Her Demon Prince (Forbidden Fantasy) (7 page)

He
took a long, exacting breath to prepare himself for the work he had to do.
Agrat stripped off his cloak, body armor and soldier’s sandals and let them
drop to the floor. Dried blood stained the side of his shift and it stuck
uncomfortably to the wound where Rachael had hit him with a hammer. He walked
to the bathroom, turned on the tap and caught himself grimacing in the mirror
as he wet the shift and peeled it off his body, throwing it on the floor.
Nakedness was essential when calling up the elements because anything he wore
would be incinerated. He frowned as he inspected his forearm where Phoebe had
broken the bone. Already it had knitted, but the deep, raw gash on his side
still oozed blood. How would having a wound affect him when he needed his body
to be a solid vessel when summoning the elements?

Would
the Lord of Lightning tear him apart?

Walking
out of the bathroom, he cast one last look at Phoebe who lay curled and
peaceful on her side. Nothing mattered more than keeping her safe.

Naked,
he strode outside onto the lawn, ground his bare feet into the grass and raised
his palms to the sky. “I call upon my ancestors, gods of the elements, to honor
me with their strength and protection. I call upon earth, wind, fire and water
to do my will. I call upon the wind to blow the clouds and form a mist around
this land. Veil this place from my enemies.”

Icy
wind flowed down from the hills, swirling around him until the sound of it
roared in his ears. Soon, a gale followed by driving rain lashed his body,
growing fiercer and stronger until it whipped his hair across his face and
stung his skin like a thousand bee stings. Clouds misted his view until he
could barely see the lighted house in front of him. He raised his arms higher
and the tempo of the storm exploded around him. Hail beat down on him, bouncing
off his body and coating the grass at his feet. As he lowered his arms the gale
became subdued, the hail stopped but the mist intensified as he absorbed the
power of the elements into his body and worked them to his will.

Agrat
bowed to his ancestors. “Great ones, I thank you.”

Grinding
his feet further into the earth, he gritted his jaw in preparation. The Lord of
Lightning was mercurial in nature and he couldn’t afford for this to go wrong.
Without him, Phoebe was as good as dead once Galaden found her.

Agrat
knew loss.
The deep painful loss of this woman.

He
focused on his love for Phoebe, drawing strength from it to mentally steel
himself. Any show of weakness was unworthy of the Lord of Lightning and he
would tear Agrat apart.

“I
call upon the Lord of Lightning to give me the power to strike with the force
of vengeance those who seek to do harm to me and mine. Oh great ancestor,
forebear of my warrior queen mother, I offer my body as a temple to channel
this energy.”

A
streak of lightning flashed in front of him striking a tree, cleaving it in
half like a warning. Agrat maintained his stance and prepared himself. When the
lightning struck the crown of his head, his whole body arched as the paralyzing
force flowed through his core and out through the bottom of his feet, setting
the grass alight around him. He focused on absorbing the energy of it into his cells,
along his arms, down his legs, growing in power, using the ancient knowledge of
his ancestors.

A
searing pain pierced his side disrupting his concentration as the fearsome
force escaped through the wound, scorching a bush nearby so that it exploded into
fire. Agrat lost control of the power and his body jack-knifed. He landed on
the ground convulsing. The energy departed as quickly as it had come, leaving
him in darkness.

He
lay staring, unseeing into the mist. He’d played with earth, wind, fire and water
when he was a boy, practiced his skills by warring with Galaden who’d hated the
war game, especially fire, but Lightning was a damned unruly beast. If it took
dealing with Lightning for a fast recharge to get strong enough to look after
Phoebe, then it was worth the risk. He groaned and tried to move. Not a hope.
He'd never absorbed so much energy before.

Shaking
with the pain in his side, he focused on healing the wound using his new
energy. He called on the wind to send a cooling breeze to soothe the injury and
the wholeness of earth’s power to knit the structure together. When he was
ready to stand, he edged himself onto his hands and knees, forcing himself to
his feet though his spine felt as if a thousand anvils had chipped at it.

His
whole body jerked with what the cop would call “electricity” yet it was
anchored in his body, like a dangerous weapon ready for use. He climbed the
stairs, making his way to the bedroom. Sparks flew off his feet. The smoldering
smell of charred wood and bush lingered in his nostrils, but grim satisfaction
fueled him because he knew the land was protected and, more importantly, he was
ready to fight.

