Dark Admirer (6 page)

His body was no longer his. He no longer felt the gentleness of a caress. He only remembered the pain, the humiliation of being forced to provide sexual acts he abhorred. Acts that disgusted him. Acts that were forever etched onto his face, so he could never forget them, never forget the horrors and the corruption of his entire being, all at the hands of the Abyss and her demons.

And those acts, he remembered, trembling despite knowing how weak it would make him appear, had all been done in the dark.

For his eyes had been sewn shut with wire.

Anael had no knowledge if the Abyss had been as dark as it seemed to be. He didn’t know what his male and female punisher had looked like when they’d been torturing him. He hadn’t been able to see if they’d enjoyed his degradation. He had only seen the dark and the images his memories had given him. But then, they had taken those from him, too, leaving him numb and void. An empty vessel for their pleasure and a canvas of flesh for the creation of the cardinal sins. For they were what was inked for eternity on his face. The Seven Deadly sins.

Gluttony, Greed and Sloth had been sprawled over his forehead and cheek. Wrath and Envy, had been written over his left eyelid. And lastly, they had written Lust over his bottom lip. The word covered half his mouth, ensuring he would never forget his sins if he were to use his lips for any immoral purpose.

Allowing his mouth to touch anything, especially a mortal woman, would be a blaspheme.

All of his trespasses were there for the world, and his brothers to see. With his love of sex and fleshy delights, and his failure to fulfil his Heavenly duties, he had fallen from grace. His anger, his need for revenge, his pride, had all angered God and he had been punished. Punished in the most reprehensible way possible.

The loss of his beauty had been the payment for his pride and gluttony. His eyes had been sewn shut with copper wire, in repayment for his envy. He had been told, as the wire had pierced his flesh, that this punishment had been because he had gained sinful pleasure from seeing others engaging in pleasure, a pleasure that should have been sacred and beautiful. But he and his powers had taken something that had been sanctioned by God and turned it into something sordid, something sinful.

And he had liked it.

He had been aroused by voluptuous displays of writhing female flesh. The orgies he and his brothers had indulged in with the first human women had only whetted his appetite. He had liked to watch, so, God had punished him by making him blind.

For hundreds of years, he had lived in darkness, and upon his emergence from the Abyss, he had been given his sight back. When he was finally able to open his eyes, it was to look around Heaven, to see his brothers—the faithful ones—all standing around him, their wings white and feathery. Their robes pure and long. And then he had seen his reflection in a mirror. Naked and dirty, eyes bleeding, wings black, his once beautiful face marred with angelic script.

He had fallen to his knees, had begged Him to blind him, to sew his eyes shut once more so he would not be forced to see himself in such a way. But God had refused to grant him that last wish. Instead, He’d punished him further by demanding that Anael use his powers for pleasure and passion to aid His mortal children. One hundred and fifty souls Anael was to find pleasure for. And then, only then, could he live his life in solitude, where no one would see his face, or the shame he constantly carried with him.

The Sins of Avarice. The sins that only mortals should succumb to, not angels. Angels were not supposed to sin. Angels were supposed to be pure, a radiant light of goodness.

But he was dark. Evil. Nothing but sin shone from him.

“You’re trembling.” Her voice, soft and concerned hovered over him. He felt her draw closer to him, smelt her, the scent of her hair, the skin of her fingers as she reached out to him. “You should come sit by the fire where it’s warm.”

He tried to get away from her, like a foolish youth afraid of a woman. He was no fool. He was no youth. He knew what was happening to him. Lust. Greed. Gluttony. He wanted it all with this woman. It was something he hadn’t wanted since that first night with the Succubus and her Lord.

Sexually he had been dead for thousands of years. Until tonight. Until she had stood above him in that alley, awakening the latent desire that somehow had survived his punishment.

He had nearly convinced his body to move far away from hers, when he felt the first tentative touch of her fingers in his damp hair.

“You’re cold, and your hair is wet. The furnace isn’t working now that the electricity is out. The only heat is by the fire.”

She stroked his hair, awakening a lust within his body he had never experienced before. He had experienced sex. He had fucked—had been fucked—thousands of times. He had experienced lust and the rush of arousal. But never had it been like this. Never had he felt desire in every part of his body. Never had it felt…
beautiful
.

“Let me take your coat,” she said, as though she were a mother speaking to her child who had just awoken from a nightmare. “It’s wet. We’ll let it dry by the fire.”

