Crushed Seraphim

  No. I can’t. Not in a million years. Never.

  Emma touched his face and smiled. “You’re stubborn. I bet that’s why you didn’t have sex with me. When I get back, I’m getting some.”

  There was only one more customer in front of them, and Jason was still dead set against doing anything other than keeping her. He listened to the humans talking as they entered the store.

  “That’s a bitch-load of falling stars,” one man told the woman who accompanied him. “As soon as we get done in this horrible store, I’m getting my camera out.”

  “Those are all good souls, Jason. Everett will ruin the whole world.” Emma kissed his lips. “Think of Dean. Think of Seriana.”

  The unfriendly cashier, declared by her nametag to be Marge, scooped up the wintergreen mints.

  Oh God. I have to do this for you.

  She nodded and smiled sadly. The mints twirled in Marge’s hands. She was seeking the UPC symbol like she’d never seen one before.

  Jason put one arm around Emma’s back and placed the other on her beautiful, glittering white wing.

  Marge was finally victorious in her hunt for the small symbol and aimed it at the red lasers that flashed up from the black glass void.

  Jason kissed Emma but kept his eyes open. She held his gaze, brave and true until the last possible second. Then she closed her eyes tightly, preparing for the pain, and broke their lips’ touch.

  Jason gently pulled on the feathers and her wing tore away effortlessly. Like wet tissue paper, it disintegrated in his hands.

  She opened her eyes. “It didn’t hurt. Jason, it didn’t hurt because you did it with love.”

  He felt her light touch on his cheek as she whispered, “Jason.”

  She was disappearing. Jason pulled her closer, as if he could keep her from drowning. Please, no. Don’t leave. What can I do? What can I do!

  She was just an outline, a ghost of who she was. Her scent was fading.

  The cashier demanded three dollars and fourteen cents over and over in a repetitive drone. Jason tuned her out and focused on Emma. But his arms soon circled nothing but a puff of glitter. He could hear her last words, just a hint of a hushed “Pray for me, Jason. Pray for me.”

  Jason stood in shock. His hands were covered in gold. But Emma was gone.

  Chapter 6

  Emma forced herself to keep her eyes open, but the rollercoaster-drop feeling was testing the boundaries of her reflexes. She was standing, but going so very fast. His arms were gone. She was glad Jason couldn’t hear her mind now because he would have known how scared she was, how hopeless this plan was.

  The amusement-park sensation came to a sudden halt, and Emma found herself standing in a cement-bricked hallway. She felt blazingly human again — full of fear, sweat, and pounding terror. She didn’t know much about Hell, but she knew damn well she wasn’t likely to get out of it. She looked down at her bare feet. The cement floor was freezing cold.

  Aren’t I in Hell? Where’s the heat? Where’s the hot?

  The huge metal door at the end of the hall creaked open. When Emma looked behind her, she saw only a gaping void with occasional red lasers flashing in the nothing. The noise of a loud, banging machine made her jump. The door looked like the most inviting option. A soft, red light spilled toward her like a welcome mat.

  She watched the floor as she went, checking for trap doors, and she realized her outfit had changed again. She was wearing a red union suit. She reached behind her and felt her lower back. Complete with a fanny flap. Fantastic. Nothing makes a girl feel more powerful.

  It was red, so she knew Jason hadn’t changed her in their final seconds together. He always picked white.

  Jason.

  Emma tried not to remember his strong arms around her waist as he’d put her against the starry wall.

  She took a deep breath and kept walking to the door, each step hitting her like a blow. Instead of fear as she walked through the entrance, she found herself consumed by lust. It was a wave of need — out of place and totally inexplicable. The want focused just inside the door. She knocked on the metal, wondering what exactly was considered proper etiquette in Hell.

  That’s where I am? Right?

  “Come on in, Emma. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Emma stepped in and felt the door close behind her. She let her eyes adjust. There were dim red lights and a cloying smoke smell that made Emma’s thoughts blurry.

  “Hello?” Emma could barely make him out, the one who’d spoken.