Yet
the whole experience had left him aching, restless and horny as hell. Only sex
would settle him. Agrat reached the bed and threw himself on to it making it
rock with his weight. He looked longingly at Phoebe as she slept peacefully
then reached out and stroked her cheek. Her whole body started when he touched
her, so he withdrew his hand. But not touching her was impossible. Her glossy
blond hair spread across his pillow as if beckoning him to run the long strands
through his fingers. He could imagine fisting it and holding her in place while
he lay on top of her and buried his cock into her.

Her
peaceful expression called to him, inviting him to embrace her. He reached out
again. The skin of her cheek felt smooth, begging for more contact, intimate
contact.

“Oh,
yes,” she moaned, her voice thick with sleep.

Agrat
clenched his fingers into a fist, fighting the urge to keep caressing her face.
Would it be crazy to move closer to her? He was wired with raw lust and a
growing erection. He touched her soft lips with longing.

Temptation.
It was cruel.

Phoebe
sighed. She took his hand in hers and her eyes flicked open. She gazed at him,
yet Agrat knew he’d put her into a deep trance, so she was seeing him, yet not
seeing him.

“I
want you,” she sighed, dreamlike. “I’m ready.” She slid his hand inside the
front of her jeans.

Agrat
jolted. She was wet beneath the silky fabric that encased her hips.

Desire
wracked his body. Agrat gasped, unable to fight his arousal. For a long moment,
he let her keep hold of his hand. Let her do what she wanted with it.

Phoebe
rubbed his hand over her, before guiding his fingers under the fabric, between
her legs and rocked against them.

Agrat’s
cock thickened, until he was desperate.

Swearing,
he snatched his hand away, climbed off the bed and stood. He paced the room
unable to take his gaze off her. The trance meant that she was tuned to his
thought patterns and liked them. If she weren’t attracted to him, she wouldn’t
be acting this way. Yet, somehow he didn’t think Phoebe would be happy when the
state wore off.

“Have
me,” she moaned. Eyes heavy-lidded, she writhed on the bed like a woman
possessed. She peeled off her
tee-shirt
and the black
see-through slip of fabric that encased her breasts and her hands began
caressing them. Agrat searched the cop’s memory bank and came up with a new
vocabulary for women’s undergarments; one word “bra”, another “gee-string”,
objects worn by women to “cock tease” men.

It
worked.

The
pink nipples he remembered kissing and licking when they’d last made love over
three thousand years ago were hard and puckered. Yet the memory was like
yesterday. There was no other woman for him, but her.

“Agrat!”
She stared straight at him. For a moment he thought she had awakened, until she
blinked, her eyelids heavy and slow. She unclasped her jeans, pulled down the
zipper and hauled them off. Underneath she wore a sheer, lacey G-string that
was in a finer fabric than anything he’d seen from his time. When she slid them
off he saw that she was glistening and ready for him.

Then
her fingers sought the delicate folds between her legs.

“Please,”
she begged.

Agrat
breathed in deep, her delicate scent reaching his nostrils. He licked his
fingers and the blood boiled in his brain.
His cock was so
damn hard
,
it was unbearable
. He reached down,
pulled the sheet up and covered her.

“No,”
she groaned. “I’m too hot.” She pushed the sheet away. Her hands moved back
between her legs and she began to stroke herself before sliding her fingers in
deep. “Oh,” she sighed, looking up at him with languid eyes. “I love you. Why
won’t you touch me?”

Her
pupils were wide and unfocused.

Agrat
swore. He couldn’t take his gaze off what she was doing to herself. He’d never
seen a woman touch herself before.

“Please
take me.” She moved her hips in a rhythmic motion. “I need you,” she moaned.

Take
her? He would take her. If only she were in her right mind.

Phoebe
stretched out her legs wide, her long fingers stroking herself.

He
could feel small beads of sweat on his temples.

Mentally,
he tried to switch off every nerve ending that seemed to zero down to his cock.
Impossible. He grabbed the sheet again and tucked it under her body, encasing
her, trying to ignore the way her curves made his hands tingle with
anticipation.

