 
## OBSIDIAN VEIL

"tick-tock-tick-tock... time stops for no man!"

Book 1:

Melina Casville's life is almost perfect apart from a chocolate obsession that's expanding her waistline, a tendency to talk to herself ... oh, and she's recently attracted the attentions of a murderous stalker. What's a woman to do when an evil entity comes a visiting? Not a darn thing! Not when she has more exciting plans diverting her attention, like the audacious invitation to perform all kinds of sinful naughtiness with the salaciously hot guy tucked-up in her bed. To paraphrase Baby Bear, "Someone's sleeping in my bed... pass me the handcuffs, I'm keeping this one."

Adamas Khalil has spent a lifetime concealing a secret, a child's sordid memory that still lives and breathes within the man's eroded psyche. Only one obsession has kept him from leaping headfirst into insanity: Melina Casville. He intends to love her, heart, body and soul. But what's a guy to do when the woman adores her chocolate more than the man? Simple... promise to show her that a double-chocolate-chip-cherry brownie isn't the only treat that tastes delicious when dipped in chocolate-fudge-sauce!

Hades Wolf a malevolent, shadowy figure resurrected back to life by the depraved, bloodied sacrifices of a self-proclaimed disciple. A sorcerer more powerful than Merlin and wickeder than the devil, Hades feasts upon the yummy flesh of mankind with scrumptious delight, yet still hungers for more. Over a century he has obsessively awaited his beloved's return. But what's a monster to do when a rival protects the woman like a warrior of ancient times? Destroy the repugnant bastard who dares lay claim to her! Hades resolve is unassailable. Hades intends to own Melina, heart, body and soul; like a pet she will learn to obey his every command. This time Hades will not be defeated. This time she _will_ return his love!

Warning

The novella in its entirety is a work of fiction and, due to its content and subject nature, is intended for the mature audiences only i.e. 18 years of age and over. This novel contains: sexual scenes; strong language; images and acts of violence; and subject matters some may find offensive and/or of a taboo nature. Please do not read if you are easily offended.

OBSIDIAN VEIL

"tick-tock-tick-tock... time stops for no man!"

Paranormal Romance

~ Book 1 ~

Angels Amongst The Tombstones Trilogy

By

Roisian A. K. Shaam

DEDICATION

My many thanks to my best friend for the commercial advise, creative support and so many generosities that can never be repaid. May life bring you nothing but happiness, health and success.

And my beautiful friend, Gail, for her positive attitude, her lovely smile... and for introducing me to the X-Men & most especially Hugh Jackman... be still my beating heart!

And like many would-be-authors, my thanks and respect to my English teacher from Secondary School, Mrs Weisman, who still graded my work even when I'd exceeded the instructed word count, and her encouraging remarks.

Last but never least, my deepest love, and respect and thanks to my mum, for passing down her creativeness and self-confidence. And for allowing me to read those romantic stories despite the reading matter being a little too mature for my innocent minds. What can I say, what doesn't harm you, makes you more creative.

God bless you all and fill your lives with love and laughter.

~ CHAPTER ONE ~

Divinity Emerald Virtue, multi-millionaire playgirl, philanthropic celebrity and media sweetheart, was dead.

Lovers, friends, business associates, and even mere acquaintances were simply inconsolable. In fact, some had believed the stunningly attractive socialite to be an immortal goddess who'd forsaken the heavens in order to suffuse their insignificant earthbound lives with her vitality and vivacity. The ultimate proof of her mortality had shattered that belief and left many devastated.

Except for Melina Cassville: In the three weeks since the pronouncement she'd tried her damnedest to feel a smidgen of grief, but the part of her heart that had once been obligated to Divinity remained pitifully hollow.

With determined effort, Melina put aside her morose thoughts, promising a scrupulous psychoanalysis of her defective emotions at some later date. Instead, she closed her eyes and momentarily indulged in one of her favourite, delicious fantasies: being dunked into a colossal bowl of velvety-smooth, chocolate-flavoured ice-cream.

The luscious daydream counteracted the sweaty, oozing grunginess that engulfed her from her stocking-encased toes to the follicles of her now uncontrollable frizzy hairstyle. All compliments of a blasting-hot summer's day. July's predicted heat-wave had finally arrived, _mid-September_ , like a blistering discharge directly from the Devil's nostrils.

Her eyes flew open as an utterly unexpected roar of thunder vibrated her eardrums. The ruckus was immediately accompanied by a frigid gust of wind that snapped and snarled at her heels. Disorientated by the simultaneous assault, she noted with perplexed amazement that the dazzling summer light had waned. Mountainous globs of storm-laden clouds veiled the sun. Continuous bellows of thunder pleated a sky misted a smoky translucence.

As if the wind had taken on form, chilled fingers raked over her scalp before entangling in the red silken scrunchy binding her hair. After a moment's resistance the scrunchy was ripped away. Her length of wavy hair unravelled, causing the unleashed mass to whip at her face with stinging force.

A third, even more ferocious expulsion, shoved Melina flush into her companion.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Mr Grimes gingerly pushed away from the solid rosewood door of Divinity's ostentatious mansion that Melina had accidentally caused him to head-butt. With a twist of his upper body, he shoved her away as vigorously as the elemental force that had caused her loss of equilibrium.

"I'm sorry... the wind... lost my footing." Breathless, she teetered on black high-heels before righting herself.

Melina swiped her clammy face with the back of her hand. It came away moist and streaked with the purportedly smudge-proof foundation she'd applied earlier that morning. Bizarrely, she couldn't take her eyes off her hand as she realised the sweat coating her knuckles and still bubbling upon her upper lip, wasn't a result of the soaring temperature.

"I have known fear and _I_ choose _not_ to fear," she whispered. The quote, from inside a thirty-year-old, stale fortune cookie she'd found wedged between the floorboards in her bedroom, had become her life's mantra.

Flicking back her dishevelled hair, Melina did what she always did when confronted by circumstances that dared blight the parameters of her reinvented life.

Ignored them.

"It looks as if we're in for a nasty storm."

"On a beautiful day such as this? I think not," Mr Grimes stated, barely sparing her a glance over his shoulder.

She pointed upwards. "Take a look at..." but not so much as a wisp of fluff blemished the clarity of the cobalt-blue sky.

The air was now still. _Too still_.

No leaves stirred on the gnarled, centuries-old yew trees that stood to attention like a battalion of broad-shouldered, mean-tempered bouncers guarding the thousand acre estate. No birds twittered. No insects buzzed. The blades of grass adorning the verdant lawn had ceased their summer salsa.

And now that the lurid parties, rowdy music and boisterous laughter had come to an end, the magnificently restored, eighteenth century Virtue mansion—framed in the background by the famed undulating hills and vales of Bath—appeared lacklustre and sombre. Even the curvilinear granite sculpture of Pharzuph astride a she-wolf with Griffin wings; the fallen angel of fornication and lust; defender of the mansion from intruders and detractors, seemed to be paying homage to her deceased mistress. However, the black veil thrown over Pharzuph's stone head made her appear brutally merciless instead of sorrowful.

Melina returned her attention to Mr Grimes, who, for the last fifteen minutes, had been absentmindedly thumbing through a bunch of keys. "That one." She indicated a gold bar decorated with emeralds.

Mr Grimes scrutinized her through gold-rimmed spectacles sliding down his sweat-beaded aquiline nose. As if surprised to find her there, he blinked rapidly in confusion. His stubby, blond eyelashes appeared almost invisible in the sunlight. "Oh... of course... yes... if you say so."

Rolling her eyes, she held back an unladylike snort. Not only did he know precisely which key fitted the lock, he'd used it almost everyday for thirty years. As well as being Divinity's financial and legal advisor, he was but _one_ amongst a surfeit of lovers.

"Are you all right?" she asked, noticing the sudden white-knuckled intensity of his grip around the key.

"I simply cannot believe Divinity is dead."

"I know. Lots of people seem to be just as stunned."

"Humbug! Their loss is but a dewdrop compared to my ocean of grief." He presented a woeful image when his ear pressed against the wooden surface of the intricately carved front door. "Shush. Listen. I can almost hear her enthralling voice... her enticing laughter. The hushed slither of sumptuous satin lingerie as she disrobes." His almost poetic words ended on a pitiful whimper. "I suppose you've always known of the intimate nature of our relationship."

"A little," Melina prevaricated. According to Divinity, though slight in stature, once shed of his garments, Mr Grimes was a rampant mongrel-of-a-dog; snuffling, gnawing, his long, wet tongue lapping at every available orifice. His lust threshold off-the-scale, he could allegedly fornicate for hours without respite.

"Indeed. Divinity mentioned you were once her most treasured confidante."

For the first time, Melina noticed how much older Mr Grimes appeared. His bloodshot eyes were ringed by deep grooves of stress; his unshaven cheeks shadowed by several days' growth. Incongruous to his stature and profession, he supported a waist-length, platinum-blond mane; habitually salon-styled and sleek, the mass now appeared straggly and matted. His blatantly expensive designer attire, hung limp on a haggard frame that had lost considerable weight over the weeks since Divinity's death.

As a rule—thanks to a highly-paid personal trainer, a Thai masseuse who made home visits twice weekly and regular Botox treatments—he was usually able to pass himself off as being in his late thirties. He now looked every one of his fifty years.

"I never really gave a damn about her other lovers... those disgusting, filthy, dirty, whoring gigolos. My heart and body, even my profession, were all dedicated to Divinity. I worshipped her not her money." Fierce eyes met Melina's. "Not that I regret one iota of the time I devoted to her. Only, now, I've come to realise, I'm absolutely alone. No friends. No family. No one to share my grief with. I never bothered to even ask the name of my housekeeper of two decades."

At times, Mr Grimes' intent gaze made Melina's skin prickle. And she detested that pompous tone he used when talking to her. Nevertheless, stepping forward, she placed a comforting hand upon his forearm. She'd personally experienced the demoralizing curse of loneliness and wouldn't wish it upon anyone. "If you ever need to talk..."

Abruptly he yanked his arm out of her reach. "Well, let's get this over with. No doubt you wish to return to the revelry."

Melina shook her head in both denial and amazement. Divinity had pre-planed the _celebration_ of her own death with an extravagant affluence that was fairy-tale-like, tear-jerking sentimentality and gaudy-to-the-extreme.

The funeral service held earlier that afternoon at the local Methodist Church, had been graced by four hundred official mourners from all four corners of the globe. The tally didn't take into account the paparazzi, news presenters and camera crews. The general public had also congregated to witness the awesome spectacle of Divinity's casket arriving in a glass carriage drawn by twenty horses—their coats dyed an emerald-green. From the carriage roof, three semi-clad, well-oiled hunks had showered freshly-minted gold commemorative disks into the crowd.

There had also been bodyguards and personal assistants. And in case of emergencies, a multitude of trained medical personnel on hand should that some VIP became hysterical with grief.

For the attending entourage was far from ordinary. Present were royal representatives from several nations and dignitaries from countries who were currently in conflict. Eight cardinals, several bishops, numerous billionaires and multi-millionaires had mingled with A-list celebrities and the highest-of-the-high in the music industry, from opera to heavy-metal; many of whose climb to stardom had been bankrolled by Divinity.

An Arabian sheik, a mere teenager at that, had yowled in grief while illegally chain-smoking Havana Cigars throughout the service. Fortuitously, he'd received copious comfort from his thirty concubines. The pungent, sickly-sweet aroma circulating the enclosed building had attested to the fact that he'd been sucking on a little something extra other than traditional tobacco.

A seventy-year-old African prince, resplendent in a swirling cloak of gleaming peacock feathers, had arrived with his own fanfare of drums. In honour of his deceased ex-lover, his flamboyant person glittered with emeralds embodying him from the crown on his head to the gems adorning his glass slippers. Rumours had even circulated that one of the cardinals was in fact a cigar-smoking, former American President in disguise.

Most important, the guests of honour and true loves of Divinity's life—her godchildren. If anyone had missed the presence of her one blood-relative they'd all expected to attend without fail, no mention was made of it.

The mourners were currently whooping-it-up at a private party; celebrating Divinity's life in the style that she'd lived: Expensively. Lavishly. Outrageously. Vociferously.

The elaborate post-funeral, no-expense-spared function was being held in a grand hotel that catered to the elite. Where, the private accommodations had once witnessed many of Divinity's illicit liaisons. Lunch had been served on platters of gold piled high with appetizing delicacies. The tears and vintage champagne were flowing liberally by the time Melina was escorted away by Mr Grimes on an apparently important matter.

According to the party bulletin board, the festivities had merely begun. Before the guests became overly inebriated, a film on a cinema screen was to be shown: a recording by Divinity with personal messages to all her friends and lovers. To be ensued by an evening banquet fit for a god on Mount Olympus.

Wanting to put the _fun_ back in _funeral_ , Divinity had also pre-arranged numerous licentious party games with equally lascivious prizes of jewellery, cash, sports cars and world cruises. The ultimate prize and tax haven; a private Fijian island.

If Melina had correctly heard Mr Grimes' last minute instructions to the events coordinator; the day of grief and excesses would be rounded off with an unparalleled midnight treat.

For the men and women still hyped-up, bright-eyed-and-bushy-tailed, a coach would arrive precisely one hour after midnight to transport any partakers on a blindfolded mystery-tour to an undisclosed hunting lodge; where they would be entertained by lap dancers and naked circus contortionists. Further, for a _nominal fee_ , a sexual encounter with the finest prostitutes; male, female and everything in-between; as imported in from Eastern Europe.

"As I mentioned, Divinity wished you to receive a small token of her abiding affection." Mr Grimes finally twisted the key in the latch. "Although she hasn't bequeathed you anything in her Will, you are mentioned, and are expected at the reading once it's been finalised."

Waving imperiously, Mr Grimes beckoned her to follow. "Not that you deserve anything, considering _you_ instigated that dreadful estrangement between Divinity and Adamas."

Melina flinched. A moment of improper behaviour on her part had resulted in an insurmountable rift between Divinity and her nephew, her only living blood-relative. And if she was honest with herself, rather than a sign of respect, she had attended the funeral in hopes of catching a glimpse of the man who had made cratered-sized impact to her life.

Evidently realising the distress his accusation had caused, he relented. "My apologies. That was awfully tactless of me. Today is a day for compassion. Indeed, grief and guilt can make for a dangerous cocktail." In a flash of movement that proved unavoidable, he grabbed her hand, sandwiching it between his two meatier ones.

His touch invoked an icky sensation that irritated her guts. Rather like butterflies in the stomach; only these butterflies were vomiting into a sick-bag while still in flight.

Mr Grimes' palms were hot and clammy as the thumb of his lower hand, on which he wore an inch-wide gold band, caressed her palm in a circular motion. Not a touchy-feely person by nature, Melina tried pulling away, only for his hold to turn forcibly firmer.

"If you wish, I could have a discrete word with Divinity's godchildren. I'm sure, as an act of charity, they wouldn't mind donating a trinket or two. I seem to remember you being quite fond of the eternity ring the late Mr Virtue presented Divinity on their six-month anniversary."

"No thanks, Mr Grimes," Melina said, resenting his reference to her needing charity, despite having been independent of Divinity's _so-called_ kindness for many years.

