Atroyel, p.10
Atroyel, page 10
“Let’s hold off on that for a bit.” I have no idea why, but for some reason, I’d rather keep Lea to myself for now, even if it’s only in her mind. And even if it’s only for a short time. Besides, she’ll want to focus all of her attention on helping us get out of this mess.
“My first priority is figuring out how to be with Troy again.” My Lea’s voice rings with determination and insistence as I enter the kitchen.
“Our priority has to be keeping you safe.” Cass uses his no-room-for-argument voice, and I brace for the barrage I know is about to follow.
“I must have missed that memo. And one can have more than one priority, you know. Besides, you guys told me I’m perfectly safe as long as I’m here on this island. That was the argument, correct? Or was that some ruse? I don’t even know why I’m asking. Troy would never lie to me like that. It breaks our vows. So, I’m perfectly safe, and we need to figure out how to bring Troy back. He’ll know how to fix this.” Aleah’s tone holds a finality she expects will end the conversation. I know my woman. Cass has met his match when he goes up against her determination.
“Tell her I’m no Prince Charming about to ride in and save the day. Tell her we need her help coming up with a plan,” I say.
“And you tell Troy—” Aleah’s eyes widen at the same time as ours . . . She heard me.
Aleah raises her hand and pats the air beside her. “Troy? Is that you? Say something. Anything.”
I walk over and stand in front of her upraised hand, letting it pass through the mist forming my “body.” Gods, how I want to hold her again. “Look, babe. I want nothing more than to be with you again, but Cass is right. The sex lord demon has his sights on you, and we need to keep you safe from Syrael’s magic, for starters.”
“I can hear you.” Her tone is almost reverent. She looks through me as she turns this over in her mind, then she pats the stool beside her. “Okay. Sit. You’re right. Two heads are better than one, or in this case, four. You know I have a ton of questions, but I’ll try not to take us down too many rabbit holes. Let’s start at the beginning. Why would this Syrael demon lord guy want to kill me? And how do we find him?”
I’m just about to spill when Cass gives me a hard look. We’d agreed that the best way to keep Aleah safe from Syrael until we figure out how to protect her is to keep her in the dark about her true nature. To defeat Syrael, Cass says we need to combine our power with hers. To do that, Aleah has to discover her powers. Cass and the two goddesses had babbled something about an ancient prophecy. Apparently, Aleah is the last of an ancient race called the Nephilim, and this Syrael wants to destroy her power.
According to this prophecy and unbeknownst to me, I’d been put on Earth to shield Aleah from the seeing eye of Syrael’s mirror. Blocking each pass of his magic power reduced mine and took a toll on my human vessel, slowly breaking it down. The weaker I became, the stronger the pull of the eye.
They’d told me a story called “Black Rose and the Three Princes” that sounded like a fairy tale. The whole thing sounds crazy, but I don’t care. Aleah’s life is in danger. That much I can feel deep in my core. Like her, I believe in focusing on the problem at hand and worrying about the rest later. At least that’s the theory.
That leaves me with a huge problem. How do I convince Aleah to work with us without alerting her to her true nature? Then it hits me. I know what to do to distract her.
23
ATROYEL
I realize how I might have infused the magic they say I possess into the words of this diary. Whatever my powers, I would have used the words to ask her to reveal her hidden truths. I’d only just begun to unravel the mystery of Aleah’s sexuality when the fading sickness had hit. That had been a singular mission for me. Maybe that has something to do with all this sex lord stuff.
“Do my powers have anything to do with the written word?” It’s not as if I have any idea what these powers are that my brothers seem so certain I have.
Cass looks at me as if I’m unhinged. “Letter Power Bestowal is your superior power. Why the hell else do you think we’re fixated on these diaries of yours?”
“That piece of information would have been good to know,” I snap. “What the hell does that mean, anyway?” Clearly, big brother and I have a few issues.
“It means you’re able to bestow powers to yourself or others through letters or words,” Cass says. I have the strong sense that he knows something more, something that has to do with Aleah, but I let it go. If my theory’s correct, I can help find the solution instead of being a useless piece of shit.