He
wanted to touch her.

She
reached up and stroked his lips with fingers scented of her.

Agrat’s
whole body trembled with an animal hunger so instinctively deep he had to fight
not to cave in to his desire and bury his cock up to the hilt.

Her
eyes were glazed. He had to make her stop. Had to control his thoughts.

Yet
not even an ice bath would be enough to cool his blood. Agrat strode over to
the other side of the bed and leaned against the wall. He turned his face to
the wall and slapped his hand against it. It had been too damn long since he’d
bedded Phoebe, but he had to do something to calm
himself
and Phoebe down.

She’d
hate him if she woke up and found herself like this.

Closing
his eyes, he counted to ten to steady his blood.

“Agrat,
please,” Phoebe cried, looking straight at him. She reached up with one hand
and began pinching her nipples so that they peaked. Her other hand had a
rhythmic flow between her legs. “Help me. I need you,” she begged.

Agrat
lost it. He strode toward the bed, knowing just what kind of help he wanted to
give her.

Chapter 6

Rachael raced through Phoebe’s open front
door into her studio. In the dim light of the morning, the place looked like
the aftermath of a bomb strike as a thick haze hung in the air. Chunks of
marble littered the floor; fallen statues, a head here, a foot there lay silent
like broken bodies. Shards of stone were embedded in the walls as if thrown by
an incredible force. Panic made Rachael’s heart hammer. Where was her best
friend in all this?

“Phoebe?” She called out her
name, her heart sinking when she was met with silence.

There was no way that Phoebe
would ever have left the front door of her precious sculpture studio open to
the street.

Rachael gnawed her fingernails
wondering what to do. Getting police help sucked. Despite her insistence that
Phoebe was in danger, the cop who’d come to the studio earlier wouldn’t listen.
Nor would he admit to having seen the angel or the demon. Instead, he’d driven
her out of the city, telling her that she was in danger. Was she going crazy?
She didn’t think so. She’d always known other realms existed due to her psychic
ability, but she hadn’t expected to be confronted by it like this. Was the cop
the one who was nuts? He’d dropped her in New Jersey. It had taken her hours to
get back to the Meatpacking District.

Too late.

She gripped her head in her
hands and pressed her fingers to her temples. What to do? To her right she
heard a scraping sound like stone rubbing against the floor. Jerking her face
in the direction of the noise, she noticed the large gargoyle-type statue with
the head held under its arm was no longer in the corner of the room. Her spine
prickled. The statue always gave her the creeps; even though the gargoyles made
popular garden sculptures for clients, she’d never taken to them. The eyes
seemed to be staring at her and she quickly looked away. She could smell a
rotting sulfurous scent, which clouded the studio in the haze she’d noticed
earlier. The tiny hairs on her arms stood up. Instinct told her to leave the
way she had come, but she had to check Phoebe’s apartment at the back of the
studio.

What if Phoebe was hurt and
couldn’t respond?

 
Malodorous intent reverberated in the
studio. Rachael could feel it throbbing with every psychic sense in her body.

Keeping her psychic awareness
on the giant gargoyle, she picked her way over the fallen statues and opened
the door to her friend’s one bedroom apartment. Off the living room, the
bedroom door was open. She gasped. Lying on the bed with wings spread out like
glistening cream and silver fans was Galaden. His eyes were closed in his
pallid face as he took in deep, shuddering breaths. Rachael’s gaze dropped to
his throat. A raw gash oozed blood where the demon, Agrat, had driven his
blade. More blood lay dried on his chest and ribcage, the red color like a
slash of sickly, vivid paint on his pale torso. Even in this dire state, with
his feathered blond hair, high cheekbones and wide mouth, the angel was perfect
like a carving on a sarcophagus.

“Galaden?” she said, a whorl
of worry confronting her. She’d loved the statue from the moment of its
creation; it felt like he belonged to her and here he was alive, barely.

His eyelids flickered and
opened. Pain wracked their crystal-blue expression.

Before she could go to him, a
noise behind her made her turn. She screamed. The sound bounced off the walls
as terror sent her heart to her throat. Standing at the doorway was the
enormous gargoyle statue with its head under its arm. The red eyes stared at
her, and its gaping mouth breathed fire.