"Call me Euphrates," he insisted. Further, disregarding her refusal of his offer, he then added, "I'd be happy to personally represent you, free of charge, of course. Once things are settled, I'm sure we could mutually agree upon some other form of compensation for my professional services."

Tugging, Melina emancipated her hand from his grasp. She flicked a glance at his face, hoping he hadn't been implying anything other than a financial plan. However, his features gave nothing away, his expression one of indifference; his acidic-lime eyes amazingly vacant considering a moment ago he'd been whining about loneliness.

On entering the hallway, they were besieged within a dazzling kaleidoscope as sunlight penetrated an array of decorated windows. Each panel depicted, in vivid Technicolor, lovers participating in multiple sexual acts. Divinity had had the Karma Sutra brought to life in a mosaic of stained glass.

And, in the centre of the hallway, exhibited upon a plinth and illuminated by the radiance, a life-size marble statue: a life-size statue of a well-endowed _naked_ man.

The muscled creation had broad shoulders that tapered into a narrowed waist. The torso, gracefully defined with ridges and detailed sinew, sloped into elegantly long and powerful legs. The chiselled body, not that of an adult, but of an adolescent on the verge of manhood.

The statue was positioned lying down on its side, head propped up on an elbow. One leg stretched outwards while the other bent at the knee. As for the left hand, it impertinently encompassed an impressive erection. A black, leather blindfold however obscured the face, almost as if his own self-pleasure repulsed him.

Embarrassed, Melina glanced away from the otherwise magnificent sculpture. Mr Grimes, on the other hand, appeared transfixed. Panting erratically, he smacked pouting, saliva-slick lips. He swaggered towards the statute. A trembling hand massaged the well-delineated chest, kneading hardness as if living flesh. His podgy fingers undulated downwards, encasing the tip of the stone phallus within a firm grip.

Quite literally, a mortified Melina was saved by the bell. The shrill beep-beep of her mobile phone indicating she'd received a text message, echoed within the substantial confines of the hallway.

Mr Grimes jerked out of his trance. "Uh... wait here...Divinity's study... I'll...wait here." After a fleeting but poignant glance of longing directed at the statue's nether region, he then dashed up the grandiose sweeping staircase.

Glad to see the back of him, if only for a few minutes, Melina traversed the hallway, brushing the many objects d'art strategically placed to catch the eye. To Divinity Emerald Virtue, modesty had always been equated to an act of profanity. Everything on display, gifts from numerous lovers. Including a supposedly authentic seventeenth century, Qing Dynasty jade figurine of a scantily dressed woman, who by coincidence resembled Divinity, standing with her legs akimbo, while an equally attired male knelt at her feet.

Divinity hadn't merely loved sex: she'd pursued it, embodied it and revelled in her multiple-orgasms.

Even in her late sixties, the forever-young beauty's appetites had remained insatiable. Divinity had been celebrating her sixty-seventh birthday at a castle in Scotland, owned by a personage with royal connections, when, rumour had it, that after cutting a ten-tier cake, she'd sneaked off to shag a well-buffed _young_ man who apparently made _Mr Olympia_ look like an amoeba.

Divinity had died happy and horny, and in the throes of her fourth climax.

A sudden flash of movement, black and shadowlike, caught Melina's peripheral vision. "Silly girl, it's only your own reflection." Laughing self-deprecatingly, she advanced towards a mirror partially concealed within an alcove.

She'd been doing that a lot these last four months; jumping at shadows; experiencing the strangest sensation of being watched, followed. Even within the safety of her own apartment she felt unsettled.

Stepping closer to the antique, gilt framed mirror, Melina scowled. "Oh, Lord, look at me!" Her makeup had been sweated away. As for her hair... "I'm the Ms World of bad-hair days." She finger-combed her ebony locks, wincing as several grey strands stood out from amongst the dark mass.

She could think of nothing worse than a shiny, full-length mirror, with a flawless surface; to magnify the faults she so tired to ignore. She patted her hips with a sigh of resignation. Her figure, unfortunately, exhibited the ravages of her tendency to binge. "That's what you get for replacing the recommended daily allowance of five portions of fruit and veg with chocolate."

As luck would have it, her rapacious sweet-tooth was her one and only vice, if she didn't take into account her tendency to talk to herself. The former was an addiction she refused to give up—the latter, an unconquerable affliction.

Now that she'd started down that dangerous road of self-criticism, she couldn't help but note all her other physical imperfections: Her lips were too full, her cheeks too rosy and round. Her eyes an unexciting brown. Even the star-shaped birthmark, at the outer-corner of her left eye, resembled a scar.

For years, Melina had patiently waited to metamorphose from plain to striking, as was her genetic entitlement. Sadly, she would never resemble her own mother. A former glamour model, Raven Cassville's beauty had been equated to that of Titania, the dazzling fey empress from the William Shakespeare's play, _A Midsummer Night's Dream._

"Oh, great," Melina mumbled, noticing a ladder running the length of her left stocking. Bending, she trailed a finger over the tear. "Heck, that's money down the drain. I could've bought a week's supply of chocolate with what these stupid things cost me."

Straightening, she became dumbfounded. Not only was the previously pristine face of the mirror fractured, chipped and dirty, her reflection had also disappeared. Reaching out, she touched the ice-cold glass. Her fingers left a smudged trail over the transmuted surface, but still no reflection.

"Psst..."

Melina cried out as a sliver of glass pierced into her middle finger. Briefly, she was mesmerized by the volume of blood dribbling from the minute cut and splattering the mirror.

"Psst... pay attention. Melina!"

"Who? Who's there?"

"Me, stupid girl." Melina stared, awestruck by the image forming where her own should have been. "Hi, kitten."

Divinity looked sensational, dressed in the self-designed burial shroud she'd commissioned a conglomerate of Latvian seamstresses to sew by hand. The velvet concoction skimmed her svelte figure. A low-cut, heavily embroidered and gem-encrusted bodice thrust her breasts outwards; akin to two ripe cantaloupes on a supermarket shelf, blatantly enticing the customer to handle the goods before purchasing. And, in-between the globes nestled a shimmering emerald the size of a quail's egg.

"But you're dead. I attended your funeral today," Melina informed, unable to disguise the hysteria edging her voice.

"Whatever!" Divinity shrugged a slender shoulder. "Who gives a fucking toss about the funeral? Let's talk _party_! Isn't it proceeding wonderfully? Never was a woman more celebrated or loved than me."

Closing her eyes, Melina took several calming breaths. "It's an illusion. Of course... global warming. Sunstroke! Dehydration... hallucinations!"

After counting aloud her ten favourite chocolate bars, she exhaled gustily and said, "I'm not afraid." Though, when her eyes opened, the image remained; so clear, so alive, she could almost touch.

"Liar-liar-pants-on-fire!" Hands on hips, Divinity leaned forward and sniffed. "I can smell the fear all around you. It's surging out of your pores like shit in a cracked sewage pipe. Look at yourself, you'r trembling harder than a virgin awaiting her wedding night fuck."

Clasping her shaking hands behind her back, Melina asked instead, "Have you come back to haunt me? I know you still hate me, but I promise I never set out to ruin your relationship with Adam."

"Oh, thanks for the fucking reminder. Bad enough you rubbed your lustful, whorish behaviour in my face _that_ night, I can't believe you're doing the same thing again even though I'm dead."

Melina took instant exception—ghost or human—no one had the right to insult her. Not anymore. Not ever again. "There was nothing lustful or whorish about _that_ night," she insisted. "That night was about kindness and passion."

Divinity quaked at the confident rejoinder. Her face contorted, making her appear formidable. Her sunset-red hair shimmered, alight with flames of fury. "And how is a frigid bitch, whose thighs are practically welded together, able to differentiate between passion and lust?"

"Make up your mind, Divinity; I'm either promiscuous or frigid. I can't be both," Melina remarked on the contradictory statements. "Anyhow, you got your revenge. I supposedly betrayed you, you definitely betrayed me."

"Oh darling, it was rather delicious listening to your screams..." Divinity paused and then peered over her right shoulder. Melina could hear her talking but not what was being said. Nor could she see with whom Divinity conversed with such animation. "It seems our grievances must wait for another day."

Returning her attention to Melina, Divinity began to preen herself. She fluffed out her wild hair and then smoothed the bodice of her emerald coloured gown. Shoulders back, breasts thrust out to maximum, she smiled. A malicious smile.

The smile became a grin that split the corners of her glossed lips. The grin became a giggle. The giggle escalated into belly-shaking laughter.

In the midst of mirth, Divinity started choking. She clawed at her own throat, sharp acrylic nails leaving a trail of blood-red welts across her neck. Abruptly she ceased and winked with a flirtatious sweep her of false lashes.

Then, arms flaying, she pointed to her own face. She licked her lips, her tongue moving in a lascivious, snakelike gesture as a slimy secretion effervesced from her mouth. The concoction of froth and saliva slobbered down her chin.

Enthralled horror enraptured Melina as Divinity further began to fondle herself. Her hands slithered to her breasts, circling, cupping, stroking. Through the fabric she rolled her nipples, pinching and pulling with excruciating brutality.

One hand continued to torture a breast as the other fell to cover her womanhood. Her hips shimmied in a jerky, undulating action meant to imitate sexual intercourse. Clawing, she ripped at the fabric. Reaching naked skin she gouged until blood oozed from her serrated body.

"Stop it, Divinity!"

Unrelenting, Divinity continued, her grin growing bigger, wider. Her jaw clicked, dislocated and twisted hideously.

Melina wrapped her arms around herself. Not only could she see the blood, she could feel it. Something grotesque and sludgy dripped the length of her legs. Peering downwards, she saw a pool of red stain the marble flooring around her feet.

"Stop it. Please, stop it! Now!"

"Fuck you, Melina, you're such an inconsiderate bitch! Do you have any idea how long it took to perfect this little drama? Walking into mirrors is no easy feat, either," Divinity groused, stomping a _Manolo Blahnik_ stiletto. "In case you've forgotten, I've only been dead a short while. I had to practise-practise-practise, until my technique was flawless."

Blinking, Melina fought the spiralling void encompassing her vision. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Goodness sake, quit being such a cry-baby. _This_ isn't personal, that will come in about half a minute. _This_ is simply a clue."

"A clue? To what?" With a sense of relief, Melina noted the blood around her feet had disappeared.

"You can be so dense sometimes. I'm dead but still wandering this mortal coil... lost in limbo... unable to rest in peace... ergo... unfinished business."

"I don't understand."

"No surprise there, kitten, after all, you've always been a little retarded. And ugly. Seriously, no wonder your parents detested you. It's hard to believe that two beautiful, inspiring and intelligent people could spawn something as grossly ugly and stupid as you." Divinity shrugged her shoulders. "But I must say, they have my respect, if I'd been your mother, I would have drowned you in the bath."

"Divinity!"

Divinity held up a silencing hand. "Shush, sweetie, this is my moment not yours. Now, listen up, _this_ i _s_ the personal bit."

Bejewelled and bloodied hand on her heart, Divinity sighed dramatically. "I wish you to meet a cherished and much respected companion of mine. Actually, I should say, it's more a reunion of sorts."

On legs the consistency of melted wax, Melina took several wobbly steps back. "Thanks, but I'd rather just go home." Turning, she shouted towards the stairs, "Mr Grimes! Mr Grimes!"

"He can't hear you, darling. He's not part of this... what shall we call it?" Divinity hummed contemplatively. "Let's call it a game; a game that has neither rules nor boundaries. Where the outcome isn't decided on the roll of a dice or a chance card, but is preordained."

Glancing from under her lashes, Divinity playfully rimmed the blood-crusted décolletage of her tattered gown. "This game requires _only_ three participants. The innocent. The disciple. The master: You. Me." Divinity paused for effect. "Drum roll please...ba-ba-broom...ba-ba-broom... _Him._ "

_"Him?_ "

Crocking an emerald-ringed finger, Divinity beckoned, "Come closer, my tasty pussycat."

As if her body had lost its will, Melina obeyed. With every dragging step towards the mirror, a sense of potent danger pervaded her soul. Divinity, on the other hand, vibrated with excitement. Turquoise eyes shimmered. Rapturous joy beautified her; an angelic manifestation encircled by an ethereal aura of white-hot light.

The whisper of heated breath scalded Melina's cheek. " _Him_."



Summer 1850 – Seven days later.

_Genesis: Ch.37, v.20_ _"Some evil beast hath devoured him."_

_Pre_ _acher Nathaniel Bullivant-Rivage stood in the pulpit, preening, attempting to look tall and distinguished but always he was betrayed by the slight curvature of his spine and a dysfunctional right shoulder that caused his physique to appear malformed._

_Compensating for his deficient physical prowess, he sternly eyed the brooding congregation before him. He exhaled harshly, disgusted not by their sullen faces but at the cloth that chaffed. His skin desired the caress of_ _silks and satins, and the softest of cottons. Not this constricting straightjacket of coarse, black material that someone had found the audacity to term a priestly uniform._

What terrible suffering he endured each Sunday for his people. Yet they comprehended nothing of his personal sacrifice. How could they? They were simpletons, content with their meagre existence. They had neither ambition, nor appetite to better their station in life. And, from the body odour wafting his way, little concept of personal hygiene.

Opening his Book of Sermons, Nathaniel flicked the pages, hoping to find something jubilant. Instead, he found a tatty scrap of paper secreted within. He noted writing upon it. Not something he had written. He took pride in his penmanship, whereas this almost indecipherable scrawl, an abomination indeed.

"Throw a stone in the air and you throw it at your own head; and a treacherous blow means wounds all round. Dig a pit and you will fall in it; set a trap and you will be caught by it. The wrong anyone does recoils on him and he has no idea where it comes from..."

He knew the remaining verses off by heart, for he had once relished in spouting them at his own iniquitous father. "...And before they die they will be consumed by pain."

Nathaniel searched for the traitor who dared affront him. Alas all the faces were guilt-ridden, their darting gazes redolent with shame and mendacity.

The harsh twang of a vindictive voice rumbled into his head. "The craven cowards, they are like lambs hiding from the wolf! Is this how they repay you for the salvation you granted them?"

"I had such high hopes. This is a day for merriment," Nathaniel responded on a breath. "But soon, the haunting screams of their dead will become subdued, and only then will they truly accept the validity of their conduct."

The Voice goaded him onwards, "They discredit you with their miserable facade. Now—not soon—is the time to remind these imbeciles of God's wrath. Of the retribution that befalls those who cease to heed His preacher. They must acknowledge that you are the gatekeeper of their souls."

_Crashing his fists upon the pulpit, Preacher Bullivant-Rivage forced the villagers' attentions upon him. His ruthlessness made them quake and tremble._ " _Let us rise and pray." They obeyed. Once standing they looked unto him for their next instructions._

How Nathaniel detested these people. So easily manipulated. Then again, their docility worked much to his advantage.

" _Our Father in heaven, may your name be hallowed."_

"Help me!" a wailing screech rent the air.

"Your kingdom come..."

"Somebody help me!"

"Your will be done, on earth as is in heaven."

"I am innocent..."

"Give us this day our daily bread. Forgive us the wrong we have done." His prayer was interrupted yet again by hysterical screams of terror.

"I will never forgive you! Your souls will be forever cursed."

"As we have forgiven those who have wronged us."

