Falling for Cyn Page 12

  Glassy, unseeing eyes stared at her in the darkness, a mixture of fear and anger in them.

  “You… He’s dead.” Cynthia’s gaze was fixed on the mangled man at her feet. “You killed him.”

  “His soul was black, Cyn. He would have raped you repeatedly and then killed you. He’s done it before. Many times.” Damien’s voice was strange, like he was reciting something from memory, trying not to feel anything as he spoke. But she could hear the rage in his words. As well as the truth in them.

  “Did you…” She swallowed hard, trying to find the words. “…know him?”

  Damien turned her so she was facing him and not the dead body. “No. I was aware of him, as I am all of them, but I didn’t make him that way.” He looked at her like she was a decadent dessert he couldn’t have. “I’m not who I used to be, Cynthia,” he pleaded with her for understanding, but she couldn’t listen. She had her own fixed set of assumptions, and Damien being good didn’t fit in. He seemed to see that and released her. “You should go. The police will be here soon, and you don’t want to get mixed up with this. It’ll put a damper on your life.” He snarled the scornful words, and a shiver of fear raced up her spine. But fear of what, she couldn’t say. She wasn’t afraid of Damien as much as she was afraid of him not being in her life. But that was too hard to deal with.

  “Okay,” she said as she scampered to her car.

  Cynthia drove home in a daze, recounting the events of her evening, her muscle memory taking her home in a fog. When she walked into her living room, locking the door behind her and dropping her keys on her table, she sighed. Moving into her kitchen to pour a glass of wine, the man’s screams replayed over and over again in her head, followed by the thudding drop and then silence. She sat in her dad’s recliner next to her bookshelf and looked for something to take her mind off things.

  When her eyes settled on the slim volume she didn’t realize she owned, she knew her life would never be the same and that her mind wasn’t supposed to get off things. Cynthia picked up the book and turned it over in her hands. She’d never read it but had seen the movies. Sipping her wine, she settled in for a night of reading and wondering why this book, above all others, had suddenly appeared on her shelf.

  Who in the world wanted her to read Frankenstein?

  Cynthia spent the rest of her week much like the prior month: plodding through her days only to go home and re-read the slim volume of Gothic fiction. Saturday night, she’d read it, made notes, and felt prepared to confront someone, anyone, about what she’d learned. But she didn’t know how.

  She lit candles in her bedroom, softening the tone of the harsh lighting, trying to invoke a more spiritual feel. But it felt more seductive than anything, so she blew them out and settled with the lamp by her bed for proper lighting. She lit a stick of incense, the scent of angelica seed floating through the room, opening her senses.

  Turning in her small space, Cynthia felt a little stupid, but since she’d never really been a believer up until recently, she didn’t know how to pray—only what she’d read or seen on TV. She knelt by her bed and folded her hands, reaching out with her mind to anyone who would listen to her.

  “I’m angry with God, and I don’t know what to do about it. I need help.”

  “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

  The voice in her private space was such a shock to her, her gaze snapped up and around to the Teacher, bouncing in her corner. But what brought an inappropriate laugh bubbling up in her throat was that He was dressed in boxing shorts and a satin robe, all a magnificent, rich shade of purple.

  Speechless, she rocked back on her heels and dropped her hands.

  “Not going to fight me? I thought you might want to spar a little.”

  Mute, she shook her head from side to side, still trying to process the Man suddenly in her bedroom.

  “I left the book for you. I thought you might need some more understanding of the situation.”

  Finding her voice, Cynthia managed to squeak out, “You… You’re God.”

  He nodded. “Yes, I’ve been called that most, I suppose.” Walking over to a chair Cynthia had placed in the corner of her room, He sank into it with a sigh. “May we speak freely? I don’t want you to hold back, but there are some things I need to make sure you understand about Damien.”

  She nodded, still trying to wrap her head around the appearance of God in her bedroom.

  Dressed like a prizefighter.

  “People say I’m omniscient, all-knowing, that I know everything that is to happen,” He began. “To an extent, that’s true. I have ideas of what can happen, given a certain set of variables.”

  Hands folded neatly in His lap, He looked as if He had all the time in the world, where Cynthia’s heart was beating ninety miles a minute. She wanted answers, to know why he’d done what he had done. Not an explanation of God’s abilities. But this was God, so she needed to find some patience. She couldn’t just steamroll over Him and interrupt.

  “When I created my boys, I was young, so to speak, and lonely. I wanted to surround myself with beings who would love me. And I did. And it was good.” He smiled to Himself, as if He’d told a private joke. “But I didn’t know what the future would hold, and the Old Testament is full of examples of my reactions to things I wish I had better control over.” He looked at Cynthia, and she realized His eyes were changing colors, from blue to brown to green. “My reactions, not the things.”

  This was a far cry from the all-powerful being she’d researched. This God in front of her showed very human emotions: regret, sadness, and kindness.

  “So, You regret abandoning Your creation as a monster? You wish You hadn’t done it?”

