Bittersweet Seraphim

263 Pages·2012·1.36 MB·English

by  Anastasia Debra

Cover
title page
Bittersweet Seraphim
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Debra Anastasia
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Omnific Publishing
Dallas
Copyright Information
Bittersweet Seraphim, Copyright © 2012 by Debra Anastasia
All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a
database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
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Omnific Publishing
10000 North Central Expressway, Dallas, TX 75231
www.omnificpublishing.com
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First Omnific eBook edition, November 2012
First Omnific trade paperback edition, November 2012
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The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
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Anastasia, Debra.
Bittersweet Seraphim / Debra Anastasia – 1st ed
ISBN: 978-1-623420-02-7
1. Hell—Fiction. 2. Supernatural Romance—Fiction. 3. Devil—Fiction. 4. Angels—Fiction. I. Title
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Cover Design by Micha Stone and Amy Brokaw
Interior Book Design by Coreen Montagna
Dedication
To T, D and J: You are my Heaven.
Eyes of crystal gold
looked inside me
Saw the demon that I am
You just laughed and held my hand
I should have worried you then
A better man would have walked away
but I am weak behind my lies
All I wanted was for you to stay
I would chase the dark across the night
And the sun across the dawn
I would fight all of my demons
But without your hand in mine
I would still be wrong
You’re trapped by your pure heart
And chains that I have made
I will rip this world apart
To put you back where you should have stayed
You would tell me to pray to God
Well I can’t do that
but I’ll have faith in anything
just to get you back
~Satan Jack
Part 1
Hell, 1985
Chapter 1
Of all the horrible jobs to be assigned in Hell, coal was the worst. Nero scraped
endlessly at the wall and tossed the bits of loosened rock on the flames. His
hands felt magnetically attracted to the shovel, nearly impossible to remove, and
occasionally blood swirled down his forearms from the constant friction. The
ironic part was that if he did manage to let go of the shovel, the fires stayed just
as hot. They didn’t really require his little additions at all. Sweat stung his eyes
and his muscles ached, but the compulsion to shovel outweighed everything.
Brut and Nero had shoveled coal side by side for eons. Then Brut, a silent
and horrible companion, began speaking one day, telling tales of Hell’s minions
crawling to Earth. He said that upon touching the soil, minions lost their
mandates, their compulsions, and they could just be. In Hell, the Devil saw to it
that there was a constant flow of fresh flesh and endless, impossible-to-refuse
activities for the damned. As Brut continued to tell his tales, day after day,
finding the opportunity to simply be free for a bit became, in a way, its own
compulsion.
Working one day (or was it night?) Nero hit the wall with his shovel, but
instead of finding solid rock, the blade sunk right through, revealing an open
space. At their next respite, Brut and Nero looked through the hole to find a
crude tunnel. After that it took them months to explore the passageways that ran
like veins through Hell, while still doing their jobs.
When they finally found the one that led to the surface, they had to power
through their compulsions and force themselves to crawl through and stand on
solid ground. But once they’d done so, the implications were amazing. Minions
could be on the surface. All the security measures and traps were rendered
useless by this one, perfect escape hatch.
They weren’t the first to get out, but it had been so difficult, there couldn’t
have been more than a few others. Brut took off running, wild and free. Nero
took deep breaths of the fresh, clean air. The last time he’d seen the stars, his
humanity barely made him different from the animals. But now he looked
around to see houses, cars, lights…so much had changed.
He was out of Hell. He didn’t know what to do first. He wanted to just lay
back and curl his fists in the green grass. He’d crouched to run his fingertips
over the soft blades when he saw her. She was playing with a tiny dog, which
started growling the minute he saw Nero. The minion curled his lip, and the
animal yipped like he’d been bitten.
But she was something. Her brown hair had been basking in the sun and,
even in the darkness, bits of sunlight threaded between the strands. Her eyes
were brown as well, but ringed in gold. She followed her dog’s line of sight, and
then she saw him.
Nero stood, his leather pants and rippled chest marked and burned from the
flames in Hell. He couldn’t imagine what she thought of him.
“Who is it?”
She asked the question like she thought he might be intimidated into
providing his résumé in response. Instead he walked slowly toward her. The
poodle jumped up, and she caught him in a well-practiced move. She watched
Nero as he came closer.
“I’ll call the police. They can be here in less than two minutes.”
“I do not seek to injure you, woman.” Nero stepped into a white pool of
illumination. The cabin’s lighting offered him a stage. He was still as she
assessed him. He watched as the understanding that he wasn’t human reached
her eyes.
“Oh…Oh.”
“Your police?” He said the words as if they were a foreign language. “What
will they do? I wish only to breathe fresh air, but your beauty has stopped me
from enjoying nature.”
She cleared her throat and brought her poodle closer. “Flattery won’t stop
me from calling the authorities.”
“I speak only the truth as I feel it.”
“Well, you better go back to where you came from. Don’t step any closer.”
Nero could tell she was trying to stay angry, but his body—clad only in torn
leather pants—had mesmerized her.
“I will not step closer. For you, I will stay here. But I would like to touch
your hair and see if the different colors have distinct textures. I would love a
cool drink of water, and after that, I will touch my lips to yours in appreciation
of your kindness.” He remained fixed as a statue as he spoke.
“You know what? Why can’t a guy like you—wearing all his clothes, for
that matter—approach me in a bar? If you said that to me on a Friday night I’d
hand you my panties in surrender. Instead you have to be a thing that emerged
from the dark of my backyard. My luck sucks.”
She moved slowly and carefully to the side of the cabin, never taking her
eyes off of him, and turned a small wheel. A hose puffed up with a rush of
liquid, and soon there was a cold, clear stream pouring onto his feet.
He growled at the sight of the water and knelt quickly, dipping his mouth
into the stream and lapping it hungrily like an animal.
She sighed and set her poodle down. The nervous canine scampered away
as she picked up the hose to demonstrate. “Look. Here, you can pick it up and
drink.” She held it to her lips and took a small sip, wiping her mouth when she
was done.
He rose and took the hose carefully, not touching her. He felt her eyes on
him as he drank his fill. Then he held his hand under the stream and reveled in
the silk of the water covering his fingers. He turned the hose toward his chest
and closed his eyes. The sensation was too pleasurable to bear.
“You’re smoking.” She took a step back.
He smiled at the cloud of steam around him, and she bit her lip as he sighed
and scrubbed his chest. “Can I have your lips now?” he asked suddenly. He let
go of the hose, and the stream drenched the leg of her jeans on its way to the
ground. When she gasped, he stomped on the green rubber to stop the watery
assault.
“Maybe we should know each other’s names?” she shot back, recovering
quickly. “And no, of course not. I don’t want to be a slut.”
But he could see her looking at his mouth. “I’m known as Nero. What do
you go by?” He pushed his dark hair from his forehead.
“Um, Jenny. I go by Jenny.” Her poodle peeked around the house and
barked.
“Your beast is tiny and angry.” He pointed to the shaking poodle.
“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.