  He straddled a simple wooden chair. As his image sharpened in the fog, she realized he was an absolute treat for the eyes. With shoulder-length brown hair, deep brown eyes, and high cheekbones, he smiled as she took a swallow of her courage.

  “Well, aren’t I being rude? Would you like a glass of wine? A cigarette? I roll them myself.” He lifted a cigarette to his kissable lips and took a slow drag, watching her while she watched him.

  I want him. Please. Now. Emma covered her mouth, though she hadn’t said anything out loud. It didn’t make any sense. Her intense ardor for this man must be false, manufactured.

  He blew a heart-shaped smoke ring into the air and stood, poking his finger through it playfully. He wasn’t as tall as Jason, but his presence was dominating. He wore the perfect pair of torn-up jeans and a white T-shirt. His forearms were covered in tattoos. He wore leather cuffs and layers of necklaces, and he walked carefully through an empty army of liquor bottles strewn on the floor.

  As he came through the fog, a coat rack with a single hat appeared. He pulled the hat from where it rested and flipped it from his hand to his elbow, then tossed it onto his head with the utmost style.

  He came closer to Emma, and she closed her eyes. She tried to rein in the crazy impulses created by the acute lust that washed over her. She could smell him now — the musky, sweet-smelling cigarette smoke had become his cologne.

  His breath was hot and just inches from her ear when he spoke. “Angels are rare in these parts. Maybe it’s the Heaven that sticks to you still, but I bet you taste like cotton candy and rum.”

  She shivered and her nipples hardened, the flimsy union suit showing him her body’s reaction. She kept her eyes sealed, knowing that looking in his eyes was wrong. Somehow she had to keep her wits about her.

  He lifted a handful of her hair and spoke his words to her neck, his breath searing her skin. “Don’t be frightened, Emma. I only seek to fill your needs.”

  She opened her eyes then, when she could stand the imposed night no longer. I’m such a failure.

  The man in front of her embodied pure, walloping sex. He let his eyes sparkle in victory. “See, beautiful Emma, I knew you’d come around.”

  He had a scruffy goatee and his jaw line was insanely defined. The word come on his lips made her legs tremble.

  Hump him.

  “Imagine what happens when the Devil kisses an angel. Don’t you want to know?”

  His lips were so close to hers. She just had to lean into them. She shook her head. “You don’t seem scary enough to be the Devil.” Emma bit the inside of her cheek. Am I asking to be more scared? Am I an idiot?

  He backed her against the metal door, stepping forward every time she retreated.

  “I’m the Devil,” he said in his sexiest voice. “But I prefer to be called Satan, if that’s okay with you.”

  She felt her back hit the door. He stroked his chin and raised an eyebrow. His hands were so tempting, his fingers so strong. She could tell by the look on his face he knew exactly the effect he had on her.

  “And I guess being scary depends on what you’re frightened of, doesn’t it?” He put his hands on her hips. She could feel his demanding fingers through the soft fabric.

  Jason. Think about Jason. Or Sam. Or Everett. Anything…anyone.

  He inched his hands to her lower back. “Did you get one with the buttons in the back?”

  She put her hands on his, stopping him just before he could pop the faste
ners. “I feel like we’ve only just met. Maybe my ass hanging out is a bit inappropriate right about now?” Emma closed one eye.

  Satan took a huge step backward and held up his hands in a nonthreatening way. “Of course. There go my manners again. You really better keep me on a tight leash, pretty child. I can’t be trusted when it comes to you.”

  Emma was engulfed by disappointed when he moved away and kicked herself mentally. Horny bitch! Get your head in the game.

  “Emma, I can’t help myself. Surely you understand. I’m merely the warden to souls that need to be imprisoned.” A coffee table appeared just as he needed it. Satan plucked a half-empty bottle of cabernet and a wine glass from its surface. He poured the glass to the brim and walked back to her, holding it out. “Please partake. You must be parched after your journey.”

  He held the stem of the glass with an easy expertise. Emma had never experienced such thirst. Her tongue was made of sand, tainting her oxygen with dry, crackling desire. Mentally, all her alarm bells were sounding, but her hands weren’t listening to her head anymore.