  “Yes. But you have to understand, Damien used to be a monster. He prided himself in his ability to deceive. That’s why I cast him down. He didn’t see it as a job anymore, it was a hobby for him—collecting souls of the damned, especially creating the damned by deceiving them and damning them himself. I couldn’t condone that. It wasn’t what I wanted.”

  She had no idea where her antagonism came from, but she was feeling protective of Damien, and it showed in her words. “You made him like that, though. You created the Great Deceiver! How could you just abandon him? He was only doing what you made him to do.”

  He nodded, silent, as if taking her chiding as He deserved. “That’s why I agreed to give you to him. He deserves you just as much as my other boys deserve love. He’s almost fully human now because he loves you. He’s fallen. That’s why I’m here.” He spread His hands in supplication.

  Cynthia’s mind raced. “But he’s the Devil! What did I ever do to be bad enough for the Prince of Darkness?”

  God chuckled. “He’s not inherently evil, Cynthia.” A surreal feeling washed over her at the sound of her name coming out of the Supreme Creator’s mouth. Was she really having this conversation with God? “He was just doing what he thought I wanted. To please me.”

  “He’s a deceiver. How can I trust him? Relationships are built on trust.”

  “You’re a deceiver. How is your fragrance any different from what he’s done?”

  “I don’t damn people’s souls to an immortality of Hell.”

  “You damn them to a lifetime of false love, mimicking the physical reactions of an emotion they don’t feel. You’ve had your own doubts about the potion, Cynthia, don’t pretend with me. You’re no different.” He leaned back in His seat. “In fact, everyone has a bit of the Deceiver in them.”

  She chewed her bottom lip as she mulled over His words. Her first inclination had been indignation, but He was right. She had had those thoughts.

  “What about the balance? If the Devil is gone, the world will be thrown out of balance or something, won’t it?”

  His eyes twinkled at her. “You really think Damien is responsible for all the world’s evils? I didn’t create a perfect race of humans. There’s plenty of evil around without Damien.” Lacing His fingers together, He continued,
“But I do have a replacement or two in mind, if necessary.”

  “So you’re telling me Damien isn’t all evil, I should spend the rest of my life with him, and the world will be fine without him?”

  “The world has been fine without him, hasn’t it? Have you seen anything on the news to suggest otherwise?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s been human for months now, since he fell in love with you. In fact, since you’ve rejected him, he’s been going around freeing the souls he’s damned, helping people, doing good deeds. He’s a regular Good Samaritan, now.” God shrugged. “He still has some of his gifts, which he will lose when you accept him, but for now, he’s as human as he can get without you in his life. And he’s a good man.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, he didn’t tell you about any of it, did he?”

  She shook her head, words once again deserting her.

  God the prizefighter stood and walked over to where Cynthia still sat on the floor in the middle of her bedroom. “That’s why it’s good. I’ll let you go and think about this. No pressure. Your choices are your own.” Bending at the waist, He placed a kiss on the top of her head and vanished.

  Cynthia’s next week passed just as slowly as the ones before. She was getting used to the drudgery of her job, which before Damien, had been exciting and fulfilling. Now she had a greater purpose and was trying to decide what to do about it.

  Wouldn’t Damien like to keep his powers and do good for others, like God said he had been? If she could fly around, saving people, she would want to do that instead of making overpriced perfumes for celebrities.

  She was at her desk, going over her notes, when Cody knocked on her doorframe. “He loves everything. He signed the papers today and we start mixing next week. Some of the others and I are going out to celebrate. You in?” His face looked hopeful and Cynthia felt a tinge of regret about their date.

  She had wanted to like him. Cody was a nice guy who deserved a woman who loved him as much as he loved her.

  “I don’t know…” she hedged. Maybe she needed a night out, to stop thinking about all this… celestial being and stuff. “Maybe. Where are y’all going?”

  When Cody said the name of the club she and Damien had gone to, Cynthia’s face paled. A knowing look passed over his face, and he said, “You’re still not over him, are you?”

  She shook her head. “And I don’t know if I ever will be.” She had to face things, though. She couldn’t hide away from life forever. She’d been given a second chance, and she needed to start living instead of just working. “Okay, I’ll go. What time?”

  “We’re leaving now, just get there as soon as you can, okay?”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  When she entered the club, Cynthia felt an overwhelming sense of Damien. Looking around, she didn’t see him but wondered if he was here, watching her. For some reason, the idea gave her comfort, although she felt a little guilty he was spending so much time watching out for her. Surely there were other people he could help.

  She found herself dancing on the dance floor with a couple of ladies from work. She felt a little self-conscious, as she hadn’t had enough alcohol to really let loose with her inhibitions, but knew she needed the release of the endorphins she would experience working up a sweat. So she danced until she was breathless, then walked over to the bar for a drink.

  “You look thirsty. Can I buy you a drink?” a smooth voice at her elbow asked. A man stood there, looking at her eagerly. Well, not really looking at her, he was checking out her breasts, but this was a club, after all, and she didn’t really expect much from the men here.

  “Sure,” she agreed. And then he was there. Damien.

  He appeared directly behind the man who’d just offered to buy Cynthia a drink, his arms wrapped around his head, one on top and one around his neck, like he was going to snap it with one twist.