“What other powers do I have?”
Tristan damn near levitates off his stool. “Oh, you have all kinds of powers, bro, we all do. And now that we’re sex angel lords, we have even more. We haven’t even had time to explore all of our powers, but your superior power has always been Letter Power Bestowal. Even humans have a superior power. Most of them don’t explore their potential, that’s all.”
“Pretty boy is correct. Chief Justice Tate said your powers would be restored once you’re corporeal again. One more reason we should get back to the business at hand,” Cass says.
Despite all Aleah’s assurances that I’d made the best contribution to humanity possible—being her rock and loving her unconditionally, truth be told, I’d done little more than I had to. I had little interest in most of the trivialities that other humans pursue. I had few interests, and Aleah topped the list. I’d never been great with expressing my emotions in words—that’s something we had in common. But we’d found a way to break through the barriers of my reserve and her abuse and spoken our love through our bodies. And now I find out I have powers.
It boggles the mind, but Cass is right, we need to focus on the business at hand . . . I need to be in the only place I’m completely myself—buried balls deep in my Lea’s embracing cunt. Sharing our memories as we explore our sexuality is the next best place. Ignoring my brothers’ telepathic messages, I flip through my memories for one of Aleah’s favorite fantasies.
“Beauty, find the fantasy about the prison. I think it’s near the beginning.” I focus on Lea’s gorgeous face. “I have an idea, and I want to test it out. Pretend we’re getting ready for date night, and this is foreplay. Tristan’s going to bring you a glass of wine. Lay your head back and listen. That’s all I ask.”
She looks a little perplexed, but she trusts me, and her curiosity will win out. She bends her head and leafs through the diary.
What the fuck, Troy? from Tristan.
We agreed to look before we leap, Atroyel.
Aleah opens the journal and places it on her lap. I wait until she takes a sip of wine and puts her head back as instructed. I send a silent prayer to the universe to give us some sort of sign, then I start to read.
Aleah on Saturday, September 1 @ 8:35 a.m.
In my prison fantasies, I’m often taken to the warden’s office to pleasure and “feed” him. I never touch him. I’m always a passive participant, so I convince myself I’m not giving myself willingly. He always has me strip. Sometimes he has me lie on his desk and sucks me when he needs to “eat.” Sometimes he then fucks me with a phallus. Sometimes he has me kneel on the desk and probes my ass. So you can see why the prison scene turned me on.
In a different version, he gives me to the guards because I’ve been bad or need training. The guards come into the isolation cell I’m in, one by one. They sit around me as I lie on a high bed that converts to different positions. They take turns while the others watch. The feel of their eyes on me excites me. I know what I said about one person at a time, so this is hard to admit.
As hard as it is, I love that you asked me to write my fantasies. I’m hopeful that we’ll act out some of them, at least to some degree (you can skip the riding crop). When it comes to the BDSM-type fantasies, I have some trepidation as I’ve said, but I want to—no, I need to explore them. It’s time to stop hiding from the things I’ve been secretly thinking about for years.
I’ll carry this fantasy with me all day. I’m smiling and thinking wet thoughts. God, you excite me. Intimately yours forever. — Lea
I raise my head as warmth replaces the nothingness that goes along with this misty form. A soft blue-white mist surrounds Lea. There it is, the sign. Even a skeptical bastard like me can’t dispute the reality right in front of us. Aleah glows with soft sexual power.
“Open your eyes, beauty.”
She obliges, and a soft light matching her grace shines back at me. She reaches for me. I reach back, expecting my mist to pass right though her. Instead, the moment our skin connects, I solidify. Intense brown eyes, alive with life, gaze back at me. I squeeze her arm.
“Good, this time I see some life in those eyes. So, what’s the plan?” I ask.
“Holy shit,” Tristan breathes.
