Devil's Paw (Imp Book 4) (8 page)

He’d once told me it was dangerous for us to do this kind of thing here, that without our physical forms, we ran the risk of coming apart and dying. I couldn’t help from wanting him in this way, in spite of the danger. Having him so close, stroking me, with the fireworks and the joy of sharing his knowledge and skill was more than a poor imp could resist. If he wanted to take the risk, as we’d done before, I wouldn’t say “no”.

I felt him smile, lost myself in his quick caress.
I’m very old. With age comes great patience. Things won’t be this way forever, little Cockroach. Have some patience of your own. It’s a good virtue to cultivate.

I had no interest in virtues, especially one where I was expected to deny myself what I truly desired. Fun as this had been, I wanted more. And I wasn’t convinced we’d ever be able to have more. Besides the horror of my punishments, the angels wouldn’t allow me in Aaru, even as the Iblis, and there was nowhere else we could exist as beings of spirit. It seemed tragic that we could only tease each other or risk death.

Patience.

I saw through his mind’s eye. He’d existed for billions of years. Waiting another millennium or two would be of no consequence to him. But I was not patient. I was a demon, an imp, and I wasn’t even a thousand years old. I wanted him. All of him. Maybe if we couldn’t do it his way, we could do it mine? An erotic fantasy of him sprouting physical genitals and plowing into me until I cried for mercy began to take hold. Why not? It was unlikely we’d ever be in Aaru together. Why not fulfill our needs, satisfy our significant attraction for each other in a different, non–angelic fashion? As if in agreement, he pressed firmly against me, locking my energy tightly within the embrace of his own.

Form your human body as I transport us so you don’t burn your house down.

We were in my kitchen, which felt like it was spinning around me with the now–familiar sensation of vertigo. I’d just managed to create the human form I’d worn for the last forty years as my feet hit the floor. Gregory held me in his odd human form, instead of the flame. I reached down to his skin, pores solid, like marble with an odd glow, and stroked a finger along his arm. Angels could never manage to create true flesh, just this strange attempt at a copy.

I needed him. Needed more than his teasing. If we couldn’t fuck like angels, I was determined to propose something else. Physical sensation was just as deep, as emotional as the angel joining I’d done with Gregory. We could share that and not risk death, not have to deal with my unwelcome presence in Aaru. I knew deep in my heart that he’d probably never consent to sex, but maybe we could bond in some way physically that we couldn’t fully do spiritually. Did oral count as sex? No, I think that was an exception. But perhaps I should start with something a little less extreme. He was an angel, after all.

I used a stream of raw energy and adjusted the molecules in the wake of my finger, leaving him with a stripe of perfect human skin. He ignored it, so I continued, converting more of his skin and aligning all the nerve endings to provide maximum stimulation.

He winced. Not quite the reaction I’d hoped for. I went to run a light touch along the newly formed skin, to soothe and bring pleasure, when he pushed me away, instead caressing me with his spirit being as we had in the fire. I loved what we shared, but I was in human form, naked in my kitchen and pressed against him. The roughness of his shirt and jeans against very sensitive parts of my body were filling me with all sorts of ideas. Reciprocating his caress, I reached up to grab around the back of his head and pull him to me.

He’d kissed me before, but it had always been as a method to heal. I had something different in mind and merged his mouth with mine, transforming his lips into a more sensitive human form as they touched mine. He caught his breath, hands reaching up to grab my wrists as I held his head in place. Undeterred, I continued to move my lips against his, gently worrying a lower one between my teeth.

With a gasp, he pushed me away, shaking his head and grabbing his arm, clasping the tan skin.

“Don’t. Don’t ever do that.”

“Why not? You teach me, show me your skills. I’m just sharing mine with you.”

To me, sensation was sensation. That glorious feeling of closeness and affection was just as potent whether it was as a being of spirit, or of the flesh. Gregory had shown me the joys of the spirit; I was simply trying to share the exquisite sins of the flesh with him.

“I have no wish to experience your skills in human copulation techniques.”

