Demon's Delight Page 8

  He hesitated, knowing she wouldn’t be receptive to him suggesting she place her trust in a higher being, or in the basic goodness of most humans. “How about in yourself?”

  “Oh, yeah, I’m the ideal role model for young girls everywhere.” She looked away, seemed to be considering. Looked back at him. “If you’re an angel, where are your wings?”

  “I don’t happen to have any on me at the moment. I’m in a human body, just like you are.” He felt a twinge of regret about the circumstances that had convinced him he needed to visit Earth in the flesh.

  “But I’m not human.”

  “Yes, you are. You’re just a…variation.”

  She gave a harsh laugh. “Yeah, right. That’s a good one. Tell me something that’s true.”

  “All right. Despite this body, I am an angel. You can’t glamour me, beat me up, or outrun me. That should be proof of sorts.”

  She turned and walked slowly past several cars. Her shoulders were hunched slightly, as if she was protecting herself from the world. She stopped, stiffened. Even from here, he could feel the tension rolling off her, then the anger. She whirled, her gaze fierce. “If you’re really an angel, where were you when we were being herded like animals into cattle cars and taken to Dachau? Where, damn you?”

  She strode toward him. “Where the hell were you when my family was murdered?” She reached him, shoved him so hard, he stumbled backward. She followed, twisted her hand in his jacket, yanked him back him to her. “How about when those soldiers took me behind the barracks and—” Her voice broke, and her eyes glistened. But he could see the rage had not abated.

  Could feel it, too, when she slammed him against a concrete support beam, knocking the breath from him, and probably crushing a few vertebrae. He offered no resistance. She was entitled to her pain and fury.

  “And when that Nazi soldier decided to turn me, were you watching?” Her eyes bore into his, dark pools of eternity and suffering. “How about when I was in agony, begging for death, praying to be destroyed so I wouldn’t become the monster he was? Why didn’t He—She—anyone answer?”

  He stared back, compassion and his own burden of failure beating at him. “Because of free will,” he said quietly. “We can’t stop events that are set in motion by free will and human actions.”

  “Then you’re worthless, aren’t you? Damn you to hell and back!” A new glow came to her eyes; her hand tightened on his mangled jacket. “Maybe I should make you a freak like me. Let you experience firsthand what it’s like to be a monster that has to drink human blood just to exist in misery.” She gave him a parody of a smile, let him see her gleaming fangs. “Yeah. That’s what I should do.”

  With her free hand, she gripped his head, tilting it to the side and exposing his neck. She leaned so close, he felt her breath on his skin, felt the brush of sharp incisors. He wanted her to choose—oh, he wanted her to make the choice.

  “Go ahead,” he said. “Take what you need. I know you only had one client tonight. I can feel your hunger.”

  She hesitated, growled. Pressed her teeth closer.

  “Yes, Rachel. Do it. Blood is life. You deserve to live.”

  He really thought she was going to. Steeled himself as her fangs scraped over his jugular vein. But then she jerked back, dropping him as if he were a white-hot brand.

  “No! I wouldn’t sink so low to drink from you,” she hissed. “You’re crazy, you know that? Why would you allow me to suck you dry, turn you into a monster, like me?”

  “Would you really do that, Rachel?”

  “Hell yes!”

  He almost smiled at her belligerent tone. “But I wouldn’t be allowing you to do it. You would be choosing to do it. Free will.”

  Her hands clenched by her side. “I don’t remember my family choosing to go to Dachau. I certainly didn’t choose to dally behind the barracks with those Nazi bastards, or become…” She gestured down her slender body. “This.”

  “I know.” He straightened his clothing, tried not to groan as his abused spine cracked and popped. “The Holocaust was the direct result of many people’s decisions and choices. Hitler’s actions, those who chose to follow him; those who chose to live and have families in Europe. Celestial beings can’t force decisions, choices, or actions on anyone. Nor can we interfere with the results of those actions. The Law is clear—humans have been given the gift of free will. All we can do is guide and encourage someone to take the higher path.”