  I need to wet my throat.

  Emma reached for the wine. Satan bit his tongue and watched as she hurriedly guzzled the alcohol. She handed him back the empty glass, disappointed that she’d crumbled so quickly. A slow smile spread across his face. His teeth were perfect and blindingly white. He took the glass and held the bottle up in a mock toast, then proceeded to drain it.

  “There. Wasn’t that nice?” Satan walked backward until he could again straddle the wooden chair she’d first spied him in.

  He set the glass and bottle on the ground, where it joined the other empties. Emma’s eyes had adjusted completely now, and she could see that there were hundreds of bottles — no thousands of bottles.

  How big is this room?

  “Please, angel, have a seat.” He waved a hand in front of him and another chair emerged from the smoke.

  She so was weary all of a sudden, exhausted. The seat looked like a fantastic place to just rest. She padded over quietly, her bare feet making next to no noise. She turned the chair around so she could straddle it, mimicking his leisurely pose. The wine muddied her thoughts. He folded his arms on the top of his chair, as if he had all the time in the world.

  Emma pictured the sky alight with her falling friends. Urgent. This trip is urgent.

  “Do you mind if I have another smoke?” He was already lighting the cigarette.

  Maybe something in that smoke is making me lust after him? “If I said no would you stop?” Emma was proud that her words weren’t slurred.

  “No, princess, I’m just trying to be polite.” He took a drag and held it for a moment. He blew the smoke in her direction as he exhaled.

  “So how many girls have you offered a glass of wine in this room?” Emma looked pointedly at the empty bottles that were the room’s main decoration.

  The silence held the air tightly. Emma was concerned she’d asked too much.

  Finally he looked at the floor and gave her a soft answer. “Thousands, Emma. Thousands.” He looked up from beneath his lashes.

  It was a practiced move, she knew that, yet it hit her between the legs.

  “But you’re the only one here with me now,” he continued.

  He stood, still straddling the chair, and as if walking around it was too much work, and he knocked it flat as he moved forward. When there were no more obstacles, he stepped slowly until he was in front of her. He let the awkwardness of her face in his crotch build for a moment. Then she had to look at his eyes; staring at his package was just too bizarre a way to hold a conversation.

  “Devil, I’m not here to stroke your…ego,” she finished, raising an eyebrow. “Or anything else, for that matter.”

  He chuckled, and the noise was deep and instantly addicting. He reached up and took his hat off, placing it on her head.

  “I would be the one stroking your…” He put his thumb to his lips and clasped it in his teeth. When he had her full attention, he pulled it out and finished his sentence. “Ego.”

  Emma wanted to say something sassy. She wanted to deflect him with sarcasm, but her mouth refused to do anything but hang there like drying laundry. This was a chess game — the most important one in the world. He was tempting her, and he was obviously a master. Based on the sheer number of discarded bottles, Emma knew he’d played this game many, many times. And won. He always won.

  Time to place my bets. “Let’s cut the crap, you corrupt cupid. You have God. I want Him back. What’s it going to take to get my way?” Emma stood as well, gripping her chair and looking him in his sensual eyes.

  His pleased smirk revealed the hint of a dimple. “I knew you’d be different. Pretty child, I knew you’d be the most fun of all.”

  Emma had trouble getting her lungs to fill. Danger was layered between each of his words. I’m so scared.

  He reached out and fisted a chunk of her blond hair. Although there was no pain, the threat was as clear as water. Emma could feel the ions of power coming from him. He let go of her hair and ran the back of his hand down her cheek, finally resting his hand on her throat. He leaned in, and she focused on his lips, determined to hold steady as he came so close.

  “What makes you think I don’t get to have you and God? There’s no getting out now. I thought you knew that.”

  He grabbed the chair separating them and yanked it away in one violent motion. The wood clattered far from the place they were standing when it finally hit the ground.