I rolled my eyes. Of course not. How foolish of me to assume he’d want to fuck like an animal. Bigot. Prude. Why was it always his way or the highway?

“All right, although that’s not totally what I meant. Yes, I’d be happy to show you my extraordinary sexual abilities, but I was also talking about my skills in creating a more accurate representation of human flesh. Your form sucks. I’m trying to show you how to do better. Just like you show me.”

“I don’t need to do better.” He snarled. “It’s too much sensation. It endangers my vibration level, my evolution. I chose this manifestation on purpose, to avoid the temptation of sin.”

That was probably the most honesty I’d ever heard from him. Still, it hurt that I’d come to value and respect his way of life, yet he didn’t mine. “It was just a small strip of flesh on your arm and your lips. If your enlightenment can’t hold up against such brief temptation, then it’s not very solid, is it?”

He turned away and walked toward the table with its decapitated head centerpiece. “Tomorrow’s meeting will be to address your appeal on the one four–nine–five report, as well as discussion on the two you’ve submitted, and the one from yesterday.”

“Don’t try and change the subject! Since we met, I’ve tried to understand your history, your philosophy, and point of view. I’ve trusted you. I’ve let you show me a small bit of what it’s like to be an angel. But you won’t give me the same trust, you stubborn, arrogant prick.”

In a flash, he slammed me against the kitchen wall, his hands painfully digging into my shoulders.

“I have given you more trust than an angel has ever given one of your kind. I have protected you, lied for you, adjusted my entire life, risked my future because of you. But I
will not
budge on this. I won’t fall from grace for your selfish whims. Do not tempt me again.”

He vanished and I slid down the wall to sit with my arms around my knees, mourning the loss of our closeness in the fire. Just when I thought we had a connection, an understanding, he turned back into every stereotype I’d ever heard of angels.

~6~

I
was grateful for Nyalla’s help in party preparations because by the time Gregory had gotten me back from our forest fire excursion, I was way behind schedule. Somehow she’d managed to accept a cake delivery in my absence, even with the language barrier. In less than twenty–four hours, she managed to learn a variety of movie and food related words in English, and I’d just taught her the Happy Birthday song. She’d been singing it under her breath as she hung streamers, trying to commit it to memory, while I put together appetizer trays in the kitchen. My mind raced, full of thoughts about Gregory, my near escape from that killer angel, whether Nyalla and Amber would get along. I had a bad premonition that Wyatt’s party was going to be ruined by a catfight of epic proportions. I’d enjoy that sort of thing, but I knew it would hurt Wyatt terribly to have his sisters break into a hair–pulling brawl.

A bloated sun devouring all in its wake
Nowhere to turn but the skies above
A choice between right and left
Where each path leads to sorrow.

That didn’t exactly sound like the birthday song. It was in Elvish and quite a bit louder than Nyalla’s previous melody.

“What are you singing?” I asked, coming around the kitchen to see the girl perched on a chair, carefully taping a streamer to the ceiling. She jumped at my words, nearly falling.

“I am so sorry. I know my voice is lacking in depth and melodic quality. I did not realize I had been singing that loud.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your voice,” I cut her off with a wave of my hand. Every time the poor girl started to relax, began to get a bit of sparkle in her eyes, she’d yank herself back into a kind of wary stiffness. It was as if she was afraid to hope, afraid she’d suddenly wake up and find herself a slave again. She stood before me on the chair, shoulders hunched, eyes on the floor. Her whole body tensed, as if she were about to be struck. I cursed myself for my abrupt words, realizing I’d inadvertently sent her back to a world where no one was kind, at least, not to her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap,” I tried to keep my voice soft and gentle. “It’s not you. I just get so angry when I think of how you’ve been treated by the elves, how all humans are treated by them. It pisses me off.”

Nyalla glanced up under blond–tipped eyelashes and smiled slightly. “I wish that they could never take another human unwilling from this world. I wish that all the humans in Hel could be free, either to return here, or own property and be equal citizens there.”

Me too, although I couldn’t see how that could happen. The elves had been doing this for thousands of years and would be unlikely to stop unless forced. “How is life in Cyelle for the humans?” I asked. “I know your owner was not kind to you, but are others better off? Or worse?”