  She tossed her dark, wavy hair over her shoulder. “I’m on a set path now. I can’t change what I am. My only choices are to take blood and stay alive, or commit suicide. Do you think I should kill myself?”

  “Certainly not!” he said, shocked.

  “Then I have to drink blood, so there’s nothing you can do for me, is there?”

  “It’s true there’s nothing I can do for you, Rachel, except guide you. But there’s a lot you can do. You can live the life you’ve been given. You can make choices that are fulfilling on physical, mental, and spiritual levels. Help others. Grow closer to Go—uh, do things that will purify your soul.”

  She rolled her eyes—a trait that was almost as endearing as it was exasperating. “I don’t have a soul.”

  “That’s a topic we’ll be debating over the next week.”

  “What?”

  “That’s all I’m asking of you. A week of your time.”

  She stared at him, her eyes flared wide. “You want us to spend an entire week together?”

  “It won’t be that much. Just every night for a week.”

  “That’s insane. I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have to…eat. And I need to earn money, too.”

  “That’s fine. You can spend the first part of the evening with me, and then take the rest of it to attend to business. One week, Rachel. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “But why?”

  “If I could explain it all right now, we wouldn’t need that week, now would we?”

  She didn’t want to do it. He could almost see the wheels turning in that quick mind of hers. Her full mouth took on a sulky slant. “You can’t make me spend seven nights with you. Especially if I choose not to. Free will.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before.” He walked over and picked up her keys. “I can’t make you do it, Rachel. But you can’t make me stop hanging around every night, either. Can’t keep me from observing as you ‘do business.’”

  She glared at him as he handed her the keys. “You’re a real bastard.”

  “You need to expand your vocabulary. You’re starting to get repetitive.”

  If looks could kill, his mortal body would be dead right now. She gripped the keys so tightly, her knuckles were white.

  “It’s just one week,” he said persuasively, using a touch of compulsion. “Then I’ll be gone from your life—for good, if that’s what you want.” He hoped that wouldn’t be the case.

  “So I really don’t have a choice.”

  He shrugged. “You always have a choice. But then you have to live with the consequences.”

  She shook her head, rolling her eyes again and looking none too happy. “Fine!” she snapped. “I’ll do it, if you give me your word that you’ll leave me completely alone after that. Seven nights—that’s all!”

  He felt as if a ten-ton load had been lifted from his shoulders. “You have my word on it. I’ll meet you at the corner of Harry Hines and Shea tomorrow night, at seven. It should be dark enough then. And don’t think of reneging—I can find you.”

  Without another word, she whirled and strode to her black Honda. To her credit, she didn’t slam the door when she got in. But she was driving overly fast as she screeched down the ramps.

  He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath, until it flowed out of him in a sigh of relief. He’d made the first hurdle. But Rachel was very strong minded, as well as resistant to mild compulsion, which was allowed. Not only that, she’d had more than
sixty-five years of pain and misery to harden her. He’d known she would be one of his tougher cases, which was why he’d made the decision to enter a physical incarnation in order to help her.

  His odds of success with her weren’t any higher than those of his charges who had refused to be helped, despite his best efforts. He remembered each and every one of them, every detail of their hopeless faces, every sensation of their fear and despair. They, along with the weight of his failures, would be with him through eternity.

  Gabe ran his hand through his hair. This free-will rule was a bitch.

  Rachel strutted back and forth, waiting for Gabriel. It was quiet, way too early for much action, so she was alone with her churning emotions. She hated being manipulated, hated being forced to do anything against her will. Years ago—lifetimes ago—she’d sworn she would never be at anyone’s mercy, or subject to their whims. Never again.

  But here she was, stuck with an angel—an angel—for the next seven nights. She didn’t see where she’d had a choice, though; it didn’t appear she could shake Gabriel. Plus she’d given her word, a rare happening for her; but vampire or not, she did have some integrity. She hissed in frustration.