  Terrified, Emma knew she had to picture something, someone to help her focus. She tried Sam in his eagle form. I’m still shaking inside. She tried Sam in his human form. No change. Jason with her in their star-laden pause? Still panicked. And then she found it, the image she could hang onto, the thing that would strengthen her spine in this no-win situation. It was Jason with crazed, selfish eyes, turning to face his brother in the future.

  You’re not getting him, Everett. Not today. Not tomorrow.

  “Maybe you do get us both. Must be nice to have somebody with a little power up in this joint after all these years.” She reached up, tipped the Devil’s own hat at him, then tossed it like a Frisbee.

  Satan stepped closer, his beat-up motorcycle boots close to her toes. The nearness of him was its own drug. His skin was tanned and flawless. He parted his lips and drew in a breath through his teeth. Emma held herself steady, keeping her gaze locked on his mesmerizing one.

  “You’ve decided to disrespect the hat? Bold move.” He leaned even closer to her face, breathing her scent and smiling like the predator he was. He slowly, deliberately gathered her wrists. His fingers became her handcuffs. He pulled her arms behind her and secured her hands with one of his. “I want you to want me, pretty child. Is that so much to ask?”

  He barely touched her cheek with his index finger. She shivered. He traced her jaw and slowly trailed his finger down her throat. Emma’s knees began to shake. Satan put his lips as close as he could to hers without touching them. Emma’s breathing became erratic.

  He continued his merciless assault on her senses, popping the first button on her union suit clean off. She swallowed hard. There was no use pretending she wasn’t turned on. He already knew; he always knew.

  He moved his mouth to her ear, making promises that made compromises sound fantastic. “No one knows you’re here with me, Emma. Wanting me isn’t a sin. I’ll give you pleasure, pure and simple.”

  He snapped the second button of her union suit. It clattered to the floor and rolled on its rim, taking some of her virtue with it.

  “Pure.” Her ears were so sensitive, and the deep vibration of his voice drove her wild. He licked her lobe gently, then whispered again. “And simple.”

  Satan changed tactics and dared to start licking and nipping at her neck. Emma felt her eyes roll into her sockets. He popped the next button. His hand forced her wrists together more tightly. He was losing some control of his own.

  Give me a clear head. Make h
im give me a second to think, to breathe. Oh my Hell.

  The Devil popped the last button, and her pajamas were open in the front, the seam just skimming her breasts. With a flick of his wrist, she’d be standing before him for all she was worth.

  He lifted his head to put his forehead against hers. Emma had to close her eyes. He smelled so perfect. He was fresh-baked evil, and she wanted a bite.

  “See how you won’t even try to fight me off? You want this.” He leaned down and sampled her lips.

  He tasted of his alcohol and such intense desire. His mouth was so skilled. Satan dragged his hand slowly up her body, stretching out his fingers as the material of her pajamas parted. He splayed his hand on her heart. He let go of the hands he was holding, just to prove she was completely taken with him.

  “Emma, don’t you want to be just a little bad? No one’ll know. Just me. And I can keep secrets. You’ll come for me, pretty child.”

  Her morals told her to run, or at least back up a little. He pulled her close to him and let her feel his excitement.

  He’s huge. Holy crap. She opened her eyes in surprise. He was smiling again; the expression told her he knew she was shocked.

  “Please, baby, you had to know the Devil would be well endowed.” He decided then to bite her bottom lip.

  I don’t have the strength to fight him. God help me, Satan will own me and hard.

  Chapter 7

  Jason stood looking in horror at the spot where Emma had disappeared. Marge, the over-powdered cashier, had no sympathy for the handsome, suddenly distraught man in her lane.

  “Three dollars and fourteen cents. If you don’t got it, move on. I don’t have all day here.”

  Jason turned to face her. He snatched the mints out of her hand and rushed for the door. No matter. She’s gone.

  Jason slammed himself into his car, staring at the box of candy as if it held the answers. What the hell should I do? Go back there and plow through the scanner? He held his hand up to the car’s overhead light; he could still see tiny specks of her wing’s glitter. She was real. She is real. I sent her to Hell.