"

      I growled in the back of my throat, frowning as I fussed with her covers. I might have chosen to be called Lucifer, but only out of necessity, when my Angel name became unavailable to me after the Fall.

      "—was a dream." She blushed, ducking her head and trying to get away from me without disturbing the food.

      I realized why, and tried to relax. She doesn't know how much I detest that title. Keep it together, Lucifer.

      "There're painkillers there, if you need them," I said, sitting on the end of the bed and crossing my legs, my chin in my hand. I doodled on my leg with my finger, watching my hand. "I don't know what kind of pain you're in, so—"

      "Don't you feel pain?" she asked, twirling spaghetti around her fork absently as she watched me. "Surely you can feel that hole in your chest?"

      I'd cleaned the blood from my body, but the bullet holes were still obvious, especially in the dim light. I thought about fishing the bullets out, but decided that it could wait. The wounds wouldn't heal until the bullets were out, no matter how long that took, whether the lead had to be disintegrated inside me or if I just pulled them out.

      I looked at her, then away, to the dark window. "I don't feel pain in the way you do, I think. It's just a dull ache to me." I rubbed at the bullet wound in my left arm, and she lifted the spaghetti to her lips. I could tell she was sniffing out poison. "I'm not going to harm you, Clarissa," I said, insulted.

      She blushed again, making me smile.

      "Well, at least your blood's back up to volume." I grinned at her. "Especially if you can turn so red so quickly."

      "Where's your dinner?" she asked me, taking a small bite, trying to ignore my remark.

      "I ate before I brought yours in. I thought you could use a little more sleep." I smiled at her again. I seemed to be smiling a lot more lately. "I could go and get some more, if eating with me makes you more comfortable than eating in front of me?"

      She hesitated, then nodded. "If—if you don't mind? I don't want to put you out."

      "It's no trouble." I stood up from the bed, heading out of the door. I should have expected this. Most humans felt uncomfortable eating in front of someone who wasn't eating as well. I put some more spaghetti into a bowl and added the sauce, grabbing a fork from the drawer on the way back to the bedroom.

      Clarissa was still playing with the same forkful when I entered the room. I sat down on the edge of the bed, holding the bowl in one hand and eating with the other.

      "How's your stomach?" I asked, crossing my legs. The spaghetti was a little cold from sitting for so long, but that was okay. It still tasted delicious. "Does it hurt, or sting or anything? Did you take the painkillers I left you?"

      Clarissa nodded as I twirled spaghetti around my fork, lifting it to my mouth. She watched me eat it, then finally ate the mouthful she'd been playing with. Apparently, she thought that any poison I ingested would act immediately.

      We ate in silence. I was watching Clarissa, making sure that she wasn't in pain and hiding it from me. She glanced up at me every now then, blushed, and looked back at her plate.

      Clarissa finished before I did, putting her now-empty bowl down on the tray and picking up the glass of water. She sat back and I put my empty bowl in hers, taking the tray back to the kitchen. I returned to the room to find that she had emptied the glass and was waiting for me. I smiled at her, sitting at the end of the bed again.

      "So, seeing as I'm trapped here—"

      "You're free to leave whenever you want," I said, shaking my head. "I won't stop you."

      "Oh," she said, clearly not believing me one whit. "Well, I wonder if you would mind answering a few questions for me? About the Fall, and Heaven and such. It's not every day that you get the opportunity to ask someone who didn't learn it from a preacher or a book."

      I smiled, taking her glass and putting it on the chest of drawers by the door. "What would you like to know?"

      "Are you the Devil? Like, rules Hell, the Devil?"

      I sighed. "Yes, but not through my own choice. And I hate being called 'the Devil.' Just call me Lucifer, Luce or, if you prefer, Your Highness." I cracked a grin at my bad joke.

      "Okay, Lucifer. I know the humans' story of the Fall and how you were given that title," she said, putting a hand on her wound and watching me with half-closed eyes. "You rebelled against God, thinking you could run the universe better, and He threw you from Heaven."

      I laughed darkly, looking away from her and folding my arms over my chest. I looked back to her to find her pushing herself away from me. I forgot my anger and resentment, and instead became puzzled.

      "What? I told you I wouldn't harm you."

      "I—but you—you look so demonic, like you're going to kill me!" Her eyes were wide with panic, trying to push herself through the wall. She whimpered suddenly and clutched at her stomach. Her eyes rolled in her skull and she fell to the bed, holding her wound.

      I climbed up the bed, uncurling her and undoing the buttons of her shirt near the wound. She was still trying to get away from me, but I ignored her movements, looking at the bandaging. There was a spot of crimson blood leaking through, quickly reddening that part of the bandages. I cursed, pulling gently at the cloth to bare the wound to the air. The stitches in her muscles must have ripped from their beds, judging by the speed and spread of the blood.

      "Looks like you've torn some of the stitches," I explained, climbing off the bed. She whimpered as I darted out of the room.

      I headed into the kitchen to retrieve the needle, thread, a glass of scotch, and the cotton dressing I had left on the counter. I returned to the room to find that Clarissa was holding her wound tightly, as though hoping that she could push the pain out through her back with just her hand. There was blood seeping out between her fingers, starting to dribble down her arm to my bed.

      "Don't touch it," I said, sitting down next to her and putting the supplies on the bedside table. "You'll put an infection in it."

      Clarissa watched me with wide eyes as I unwrapped the bandage, being careful not to make her sit up for too long. Using her stomach muscles might tear the stitches more, and I didn't know what damage that would do. I helped her lie back and let her drink a little from the scotch glass, then dipped the needle and a ball of dressing in it.

      "Why are you helping me?" she asked, relenting and holding her shirt up above the wound for me while I removed the old stuffing.

      The light was too dim in the bedroom for her to see what I was doing, but I could see the damaged muscles inside the wound well enough. I swabbed out the wound again and replaced the torn stitches, being careful not to cause her undue pain.