"I will not die, Preacher!"

"But save us from the evil one."

"My voice will be in every prayer you utter until you have paid for this sin."

The din manifested by the congregations' terror, further enhanced the ghostly disembodied sobbing preceding the threat. Clambering over one another, those gathered hastened to reach the pulpit.

Nathaniel felt a moment's trepidation. How could this be?

An invisible, comforting touch strummed his spine, stilling the apprehension. Prank or poltergeist, he had nothing to fear. The harpy had not defeated him in life. What power had she in death?

Nathaniel's shout escalated above the human shrieks and haunting cries. "For Yours is the Kingdom and the power and the glory. Forever. Amen!"

All became silent.

Dead silent.

"There is nothing to fear. We are safe within the Mansion of our Lord."

In repudiation, the ornate doors of the sacred building flew open. A gust of wind strode in. The wind was ebony-black and had a shape. Rage! As pure and forceful as lava coercing its way to the surface from deep within the entrails of hell.

Again, that haunting voice, overflowing with repugnance, enshrouded them. "Their throats are open tombs, they use their tongues for treachery, adder's venom is on their lips, and their mouths are full of bitter curses. Their feet hasten to shed blood, ruin and misery mark their tracks, they are strangers to the path of peace, and reverence for God does not enter their thoughts."

The people wailed at the quote repeated with immense venom. Resembling a violent tidal wave crashing upon the shore, they huddled into Nathaniel, crushing him with the stench of their fright. "Again I remind you... we are in the house of God. Keep faith and we shall be protected."

Abrasive feminine laughter mocked them. "Deceiver! The house of God is in our hearts and souls. Not within stone. And how you all proved you have neither heart nor soul. Wretched fools, you forgot the word of God. How readily you punished the innocent."

"Be gone, evil spirit! You cannot harm us."

The people cried out for salvation, for they knew who haunted. Acknowledged the heinous sin committed. Alas it was too late to turn back the hands of time. "Tick-tock-tick-tock, time stops for no... man," Nathaniel whispered to himself.

Incensed by the congregations' pusillanimity, he turned upon them. "I demand silence!" Parent to terrified child, he then spoke comfortingly, reassuringly. "Come now, together we shall pray and exorcise this demon from within these walls."

Arduous hours later, the last of the pacified stragglers exited. The preacher locked the door. Pivoting on his heels, he leant back. His fiery gaze searched the gloomy interior. A bloodhound scenting its quarry, he inhaled deeply. "Wonderful, you are still here, sweet-morsel."

In death as in life, he always knew when Lyris Katherine Anderson was nearby. The scent of jasmine and something syrupy-sweet trailed her innocent wake, tweaking at his libido and sending a bubble of heat shooting through his veins.

"Well, lovely-Lyris, alone at last. Show yourself," he coaxed in a voice now changed. Gone was the sophisticated intonation of the educated man, replaced by a guttural twang that possessed a hypnotic, masterful quality.

The preacher appeared taller, his shoulders broader. His disabilities no longer troubled for those, too, had disappeared. A vivid blush bruised usually pale cheekbones. His lips moistly plump and blood-red in colour shimmered.

"How terribly long I have lingered for this moment." Silence greeted his comment. "It is a shame that death had to intervene before we could participate in this remarkable reunion."

Pushing away from the door, he observed, intent to any signs indicating her whereabouts. "Naughty, naughty girl! I do believe you wish to play. What do you call this game? Hide-and-Seek? Shall I come seek you, lovely-Lyris?"

With a ferocious burst of energy, the preacher rampaged around the church upturning every obstacle in his wake. A predator after its prey, his burning black eyes peered beneath the pews. His flaring nostrils sniffed out every nook and cranny, inhaling her decaying perfume. He even ripped off his gloves and gouged at the cracks in the wooden beams, as if she were some burrowing insect.

Exhausted, breathless, he finally flopped down onto a pew. With absolute disregard he ignored the destructive disarray surrounding him.

Releasing a bone-chilling whoop, the preacher crowed with delight. This is what he desired. The excitement! The hunt of the game! Could there be anything more exhilarating than a sadistic rumble to stimulate his juices? Dread basted with defiance brewed a tasty fusion indeed.

"Come, I grow impatient." He paused, waiting with heightened anticipation. "Or could it be, dare I say... that you are afraid of me?"

"I have never been afraid of you."

With glee he watched her materialise. In all her battered glory, Lyris perched within the outstretched arms of a stone angel that stood beside the pulpit. Long hair the colour of midnight, draped over her shoulder, effectually veiling her face.

Breath lodged in his throat. Despite death, she still entranced his lust. His temperature scaled, making him twitchy inside. He needed to touch her. See if her blood still flowed or if the cold hand of mortality enveloped completely.

"True. You feared me but you were never afraid. Until our last meeting, that is." Rising to his feet, he sauntered towards her. "I cannot help but wonder at what passed through your pretty mind as the life dribbled from your living body?"

"What do you care of my pain, Preacher?"

"Alas and woe, you wound me." He pressed a hand to his chest in a dramatic pose. "I have always considered you special. Do you not think I empathised with your suffering? Your whole life you have been beaten, spat upon and defeated. Yet, without fail, you fought back with hope and spirit. Surely you can understand my curiosity?"

Hate blackened Lyris' pallid complexion. "You forced me into a coffin containing my uncle's remains. You buried me alive. How should I have reacted?"

"Really, there is no need to be so..." the preacher racked his mind for an appropriate word, "emotional. Death is inevitable."

"I-I was not ready. I-I had promises to fulfil." Her whole countenance crumbled before him. Hot, fat tears fell from eyes devoid of life and froze to ice upon hollowed cheeks. "You forced me to break a sacred vow."

Something the preacher had not availed to in many a year, suddenly troubled him. An unusual feeling akin to... remorse? "I admit I may have been a tad beastly. Alas, what has been done cannot be undone. Learn to accept what providence has bestowed upon you."

"As you will both learn to accept!" Lyris shouted, scrubbing away the tears. "If I am damned for eternity, so shall you join me!"

"You misunderstand, lovely-Lyris." The preacher raised a consoling hand. "I applaud your courage. But we must come to an accord. I cannot have Nathaniel's people fearing to attend this place of sanctuary and sanctity."

"What do I care? From the beginning you condemned and persecuted me. Even before..."

"Even before that evil criminal executed his young sons? Murdered them?" he asked, his tone conversational.

"Why? How had I wronged either of you?"

"My savoury-delicacy, you know why, alas you fear to remember. And, to be truly candid, I do so enjoy an act of malice. The titillation of your screams. The horror in the eyes of Nathaniel's people when it dawned upon them as to the vicious crime they had enthusiastically partaken of." His tongue darted out licking his lips as if he had dined upon a delicious meal. "Sin can be scrumptious indeed."

The preacher became distracted by scuffmarks marring his shiny black boots. A conversation with Mrs Martins, his devoted attendant, was in order, regarding her recent inattentiveness.

First, to deal with this precocious creature who continued defying him even from the grave. "You may be unaware but there are a few unfortunates apprehensive as to your welfare."

"Unfortunates?"

"In my capacity as preacher and most esteemed Elder of Obsidian-Veil, I am duty-bound to visit and ease their concerns." He winked cheekily. "Silence them if necessary."

Lyris shook her head, setting her thick wave of hair swaying. The urge to bury his hands in the ebony mass overwhelmed him. He wanted to run his fingers through every strand. To wrap the curling tresses around his wrist; shackling her to him until the end of time.

His sigh regretful, he forced the image from his besotted mind. He was further confounded by a throbbing pain developing behind his eyes. He, who had never suffered a single day's malady. A headache?

"What has made you so evil?"

The preacher dismissed her probing question with a careless wave of his hand, suddenly finding her tedious, and truth-be-told, he felt a little weary. "Be a love and go play dead."

She waved away his command with a mimicking hand movement. "Preacher, this game has just begun."

" _Sweet-morsel, do not challenge me. Better men, stronger in will and faith have failed. There is much more I could do to destroy you."_

"You executed me. What more is left?"

"Death is but a beginning. However, I see from your expression you are unconvinced. So be it. I accept your challenge." His grin was mischievous. "To add a little thrill to this amusement, shall we make a wager? Should you succeed in your ghostly endeavour to depose us, I will reunite you with your lover. I swear on my most unholy honour." His head dipped in mocking salute. "If you fail, you will sacrifice your succulent body for my gratification."

"Never!" Lyris raged. "Even dead, I belong to Gabriel. Always and forever, only Gabriel."

"We shall see. Now, I hope you will not take offence, but you look dangerously peaked to me. I recommend a nap to conserve your energies. For each time we tangle, you shall require an abundance of strength."

"Preacher," she acknowledged before vanishing.

"Rest in peace, lovely-Lyris."

In actuality the anticipation of Lyris as a continued adversary, invigorated him. It had been eons since he had sparred with a worthy opponent. He had grown complacent; the pickings in Obsidian-Veil disgustingly unchallenging.

He halted beside the angel, within whose protective arms Lyris had perched. Leaning forward he rested his forehead upon its stone breast and inhaled the lingering perfume left in her wake. "Delectable!"

The preacher had but a single lament; that he had not lain with Lyris. Too many times he had lingered impatiently beside hers and Gabriel's bed, jealously observing their physical ecstasy. Watched her sweating limbs heaving with licentious abandonment beneath Gabriel's domination. Watched her fiery hunger appeased only by the vicious thrust of her lover's manhood.

"You treated me no better than a leper, when all I desired was to share in a mere teaspoonful of your sin."

He lapped at the angel's breasts. His belly tautened with an excruciating curl of desire. In his mind's eye his lips latched onto Lyris' nipples, drawing as a babe suckles at its mother's teats. Lyris' lips that shrieked his true name in agonising pleasure.

Roaring his discontent, he thrust a hand into the effigy, shattering stone. Sadly, the fantasy was an ineffectual substitute for the reality of flesh.

Urgent cravings suddenly consumed him. Due to the strenuous activities of the last seven days, he had built up quite a ferocious appetite. If he was lucky. He was always lucky! While on his many scheduled visits, perhaps he would find something tasty to gnaw upon. His tongue darted out, whetting his lips in eagerness of the feast.

Cognizant that anticipation made a most appetizing marinate, he decided to change his apparel prior to commencing his duties. Something silky that emphasised his height and impressive physique. First, a long overdue nap to restore his energies.

"Alas, so much to do and so little time. Tick-tock-tick-tock, time stops for no... man." He smiled to himself.

The smile became a grin, the grin a giggle. The giggle became laughter that growled monstrously out of control.



"Did I not promise our paths would cross again, flower-petal?" A hulking figure twisted, wriggled and glided out of the mirror and into the mansion's hallway, eclipsing the sunlight pouring in through the open door. The air became stifling, oozing with a hint of blood-red hues and streaks of black serpentine spirals.

The man wore a luxurious, velvet hooded robe. The hem, as if caught up in a breeze, billowed and pirouetted like a demented prima-ballerina. With every floaty movement, Melina caught sight of a pair of knee-high, diamond polished, onyx-black boots. And from within the depths of the hood that screened his face, a cigar smouldered between blistered lips.

Wheezing and grunting, he expelled a thick stream of pungent tobacco smoke into her face. He grinned spitefully when she gagged, presenting a set of deformed, nicotine-stained teeth.

"I believe this is yours." A pristine, white-gloved hand appeared before her; weaving around his wiggling fingers, a red scrunchy. Melina absentmindedly reached out, only to have it snatched out of her grasp. "Please, do allow me."

With a swish of his robe, he sidled around her. After ditching the cigar with a negligent flick, he roughly gathered a handful of her hair. The elasticated binding pulled at the strands. Task completed, she was then twirled around.

Bending over, his face delved into the crook of her neck. "Ah, silky." Searing heat sizzled her skin as his wet saliva-slick tongue flickered, vibrating grotesquely over her pounding pulse. "Sweet."

Revulsion strummed Melina's every cell. She recoiled, yet was unable to escape. An unexplained paralysis imprisoned her. He continued nuzzling, slickly traversing the jaw line before a stubble-hardened cheek pressed against hers.

"Did you think you could hide forever, flower-petal? Do you _still_ not understand? We are mated. Our souls entwined," he whispered, his guttural voice compelling.

"There, there, nothing to fear. My intentions are pure—for the moment." Her chin was grabbed in a bruising hold. "But when our time arrives, you shall experience the savagery you continue to incite within me. As you once conspired to starve me, so shall you replenish my body and appease my hunger."

He jerked Melina's head towards his with an almost neck-breaking twist. Mashing blistered lips to hers, she was subjected to a pillaging kiss. Bitterness and hate laced the thick, too large tongue that thrust deep within, raping the inner recesses.

Throat raw with the need to cry out, she mentally struggled against the creature tormenting her. Why couldn't she scream? Why didn't he understand she was innocent? Where was Gabriel, he had promised to always keep her safe? Melina wasn't sure what frightened her more, the monster assaulting her or the disjointed, unexplainable thoughts writhing in her head.

With seeming reluctance, he pushed away from her. "By all that is ungodly, you are a miracle of creation. Despite my years of incarceration you inflame me like no other."

Melina's eyes followed the glide of a jagged, bluish-tinted tongue whipping around his lips. "Ambrosia of the gods," he hummed. "Would you but give yourself willingly unto my hands; the fires of our cravings would equal the greatness of the flames of hell." He shuddered, scrubbing his hands over arms, as if he were chilled. "Ummm, the mere thought of your pretty flesh pressed against my nakedness, chills me to the bone."

Abruptly standing erect, he fussed over his attire. "Regrettably... first you must return unto me that which is mine." Misinterpreting her bewilderment, he added teasingly, "Ah, you still gain pleasure from toying with me. So be it, sweet-morsel, play your tantalising games. I will wait a _little_ longer."

Curling his gloved-fingers around her straggly ponytail, he yanked hard. Melina tumbled into his waiting arms, fearful as a newborn facing a salivating jaguar. Flipping his robe, he trapped her within its velvet embrace.

At that exact second the paralysis abandoned her. With all her physical stamina she raged against the smothering blackness. Her thoughts churned and boiled. She was no longer a victim, suppressed and beaten. Never again would she submit to another's cruelties.

Blind, winded, her energies focused on fighting the suffocating cocoon, she was unaware she'd shrieked out her thoughts.

"Never will I suppress you. Nor do I wish you to submit. Fight! Kick! Claw! After all, a marauder must first stalk its prey." Mouth to ear, he grated through the black folds, "Indeed, does not the pursuit of the hunt enhance one's appetite?"

Then in a playful sing-song, "Tick-tock-tick-tock, what's the time, Mr Wolf?" He shook her roughly and demanded, "What is the time? Tell me if you dare!"

Soft velvet slithered into Melina's mouth and down her throat, gagging her into silence. "It is _payback_ time. And as Divinity oft says...payback's a bitch!"



"Melina? Melina? Darling kitten, are you okay?" Mr Grimes asked.

"I-I'm fine," she stuttered, unable to take her horrified gaze off her tormentor as he disappeared into a whorl of cigar smoke. "C-c-could I have a g-glass of water, p-please?"

"Of course, my dear."

