Bittersweet Seraphim (2 page)

“Spike’s afraid of everything. But in this case I think he has good sense to be afraid of you. Where do you come from?” She turned and shushed the whimpering dog with an impatient wave.

“So I cannot have your lips?” Nero touched his own.

“I can’t believe I’m going to do this. Fine. If I give you the lips, will you leave?” She stepped closer and stood on her tiptoes. She pursed her lips and pecked him on the mouth.

“Thank you.” Nero smiled his dimpled smile as he looked over his shoulder.
How long do I have?

“You know, I’ve found a few things in my backyard—a mole, a crapload of squirrels that steal from my birdfeeder, a baby copperhead snake—but you’re the first thing I’ve kissed.” She threaded her fingers together anxiously.

“When you give me your mouth? That’s kissing? I would like to kiss you again.” Lust put a sparkle in his eyes.

She took a step backward. “Why are you acting so strange? Did you just escape from prison or something?”

“Or something. It’s like a prison. Nothing of beauty is found there. You are beautiful. I’m glad you didn’t kiss the copperhead snake.” Nero’s hands began to shake just a little.

“Are you a drug addict? I just can’t figure you out.” She took another step back.

“It’s better that you don’t.” His voice had longing in it. The shaking grew more pronounced. “May I drink from your hose again, taste a kiss again, if I return?”

She rubbed her face with both hands. “I guess you could drink from the hose. You could do that. The kiss…I’m not so sure. Tell me where you’re from.”

Behind her, Nero caught movement in the shadows. Brut was returning—his whole body shaking as he ran as fast as he could.

“I’m from the worst place, and the compulsion to return? It will overtake me. Do not follow. Never, never follow me, Jenny.” His shaking traveled from his hands to his arms, and he stepped into the dark so the beautiful girl would not see how his mandate controlled him.

“Maybe. Maybe on the kiss, Nero.”

He heard those words as he was claimed by his desire to shovel. His run was not human, but he made time to secure a large rock in front of their exit.

Back at his post, Nero began shoveling quickly to make up for time lost. His muscles groaned as they returned to the job they’d done for so many, many years. He turned to Brut, eager to plan their next outing—he needed to see Jenny again—and for the first time he looked closely at his companion. The minion’s face and arms were covered in blood. The only break in the color was a strong, white smile of pure joy.

Chapter 2

Jenny wished she’d never met Nero—never touched his lips, never spoken to him. And then with the next breath she wished she’d kissed him properly, felt his ridiculous biceps. She wished she’d handed him a flower so he could have something beautiful to take with him.

The little conglomeration of rocks that had materialized at the site of his disappearance didn’t seem to include a door. After it had been a few months and Spike had stopped growling at the spot, Jenny poked around. She was drawn to it and often sat there. She read books near it as if it were the grave of a dear friend. Eventually, she planted flowers around the rocks, imagining that Nero would return, drink his water, and see the blooms—if he came in the right season.

But a year passed and Jenny mostly gave up, or that’s what she told herself. And anyway she wasn’t sure if she hoped he wouldn’t come back or that he would. She dated and went out on the town with girlfriends, but at night in her dreams—her spectacular, blood-boiling dreams—she lay with Nero and touched his thick, black hair. His eyes had been so black they were almost glowing.

She finally began to work from home, writing a romance advice column, of all things, and her waiting became an obsession. Building a shed over the site gave her something to do. She told herself she was protecting him by sealing the entrance with a door. Then she told herself she was protecting the world by locking that door to keep things in.

Two years came and went. It was fall when she rose from her bed to get a drink of water, which she always needed after her dreams of him, and peeked in the backyard out of habit. Her shed was glowing orange and red, like it was on fire. She was transfixed watching—scared, hopeful, and scared again. “Nero,” she whispered.

Just then the door blew off, and Jenny flinched. When she looked again, a thing that was
not
Nero looked back at her with the sick, demented smile of a jack-o-lantern, one carved to scare. Fear climbed over her skin like a swarm of bugs. The thing in front of her was death put on legs, vaguely in the shape of a man. It broke their stare to look over its shoulder. From the shadows Nero walked with purpose and authority, pointing at the thing with what seemed to be angry words.

When the thing scampered away, chastised, Nero looked to her window.

He was back. He was here. Jenny ran downstairs to meet him in the driveway. By the time she got her door open, he was already feasting on the water, letting it run over his face and chest as he gulped.

When he saw her he dropped the hose, and water spilled on the driveway, spreading like clear blood from an open wound. “Jenny. The maybe kiss? May I have the maybe kiss?” He looked from her mouth to her eyes and back. “I’ve been thinking of you, only you, all this time. I didn’t even stop to breathe, just imagining your lips over and over again.”

The fear she should have felt was washed away by his words. She’d been dreaming of this man minutes earlier, and she wanted to go to him—whether or not he was even a man. “I know how you feel. Yes to the maybe kiss. Please.”

Minding her bare feet, she stepped toward him, watching the passion gather in his face. Her long, white nightgown swept through the gathering puddle, and she felt it heavy behind her as she reached him. Her memory was faulty. He was so much more handsome than she’d been allowed to remember. She touched his face, her thumbs outlining his lips before she whispered his name.

He bent and she offered him her lips, sliding a hand into his hair as she gave him his maybe kiss. His whole body tensed as she added her tongue, letting her dreams become reality, in her nightgown on her driveway.