She backed away, stumbling
over her feet, falling to the floor. Her handbag fell from her arm, its
contents clattering on the floor. “Please, Galaden. Don’t let it kill me.” She
clutched her head as the sensation of intense fear consumed her and she thought
she was losing her mind.

White light zinged across the
room. The apartment door slammed shut in the gargoyle’s face, rattling with the
force of it.

Rachael scrabbled off the
floor, ran into the bedroom to the angel’s side and fell to her knees, her legs
too shaky to support her.

Galaden had risen to a sitting
position on the bed, his face intense with concentration, his hand held up, palm
flat. White energy left his palm, flowed across the room, sealing the door.
When he finished he flopped back on the bed as though the act of protection had
exhausted him.

He beckoned her closer with a
jerk of his fingers. “You are safe with me. I have it under my control. It
guards my door,” his voice rasped. Fresh blood bubbled at his throat wound.

“What was that thing?” Rachael
asked.

“The demon, Envy, a soldier in
the entity army. I have commanded him to serve me. I will locate Agrat using
his own kind. Don’t be afraid, I offer you my protection, Rachael, merchant
daughter of Ezekial.”

He knew her name but clearly he
was delirious. Entities? Merchant daughter? She had no idea what he was talking
about. From the look of the wound, she wondered how he could even talk let
alone be alive. “You need medical help. I have to call 911.” She glanced over
her shoulder at the door. How long before that thing outside broke in? The
angel looked like he was about to die. She crawled over to her purse, which lay
on the carpet in the middle of the living room where she had fallen.

“Call no one.”

Grabbing her purse, she forced
herself to her feet and strode over to the bed. Get a grip, Rachael, she told
herself, though she kept looking at the door, which appeared to be sealed, the
hinges and doorframe no longer visible. Galaden needed a doctor and she had to
get her act together before that gargoyle broke in. This was no time for weak
knees.

She opened her bag and
extracted her phone.

Galaden’s eyes became hard. He
raised his hand and the phone left her grasp, flew across the room, smashing
against the wall.

“Hey!” Rachael cried. “You
can’t do that.”

“Do not call for help. Humans
cannot see me unless I wish them to do so.”

“But I can see you.”

“You have the gift of the sight,”
Galaden said.

“But Phoebe saw you, too.”

“Phoebe is descended from
Freya, the goddess of love, war and death. Whoever owns her develops great
strength and power." He grimaced. "Agrat will become unstoppable when
he learns this.”

Since when were humans
descended from mythical gods?

Rachael didn’t know what to
believe. Instead, she put her hand on the angel’s forehead, which was hot and
feverish. Did angels suffer delirium? He sure wasn’t talking sense. If he
didn’t want medical help, that was his right, but she had to do something.
“Don’t speak anymore. Phoebe has a first aid kit in her bathroom. I’m going to
clean you up.” She ran to the bathroom, pulled down the first aid kit from the
top of the bathroom cupboard and a fresh towel from the rack, grabbed a plastic
bowl from under the kitchen sink, then filled it with water and added a few
drops of antiseptic.

She wet a sponge and gently
wiped his chest, clearing it of blood down to his hips. A linen robe covered
him there, which was belted by a shiny metal binding to hold it in place. In
the early morning light that shone through the sheer blind, his body looked
silvery. As she cleaned off the blood, she allowed herself the pleasure of
observing the contours of his torso. He wasn’t stacked with muscle; just shy of
six feet, he was lean like a runner, beautifully formed with long musculature.

She had the strangest
sensation that she had tended to this angel before.

Picking up the plastic bowl,
she rinsed it out, washed her hands and brought the bottle of disinfectant over
to Galaden. “I can clean your throat wound, but it’s severe. You need surgery.”

His eyes flicked open. “I will
heal.”

How could he survive a wound
like that? Helpless, she wondered what to do. “I’ll pray for you.”

“No!”

Rachael frowned, uneasy.
Angels should love prayers. When she was a child, she’d said them every night
and they’d given her so much comfort; she still prayed on a daily basis. She
dabbed at the wound, cleaning it of blood, her hands shaking as she did so. The
weapon had penetrated the throat just above his collarbone where the demon had
driven it, leaving a hole. Galaden had to live. He was the only one who could
help her save Phoebe.