Left standing in the hallway, she heard the rapid clack-clack of heels rushing to fulfil her request. A moment later her fingers were being forced apart before a cold glass eased into her fisted hand. She trembled so violently, half the contents spilled before reaching her mouth.

Misconstruing her turbulent state, Mr Grimes stroked her shoulder-blade. "I can be so dense," he berated himself. "When I came here the day after Divinity's death, I collapsed on her bed and cried for hours."

"I-I..." Melina couldn't find the energy to contradict him.

"Not another word. My tactlessness has caused you enough suffering." He gave her a consoling hug. "Let me take you home, kitten. I insist you allow yourself to grieve as long as necessary."



Euphrates Grimes led a docile Melina back to his Ferrari. A turquoise confection customised to match Divinity's scintillating eyes. The _V12. 599 GTB Fiorano_ had been an early anniversary present.

Generosity of heart had been but one of Divinity's numerous _virtues_.

Breathing deep, he inhaled Melina's subtle perfume into his lungs. For a number of years, much to Divinity's consternation, he'd been mesmerised by Melina. He'd closely watched the misfit mature from a withdrawn child to a gawky teenager, and finally into a voluptuous woman that stirred his libido like a bastard in heat.

Euphrates had frequently conjectured as to how anyone with such a gentle heart could have tumbled into their league of debauchery and immorality. Only two pathways led to the exclusive entrance into their world; one by invitation, the other by way of trail deliberately laid and trap set.

Glancing sideways, he appraised the supple roundness of Melina's sashaying rump. Every other step her hip bumped his, leaving him light-headed. She carried a lushness he fantasized about sinking his hands into. He admired that while her legs were a little short; they ultimately led to strong-looking thighs that would easily stretch to hook around his waist.

Oh! How truly splendid to feel the ripple of blood surging into his cock!

On the very day of Divinity's death, so, too, had his libido died. To Euphrates, sex _was_ the meaning of life. Without sex being the main exponent of his everyday existence, he'd become suicidal. He'd tried everything from masturbation, to playing with his vast collection of toys, to propositioning drugged-up prostitutes on street corners. Nothing had so much as stirred his fervour.

Until, he spied Melina from over Divinity's casket. Unbeknownst to her, his acidic-lime gaze had sketched her hour-glass figure encased within a dress that amorously hugged her curvature. She was not as toned as he preferred his female companions to be, but still, there was something confusingly ethereal about her.

Once seated, Euphrates leaned across the buffed-green leather console to buckle Melina's seatbelt. His actions unhurried, he deliberately shouldered a breast. He became spellbound by the supple yield of her enticing globe. His palms burned with the necessity to fondle the flesh peeking over a modest décolletage. His manhood twitched, needing to dip with hedonistic abandonment into her cleavage.

Flipping the ignition, Euphrates revved the engine. Clenching his hands around the steering wheel, he forced himself to concentrate on accelerating the exquisite vehicle back down the driveway.

Recent years had proved impossible to find a dedicated partner who appreciated his proclivities. Some called him a perverted old codger; while his psychiatrist insisted he'd been groomed, from an influential age, by an odious predator into believing sex was the be-all and end-all.

Poppycock!

Folderol!

He was, in actuality, a trained connoisseur of orgasmic delights. Consequently, a month ago, further persuaded by Divinity, he'd ceased attending the therapy sessions. He of all people would know if he'd been abused by a so-called _predator_.

Indeed, he'd only been with two women he classed as true lovers: Divinity, who introduced him both physically and mentally to the salacious delights of the flesh, and his beloved Philomena...

Euphrates' chest juddered with pain. That was whom Melina reminded him of: Fresh. Clean. Innocent.

_Must not think of Philomena_ he mentally admonished. For if he dwelled on the memories he'd then have to acknowledge his betrayal. The nightmares and the scars carved on his chest were punishment enough. He would focus instead on befriending Melina, fool her into trusting him. Furthermore, since Divinity had basically left Melina destitute, he was optimistic he could cajole her into his waterbed with the offering of a sizeable financial incentive.

After all, as Divinity had substantiated throughout their sordid relationship, everyone had a price, no matter the strength of their principles.

Suddenly the envisioned years of loneliness vanished.

~ CHAPTER TWO ~

"What I need to get myself back on track is a chocolate-éclair," Melina declared on entering her apartment, lugging along the box containing Divinity's 'token of affection' that Mr Grimes had shoved into her arms after she'd declined both his offer of assistance, and a sensual shoulder massage to help release the tension of her grief.

"Surprise, surprise, there's one waiting for me in the fridge." She refused to further dwell on her psychotic episode. She'd given herself a stern talking to and concluded that her trip into the _land-of-freaky_ had been due to a lack of chocolaty-sustenance. She glanced at her wristwatch: six-thirty. "Seven hours—no wonder I'm delirious."

Besides, she'd always had a somewhat warped imagination. As a child, many of her homemade toys, created from household waste, had been psychologically and physically traumatised by the numerous quests she'd forced them to undertake. She'd even had an imaginary friend who'd been her steadfast buddy through the worst moments of her young life. Despite reaching the age of twenty-six, although she no longer _saw_ her _friend_ , she still conversed with the one guaranteed to never let her down.

In fact, Melina planned to wipe the blasted incident from her memory. The first eighteen years of her existence had been a disaster, consequently eight years ago she had made a New Year's resolution she'd not detracted from: when faced with overwhelming situations, she simply walked away from any potential problems by pretending they didn't exist.

"Ah... Home Sweet Home," she sighed, dropping the box and slamming the door closed.

Melina stiffened. About now the recently installed, state-of-the-art security system should've been attempting to perforate her eardrums. She was sure she'd set the alarm before departing that morning. Then again. "Silly, you forgot to activate it. Nothing unusual there. Now, if Ethan..."

She left the sentence unfinished as she tapped her security password into a wall-mounted panel and reset the system. "Man-oh-man, now that really would be the icing on top of the second crappiest day of my life: A lecture on the statistical probabilities of defenceless women being assaulted in their own homes."

After finishing with the percentile and numerical data, Ethan would proceed to bring out the dreaded visual aids: the graphs and pie-charts that _she'd_ spent hours compiling for his meetings with prospective clients. And, if she dared show the slightest inclination of nodding off during his diatribe, he'd pull out his final tools of torture: an A4 notepad and permanent markers; with swift, bold lines of black and violent smudges of red, he'd draw diagrams of matchstick women being bludgeoned by matchstick men.

"Perhaps, I should draw a few diagrams of my own for Ethan—of matchstick men being stomped into the ground by screeching, homicidal, chainsaw-wielding matchstick women."

Melina patted her stomach as it gurgled again. "Okay, okay, chocolaty treat on its way. I've got to get rid of these stockings first, though. God only knows how Lilijana talked me into buying these expensive scraps in the first place."

Lilijana's accented purr intruded into her thoughts. _"Stockings are sexy, Melina. Nothing turns a man's head faster than a flash of silk and skin."_

Melina snorted. "Why doesn't anyone believe me when I say I'm not interested in turning any man's head?"



Standing before the full-length mirror in her bedroom, Melina was reluctant to acknowledge the sliver of trepidation that seized her. In reassurance, she rechecked her middle finger. "Perfect. Not so much as a paper cut. See, nothing but my own vivid imagination playing tricks on me."

Wanting to divert herself, she brushed the soft fabric of the black dress she'd purchased especially for Divinity's funeral; the over-priced, sophisticated garment—pure frivolous decadence that would no doubt end up in the back of her wardrobe, never to be seen again. As were the hold-ups Lilijana had insisted she wear, instead of her usual leg-wear of tights with support zones that _allegedly_ gave enhanced contouring and shaping to the female form.

Shimming out of the frock, she draped it over a vanity stool. She admired the sheer-black, silk stockings topped with a jacquard lace band. With the added effect of a gold chain adorning her right ankle, her legs appeared sleeker. Unfortunately, the purplish-red indentations marring her upper thighs, left by the elasticised bands, ruined the sensuous effect.

Melina already had two passionate indulgences and didn't intend pandering to a third. The first was a fine gold chain encircling her waist. The length of shimmering metal gave her waistline the illusion of sylphlike curves. The second, an accumulation of beautifully designed, super-supportive lace brassieres. At a far-from-dainty cup-size, she needed the support of scaffolding, albeit stunningly sexy scaffolding. On too hot days like today, she'd willingly barter her soul to go without, as did those women with super-model figures wearing skimpy skirts and itsy-bitsy halter-tops.

"If I ran around without a bra, I'm liable to smack someone's eye out. Oh, what the heck. After the day I've had, I deserve a little comfort." Reaching back, she unhooked the bra and threw it in the general direction of the bed.

A soft wolf-whistle of appreciation caught Melina unawares. Spinning round, she froze at the sight of a tall, broad-shouldered man exiting _her_ bathroom. Lord be praised, he was all muscle, and strength and virile masculinity. Men with a sizzling sexual aura hot enough to cause blisters didn't usually walk out of her bathroom.

Melina had always wished for a fairy-tale life, but this was bordering on the insane; first the magic mirror and the wicked witch, now, somehow, the bathroom had mystically taken on properties much like _that_ magic wardrobe, from whence Prince 'whoo-hoo' Charming had just exited. What next? If she looked under her bed would she find seven cross-dressing dwarfs hiding out from a corset-wearing, vampire-hunting, whip-wielding Snow White?

As for her bra, it dangled saucily from the man's hand like an engraved invitation to sin; the wet, lush, very naughty erotic kind of sin that made a woman want to tie herself to the bed and make several salacious demands.

"Lady, I hope _my_ imagination isn't playing tricks on _me_. And, as much as I'd love to have you finish stripping, I thought you'd want to know you have company. But, _please, I'm begging you,_ don't feel compelled to cover those amazing breasts on my account."

Moving towards _her_ bed he lay down, then, rolled onto his side like a stealthy, sleek predatory animal, as if the position afforded him a better viewpoint of the meal he intended to devour one-orgasm-inducing nip at a time.

"Mercy and sweet heaven, you have a body that makes me want to drop to my knees and personally thank God." His heated gaze roamed her partial nudity with sexual intimacy. "Sadly, I'm going to have to take a rain-check. After a few hours though, I'd be happy to show you how _good_ I am when I'm down on my knees." After an almost expectant silence, he added, "With my face between those luscious thighs."

The mischievous glint in his midnight eyes caressed Melina with familiarity. An evocative memory niggled the back of her mind before fading. His words and the situation suddenly hit her befuddled mind. Grabbing her dress, she draped it across her 'amazing' form before letting out a banshee-like scream.

"Melina? What are you doing here?" Lilijana rushed in to be met by the sight of a practically naked Melina, her face lobster-red; and a man curled up on the mattress and gripping his head.

"Last time I checked I lived here!" Melina wasn't surprised by Lilijana's appearance. Ethan had a key to her apartment and tended to make himself at home whenever the mood struck.

"Shoot, I guess you didn't read Ethan's text message. Not to worry, he'll explain everything when he gets back."

"Gets back? From where?"

"The bottomless-pit went shopping. Your fridge and cupboards are bare of anything resembling real food. What on earth do you eat?"

"Microwave meals, tinned products, takeaways and anything with the word 'instant' on the packet." Melina then pointed at the bed. " _What. Is. That_?"

They both eyed the groaning man in question. "We're so sorry," Lilijana apologised. Taking a firm hold of Melina's forearm, she started backing out of the room. "You go on back to sleep, honey. I promise we won't disturb you again." She cast a brief glance at Melina's semi-nudity. "That is, after we grab something to wear."

"To hell with something to wear! And why are _we_ apologising?" The truth of the situation abruptly smacked Melina full in the face. "Are you out of your ever-lovin-freakin-minds?" she squeaked. "Oh my God! Oh my God! I thought you two were joking. Trying to gross me out because you think I'm a prude."

Melina's airways tightened up. She'd definitely exceeded her stress quota for the week, at this rate there was a distinct possibility she may need to be sectioned in a secure mental establishment. "Prince Charming... you...he...Ethan... Prince Charming... you're going to do that threesome thing... in _my_ bed!"

A muffled but firm command beleaguered her tirade. "Lilijana, get her the hell out of here before I do something I'm not likely to regret." Flipping to lay on his belly, the man grasped a pillow and held it over his head.

"I'm not budging until _he_ gets his big boots off my mum's crocheted quilt and his butt out of _my_ home." Heavens above, the situation had trademark-Divinity stamped all over it. "No way in freakin' hell are you three using my apartment. Go find some cheap, cockroach infested motel. In fact, I hope the cockroaches infect your dangly bits."

"Hush now. You need to chill-out sweetheart, you're hyperventilating." Lilijana rhythmically patted Melina's bare back.

"I _am_ chilled," Melina gritted out on a constricted wheeze.

"Could've fooled me. Okay here goes." Lilijana took a deep breath. "There's no orgy taking place in your apartment or anywhere, now or _ever_ for that matter. This gorgeous _unmarried_ Prince Charming-esque man, and might I also add scrumptiously sexy and _single_ , is _your_ personal top-of-the-range, _not-currently-in-a-relationship_ , guaranteed-never-to-break-down come-rain-wind-or-shine... bachelor bodyguard."

Ignoring the fact that mention of the man's single status sent a zing through her bloodstream, Melina took the only course of action a borderline hysterical woman could take in such situations. Her scream, shrill enough to melt lead, was however immediately accompanied by the blare of the security alarm, which in turn was instantaneously followed by a hulking giant crashing into her bedroom with murder in his eyes.

"Turn that bloody thing off!" The man on the bed jerked and doubled over in obvious pained agony.

A second later silence reigned. Returning from his task of disarming the alarm with what sounded like a fierce thump-thump-crack, Ethan commanded, "Explain. Now!"

Melina started to speak, however the stranger beat her to it with a growled, "Please, let me, you've said more than enough." He waved an accusing finger at Ethan. "You said she was a sweetie. You promised she'd be a synch to babysit," he accused, his breath laboured. "You never once mentioned _prone to hysteria_ and _drama queen_. And, _she_ stripped down to just her panties in front of _me—_ then had the audacity to accuse _your_ girlfriend of setting up a threesome. Worst of all, her scream has turned what remains of my brain into road-kill!"

"I haven't stripped down to _just_ my panties. I'm also wearing tights and high heals and an ankle chain..." she grumbled indignantly.

"Sorry, bro, it's been a tough few weeks. I swear, normally munchkin is adorable." Reaching over, Ethan ruffled Melina's hair.

"Whatever! Get her away from me or so help me I'm outta here. That's after I've done that stalker of hers a favour by shipping her decapitated body parts to the Antarctica."

"Hey, Mr Bodyguard, a moment ago _you_ were eyeing my _body parts_ like a starving T-Rex would a rack of barbecued ribs," Melina interjected belligerently.

"Well, if you're gonna put _your rack_ on display, Ms Drama-Queen...!" without warning, he jumped up and slammed back into the bathroom.

"So much for _top-of-the-range, guaranteed-never-to-break-down come-rain-wind-or-shine_ _._ " Melina turned on Ethan. "What's wrong with him?"

Worry marring his exquisitely handsome features, Ethan looked down from his considerable height. "Addy just flew in from Bahrain. He doesn't take to flying. Gets these bad migraines when he's stressed."

