Summon Lyght(82)

He watched Abigail Faye—he hadn't disclosed her given name to his siblings for some odd reason—walk around her apartment. The thick curtains were drawn tight, but they were nothing for him to see through. Calculated assessments ensued as he took in every detail. She moved with the confidence of a predator and the grace of silk in a breeze. How far did all those tattoos go? Did they hurt when she got them? In his limited understanding, humans generally considered tattoos quite painful.

She suddenly removed her shirt without warning. Francis' lungs clamped shut and he tried to jerk his gaze away, but he couldn't to save his life. Shit. Thankfully, her chest was still covered with a thin snug garment.

Then she removed the thin something too. Shit.

He vaguely noticed his mouth hung open in a mixture of shock and shame. And awe. She undid her pants next and Francis' gaze zeroed in with an eagerness that had to be wicked. "Turn away, turn away. Oh God, please turn away." Who was he begging? Himself, or her?

She slid the jeans down and turned. Oh God. The back view was only more…not traumatizing, but something with as much punch. He gazed in rapture, finding his answer about those tattoos. There was no end to them. This is wrong. This is wrong. Turn away.

Francis growled and threw himself into the brick wall next to the window, gasping in relief even as he struggled against the temptation to turn back and continue watching her. He covered his mouth for a few amazed seconds and forced himself to wait. When he figured she'd had plenty of time to dress again, he turned and peeked into the window. Oh. He slammed his back against the brick wall with bruising force. Note. Subject sleeps without clothes.

He stood there for several seconds, wondering what to do now that his human specimen was naked. In all his grand scheming, he'd never considered he might encounter a nude female subject. Especially not one so fascinating he had to force himself to turn away. He had no doubt the images of her in various states of undress were seared into his mind forever.

Standing there trying to catch his breath and recover, the most amazing sound he'd ever heard caught his attention. Singing drifted through the night and bounced off the brick and glass of the crowded buildings, then reached his ears. Angelic.

He forgot about her nakedness and looked in the window. The second his eyes landed on her, he realized his mistake. Felt it, rather. His body no longer belonged to him, nor did it care about what he thought was right and wrong. It cared and belonged to what he saw. To what he heard. It cared and belonged to Abigail, sitting on her bed, unbraiding her hair. Singing the most haunting words of darkness and despair. Of life with no hope. Agony's rain. Agony's pain. Agony's gain.

His ruby nails grew and dug into the brick wall. His power became violent with the urge to break the neck of Wrong, and driven to heal with the passion of Right.

Without thinking, his ruby misted into a tendril of soft air and floated toward her. To comfort. He had to comfort her. He closed his eyes, focusing the energy softly around her aura, stroking the dense darkness.

The evil lies in her midst suddenly fell away and the singing stopped. Francis held his breath in the silence, feeling an avalanche building in her. A heart wrenching sob plunged straight through his chest like a hot blade and he gasped when she suddenly threw herself into the comfort of his shadowy embrace. He pulled her close, so very close. He'd never felt anything so soft. Fragile. And broken. He sat there and allowed those horrific sobs to crucify him until her pain was his. Her despair was his. Her longing was his.

Until this woman, forged from the womb of Darkness... was his.

****

Abigail woke up feeling…refreshed? What the fuck? She threw off her covers and sat at the edge of the bed. What had she done the night before that would bring such an amazing aftermath? No drug she'd ever done had made her feel this good the day after. None of them made you feel good the day after. Shit. She stretched her limbs, feeling the honeyed energy humming through her muscles. She even moaned. Wow! Almost like she'd had great sex. Not that she'd know what that was, but she'd heard about it. In books.

Fairytales. Sex was nothing more than the scratching of an itch. No fireworks. No earth moving. No meeting of souls. But if it was any of those things, it would make her feel like she did right then.

She focused on her agenda for the day. The homecoming. Fuck, it was that night. All the good feelings drained out of her pores. This one wasn't going to be easy for her. She had to play the badass with a kid she'd sworn to look after. Antione, AKA Kool A, was being jumped in during the party to welcome Jackie Wayne home from two years in jail.

Jumping in was procedure. They'd all gone through it. So why the fucking hard time? She shook her head still unable to unify the concept of pain and gain when she was the one dishing out the pain. Any other time, she relished being the deliverer of agony and humiliation, but not with that kid. Not that kid.