He was mesmerised by her voice. The way it called to him. The way he felt his body heat when he had only ever felt numb. Despite his closed eyes and his self-imposed darkness, he saw her, her blonde hair trailing over her shoulder. Her gentle, concerned eyes raking over his body. He saw himself, crouched down into a ball like a frightened imbecile, like a cowering inferior piece of flesh. Certainly nothing like the great angel—the Watcher—he had once been.

She soothed him and he allowed her to slide his coat off his shoulders. He ignored the gasp that whispered past her lips. He knew what had caused such a reaction from her.

“You have no shirt on,” she said, her voice rising in what sounded like anger. “No wonder you were trembling, you’re half naked!”

Was he? He hadn’t been aware of the cold. He hadn’t been concerned with his garments when he’d been falling from Heaven. But now he was acutely aware of his naked torso. His skin felt as though it were stinging as her fingertips travelled over his shoulder and down his arm. Like mortal flesh, nearly frozen, then plunged into hot water, his skin stung, heated, then began to burn beneath her touch.

“Come by the fire where you’ll—” she stopped, her hand beneath his arm. He had shifted to help her bear his weight, and he knew the movement had shown her what he sought to cover.

Her fingers traced his chest and he stopped her, brushing aside her hand. But her gaze only replaced her fingers, and he stood up, giving her his back. He had no wish for her to see him—the real him.

For marked on his chest was the being he was.

Fornicator and Sinner.

That was what he was, a fallen angel who was filled with nothing but corruption. A fallen angel, who was never supposed to look at another woman again, unless he wanted to spend an eternity in the Abyss, reunited with the Incubi and Succubae. And this time, there would be no darkness to save him. This time, he would be forced to watch—
to own
—every little sin thrust upon him.

Fornicator. Sinner. That was what he was. He was not a man. He was not an angel. He was nothing.

Chapter Four

Mary, Mother of God!

Eve covered her mouth with her fist. What sort of torment had this man suffered? Even his back was scarred. She looked at the two raised points between his shoulder blades and wondered what hideous thing had been done to him. It was as if something had been implanted under his skin. And his chest…Good God, his chest was marked with the same strange tattoos as his face bore. And the scratch marks…his chest had been covered with them. Long white jagged scars that could not have been made with a human hand. Such pain, such utter agony he must have endured.

No wonder he was terrified of her. Was it any surprise that he could not bear her touch? After seeing his body she knew how he must feel. How trapped he must think he was, here in the candlelight, held hostage in her bookstore by a winter ice storm.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, taking a step closer to him. She stopped herself before she reached out and touched the raised points in the middle of his back. “Perhaps you’d like something warm to drink?”

He didn’t answer her. Perhaps he really couldn’t talk. Maybe whoever had tortured him had done something to his mouth. Maybe, his torture had been so severe that psychologically he was totally screwed up.

Whatever it was, there was one blatant fact. She could not let this guy go out into the weather without a sweater, a dry coat and something in his stomach.

Gemma would laugh right now if she were here and knew what Eve was thinking. Gemma thought Eve the Mother Earth type, and maybe with her hippie look and New Age mentality, she was the Earth Goddess type, but wanting to provide for this lost soul had nothing to do with being a tree hugger, and everything to do with common human decency.

“Look. Why don’t you take a chair by the fire, and I’ll bring you something to eat?”

He didn’t say anything, didn’t even nod. He didn’t even try to make his way back to the door, or snatch his coat out of her hands, either. He did, however, turn his head to glance over his shoulder in order to watch her spread his jacket on the floor before the fire in order to dry it.

”Thank you.”

She heard the word, whispered so softly and reverently in her mind. But it was too loud to think she had only imagined it. She had heard it.

She looked at the stranger, and saw that his gaze was downcast. He was not looking at her, but at the coat, which she had carefully placed on the floor.

“My brothers…they will see to your protection throughout your days. Your generosity…your care of me has earned you a seat in Heaven.”

Eve jumped. The man had not moved, had not so much as even blinked, but somehow she knew, knew unequivocally that he had spoken. That it was his voice she heard in her thoughts. And it was that same voice she had heard in her dream.

Her gaze suddenly raked over the stranger’s muscled chest and arms, to the chiselled six pack he had, and down to the frayed waist of his jeans. He had a hard, firm ass and thick muscled thighs, and suddenly she was remembering more than just his voice, but the way his hands had touched her body in that strange trance-like dream she’d had.