In a rush he gathered her in his arms, hugging her tightly. He gave her a look she should’ve had enough sense to fear, but instead she tipped her head back as he kissed her throat. Nero laid her on the soft grass near the driveway. Then he left her for a moment, and she shivered. He dragged the hose over and let the water cover her. Her white gown became just a hint of a whisper. Her nipples hardened, and their pink bloomed through the now-translucent fabric. And then there was his hot mouth, warming her chilly skin. Nero wet her down completely and with his hands and tongue and lips saw to it that she was thoroughly heated. As the steam rose, its swirling sensations almost stealing Jenny’s humanity, she could only moan and writhe. Through the barrier of the cloth, he pressed against her.

The weight of Nero on top of her was worth the nights without him. She lifted her head to watch when he slid down to run the water between her legs. He drank the water and licked her at the same time. In the moonlight he looked amazing, the muscles in his back flexing and urgent. Jenny wanted the gown and panties gone.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement, and she had to fight through her pleasure to focus on the spot in the distance. The thing she’d seen first, the horror that had preceded Nero, was standing in her shrubs, watching their passion. She didn’t even think to cover for modesty’s sake as it smiled at her and mouthed, “Want.”

By the time Nero looked where she was pointing, it was gone, disappeared back into the shed. Nero pulled Jenny from the ground and shook his head as he gathered her again.

His embrace was like being wrapped with a towel warm from the dryer. “That thing,” she asked. “What is it?”

Nero’s voice was low and rough. “Brut. He is like I am. A minion. From Hell.”

“You’re nothing like that!” Brut had evil etched in his very essence.

“Let’s not think of him now. Jenny, my maybe kiss was everything I hoped for and then some.” Nero touched her lips and smiled.

His dimples and strong arms almost made her forget. Almost. “Let’s go inside.” Jenny pulled the beast from the center of the earth into her house and into her heart.

Nero walked into Jenny’s cabin and immediately wanted to stay. He never wanted to see another shovel, never wanted to sweat next to Brut again. This woman, this house. It was everything Hell wasn’t.

He turned to look at her again. He had warmed her, but she was still damp. She led him into a room and turned on more water. Water was such a luxury—to drink, to wash in—but putting water on Jenny was so amazing it was painful.

She looked shy as she stepped out of her gown. It fell around her feet like a sopping halo. Blushing, she covered her mouth as he fell to his knees. She was entirely available—to him, of all creatures. He crawled until he could touch her and licked his way up her leg, the skin so very soft. He slid her panties down.

She put her hands in his hair and stilled him. “How long do we have?”

He held out a hand to show her the tremors that had already begun. “Not long, Jenny. I will submit to the compulsion. Brut has already returned.”

“I need you inside me. Be warm inside me.” Jenny stepped into the shower, and Nero stepped out of his pants to follow her. She took the soap and a washcloth and rubbed him down between kisses and strokes.

By the time he’d lifted her and pressed himself into her, the shaking, the vibrating of his damnation made her tremble too. Before his release he stopped. “Jenny, we are not the same. I cannot fulfill myself in you.”

“Nero, I don’t care.” She wiggled, and the soapy shower wall allowed her to slide down.

He couldn’t speak. His manhood had entered her as far as he could go. She was so much colder than he was, pure bliss and silk and release. She tossed her wet hair and screamed, and he was done, the sight of her panting with pleasure emptied him. Her nails dug into his skin, and he gently nipped her shoulder.

He wanted to stroke her again. He wanted to lay with her and watch her hair dry, but he was done. His power to fight had left him as his arousal washed out like a tide. There was no goodbye, no words of caution. He had nothing to say to her as he returned to the shed.

When he arrived, Brut was already working, but he greeted Nero with a deadly smile. Nero took his place, naked, and began to shovel.

“Want her.”

Mid-shovel, Nero lifted his blade and slapped Brut with all his might.

He staggered and laughed. “You cannot fight the minion who knows all your secrets, can you?”

Working again, because he must, Nero shook his head. Brut was right. If he wanted to see Jenny again, he’d have to endure Brut’s taunts. The last thing he needed was his escape hatch revealed. So with every shovelful of coal, Nero endured Brut’s new, steady cadence: “Want her. Want her. Want her. Want her.”

Chapter 3

Jenny washed his pants, so she could get the Hell out of them, but they disintegrated in the machine. She sat down and cried when she discovered she had nothing to remind her of their night.

It was stupid, she knew, to think a folded pair of pants beside her bed would be a promise he’d have to keep. He was a minion—or else she was stark raving mad with a very pornographic imagination.

At night she still dreamed of him, but now, instead of just Nero and their passion, Brut’s eyes always watched. She often woke with the crystal-cold sensation of not being alone, and it scared her. She now knew loving Nero came with a price greater than being alone for great lengths of time. Brut was another burden.

After a month, Jenny had a much bigger problem. When her period did not arrive, she felt a new sense of dread. Soon she realized why Nero had not wanted to come inside her. Jenny was about to bring a life into the world, and she had not one clue what sort of life it would be.

The pregnancy was a nightmare. Between the sweats and the fevers, Jenny had her doctor in a panic. She continued to write, but inspiration came at odd times during the day and night. The thought of having to provide for a new baby gave Jenny mild panic attacks. If Jenny lived. If the baby lived. If it would even be a baby.

As the months added together, Jenny made a will and arranged for her aunt to raise the baby if she didn’t make it. But nine months came and went with no labor pains, no signs of an impending birth. Jenny’s doctor wanted to induce her, but Jenny just had a feeling her baby wasn’t done. So she avoided the ringing phone and the letters from her gynecologist asking for an update, an appointment…anything.