  A car horn interrupted her fuming, and she looked over to see a white Acura turning onto Shea and stopping. Caitria rolled down her passenger window and leaned over. “Hey, lil’ bitchhomie, how you doing? Haven’t seen you in a few weeks.”

  Caitria was a black woman who’d been hooking a long time. She was in her late twenties, but drug use and too many backhands from her long-term boyhomie, as she referred to him, had left her looking used up. She was a tall, hefty woman who liked her food. “Girl, you need to be eatin’ more—do some of that carb loading,” she often told Rachel. “Men don’t like scrawny women. They like some meat on them bones, somethin’ they can sink into, you know?”

  They’d met when Caitria had been driving by, just as a street person went nuclear and attacked Rachel. Caitria had parked her car in the middle of the road and come out swinging a purse that had to weigh more than a bowling ball. Of course Rachel could easily have handled the man, but Caitria had no way of knowing that. She’d chased him halfway down the block and then strutted back in four-inch platform shoes, her ample hips swaying. “I showed his ass. You okay, girl?”

  That had been the start of an unusual relationship—with them speaking when they saw each other, which led to occasionally having coffee, with Caitria venting about her abusive man. She’d been with him for years, had two children with him, and wasn’t willing to leave him. Caitria apparently considered Rachel a friend, a baffling and uncertain experience for her. She’d avoided all relationships since she’d left Germany, but this woman had somehow barged past her barriers.

  She walked to the car. “Hey, Caitria. I’m all right. How about you?”

  “Business been a little slow.” Caitria self-consciously raised a hand with inch-long, bloodred nails and numerous sparkling rings to a swollen cheek. “Them damned police makin’ it harder and harder for a ho to earn a livin’.”

  Which meant her man Danyon was whaling on her because she wasn’t supporting him in the manner he wanted. Rachel would love to meet him in an alley someday, give him some of his own medicine. But he never made the Harry Hines scene, so she hadn’t met him at all.

  “I know what you mean.” She looked around the quiet area. “It will heat up later. You’ll get more action in a few hours.”

  “So you want to have coffee or somethin’?” Caitria looked like she really wanted to talk.

  “I wish I could, but I’m meeting someone.” Rachel stood as she saw Gabriel. “Here he is now.”

  He wore a black blazer over a black turtleneck sweater, with khaki pants and sleek black loafers. His thick, wavy hair brushed his wide shoulders, and he looked fit and solid as he approached them. “Hello, Rachel.” He smiled at her, strong white teeth flashing. Then he leaned down, unleashed that killer smile on Caitria. “Good evening, ma’am.”

  She swept him with appraising glance. “Ooooh, sexy. You are mighty fine prime. Rach, you been holding out on me? I thought you didn’t do regulars, although with pretty boy here, I’d sure make an exception if I was you.”

  Rachel didn’t know what to say, but Gabriel laughed. “We’re just friends—for now. Going out for the evening.”

  “Sure, lova boy, whatever you say.” Caitria looked past him at Rachel. “Looks like you’re moving up in the world, lil’ bitch. Have fun, now. Catch you later.” She waited until Gabriel stepped back, then gunned the car and screeched away.

  Rachel stared after the car, unwelcome concern gnawing at her. “Her man’s been hitting her.”

  Gabriel’s hand lightly touched her lower back. “I know.”

  She turned to face him. “He’s been doing it for years, but she stays with him. Why?”

  Compassion filled his dark blue eyes. “People do things for a lot of reasons. It’s her choice, her decision. Only she can change her situation.”

  Rachel grimaced. “It’s that free-will crap again, isn’t it?”

  A grin tugged at his sensuous lips. “Afraid so. Come on.” He took her arm, started up the street.

  “Where are we going?”

  “First we’re going shopping.”

  “Shopping? For what?”

  “New clothes for you.”

  She stopped and looked at him. “I have clothes. I don’t need anything.”

  “All you own is ‘work’ clothing.” His gaze skimmed her. “And while it looks very…good on you, you need some play clothes.”

  “I don’t play, Gabriel.”

  “Oh, but you’re going to this week. You need something fun and relaxed to wear. And please call me Gabe.”