"Oh, double-damn freakin' hell, y _our brother Addy?_ "

"Yep. And since _you've_ made him worse, _you_ can take care of him." Dipping into his back pocket, Ethan eased out a box of maximum-strength pain relievers. "Be extra nice, brat, or so help me, I'll make good on his threat of shipping out your body parts."

Snatching the box out of his hand, Melina furiously stomped after her so-called bodyguard. If she'd learnt one definitive absolute about Ethan Hunter-Khalil, was that his love for his brother was obsessive and neurotically protective.

"Hey, Melina, before you go play nurse, cover yourself up and, this time keep your bloody clothes on. I asked Addy here to protect you, not for a fucking booty-call."

Backtracking, Melina opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of red leggings and matching top. "Ethan, why don't you...!" The bedroom door clicked shut before she'd completed her explicit and succinct suggestion.

Melina found Addy leaning over the washbasin, rinsing out his mouth with cold water. Sighing, she reached around him and snagged a new toothbrush from inside a gaily painted cabinet. Squirting on a glob of minty-fresh stripped toothpaste, she passed it over to him. He took it with a grunt she chose to assume was gratitude.

Finished, he turned to face her. Tight lines bordered his lushly lashed, feverish midnight-dark eyes, while a faint patina of perspiration coated his garish complexion. "What?"

"I'm sorry. If I'd known you were ill, I would've waited for you to recover before I started screaming." Taking a broad, long-fingered hand into hers, she tipped two white pills into his palm.

"Arsenic?"

"Painkillers." Unconsciously, she stroked the underside of his hard hand, gently scrapping her nails over his scarred knuckles. Once again she experienced a tingle of recognition.

"May I have my hand back?" Melina removed her grip, her smile reticent. While he swallowed the medication, without liquid lubrication, she rinsed a flannel in tepid water. Standing on tiptoe, she pressed it to his forehead.

Addy grabbed her wrist. "Don't be such a baby. I'm just going to wipe the sweat off your face."

Giving her a _she's-going-to-castrate-me-in-my-sleep_ look, he allowed her to sponge-down his face. "My, you're tall. I bet all your women have to climb a ladder to kiss you."

"Lady, don't even think about it. That sharp tongue of yours is liable to slit open my jugular from the inside."

Far from taking offence, Melina giggled. "The thought never crossed my mind. After all, I do have standards."

"Amen for standards. Now if you don't mind, I intend to climb into _your_ bed and hopefully sleep." As an afterthought he added, "I'd be obliged if you stuffed that flannel in your gob and kept quiet for a while."

Melina stuck out her tongue at his retreating back.

"I saw that." Groaning, Addy collapsed onto the mattress. "Brat, take a hike."

"Jeez, and you called _me_ a drama queen." Deliberating her own sanity, she sat down cross-legged beside him. Pointing to the cradle formed by her intertwined legs, she instructed, "Here, put your head on my lap."

"Go away, little girl, I'm too tired for whatever game you're initiating."

"Look, Mister, drop the attitude and name calling." Melina rapped his shoulder in reprimand. "I'm going to help get rid of that headache." When she saw his mouth open to no doubt deliver another caustic retort, she further explained, "My Aunt Jean suffered from migraines that left her incapacitated for days. She could have up to four a week if she put her mind to it," she stated, her tone blatant with disgust.

"Anyway, Jean had me study head massage techniques from an educational video. Seemed to work wonders on her."

Addy's glare intensified as if assessing her mental state. "Quit procrastinating, I want you in perfect health for when I kick you out."

"Sweet kid, aren't you."

"Thanks. You're kinda cute yourself. Now, be a good baby boy and obey. I promise not to draw blood unless absolutely necessary."

"Baby boy? Are you always this bossy or am I just privileged?" Despite his grumbling, Addy complied, manoeuvring his head into the cradle she'd indicated. With considerable gentleness, she smoothed a hand over his scalp and across his forehead. His temples literally throbbed with the heat of his pain.

"I have a bad feeling babysitting you is going to be a nightmare. I should charge Ethan danger money."

"Then isn't it lucky you're going to be spared that headache. No pun intended." She grinned. "You'll be leaving soon as you can stand up without throwing up. Now hush and relax."

Melina's hands shaped his jaw. Dark bristles tickled her fingertips as she massaged away the tension. Her hands slipped beneath the neckline of his T-shirt, kneading his broad shoulders. Oh God, his body was hot, and so firm. She wanted to score her nails across his back as a mark of ownership; maybe have _property of Melina_ tattooed into the small of his back. Umm perfect. She'd trace each tattooed letter with her tongue while slowly inching down his jeans and baring his tight biteable ass. Shocked, she wondered where those naughty thoughts kept coming from. She hadn't enjoyed touching a man since...

A soft stroke contoured the underside of her jaw. "Who hurt you?" Addy's stern gaze and pursed lips unnerved her. His other hand cupped the nape of her neck, his grip possessive, as he held her head in place when she tried to pull away.

"I walked into a door."

He let loose a crude expletive. "Doors don't have fingers. Now, tell me so I can rip his balls off?"

She kept silent, unwilling to profess her altercation with a hallucination. "No wonder Ethan asked for my help. You keep too many secrets, Melina."

Ignoring him, she continued her massage. Before long, the rigidity drained from his muscular body. Melina silently gasped when his head shifted upwards, resting directly upon the softness of her feminine mound. He made a soft rumbling sound of contentment as he sank deeper into her warmth.

Ethan peered around the door. "We'll be making a move now. Since there's no blood-spray on the walls, dare I assume you're okay with this new arrangement?" he asked in a whisper.

"Oh, no you don't and, hell, no I'm not. You're not going anywhere until we've had a discussion. This time I'll do the talking and _you_ can do the listening."

"Damn, Ethan, you have the worst timing." Addy mumbled as Ethan left the room, a grimace pursing his lips.

Reaching up, Addy scrunched a handful of hair and tugged her head down until his lips brushed the bruises under her chin. The silken fall enclosed them within an intimate cocoon of intensity and heated breathes. "Brat, when you have this discussion where you do all the talking, could you please not act out your screeching-hussy impersonation."

Lifting his head off her lap, Melina then tucked a pillow beneath it. "Go to sleep, Mr Bodyguard, before I forget my manners and toss you out of _my_ bed."

"I prefer being called Price Charming," Eyes still closed, Addy rolled over onto his belly. "And I'd most definitely prefer to be tossed off in _your_ bed while I suck on your..."

Despite her command to the contrary, Melina caught Ethan and his girlfriend attempting to escape. She'd only dawdled long enough to splash cold water over her blushing cheeks and dab concealer onto the bruises under her jaw prior to confronting the pair.

"Get back in here!"

"It's Ethan's fault," Lilijana promptly defended herself.

"Hey! You're the one who suggested we sneak Addy in while Melville was out."

"Sneaking Addy in was _your_ idea. _I suggested_ you buy her a humongous box of her pick-and-mix favourites, and then _sneak_ Addy into _the conversation_ while she was in a chocolate-induced-happy-stupor," Lilijana insisted.

"For that kind of conversation, I'd need to put her in a chocolate-induced-coma. You know how pernickety she is about her _personal_ space. She would've changed the locks, booby-trapped the front door and then had a restraining-order stapled to my forehead." Taking a deep breath, Ethan added rather arrogantly, "Anyway, it's for her own good."

"Well, if it's for _her own good_ , you've got nothing to fear," Lilijana said, her tone sarcastic. "Be a man, stand your ground and tell her straight."

"No, you tell her." Ethan propelled Lilijana towards Melina. "Do that woman-to-woman... men-are-insensitive-bastards... female bonding thing."

"No way, you insensitive bastard!" Lilijana stepped back behind Ethan's impressive physique. "She's _your_ best friend. He's _your_ brother."

_"She_ is still here and _she_ is still waiting for an explanation," Melina cut in. "When you two decide who is 'man enough' to face me, meet me in the kitchen. I'm starving."

Leaving the bickering pair, Melina padded away with the intention of devouring one, or to be totally honest, two scrumptious éclairs. Halfway to her destination, she became side-tracked by an arrangement decorating the coffee table. Despite her scepticism, she moved in for a closer inspection.

At the head of the table rested a compass, its needle pointing east to west. Upon a white napkin, Lilijana referred to as an altar cloth, were several items: Two flaming, red candles, with 'Melina' carved into the wax, perfumed the air with the floral scent of jasmine. Between the two candles were three tarot cards decorated with bright diagrams. Under each picture, written in bold italics were the words, Temperance, Reyne D'epee and La Justice.

A red scrunchie, she recognised as the twin to the one she'd worn earlier, draped over the cards and wrapped around the candles. She gingerly ran her fingers through her now unbound hair.

The final pieces were an antique gold coin and a miniature Russian dagger. Beside the placement sat a gold-embossed card with precise instructions printed in Lilijana's distinctive flowery calligraphy. "Recite: ' _I devote these candles unto my own protection to illuminate the pathway I must traverse. I dedicate Temperance to represent my guardian angel, and the Queen of Swords to represent myself, a warrior combating evil.'"_

Melina dropped the card back onto the table. Enchantments, spells, wizards, and tales of happily-ever-afters... Bah humbug! Lilijana however had faith in all things clairvoyant. Melina would remove the arrangement after Lilijana's departure so as not to offend her.

On entering the kitchen, Melina laughed out loud and clapped her hands like an over exuberant child. Lilijana had left her a large slice of chocolate cake sitting on a mound of clotted cream. Taking a seat at the counter, she grabbed a spoon and scooped a dollop of the addictive confection. She was savouring her third mouthful when Lilijana joined her. "Bless your mama's beautiful heart. How did you know I was desperate for something chocolaty?"

"You're always desperate for something chocolaty." Lilijana grinned, displaying two front teeth embedded with diamonds. "Compliments of Mama. There're four more slices of her special cake in the fridge. Mama's worried you looked bony-thin the last time she visited."

Melina laughed. "Thin! I haven't been acquainted with _thin_ for years." She patted her hips. "In fact, I've forgotten how to spell the word. But more importantly, when is your mama going to give me the recipe for this cake?"

"Sorry, honey, it's a family secret passed down from mother to daughter. It's been that way for eight generations. Mama did say, though, as you're crazy-insane for the sweet stuff, and would probably sell your first born for a box chocolates, she'd make an exception and gift you the secret ingredient on your wedding day."

"Wedding day? Me? Ms Bachelorette Extraordinaire? In a few more years you'll probably find a picture of me on _Wikipedia_ beside the word _spinster_ "

"I thought you wanted babies. You need a man for that; a scrummy, lickable, well-endowed, virile man with plenty of stamina and a high sperm count." Lilijana leered playfully.

"Don't encourage her, Lilijana. The way her luck's running, she'll probably end up dating freakin' Freddy Krueger," a sulky Ethan predicted as he joined them.

Melina smirked. "I guess you lost the argument." Pointing a cream-coated spoon, she directed, "As you so succinctly put it earlier... Explain. Now!"

Ethan dragged a hand through his streaky copper-brown curls. His grey eyes whipped up a storm. "It's your own damned fault, Melville. If you paid attention to my security protocols and remembered to set the fucking alarm _occasionally_ , maybe I wouldn't have been forced to call in reinforcements." He pointed a reproving finger at her. "Our clients pay a fortune for my expertise, while you treat me as a rank amateur," he growled. "For God's sake, you're turning my hair prematurely grey!"

"Hey, as you keep espousing, as handsome as you are, a few grey hairs only add to your charms," Melina quoted.

But it seemed he wasn't in the mood for silliness. "This isn't the time for your usual idiocy. And show some gratitude. Addy travelled all the way from Bahrain at a moment's notice to help us out."

"To help _you_ out. He doesn't even know me."

"You. Me. What's the difference?" Reaching over, he forced a spoonful of cake into her mouth. "The trouble is, I trust the men who work for us, but not when it comes to your safety. Whereas Addy, I'd entrust him with your life. So, until we get a better handle on things, Addy will be cohabitating with you."

"Umm!" Melina hummed as a chunk of butter-icing melted on her tongue but she refused to be further distracted as he aimed another spoonful towards her mouth. "Please define _cohabitating_."

"As in _sharing_ the same living _space_. Addy is sticking to you twenty-four-seven, whether you like it not," Ethan declared, his tone adamant. "However, so there are no misunderstandings, the key phrase is 'sharing the same living space.' You stay in your half of the space, he stays in his half. There'll be no tongue athletics and categorically no exchanging of bodily fluids."

"My, aren't we feeling extra feisty today." Melina twirled her spoon, stabbing the moist cake, imagining it to be Ethan's head. "Okay, for the time being, let's put aside Addy's role, along with my non-existent hanky-panky techniques. Instead, why don't we discuss exactly what's happening to me?" she suggested.

"Nothing. Nada. Zip. We have zilch proof I'm being stalked. There've been no threats, no hate-mail, and no break-ins. I thought alarming every inch of my apartment, to the point where I'm afraid to move in case I set off a siren, was excessive. All for what? Some ridiculous feeling that someone is following me? Or that someone's been in my apartment, but nothing's been taken or moved?"

When Ethan tried to counter, she wielded her spoon with menace. "Those were rhetorical questions. I'm just a little stressed," she insisted. "And I'm entitled. It's not easy working for you. Not to mention, the state of your personal expenses account and lack of corresponding receipts is enough to drive any sane Accountant loopy."

Melina licked the utensil clean before ranting on. "Whatever my problems, the remedy is simple: A fortnight's vacation in some moderately hot country. Let me emphasize, _moderately hot_ , too much sun seems to have a detrimental effect on my mental health," she added remembering her afternoon of craziness. "Since you're so concerned, I'll allow you to loan me your platinum credit card to make the booking."

"Dammit! Why aren't you taking this seriously?" Ethan singed the air with blasphemes guaranteed to earn him a permanent membership to the Fellowship of Satan. "Don't you realise the danger you're in? You've seen _Fatal Attraction_. Things happen."

"Heck, you of all people know I don't have any rejected lovers pining over me. I'm not even on a first name basis with the postman." Melina waggled her eyebrows. "Trust me he's one hot-babe who's made it more than obvious he'd love to lick my stamps."

"I know. I had a quiet word with him last week. He won't be bothering you anymore." Ethan spoke as if he'd done her a monumental favour.

"Brilliant, another potential date bites the dust! At this rate, I'll end up a stereotypical cliché: a shrivelled old spinster with only a houseful of cats and fleas to keep me company."

"Better to die an old spinster then slowly and painfully, riddled with some incurable STD," he said without the slightest remorse. Reaching over, he pulled a lock of her hair in reproach. "I know exactly what you're doing, brat. Distracting me won't work. This time you'll do as you're told."

Lilijana supported Ethan's edict with, "Even I can see some dangerous force is gobbling away at your aura. It's chockfull of holes and cracks."

"Enough you two! I let you booby-trap my apartment. I look both ways before crossing the road. I try not to talk to strangers. I have an attack alarm in my purse and a can of something I'm sure to get arrested for if I ever use it. I even lock my windows at night no matter how hot and stuffy it gets.

"Nothing, absolutely _nothing_ is going to happen to me! Do I make myself clear?"

All three heard, "Screaming hussy," penetrate the wall separating the bedroom from the kitchen.