24
ALEAH
Un-frigging believable. Troy solidifies the instant I touch him. One minute, he’s mist, and the next, he’s sitting right beside me, asking me if I have a plan. I press my fingers into his forearms to make sure he’s real. It’s him. In the flesh!
I open my mouth but all I exhale are shock and excitement. I can’t talk, I can’t breathe. Despite praying for it every second of every day, I never thought I’d hold my Troy again. And now he’s here. I shake his shoulders . . . hard. I hug him and kiss him.
Troy cups my cheeks, and his kiss tells me more than any words can how much he misses me. He chuckles. “I’m happy to see you too, beauty.” He gives me another quick kiss then looks at his brothers. “Gods, I’m good. I knew it.” He starts to get up, no doubt to start his usual strutting when he’s working out a problem. I let go. He disappears. Shit.
“What just happened?” I wave my hands around in the air, trying to connect with him.
“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Cass says, using that dry tone that makes me want to slap his face. He seems to have taken a dislike to me. It’s coming off him in waves. Lord knows I’ve run into this reaction from folks often enough to recognize it. My strong personality isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Part of me accepts this, but a huge part of me doesn’t want to think about Cass rejecting me.
I can almost feel Troy slide his arms around me. He pops back into view. “About that plan, beauty . . . Have you figured out how this all works?”
I play with my upper lip while I take a minute to roll an idea around in my head and make sure I’ve figured out all the angles before Troy has a chance to dissect it. We both have a way of zeroing in on the flaws in any given plan. I don’t always appreciate the trait in him.
I squeeze his biceps as I prepare my pitch. “I’m working on one, babe. I haven’t had time to iron out all the details, but from what I can see, all we need to do is find this Syrael guy. I’ll cast myself in front of him so he can zap me—or whatever he does. Then, I’ll ascend into Bardo, where we can explore our sex life in private and avoid all this other stuff. And you guys can use your magic to help make that happen.” I sit back, confident they’ll see that this is the best and most efficient plan. We skip all the pain and torture stuff and head right on into the afterlife to live happily ever after. The angel of death had told me my death wasn’t the demon’s choice, but he hadn’t said a thing about me deciding it’s my time. This can work.
I’m not prepared in the least for what hits me.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Cass’s words are so sharp that they slice through me like shards of glass. “That’s why you aren’t afraid of Syrael? Somewhere in the back of that devious little mind of yours, you think that if Syrael kills you, you’ll be reunited with Troy in Bardo. Voluntarily offering yourself as a sacrifice before your time is suicide. Do that, and you sever your bond with Troy.” Disgust rolls off him in waves as he heads out of the room.
Troy lets go of me and instantly vanishes. “I can’t believe you of all people would take the coward’s way out.” Troy’s anger and disappointment are evident in the tone of his voice, making my stomach turn. He’s pissed in a way I’ve only seen once or twice before and had hoped never to see again. The warm hum I get when Troy’s near fades and vanishes. *sigh* We’ll have to talk later about suicide as a complex issue unfairly conflated with cowardice, but now is not the time. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Nothing remains but Tristan’s sadness.
All this emotion almost brings me to my knees. “Troy’s gone, isn’t he?”
Tristan nods. That’s all it takes to break me, to remind me, ultimately, I’m on my own. Terror bolts through me, and the dam breaks. Sobs erupt with the strength of convulsions. It doesn’t help that the sadness I feel coming from Tristan grows stronger; that just adds to the pain.
I tuck my knees under my chin and wrap my arms around my legs, trying to control the muscle spasms, but I can’t stop them.
“You need a hug?” Tristan doesn’t move or presume, and I can’t speak, but my mind offers up a resounding yes. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me to him. The warmth of his arms is balm to my pain.
“I’m fucked. I’m forty years old. That’s too young to be a nun.” I snort and gasp around the words. One of my strengths is the ability to think and talk through hysteria, but it’s not a pretty sight. I blow my nose, trying to get myself under control, but that train has left the station.
“I was just finding my own sexuality, and Troy got sick. Do you know what it’s like to watch your soul mate in pain? Watch him drift away from the man he was and the love he gave?” Another deep sob rocks me. I try to blow my nose between grabbing gasps of air.