Sick with worry about Phoebe,
she lifted her gaze heavenwards and offered a quick prayer. “Please God, don’t
take Galaden.”

“Stop!” he ordered, his voice
stern. “I assure you, the Almighty will not take me to heaven.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I have work to do here.”

“I…I’m sorry.” He must have
good reason for not wanting her prayers. She rested her hand lightly on his,
realizing she had offended him. His skin had cooled and she enjoyed the
sensation of his hand under her own.

Galaden sighed and shifted
slightly, turned his hand over and clasped hers.

“How are you feeling?” She
looked at his face. In repose, the lines of pain had softened so that he
appeared relaxed. His blond hair was cropped short but the front held a curl,
which she wanted to stroke. His eyes were a startling blue, so that when he
talked, she couldn’t stop staring at him.

“Do not fear for me, Rachael.
Already daylight is healing me. It is when I’m strongest and can best the
demon. Open the blind and let me bathe in it.”

She stood and pulled up the
Roman blind. Light spilled across his body, so even the dust motes took on a
silver sheen like a hundred thousand glistening specks gathering around his
body. She watched as he took a deep breath. The specks began to glitter,
congregating around his wound. She blinked. The angel’s whole body started to
shine and pulse. The gash on his throat knitted in front of her eyes. Instead
of a red gouge, a pink scar remained and then the flecks of light winked out.

Rachael put her hand to her
mouth. “I can’t believe it. You’ve healed. There’s almost nothing left of the
wound.”

Galaden’s gaze moved over her
body and then he shifted across the bed. “Come to me, Rachael. Lie with me. It
is hours until the sun will be strong enough to warm me. I am in need of your
body heat.”

Even standing by the bed she
felt the pull of him and the intense urge to shed her clothes. She shrugged off
her coat. She just had to know what it would be like to feel the length of his
body against hers. Taught in bible class that angels weren’t sexual creatures,
she wondered if her teacher had got that right because Galaden was irresistible.

Sliding down, she lay beside
him, looking into his face. Underneath her, she could feel his soft feathers
from his spread wings, which smelled of fresh, morning dew. Part of her
trembled with fear over what she would do if he touched her. Part of her wanted
him to. Lying there with the soft feel of his skin against hers, she wanted to
reach out and explore him.

His face was
serious,
his nose long and straight, but under its stern
length was an inviting mouth. His gaze was intense and she had that weird sense
of knowing him, of having loved him once. When he put his arms around her, she
found his body was ice. No wonder he needed her heat. She reached down, pulled
the comforter over them and snuggled in close, putting her arms around his back
under his wings, savoring the feel of his hard, muscular frame. Despite being
an angel, he was more handsome than any man she’d ever seen, and he looked and
felt all male. A forbidden thought came to mind. Did angels get erections? She
tried to push the thought away.

He lifted his eyebrows and his
lips raised in a half smile that made him look kissable. “What are you
thinking?”

She certainly wasn’t going to
tell him. Her bible teacher would turn in her grave. “I need you to explain to
me what’s going on,” she said, trying to keep her thoughts pure.

Sadness crossed his face. “We
had a life together once.”

“What do you mean? Like a past
life?” Did past lives even exist? The logical side of her wanted to deny such a
thing was possible, but the psychic side of her knew more, had seen more.

“Yes,” he said, his voice
solemn. “Did you ever dream of me before I came to you?”

A sickening feeling twisted in
her stomach. She put her hand to her throat. “I…I don’t know. I keep getting
the feeling you were special to me but it’s on the edge of my memory. I also
have this horrible recurring nightmare where men are dressed like that demon,
Agrat. I’m living in a different time. A soldier has me by the hair. I can't
see his face because he has a helmet on. He's wearing a breastplate and it's
decorated with blue stones. There’s a king sitting on a dais in an amphitheater
and I’ve done something to displease him. I’m terrified…because the soldier has
a sword and I know he’s going to kill me. I’m calling out your name.”

A stricken looked crossed his
face. “You were my wife in your past life. You served me with your love, your
body and soul. It was the only time I knew real happiness.”