  Fun? Relaxed? As crazy as it was, she felt like she was dodging bullets here. In a single day, he’d managed to throw her well-ordered life into upheaval. Seven nights, she told herself. Then she could tell him to fuck off.

  She stumbled along as he towed her up the sidewalk. “And who’s going to pay for these new clothes?”

  “You are. Use your credit card. You can afford it.”

  He was right that she had a fairly sizeable nest egg squirreled away. Her needs were simple, and she lived in a modest condominium and drove an older car. She doled out some of her excess funds to the homeless and put the rest into investments. Now that she had a computer, she’d become pretty savvy in that area. But her stockpiled money was her security against the unforeseeable future. She didn’t like to spend it.

  Gabe stopped at a sleek, silver Nissan roadster parked in front of an adult bookstore and opened the passenger door for her. She slid onto a buttery-soft leather seat, eyed the instrument-laden dashboard. She wasn’t sure what she had expected him to be driving, but somehow had envisioned something more old-fashioned and sedate. “Nice car.”

  He glowed with male pride. “Sweet, isn’t she? Six speed, V-6 engine, and handles like an angel.” He grinned at her. “A little celestial humor there.” He started the car, and rock music blared from the radio—another surprise. He pulled out and proceeded to drive like a seasoned race-car driver, flipping through the gears like they were light switches.

  They went to NorthPark in north Dallas, and miraculously made it without an accident or speeding ticket. The mall was crowded, a lot of people in a confined place. She hated crowds. A familiar, frightening memory rose swiftly. So many bodies crammed together in the cattle cars, so hard to breathe…

  “Rachel! Snap out of it!” Strong hands gripped her arms.

  Dazed, she stared up at Gabe. “Too many people.”

  “You’re not there anymore. You’re here, in Dallas, where there’s always going to be a lot of people. That’s just the way it is,” he told her. “Take a deep breath and calm yourself.”

  Somehow, his touch and his voice helped settle her, and the tension eased. He took her hand and held it firmly as he headed for Dillard’s—better than Neiman Marcus, which she couldn’t begin to a
fford.

  At Dillard’s, Gabe was a man on a mission. He led her to casual wear, where he picked out jeans and sweaters, then to dresses, where he added a chic, black long-sleeved sheath to the pile. She was just along for the ride, she thought dourly, as he escorted her to dressing rooms and handed her the clothes to try on. Everything fit, and she stared at the strange woman in the mirror. First jeans and sweater, which made her look impossibly young and innocent; then the sleek black dress, which made her look sexy, but in a classy way.

  She had to admit Gabe had good taste; unfortunately, it was also very expensive taste. She cringed as the merchandise was totaled, and the sales clerk had to pry the credit card from her clenched fingers. “It will take months to pay that off,” she muttered as he picked up the bag and took her hand again.

  “And you have lots of time, don’t you? You work hard for your money, Rachel. You need to learn to enjoy it.”

  Then he took her to the lingerie department, where she dug in her heels. “I don’t need undergarments.” She never wore a bra—she wasn’t that large, and it was easier to attract johns.

  He looked pointedly at the outline of bare breasts beneath her spandex top. “Do you want every red-blooded male above the age of twelve staring at your chest wherever we go this week?”

  “I don’t care. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a whore.”

  Gabe glanced at a nearby sales clerk, who was avidly listening to every word. Frowning, he took Rachel by the elbow, pulling her farther into the seemingly endless sea of brassiere displays.

  “First off, I don’t know of any whores who make a living without actually performing sexual acts. Secondly, do you truly view yourself that way? When you look inside yourself, Rachel, is that what you really see?”

  She didn’t want to delve that deeply, to even consider her self-image. Gabe was making this way too difficult. She fisted her hands on her hips and glared at him, her frustration rising. He stared back, calm, implacable, reminiscent of a cement wall. She had the feeling he could stand there all night until she gave in, and decided it wasn’t worth it.

  “Fine!” she snapped. “I’ll wear some damned undergarments.”