"Shut-up, Mr Bodyguard, or so help me it'll be snowing in hell before you get to see my sweet rack again!" Melina yelled back.

She couldn't decide who was more surprised by her audacious threat; herself, who'd only once in all her adult years acted so daringly; or Ethan as he turned several shades of embarrassed-red. Addy's timid "Sorry, ma'am," was accompanied by Ethan's blustering, "What the fuck, Melina!"

She held up a silencing hand. "Don't go there, Ethan. Now are we _all_ clear where we stand or do I need to get a frying pan out and start whacking some butt-ugly heads?"

He nodded, far from happy by her lack of cooperation and her unseemly behaviour.

"Don't get me wrong, I love that you all care enough to want to protect me from an imagination that has delusions-of-reality. Nevertheless, this bodyguard thing has skipped into the realms of Hollywood fantasy."

Melina could tell, by the violent throbbing of _that_ thick blue-tinged tendon cording the left side of Ethan's throat, he was considering the viability of pounding some sense into her. In fact he stepped forward, his lips compressed, his fists clenched. Knowing he'd never harm her, she ignored the repressed fury and spoke instead to Lilijana. "What's the spell for?"

"Your protection. After that phone call from Ethan's mother, I knew an incantation was called for," Lilijana explained enthusiastically.

"Phone call from Ethan's mother?" Jumping to her feet, Melina reached for Ethan. "Is Mama Hunter okay?"

"Don't ask fucking stupid questions. My Mother will never be okay, as you fucking well know." Moving away from both women, Ethan straddled the seat Melina had vacated. Snatching up her spoon he proceeded to devour the remaining cake.

Ignoring his tantrum Melina waited until he'd scraped the plate clean, before calmly asking, "What did she say?"

Tapping the spoon against the rim of the plate, Ethan blew out a frustrated breath. "Apparently, she was having one of her _lucid_ moments. Not that it matters, ninety percent of what she says is gibberish."

"Tell me anyway."

"Mother had a visitation from her Inca _spirit-guide_ in the other-world. Word-for-word, her message to you is that an evil spirit with a black heart and blood on his tongue has entered your physical sphere. He's been surviving in the shadows, fed by the acts of an unholy one. Your name is carved into the tips of his fingers. He'll not rest until you've repaid him ten-fold for what you stole."

"What the...! Who needs to worry about non-existent stalkers when you're all conspiring to scare the be-jeepers out of me!"

Exasperated, Melina finally settled onto the couch, her temporary bed for the night. The overstuffed, psychedelic apparatus of torture, a _gift_ from the previous owner of her apartment, was not designed for sleeping on. "To paraphrase Baby Bear _, someone's sleeping in my bed, and he's still there_."

Snagging a blanket, she snuggled into the woollen softness. Despite her exhaustion her mind buzzed. What she needed was something to relax her. Another slice of cake would do the trick. Rising, she almost tripped over the box she'd placed beside the couch. A tatty crisp carton, cheese-and-onion flavour, held together with duct-tape.

Truth be told, Melina hadn't expected so much as a button. Despite Divinity's repeated inferences, she'd never been the beneficiary of copious handouts. Divinity had not parted with a single penny that hadn't first been earned by doing chores for an hourly minimum wage at statutory rates.

Cake forgotten, Melina flipped back the cardboard flaps. The contents within: reams of paper, jam-packed, dog-eared and yellowed with age. Curious, she eased out a wad and began reading the thickly penned, childish scrawl. The ink had faded in places while in others the lettering, smudged and almost illegible.



_Summer 1850 – Seven days earlier, in the_ eerie light of dawn.

_Peter: Ch.3, v.1-2_ _"Wives in the same way be submissive to your husbands so that, if any of them do not believe the word, they may be won over without talk but by the behaviour of their wives, when they see the purity and reverence of your lives."_

Nathaniel Bullivant-Rivage stopped in his tracks, diverted by the howling cries emanating from behind a half-open door. He had returned to visit his wife. He needed counseling on a most delicate matter.

Retracing his steps, he peered within. Exposed by the eerie light of dawn, two figures huddled together upon a cot. Lyris' arms wrapped possessively around an unmoving Gabriel, rocking him... rocking him; the caterwauling discharging from her throat, animalistic in its intensity.

Nathaniel felt his heart melt. Maybe he had treated her too harshly all these years. Even the most malevolent sinner deserved a trace of compassion. His sympathetic thoughts were halted immediately as the agonizing screams of his dead sons haunted his ears.

"Did the schoolmaster show compassion as he suffocated the life from your adorable sons?"

The ghostly screams grew earsplitting. Nathaniel could bear the piercing pain no longer. Placing his hands over his ears he then hammered his head against the brick wall, bidding the terrible noises to become silent once more.

"The sin was his, not the child's," Nathaniel defended.

"And the sins of the father shall be visited upon his children."

"And the Lord God said 'He who has not sinned let him cast the first stone.'"

"Then it is your duty to cast the first stone. For you are purity personified. The chosen one. You must obey. To disobey holy laws is to rebuff His Holiness."

The words 'chosen one' diverted Nathaniel's attention. Was not the phrase 'the chosen one' another term for prophet? That would indeed be something wondrous to aspire to. Prophet!

"Yes. Yes, of course. I was born to abide by His laws." With a perfunctory last glance, Nathaniel abandoned the grieving malefactor.

He stopped once more, this time before a secured door. Tentatively, he turned the key and entered. Bright light temporarily blinded, while heat emanating from hundreds of flaming candles singed him.

Gracing the center of the room, a splintering rocking chair, to which was tethered his beloved wife.

Emma Laura Theresa Bullivant-Rivage rocked back-and-forth-back-and-forth; a reflection of the scene he had previously witnessed.

Alas, Emma's arms were not burdened with flesh, dead or otherwise. Instead she embraced wooden dolls in the crook of each arm, wrapped within fabric, old and filthy-gray with age. The dolls' carved features smoothed from years of warm kisses.

"Hush, my dears, lie still and slumber; holy angels guard thy beds! Heavenly blessings without number, gently falling on thy heads."

"Good morning, Emma."

"Shush, you will waken the babies," she whispered. "Luke and Mathew were fretful all night. They wanted their father. As usual he was nowhere to be found," she accused, never taking her gaze from the dolls. "How much better thou'rt attended, than the Son of God could be, when from heaven he descended, and became child like thee!"

Kneeling, Nathaniel patted her knees. "There was a fire at the new school. I had parishioners to console; troubled souls to pray for; the sick and lame to attend to." Nathaniel explained. "Tick-tock-tick-tock, so much to do and so little time. The duties of a true preacher are neverending."

Her lips twisted. "Ah, yes, the duties of a true preacher are neverending."

He ignored the sarcasm; the madness made her so. "Are you not well, Emma? The physician mentioned your lack of appetite."

"Not hungry."

"You must eat. Who will look after the babies if you are stricken, my love?"

Emma's face contorted. Bruised, blood-pumping veins throbbed at her temples, so vivid against her pasty skin. "I am not your love, horrid man!" Outraged, she flung the dolls across the room so hard they crashed against the walls with resounding thuds. Lunging forward, she thrust her nose against his.

Her eyes overflowed with hatred. The black pupils expanded, obliterating the blue irises. Her once golden-copper mane, now lackluster and matted, framed a misshapen face; the right side smooth almost youthful, the other hideously scarred.

"I detest you!"

"Shhh... you are tired. Come sit on the bed. I shall give you your special medicine. It will help you forget." Rising, he held out his gloved hand, offering assistance.

Emma slapped it away, standing without his aid. Agitated, she limped around the room. Her uneven gait made a clicking-clacking sound. Chains clamped to her ankle scraped and ground away at concrete. Over these twenty years, the heavy metal had eroded the flooring, leaving behind deep ruts.

Nathaniel abhorred seeing his wife trussed up no better than a condemned prisoner. But what other choice was left him? She had devoted herself to a world of madness. As he had lovingly explained, the nine-hundred-and-ninety-eight times she attempted to escape her safe haven, the outside world was a dangerous place for someone of her fragile constitution.

"Nothing could make me forget. Never was there a wickeder man than you. Mark my words, the dead will find a voice and your secrets will be found out." Emma smirked. "What will your insignificant puppets think of their respected preacher, then?"

"Calm yourself!"

"Calm myself? How impudent! I am trapped in this cauldron of hate, because of you. My babies are dead, because of you." With a swiftness and strength belying her crippled form, she pounced upon him and wrapped her emaciated fingers around his throat. Her cracked, bluish-gray nails squeezed his Adam's apple.

"Emma, try to remember... Schoolmaster Anderson killed our babies. He made me hurt you," he asserted. "At long last, I have devised a suitable punishment. This very day we shall be avenged." The righteous preacher proceeded to whisper his sadistic intent into her ear.

Truly he loved his wife. She was his advocate, never interrupting nor criticizing his ideas.

When he finished formulating his plan, Emma released her grip upon his throat. Her frantic gaze searched the room. Spying the doll Luke, she scooped him up off the floor before limping over to retrieve the other doll, Mathew.

"Mischievous imps, how many times must Mummy tell you not to play on the bare floors? You might injure yourselves." She then glared at Nathaniel. "How many times must I tell you, I require a rug for this room? Do you not care that our sons might hurt themselves?"

"What a question! I love you all. Without you, I am incomplete." He reached out to touch her. She jerked away.

"Prove it, so that I may rest without worry for their safety."

"Tomorrow, I promise. You shall have the finest rug in the entire world. Only the very best for our sons."

Dismissing him, Emma shuffled and clanked back to her chair. Once seated, she commenced rocking.

Nathaniel surveyed the space in which Emma lived her tormented life. The starkness contrary to the _splendour_ he had accustomed her to. A single cot, covered with muslin sheets, stood in a corner. Beside the barred and blackened widows, were two cradles that had been handcrafted by his nemesis, the late Connor Claybourne. Though he had detested the man, he had known there was no greater carpenter than Connor, and had willingly parted with his money and his pride.

He touched the twin cradles, stroking the polished wood. Many a night in the past, he had sat beside them, watching his sons sleep so very deep, as only the virtuous of heart were apt to do. Even now, the cribs absent of their occupants, swayed, never ceasing their soothing motions.

The remainder of the room was barren. The walls whitewashed and brightened by candles placed on every shelf, nook and cranny. Emma feared the dark, claiming she could see the countenance of evil that rode upon his back.

Pitiful creature! One day she would realize everything he did was for the salvation of her and Obsidian-Veil.

"I must leave. Tick-tock-tick-tock... always so much to do and so little time." Nathaniel kissed the crown of her head; almost flinching at the putrid foulness that encrusted his lips. "Rest well, beloved."

As he relocked the door, he heard Emma say out loud, "And the sins of the father shall be visited upon his children."

His head bowed in humble triumph. Suddenly his burden seemed less cumbersome. Like an exuberant child, he skipped and hopped out of the building while bellowing out a rousing hymn.

Emma eased back the swaddling that concealed her babies' precious faces. Luke and Mathew wriggled and cooed, their Cupid-like smiles a joy to behold. The light of love so illuminated her features that her scars disappeared.

"Sweet darlings, I kept my promise. His sins can harm us no more. His depravity cannot penetrate the light."

Contradicting her assurance, an unnatural draught circled the room, extinguishing the candles one-by-one. A sinister movement shifted, meandering, twisting, and swirling towards her.

Emma held her babies protectively as they wailed in terror. "God destroy you, Nathaniel... you left the beast behind!"

It sniggered. The snigger became a sneer. The sneer... laughter. Laughter that hissed monstrously.

The physician huddled into the mattress, burying his head beneath a well-stuffed pillow. As always his wife slept serenely beside him. The sounds of Lyris' grieving lament and Emma's manic screams, numbed by Laudanum and the shots of rum she imbibed habitually throughout the day.

"Today... today we shall flee Obsidian-Veil or perish trying!"



"As much as I love a scary story, some things are best read in the daytime, amongst a large crowd, maybe in a spot-lit football stadium."

A strange, menacing sensation glided and coiled around each vertebra of Melina's spine. "Quit walking on my grave," she mumbled, drawing the blanket in tighter.

She wriggled for several minutes attempting to find a comfortable spot for her suddenly aching lower back. The more she manoeuvred however, the lumpier and harder the couch seemed. Aggravated, she started to rise, only to stop in mid-motion at the sound of tearing fabric. The breath lodged in her throat when she peered over her shoulder. The lumpy cushions were gone, replaced by a void containing a crushed skeleton. Her nightshirt was being clawed by blackened elongated digits, dragging her downwards: downwards into the depths of its bony embrace.

"I won't allow you to defeat me! His brother's cries will reach his ears even in death. I must fulfil my promise else he will believe I deceived him."

Dagger-sharp bones pierced her skin, burrowing into flesh. Heated rivulets of blood dribbled from the jagged wounds. Hope lost and spirit broken, she lay upon the skeletal-bed. All her life her lover had been her friend and hero, he had saved her from torture and torment. Like a knight of old, he had faced the maddening crowd and emerged her saviour. He'd asked nothing in return except a promise to shield his brother.

She had failed him.

He would never forgive her.

~ CHAPTER THREE ~

Adamas Dhamir Khalil nestled into a feather-soft pillow. He shook his head, trying to clear his woozy mind, wandering what had roused him. Melina's delicate hands had worked as a powerful narcotic, leaving him almost comatose. It had been forever since he'd slept so peacefully; the memories and nightmares had been amazingly silent.

Then a wild scream ripped the night. Kicking off the bedcovers, he rushed into the living room to find Melina struggling to free herself of the tangled blanket.

"Melina." Sitting down beside her, he gently rubbed her shoulder.

"Somebody help me! I am innocent!" Her right fist skimmed his cheek, followed by the left.

"Jeez, Melina!" Restraining her flailing limbs, he calmly reassured, "Wake up, my little love. No one's going to hurt you. I promise. You're safe with me."

As if responding to his promise, she stilled. Warm cinnamon-brown eyes flickered, blinded over with fear. Breath soughed through flaring nostrils. Her teeth scraped her lower lip so hard she drew blood.

Adam swiped the red smear. Unconsciously, his thumb slipped between her lips, stroking her tongue as it peeked out. His body went on immediate alert at the feel of her wet heat. An unrequited sexual need slashed at him. His eyes bore into hers, demanding she assuage his every craving.

Melina's teeth clamped his thumb within a vicious bite.

"Damn, that violent streak of yours is still alive-and-kickin'!" he complained, checking for broken skin.

Catching him further unawares, a foot rammed into his hip, tumbling him off the edge of the couch. He landed on the carpet in an ungainly sprawl. Unperturbed, he grinned up at Melina like a cartoon cat that had just dined on a fat, juicy canary. Cliché or not, she was beautiful when riled; she had at eighteen, and even more so eight years on.

"God, I've missed you, Melina."

"Jackass!"

"Hey, what's with the snotty attitude? You wanted my hands on you as much as I wanted them there. In fact, not only did you insist, you gave some pretty sexy directions."

"I was a kid, how the hell did I know what I wanted!"

"My lovable baby-girl, you were born all woman. My sweet, hot woman."

"You...!" Snatching a pillow from under her head, she thwacked him. Laughing, he happily took the blow.