Nyalla shuddered. “Aelswith was cold and harsh in his words, but at least I was protected by law from extreme physical abuse. Other kingdoms do not have such laws. In Cyelle, humans could not be murdered, and all deaths were investigated. Wrongful deaths of humans would result in prosecution and punishment; the same with life–threatening physical abuse. No human starved or went without basic physical needs. Of course, accidents sometimes happened, but things are not so good in other kingdoms. In Wythyn, an elf can torture or kill his or her human without any repercussions.”

I frowned, thinking of what they went through. They were like hamsters in a cage, unable to escape or protect themselves. Humans were valued depending on their usefulness, but even a sorcerer had nowhere to hide if he displeased the elves.

“Life is still hard, though. We are discouraged from any artistic expression, as we have no understanding of basic beauty and form. No painting, no poetry, no singing.” A sly little smile crossed her face. “Although in private, many of us flout the rules.”

The whole thing made me sad. I was glad I’d managed to get her out of there, give her a chance at a new life, but there were so many still in Hel. I yearned to save them all, but how? There was no possible way to change elven society. The best I could do was help Nyalla, protect her, and encourage her to make the most of her life.

“Well, your voice is beautiful — a charming human voice with nice range. Humans
value
distinctive inflection and individual expression in their arts.”

Her nose wrinkled, and her eyes came up to meet mine. “That doesn’t sound very beautiful. Should not those who practice the arts strive for perfection?”

I held out a roll of streamers and she hesitated a brief moment before taking it. “If you’re an angel, then yes,” I told her. “Elves desperately try to model themselves after the angels. Annoys the piss out of me. Angels are bad enough, wannabe angels are downright painful to be around.”

I saw a smile lurk at the corner of her lips before she turned to tape another streamer. “You’re not an elf; you’re a human,” I continued. “In my mind, that’s a superior being. Not some pansy–ass fake angel.”

“So if the elves model themselves after angels, do humans model themselves after demons?” she asked innocently. It was a good thing she wasn’t facing me to see the shocked look on my face. “Demons value emotion and sensation above balance and perfection of order. Are you saying that humans do too?”

“Oh my,” I breathed, trying to keep my voice calm. “Don’t ever say that to an angel.”

The future of the human race was in a precarious enough position without those assholes thinking they had a bunch of demon groupies on their hands. I could just see the Ruling Council now. There would be an order out for extinction before lunch was on the table.

“Yes, humans value emotion and sensation,” I told her, trying to keep the visions of Armageddon from my mind. “But they also enjoy balance and strive for their own definition of perfection.”

She turned to face me again. “Do
you
like elven music?”

“Many of us find elven songs to be technically beautiful but somewhat cold in execution.”

Nyalla smiled, her posture relaxing fully. “Me too,” she said softly, as if she were afraid to admit it.

Fucking elves. I swear if I ever managed to lay a hand on Aelswith, I was going to pop his head off his neck.

“I was just wondering what you were singing when I was in the kitchen. I’ve never heard it before.” I commented, happy to see her looking more like Wyatt’s sister and less like a cornered animal.

Nyalla looked puzzled as she climbed down from her chair. “Surely you have. It is the Exodus — one of the grand epics. The elves sing it at all their festivals and sometimes at small gatherings.”

I shook my head. I hadn’t remembered hearing it before, but then again, I usually wasn’t paying much attention to their song lyrics with all the food, drink, and other entertainment offered.

“It is very long; a historical record of elven society before their home planet met its end. The beginning is beautiful — all about the magical place where life first began.”

“But you were singing of loss, of an impossible choice, and devouring.” I winced at the last word, remembering Gregory’s insistence on keeping my unsavory habit under wraps.

“A devouring sun,” Nyalla corrected. “Their planet was at the end, and the angels gave them a choice — to share Earth with the humans, share Hel with dwarves and goblins, or share Aerie with the other Fae races.” Nyalla’s mouth quirked up in a charming lopsided grin. “Elves are not good at sharing. There was no good choice as far as they were concerned.”