“Sounds like you had a perfect life,” Tristan says. His warm, thoughtful voice soothes me, and his full lips curve up at the sides. I’d swear he’s envious, but I’m too caught up in my personal hell to dwell on it.
“Nothing in life is perfect, but it was perfect for us. Troy was, is, the only one who gets me. He doesn’t just love me; he likes me. He accepts me for who I am.”
Arms banded with muscle hold me tight. Tristan gives me a little squeeze, silently inviting me to continue talking.
“It’s not just about the sex. It’s about having someone to talk to who gets what I’m about. Troy used to be my sounding board. Gods, the brainstorming discussions we had. People who overheard us mistook our intensity for an argument, but it wasn’t that at all. I knew he had my back. My pieces were always better for his input. Then he got sick and lost interest.” I blow my nose again and realize I sound critical of Troy. I rush on.
“Not that I blame him. That’s part of being ill. It’s to be expected. But it left me without my best friend.”
“You can always run things by me,” Tristan offers helpfully.
I blow my nose again as my sobs turn into silent tears streaming down my face. I snuggle a bit deeper into Tristan’s arms. I probably shouldn’t, but it’s been so long since I had human contact, and it just feels too good. I sigh. Why is life so complicated?
“What about your friends? Troy said you have a strong support network.”
“Everyone has a fucking opinion about how I should deal with my loss—most won’t or can’t use the D-word.”
Tristan shifts to a more comfortable spot and tucks me against him, so my ear rests over his heart. “The D-word?” he asks.
“Death. I get it. Everyone’s dealing with so much shit in this pandemic. Normally, my friends rely on me to cheer them up.” I take another deep breath. “The depth of my grief reminds them that we’re all just one step away from catastrophe. Who wants to have that concept staring you in the face?”
“Who, indeed,” Tristan says. He’s not sarcastic, just letting me know he’s listening.
“Everything was fine. I was coping with Troy being gone.”
Something rumbles in Tristan’s chest, putting my insecurity on immediate alert. “Are you laughing at me?”
“Not at all. I’m simply eager to hear your definition of coping. But that can wait. You were coping . . .” Tristan gives me another squeeze.
“I was coping, and then this new assignment happened, and you three dropped into my lap. This morning, I was so happy. I should have known it was all going to go to hell.” I give my nose a final wipe and wiggle out of his arms. “I have no fucking idea why I’m telling you all of this. I’m sorry. I’ll shut up now.”
“You just need to tap into your power,” Tristan says. “Is it the idea of magic you have trouble with?”
“Not at all. It’s a relief to know magic truly exists, not that I ever doubted it. Ironically, Troy used to roll his eyes about my search for a true psychic experience. I’ve seen a ton of psychics. A couple of them seemed more legit than others and told me I had powers, all I had to do is learn to access them. I’ve tried to use them a ton of times, and nothing happens. I wish I did have power within me.” Yes, indeed, I’m feeling sorry for myself. A strange feeling comes over me as an old memory surfaces. “I can’t even summon the vampire Lestat. Look, I’ll show you.”
I jump to my feet and throw open the patio door and step out into the cool evening. Opening my arms wide to the heavens, I yell, “Come to me, Lestat! Come to me!”
Tristan yanks on the hem of my sweatshirt. “No, Aleah, no—”
But he’s too late, and my eyes spring wide open as another of the universe’s gorgeous men drops down in front of me.
“You bellowed, ma chère? Those words come from the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life. Something in the dark depths of his eyes pulls me to him, making me want to take the hand that reaches for me. My right hand automatically lifts toward his. The instant we touch, something dark seeps into me. Somewhere in the distance, a voice roars, and white light blinds me. Nausea hits as pain screams through me, dropping me to my knees.
Some force jerks my head up as the clouds part revealing a rippling mirror with an eye like the Tolkien villain Sauron’s sitting in the middle of it . . . looking directly at me.