Cursing without compunction, Melina vaulted over the couch. The slam of the bedroom door drowned out his mirth. The door promptly re-opened and out flew his luggage and boots. "I want you out of my apartment first thing. If I never see you again it'll still be too soon!"

Far from feeling affronted, Adam found himself filled-to-overflowing with elation. And why shouldn't he be happy, fate had restored Melina to him.

Flopping back up onto the couch, he pulled the blanket, still carrying her warm scent, around himself. He'd only met Melina twice prior to today: The first time she'd been eleven years old, and he'd just turned nineteen. However, their second encounter, seven years later, had eroded a chasm-deep impression through his heart that no one had been able to satiate since.



Adam aimed his key at the lock only to miss for the fifth time; his hand-eye-coordination fucked-up, thanks of his inebriated state.

After a too long and turbulent flight, he'd landed in England—for his once-in-a-blue-moon summoned invitation by his Aunt Divinity—exhausted and suffering from a throbbing migraine. Upon arrival at the airport he'd been met by her Financial Advisor/sex toy, Euphrates Grimes. Apparently, a _friend_ of Divinity's had obtained exclusive, VIP tickets to a theatrical performance in Austria. She'd jetted off without a care or thought as to his imminent arrival.

Still infuriated, Adam kicked the door, grinning at the sound of splintering wood. She had departed the night before. If she'd had the decency to phone, he'd gladly have shredded his tickets. But then, hatred was the link entwining their relationship. She used an unspeakable secret as a means to exert her power over him, kept him dangling on a hook like flailing fish suffocating under her tyranny. He wouldn't even consider spitting on her if she were on fire, in fact, he'd be happy to pour gas over the flames.

As per usual, he'd turned to alcohol as a means to extinguish the Divinity-induced rage. Locating the nearest bar, he'd drunk to excess, until even his teeth felt numbed. Ultimately, she'd done him a great favour; the phone numbers of three uber-fit babes had been uploaded onto his mobile phone.

A savage twist later, the door flew inwards, half the key still lodged in place. Shrugging in apathy, he tossed the remaining broken piece over his shoulder and stumbled in.

Adam randomly flung his travel bag into the dimly lit hallway. It skidded across the polished flooring before smashing into a dais upon which a vase was displayed. The ornament teeter-tottered, performed a perfect triple-axel, then crashed onto the black and white Italian marble tiles. Heck he'd intended to cut his stay short anyway. Then again, there were several other _trophies_ he could introduce to a suspicious mishap. Little distressed Divinity more than the loss of a valuable possession.

He caught sight of his own hazy reflection in a mirror standing within an alcove. He was six foot three, broad-shouldered and leanly muscled. He wore a form-fitting black cashmere sweater, matching designer jeans and black biker boots. His black hair and thick-lashed, midnight-hued eyes were the only indications as to his Middle-Eastern heritage.

He'd often been described as drop-dead-gorgeous. Since puberty, both women and men simpered and fawned over his looks as if that was all he was; a sexual-object to be ogled and pawed. Very few saw past the outer-shell to the man within.

Unsteady on his feet, Adam lurched towards the saloon, a.k.a. the Pissing Palace. Divinity maintained a bar crammed with every alcoholic beverage known to mankind, both legal and illegal. He craved a cigarette, and something strong and corrosive to bring back that numb feeling of nothingness.

Barging into the promiscuous-pink themed room, he stumbled to a stop. The lights were on and a world-famous soft-rock band bellowed out a raunchy lyrics through an authentic jukebox. From the periphery of his eye, he spied a pair of jean-covered legs squirming out of a half-open window.

Pay dirt! He snarled in anticipation. He'd had the urge to squash something all evening.

In three lunging strides, he grabbed the wavering legs and heaved. The intruder's head bounced once on the windowsill before smashing face first into the floor. Adam immediately straddled him. One hand scrubbed the intruder's face into the cerise shag-pile, while the other twisted an arm behind his back.

The captured body felt slight, but experience had taught Adam that criminals came in many shapes and sizes; small merely meant meaner and craftier. As a further precaution, he shoved a knee into the now supine figure. "You thieving bastard, I'm going to teach you a lesson you'll never forget."

"You scum-sucking-arsehole, I'm no thief!" came the garbled response.

"I guess you popped in to babysit the gold-fish while the owner's away," he responded sarcastically. That is, he'd meant to sound sarcastic, instead his speech was delivered spit-slurred.

"Why I'm here is none of your friggin business!"

"Might not be my business, but it is the authorities."

"Jerk, _this_ gives me the right to come and go as I please. If you don't believe me, get the police to phone the security service, they'll vouch for me." The hand attached to the twisted arm unfurled to reveal a gem-encrusted key that Divinity only distributed to her most trusted and personal minions.

It wasn't the key however that snapped his attention, but the hand itself. Fragile. Graceful. Bitten nails painted in an array of incandescent colours.

"You're a girl!" He scrambled off her. "Jeez! I'm sorry!"

Shifting his hips, Adam flipped over the figure beneath him. The scowling face and loathing gaze was immediately recognisable. Seven years had matured the facial features and physique, but the child was still there concealed beneath the blackened eye and mess of new and faded bruises. The bleeding gash under her hairline however, appeared nauseatingly fresh.

She lay motionless, her breathing scratchy, watching him as if he were the Devil's first cousin. Hand outstretched, he insisted, "Please, let me help you up."

After a brief hesitation she reached for his hand. Adam experienced a wafer-soft delicate sensation slide against his palm. Her touch set off an odd chain-reaction that travelled up his arm and settled behind his ribcage.

Her expression morphed from anger to a smooth mask of blandness as she stepped closer. But not close enough. He suddenly needed her arms wrapped so snugly around him that their bodies would become fused as one. Her scent called to him, filled his lungs with recognition. His mouth watered at the heady thought of his lips and tongue taking possession of hers. Unconsciously his head lowered, licking his lips in anticipation...

Without warning, a knee connected with his groin. Searing hot _please-God-strike-me-dead-now_ pain felled him. Fuck, if he'd known his man-parts were about to be nuked he would've taken up the offers to get naked-n-filthy with the uber-fit babes from the bar: one of the babes had had boob like a like a porn star – the fun he could have had with those puppies; the second babe had silken legs longer than an Amazon queen, as for the third... his inner dialogue was abruptly deleted, as his chin met with a sharp uppercut.

Every nerve in his body surged with burning agony. If he'd thought her satisfied with the punishment already meted out, he was sorely mistaken. He spied a scuffed boot rise, aiming towards his midriff. Before she caused bone-breaking damage, he grabbed her ankle and yanked. Squealing in surprise, she tumbled. This time, the back of her head bounced on the carpet.

A mere moment later, she scuttled up on all fours, determination glinting in her eyes as she flicked back her hair and snarled at him. Damn, the girl had guts! Luckily he had years of martial arts training, making him fitter, faster and physically agile, otherwise it would be him on all fours crawling away to lick his wounded, emasculated pride.

With a deft, almost lethal movement, gently as possible, he clipped her shoulder, tapped a nerve by her collarbone. The move distracted her sufficiently for him tip her face down _again_. Yet, despite being trussed up like a Christmas turkey, she struggled unremittingly and swore ferociously. At the end of his tether, his jaw throbbing, his extremities about to explode, he slumped over her, imprisoning her beneath his weight.

"Get off me!"

"Can't."

"Get! Off! Me!"

"Seriously, can't." Inhaling, Adam waited for the intensity of the havoc she'd created to abate.

She peered back at him. "Why the fuck not?"

"Kid, you have a foul mouth. And, I can't move because my limbs have ceased functioning. Including my brain. Damn, who would've guessed? A man's brain really is in his trousers."

"Men are such fragile flowers," she responded with scorn.

He ignored her impertinent remark. "By the way, those were some slick moves. You need to get your instructor to work on your focus though, that was an amateur trick and you fell for it." He heard her mumble something into the carpet. "Uh, are you swearing again? Cause that sounded really, really offensive"

"Jerk. I said, television. _Wrestle-Mania_."

"Are you considering wrestling as a career option?" he asked, surprised by her answer.

"Don't be ridiculous. I don't advocate violence for the sake of it."

Adam snorted. "What would you call what you just did to me?"

"Self-defence."

"Self-defence! That would've applied when I was holding you down. You beat the crap out of me after I let you go and after I apologized. That was revenge, kid. Sweet Mad-as-a-Hatter revenge."

"It's not kid, my name is Melina. And since you have the upper hand, you can call it anything you freakin want!" She shrugged nonchalantly.

His whole body protested at the erratic movement. "Kid... Melina... please keep still."

"Sissy."

Adam swore he heard her giggle. "I've got three sexy chicks waiting on my phone call, you've destroyed any chance of me ever functioning as a man again, and you've the gall to call me a sissy?"

Melina started to shrug again but stopped at his pained groan. "Uh, exactly when will it be... uh... okay for you to move?"

Despite the hurting and inappropriate circumstances, he'd begun to enjoy their sparring banter. "I guess we won't know until I try."

Teeth gnashing, he twisted off and dropped down beside her. Melina turned as well, propping herself up on an elbow. Through narrowed eyes she scrutinized him as a scientist would a contagious entity that required instant eradication before it mutated into something slimy.

Adam returned her intent inspection. She wasn't beautiful in the classic sense, but the way her unusual features melded together was striking. Her softly rounded, fey-like face was framed by short, intense blue-black hair. Almond-shaped eyes, the colour of cinnamon, gleamed with distrust and intelligence. She had a cute nose above a lush, tempting mouth. Around the bruises her skin held the creamy tint of buttermilk.

He had an inexplicable urge to take her into his arms, to comfort her until the sadness left her eyes. Without aforethought, he rimmed the discolouration circling her right eye. "Why is it every time I see you, you're sporting a black eye?"

"Why is it every time I see _you_ , you're pissed?" Melina countered. "You know, there are places for people who have that kind of problem."

"Rehab?"

"No... filthy, rat infested alleyways, full of tramps sharing a bottle of surgical spirits and the clap."

"Wow kid, you've a scalpel for a tongue. God help any man who dares kiss you. You'd probably dip in and carve out his intestines."

Rolling away, Melina stood. Flushed, flustered, she tugged at her sweatshirt, at least two sizes too big, and then folded her arms across her chest in a confrontational manner. "You just keep your lips and any other part of your anatomy to yourself, mister."

"It's not mister. My name is Adamas. Adam," he told her. "As for any other part of my anatomy; I may be pissed, but unlike Divinity I'm no cradle-snatcher. You must be... sixteen?"

"Eighteen," she corrected. "Officially an adult. Legally old enough to have sex if I wanted."

From head-to-toe, he admired the lush curves and dips he'd felt disguised beneath her baggy clothes. "Careful, baby-girl, that sounded like an invitation."

"Drop dead!"

Shaking his head in bemusement, he reached out. "Here, help me up." She eyed him warily; all the same she took hold and heaved.

Keeping a light grip of her slender hand, he began tugging her along. "What the...! Where do you think you're taking me?"

"Upstairs."

"No way!" Melina dug in her heels. "Seriously, my comment wasn't an invitation." The bravado had left her tone.

"Kiddo, you've got way too high an opinion of your charms. Not to mention the essential anatomy part required for acts of sexual depravity—is still in major meltdown mode. I'm taking you upstairs to the guest bathroom to get you cleaned up." Turning, he touched her forehead. "You hurt yourself when you hit the windowsill."

She blanched, cringing at the crimson-wet coating his fingertips. "I should go."

"Nope. Since you getting hurt is my fault, the least you can do is let me make amends."

On entering the hallway, he hit the light switch. Shattered crystal crunched beneath their boots. "Holy freaking cow! What have done?" She hopped and lifted up on tiptoes to avoid more slivers of glass.

"So?"

"That was a present from a one-hundred-and-five year old Peruvian Baron. Not only is it irreplaceable, it's priceless."

"Big deal. Divinity is associated with hundreds of overly-rich, dumbass sycophants she can bully and blackmail into buying her replacements for services rendered."

Halfway up the elaborate winding staircase, Melina enquired, "You really do despise Divinity, don't you? Last time you two argued like my parents used to, only without shedding blood."

_Despise_ was too meek a verb for the contempt he felt towards the woman being discussed and everything she represented. He paid no attention to the poster-sized, framed prints of Divinity decorating the entire length of the stairwell wall. A galleria dedicated to the sexually corrupt life she cultivated. Provocative, almost pornographic images of her in the arms of her many lovers. Several of the larger frames depicted her in the nude; reminiscent of the aristocratic women of ancient Greece, her alabaster skin coated in olive oil so that she literally resembled a golden statue of some Greek goddess. And scattered amongst the images, the faces of almost every man she'd ever mounted.

"Then why keep visiting?"

Adam exhaled noisily. "I don't suppose we could discuss that _without-shedding-blood_ comment instead?" The look on Melina's face clearly voiced an explicit rejection of that idea. "How about a rain-check?"

She rolled her eyes. "Jerk."

"Spoilsport." Without thinking, he lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles playfully. To say they were both shocked by his action would've been an understatement. "Ah... if you must know, Dad doesn't know the truth of our relationship. It would break his heart if he found out all that exists between us is loathing."

"I'm sorry you feel that way. Family _is_ important."

"From the tone of envy in your voice, I guess you haven't got one of your own?"

"My parents died when I was six. Not that their deaths made a difference, even alive neither wanted children. I live with my mother's brother now. He and his wife have six kids. Six kids! Can you believe that?" Melina asked as if the head-count baffled her. "They multiply faster than cockroaches. The children are always demanding... wanting... hungry! They eat like it's an Olympic event. As for the nights... " She suddenly clammed up, nibbling her lower lip.

"Hell, I can't criticize the head-count, since I'm the oldest of six. The difference being, my parents never palmed off their responsibilities," he said with pride. "No one should have even one kid if neither parent can guarantee the nurturing all children require. In those circumstances an abortion is best advised."

"It's easy for you to talk so glibly about abortion because you're not in love. If you had a partner who wanted a houseful of children, would you deny her such a gift if it meant employing a nanny? Tell her to destroy what is effectively a part of you?" she debated.

Adam stopped in his tracks. With the threat of a repugnant past hanging over his head like the sword of Damocles, he'd never contemplated or even allowed himself to dream of a family of his own. Yet, looking into Melina's inquisitive eyes, he couldn't stop imagining her cradling an infant born of his seed. "Any child of mine would be cherished."

"Exactly," she said smugly. "Anyhow, the only guarantees in life are that there are no guarantees. I'm sure my parents hadn't planned on getting killed and abandoning me to Jonas."

" _Getting killed?_ You keep throwing out titbits like that and I'm cashing in my rain-check."

"Quit dissecting everything I say." Her order was truculent. "What are you, a closet psychologist?"

His laugh was mirthless. "I'm a psychologist's proverbial nightmare. Let's change the subject. Talking about Divinity always sets my teeth on edge."

"Fine with me. Actually, we don't have to talk at all."

"Kid, you've a quick temper," he observed.

Adam pulled her into the first of the ten flamboyant bathrooms. As with the rest of the mansion, the bathroom was chic-vulgarity and decorated in golden hues and, Divinity's trademark emerald tints.

One wall presented nothing but floor-to-ceiling mirrors, while the other three were camouflaged by murals of well-endowed mermaids and muscular mermen frolicking saucily in an ocean teaming with marine life. While the green-flecked marble floor rippled with threads of real gold.