  Instantly, a bolt of lust shot straight to her core, a white-hot heat she couldn’t control, but it was different—deeper, something more than just lust that made her tremble. It was quickly tamped down by annoyance, then irritation. She allowed the sensations to roll over her in waves, embracing the anger. “Damien! You can’t just kill every man who offers to buy me a drink!”

  The man who’d try to buy her a drink widened his eyes almost comically as he sputtered and raised his hands in front of him. “Dude… I didn’t know she had a boyfriend… I’m not…” His head was still in Damien’s massive grip, though, so he wasn’t going anywhere.

  Placating the situation, she said, “He’s not my boyfriend.” Damien let out a low growl, his eyes flashed red, creepy, really. The pupils had vertical slits in them, like cat eyes, and Cynthia put her hands on her hips in annoyance. “Really, Damien. I mean it.”

  His grip on the man slackened, but Damien didn’t let go. “He’s got a date rape drug in his pocket, just waiting to use it on you. Tonight’s his first time, he wants to try it out, but he’s not sure how much to use, so he was going to use the whole packet.”

  The man squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again when Damien’s grip tightened. “No! I wasn’t… I was just gonna…” Another growl from deep in Damien’s chest and a dark wet spot spread across the front of the man’s pants. His voice squeaked as he sputtered, “How the fuck do you know that?”

  Damien twisted slightly. “Show her.”

  Instantly, the man’s hand dug in his pants and he brought out a small baggie of off-white powder, tears streaming out of his eyes.

  “Alright, buddy. You’re out of here.” A bouncer hovering nearby grabbed his elbow and hauled him to the back of the bar, presumably where the offices were.

  Cynthia hadn’t noticed, but the club around them had fallen silent as everyone around them watched the exchange.

  “Dude. You want a job?” the bartender asked before sliding a beer across the bar to Damien.

  Damien looked at Cynthia. “Nope. I just want the girl.” He was still as his eyes roamed her face, looking for a reaction.

  It was then that she realized he would never leave her. Damien had probably been with her all those times she thought she saw him, heard the whistling strains of The Rolling Stones, and smelled his burning scent. He would always be there. And she was doing herself a disservice by not being there with him. She needed to fix this. Because Cynthia knew she sure as shit wasn’t going to forget about it.

  She had her doubts. A lot of them. But she owed it to herself, and Damien, to talk through them and try to move past them.

  She managed a smirk through her pounding heart. “Let’s get out of here.” Holding out her hand in a peace offering, she watched him look at her hand, raise his eyebrows, then take it. She exhaled a sigh of relief as she led him from the club. Cynthia didn’t know what to say to him, but she knew words needed to be spoken. They needed to talk.

  Outside, Damien took over leading her away. “My place. I’ll drive.” He was afraid to talk too much, afraid of what he might say, afraid of chasing her off. He could say that now. He was afraid. So many emotions and sensations had raced through him in the last couple of months, emotions he’d never felt before. Now he could put names to them and remember using them against the weakness of humanity. And that brought another emotion: regret.

  “You have a place?” Cynthia asked.

  “Yeah. I’m going to be around for a while.” For thousands of years, he’d used humanity’s weaknesses against them, their deepest, darkest fears and desires—lust, jealousy, sadness, anger, and greed. Now, he was feeling all those firsthand, and the fact that he’d taken advantage of people’s feelings—magnified them, used them for his own purposes—it all sickened him. He wanted, no, needed to be different.

  He opened her car door for her and watched her slide inside.

  In the close confines, next to Cynthia, Damien was overcome with her scent. It surrounded him, making the car seem smaller. Inhaling deeply, he relished it, not knowing how long she would stay with h
im, but he would convince her one night was not enough. He started the car, hearing her react to the powerful hum.

  “Damien, I don’t know if I can do this with you.”

  He looked askance at her and saw her turned to face him in her seat. “That’s a definite improvement from the last time we spoke.” He didn’t say anything else until he got to his house, a small bungalow not too far from where she lived.

  “This isn’t what I expected of you.” He’d stopped the engine and she hadn’t moved, studying his house thoughtfully.

  “You’ll find preconceived notions aren’t in your best interest with me.” Giving in, he reached out and tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. It was just as soft as he’d remembered, and he clenched his fist to keep from burying it in her hair and yanking her toward him. That was not exactly how he wanted tonight to go. “Not anymore, anyway,” he muttered before getting out of the car and walking around to open her door.

  He led her inside and was pleased that she was no less impressed with his furnishings than she had been with the car. A huge part of him wanted her to be happy in his home; he’d picked everything out with her in mind.

  Furniture of the softest leather and the finest wood graced the living area. The kitchen was stocked with top of the line everything. The bedroom exuded comfort and style, just like Cyn. He wanted her to look around and see her own home here.

  “Sit, please.” Damien’s voice was strained with nerves. He was terrified of saying the wrong thing to her.

  She sank into a leather chair, crossing her toned legs. Damien swallowed thickly, focusing on the topic he needed to talk about and not a mental replay of their night together. Her eyes tracked his movements as he sat on the sofa, they were curious. That was a good sign. At least she’s open.