Read Fallen Angel (Hqn) for Free Online Page B

ceremonies, the sacred nights of prayer and sacrifice. Only she’d been tied down then, the earth cool and solid beneath her naked back…
    Chanting loud in her ears and the salt being scattered like chunks of pure quartz crystal. She couldn’t see their faces; they were all robed and hooded, standing in a circle around her.
    The Grandmother bent, her ancient back curving as she reached the ground to paint the sacred symbols there, within the edge of the circle of salt. Then to paint them on her body. The brush was made of twigs; it scratched into her skin, hurting her. She pulled against the ropes, but they were too firmly tied to the stakes to allow her to move. She had nowhere to go, anyway. All that happened to her was inevitable.
    Then The Grandmother’s face over her, her wrinkles like the deep valleys of shadow between the hills where they lived as she spoke the prayers. The Grandmother leaned in closer, and she could smell the sharp tang of herbs on her breath. Then the bitter liquid being poured down her throat. She knew better than to fight it, as she had when she was little, when she had first come to this place.
    Had she not always been in this place?
    The time before was a blank, emptiness. Now was an unanswered question, as hands moved over her flesh. As pain washed over her in waves.
    Be with me…come back.
    “I’m here.”
    Not Asmodeus, though those were the words he often said to her. No, it was him. The man with the blue eyes. He was holding her hand.
    She wept then. She didn’t know why. But the tears poured out, hot on her cheeks, sliding down over her jaw, onto her neck.
    “Ah, don’t cry. Don’t be afraid. I’m here. I won’t leave you. I won’t. I promise.”
    She heard the sincerity in his voice. Felt his fierce protection. Knew he was the one who had saved her. Gratitude suffused her. For what he had done. For what he would be to her. For what he was already.
    She blinked the tears from her eyes, and truly saw him for the first time.
    He had a beautiful face. Not the kind of perfection that was her demon lover, but more beautiful, perhaps, because of the humanity he wore. His cheekbones were high, his chin square. His mouth was all firm lines, but there was a softness there. Along his jaw there was a scar, old and pale. She knew the beauty of it, from her own scars. Knew they always meant something, were another layer of who a person was. That they were earned through strife, and therefore valuable.
    Her hands felt as though they weighed a thousand pounds, but she managed to lift one, to reach up and touch that scar.
    His lips parted, but he didn’t say anything as she explored it with her fingertips, her body lighting up with need. Yes, he was pure beauty, this man.
    This man.
    The first man she had ever touched.
    Her heart raced. Her sex thrummed with wanting, even through the confusion, the pain.
    She knew then that she must give herself to him. That this was what she had to live for. She could still make a gift of her innocence, herself. She was not without purpose. Life was not without the beauty she was raised to believe in.
    “Are you in pain?” he asked, his dark brows drawn.
    “A little. It hurts to talk.”
    He smiled at her, his face lighting a bit, but still heavy with shadows. He was sad, this man.
    “That’s because you had a breathing tube down your throat for a few days.”
    She didn’t understand what he was saying, only that he was trying to reassure her. She smiled to show her appreciation.
    “Ah…Jesus, I don’t know how you can smile,” he murmured, “after everything you’ve been through.”
    She wanted to tell him she was smiling because she was happy, but she was so sleepy. She had to close her eyes once more. Had to rest. To dream…
    She was back with The Grandmother. They were in the garden. The sun was shining, warm on her face. She loved the garden. The place smelled of the rich earth newly overturned as she bent over a row with her trowel. The