Every room, no matter how big, small or insignificant, maintained an opulent centrepiece; in this instance a sunken whirlpool able to accommodate several occupants. In the far corner, an etched-glass shower enclosure built for two, supporting four strategically positioned super-powered showerheads in order to provide stimulation from all angles.

The extravagance further extended to a flat-screen digital television, a flamboyant stereo sound-system and a mini-bar stocked with the finest wines, champagnes and Russian caviar.

Adam encompassed Melina's waist, and swung her up onto the counter-top by the washbasin. Twisting the gold faucet, he allowed the basin to fill with hot water as he then searched through the cabinets for the first-aid kit.

Before the water reached the brim, Melina turned off the tap while he up-ended the located kit. Dumping the contents into an untidy heap, he pushed aside several squares of flavoured, multi-coloured and glow-in-the-dark condoms; two boxes of vaginal douches and, a tube of lubricant gel. All had slipped out along with the plasters, antiseptic wipes and other such paraphernalia.

"Melina, what are you really doing here at this time of night? Shouldn't you be safely tucked up in bed like a good little girl?"

"Tending the plants. Some are quite rare you know." She smiled at him. "Divinity gives me an allowance for doing chores around the mansion."

"Rare or not, unlike your guardians, I'm sure she doesn't expect you to sacrifice your sleep."

"I meant to come earlier, but its Bingo night. I couldn't very well leave my kids all alone." Her manner implied such behaviour would violate her personal code of ethics.

"There's always tomorrow." Adam flicked a glance at his Rolex. "Today, that is."

"On Sunday's I usually drop the kids off at Church, then Sunday School. If the weather holds, I promised to take them swimming. And, after they've all been bathed, fed and bedded, there are school uniforms to iron and lunches to prepare."

He listened attentively. The sound of Melina's voice; a melodious lullaby that triggered thoughts of quiet evenings spent in the arms of a lover. Her uninhibited smile was dazzling. And the way her sparkling eyes crinkled at the corners, adorable. He shook off the strange whimsy, while reminding himself that she was but a teenager.

"And what exactly are your Uncle and Aunt doing while you're running around imitating a headless chicken?"

She rolled her eyes at his comment. "It's a busy day for them, too. After morning service, Jonas and Jean teach Bible Class. At two o'clock it's tea and sandwiches with the vicar and his wife, followed by choir practice. They finish their day with evening worship. The poor dears are so exhausted by the time they arrive home, they can barely manage to nibble a light snack served in bed."

" _Poor dears?_ Seriously, Melina? For God's sake, they're using you as their personal slave. By the looks of you, it isn't just your good nature they're abusing."

"I don't remember asking you for an assessment of my life. If not for their benevolence—who knows what would've become of me."

"No doubt something you're reminded of at regular intervals," Adam ridiculed.

"Go to hell! They took me into their family. Gave me a roof over my head and put food in my belly. It's only fair I show my appreciation," she exclaimed, sliding down to her feet. "It's not their fault I have a stubborn streak. _Spare the rod and spoil the child_. Discipline is the key factor that stops civilisation befalling into chaos."

"Wow, super impressive, you've really been trained well. How long did it take you to memorise that little ditty verbatim?"

Melina's face turned a pale shade of sadness. Despite his sarcasm, he hadn't expected defeated silence. He'd become used to her spirited retorts. He could almost feel her closing all the metaphorical doors that surrounded her; as if he had somehow tainted her very reasoning for the reality she inhabited.

Disappointment in her eyes at his lack of empathy, she turned to leave. Adam quickly linked his arms around her waist, easing her back. He cursed the raging burn rushing his senses. She wasn't even his type. Admittedly, he hadn't been sexually active in eons and had forgotten exactly what his type was. Even so, never had he experienced this demanding an urge.

Ignoring his libido, he swung her back onto the counter. "I'm sorry, Melina."

"My life may not meet with your _approval_ , but it's the only one I have."

Adam lightly knuckled her bruised cheek. "I'm sorry," he said again. "Unfortunately, I'm a bossy bastard. It's a big brother thing. I expect everyone to line up behind me and march to my lead." He grinned. "Luckily, on behalf of all lesser mortals, my younger sister has taken it upon herself to wean me off my testosterone-choking macho tendencies."

Unwrapping a sterilised swab, he swirled it through the hot water steaming in the washbasin. Holding back Melina's fringe, he blotted the blood staining her forehead and hairline. "No doubt the next time we meet, I'll be a new and improved version of myself, better able to express empathy and relate to other peoples _sensitivities_ without the need to judge or impose my views on those with weaker constitutions." Indifferent to the mess he made, he threw the soiled gauze over his shoulder.

"You're perfect as you are," Melina defended him shyly.

Adam grinned. "Says the girl who tried to emasculate me." A sudden memory impinged his thoughts. It was the thirtieth of March. Their initial acquaintance had been seven years to the day. "Isn't it your birthday today?"

Reaching over, she stroked the back of his hand with affection. "How lovely. You remembered." Her smile sparkled with delight.

"Not a day I'm likely to forget. I returned at midnight to find Divinity in the kitchen—I bet she needed satellite navigation to locate—to find her smothering you in maternal love." He rolled his eyes. "A phenomenon in itself, considering her blinkered-vision extends no further than her own vanity and self."

"You were drunk that night, too."

"Thanks for reminding me, kiddo. As I recall, you laughed your bruised little face off when I tripped up face-first into the kebab I'd been eating." It had taken several shampoos to rid the meaty and garlic sauce smells permeated into his hair.

Out of curiosity Adam asked, "What did Divinity buy you?"

"Buy me?"

"Your eleventh birthday, you were excited about her buying you a new toy." The second swab followed the first. He then swiped an antiseptic pad across the wound.

"That was years ago. Let me think." She gnawed her lower lip in contemplation. "Oh, I remember. Divinity intended to buy me a miniature tea set made from real bone china and decorated with tiny fairies. Cousin Lindy had a set, but I wasn't allowed to play with it. I can be a rather clumsy sometimes," she confided.

Adam raised his eyebrows at her wordage. "Intended to buy you?"

Melina nodded. "Some gorgeous guy parachuted down out of his helicopter and whisked her away. It was unbelievably romantic just like the advert."

"Divinity never could be trusted to keep a promise," he muttered, unimpressed. "What did she get you this year?"

"I guess she forgot. She's a busy woman."

Disposing of the pad, he located his wallet and pulled out several twenties. "Here, treat yourself."

Melina instantly declined, "That's very kind of you but no thanks."

"Come on," he insisted. "No strings attached if that's what's worrying you."

Again Melina refused. "Cash is for something earned. A present is a present, no matter how inexpensive. I, um, really like chocolate, if you have any. Any kind, I'm not fussy."

Adam had nothing else to offer, not even chocolate, but he silently promised to buy her a years' supply of chocolate next time he saw her. And there would most definitely be a next time. Something about her was driving him a little insane to the point of obsession; he needed to find out what that something was before he let her go... if he let her go.

He glanced at the gold ring adorning his index finger; his family seal, depicting a panther poised over a speared lion. Refusing to admit defeat, he racked his brain for a suitable present, but was distracted when she prodded a strip of ribbed condoms boldly labelled ' _The Ultimate Chocolate Sensation'._ "Why on earth would anyone need flavoured condoms?"

Adam had a feeling she'd cringe with embarrassment at his explanation. Still he intended to do exactly that. Thanks to his too-inquisitive-for-her-own-good adolescent sister, he'd learned that sometimes ignorance wasn't bliss. There was a time when he'd refused to answer her inquisitive questions. Much as most thwarted teenagers, she'd embarked on a journey of self-knowledge. Eighty percent of the information she'd collated from other equally ignorant teenagers, would've been laughable if not for the seriousness of the matter.

Answers such as a girl couldn't get pregnant the first time she had sex, or that sexual diseases could only be transmitted by prostitutes and contaminated needles. That "No" didn't always mean "No" if the guy had a super-hard-on.

"Sex isn't always a matter of penetration. If it's mutually agreeable, one partner will give oral pleasure to the other. In this day and age and with the proliferation of sexual diseases, it's best to consider safety in all aspects."

Melina's cheeks flushed red; nonetheless it seemed she wanted information no matter how silly. "Does it really taste chocolaty?"

Adam chortled. "Baby-girl, that's one question I can't answer."

She grimaced, realising what her question may have implied regarding his sexual orientation. "Sorry."

"Hey, no harm done."

"Okay. What if it's the other way around?"

Adam gulped, suddenly feeling fidgety. Some things were best left for discussion with a family member or a friend. Ironically, the idea of Melina deliberating sex with another man left a bitter taste in his mouth. "What exactly do you mean _the other way?_ "

"What if the woman wants to be pleasured orally?"

Ah hell! Melina's question stimulated his mind with visceral and erotic images that seemed all too real. He sucked in a cleansing breath as his tongue watered again at the thought of tasting her so intimately. "Uh, are you asking about technicalities?"

"No! I mean a condom isn't exactly structured for a woman."

"There are such things as fem condoms. However, you'll find that total abstinence is the best safe-sex option." She giggled at his fatherly comment. "Is there anything else you want to know?" Adam prayed she'd say no. A guy could only take so much.

"Thank you, no." Then added, "There really isn't anyone else I can talk with about such things. The one time I asked Divinity a question, she handed me three hard-core porno videos. As for my Uncle and Aunt, they regard sex as an abomination that will ultimately destroy mankind." Humour twinkled in her eyes. "' _The act of intercourse is solely for procreation purposes. Not for the pleasure of the body.'_ I guess at least six times Jean lay back with a stiff upper lip and thought of God and country."

Chuckling at her comment, Adam refrained from mentioning that compared to the others he was a stranger. Then again, maybe she, too, was experiencing the same sensations of intimate familiarity as him.

While Melina continued exploring through the heaped contents, he kneaded at the unexpected tension stiffening his neck. His hand snagged against the catch of a white-gold chain from which hung a polished Bloodstone. Many years ago his grandfather had given it to him for his eighteenth birthday. The Bloodstone, as well as symbolising his birth sign, was also a talisman against misfortune and evil magic.

Maybe he could dispense some luck Melina's way. She desperately appeared to need it. Unclasping the chain, he then hooked it around her neck before she could react. "Happy birthday, Melina."

She gasped in surprise. "Adam, I can't accept this."

He stopped her from removing his gift by simply taking a hold of her hands. "It's yours."

"No one h-has ever... t-thank you." Tears flooded her eyes. "It's late. I have to be going now."

"No yet. One more minute." Picking up a waterproof plaster, Adam stripped off the protective covering. This time she held back her own fringe as he positioned and pressed down. Realising it was a size too small, he promptly ripped it off.

"Ouch! Heck, you're as bad at this doctoring stuff as Divinity. At least she kisses it better afterwards," Melina grumbled, shoving aside his hand.

Adam stilled at the sudden impact of that simple sentence. Surely he was going insane. Everything about Melina stirred his senses: her peach-soft skin; her husky voice; her feistiness and intelligence. Before his brain could fully censor his words he blurted, "Would you like that, Melina? For me to kiss it better?"

Her abrupt nod of consent left him reeling. "That is if _you_ want to. I'm not bothered, if _you_ want to...." Her ashen complexion and dilated eyes however contradicted her confident boldness.

"Are you sure?"

"I've already said yes. If you're going to start interrogating me then let's just forget it."

"Let's _not_ forget it." Leaning forward, Adam feathered his lips against her forehead.

"Here." To his further surprise, Melina pointed at her wrist, indicating the bruises his rough handling had inflicted.

He enfolded her hand, cupping her palm. Briefly, he became engrossed by the sight: his much larger, stronger hand surrounding her delicate yet lethal one. Lacing his fingers through hers, he soothingly caressed her wrist first with his thumb then with his lips. He savoured the tap-tap of her pulse against the tip of his tongue.

"Where else?"

She swivelled sideways, indicating the back of her head, where she'd slammed it against the floor when he'd flipped her. He buried his lips into the coolness of the jet-black strands.

"Here..." She showed him the carpet burn on her chin.

"Where else, sweet Melina?" The expression of fear in her eyes returned tenfold. "Shush, it's okay." Adam took a deliberate step back.

Grabbing a fistful of sweater, Melina stopped his retreat. Slowly, hesitantly, she lifted the hem of her sweatshirt, exposing a band of skin. "Here."

Bowing at the waist, he touched his lips to a raised welt. Lifting her sweatshirt higher, she uncovered a criss-crossing pathway of injuries. He wanted to weep for the pain she was being forced to suffer. His tongue lapped healingly at her hot, satin-soft flesh as her sweatshirt kept rising and rising, silently inviting more kisses.

Adam hadn't meant to go this far. Without a doubt she was a virgin, whereas he was a man with too much experience gleaned from the wrong side of the moral spectrum. Cupping her chin, he forced her turbulent gaze to meet his. "Melina, are you...?"

She didn't allow him to finish. "I'm legally an adult," she recapped. When he remained silent, she added, "Just one more kiss."

Unable to deny the temptation, he nuzzled the cotton stretched over her pleasingly well-endowed breasts, before his mouth greedily enveloped a fleshy nipple that instantaneously budded and enlarged against his scraping tongue.

Melina mewled with pleasure and then in protest when he stopped. Looking deep into her too-bright eyes, he hooked a finger into her bra and slowly tugged the material aside, revealing a creamy mound with tracings of fine blue veins.

A stringent, cautionary alarm clanged in his brain. It was the first throes of the sexual-kind that drove her. She didn't understand the implications. As stringently, he ignored the warnings. He'd deal with whatever consequences befell him.

His mouth ravaged, his tongue swirled, ravenously suckling the engorged nipple surrounded by a pale areole. He wanted to drink her very essence, thereby quenching a lifetime's thirst. He'd been cold and dead inside far too long. Her scent and innocent woman-heat resurrected him to life.

Melina's nails dug into Adam's scalp and forced his mouth to her other neglected breast. He eagerly bestowed the same beloved attention he'd given its twin. A rumble of unrestrained need vibrated his throat. His manhood swelled, preparing to satisfy her every sensual demand.

Visions of writhing bodies and limbs entwined flashed in his mind. He recognized her taste. A ghost of a memory empowered him. He knew where to touch; how much pressure to apply; how to coerce her beyond her endurance until she pleaded for more. Yearnings aside, he felt love and loved. Devotion so possessive it threatened to rip him apart.

Melina whimpered when he stopped again. He pressed a finger to her lips. "Hush, I'm not going anywhere."

Keeping his gaze fixed upon hers, Adam studied her; scrutinized every flicker of an eyelash, every twitch of her body. Taking a risk, he drew his sweater up and over his head, letting it fall onto the floor. He then encompassed her waist, relishing the soft-skinned curve. His hands slid downwards, caressing, shaping her slender hips and thighs.

His palms resting over her knees, Adam parted her legs with gentle pressure and then nestled his hips into the space created. Hands trembling, he removed her sweatshirt. Next, reaching around, he unclasped her bra, drawing it down her arms and away from her body.

"My God, you're beautiful!"

Melina belonged to him. No other man would ever touch her. Embracing those selfish thoughts, Adam pressed his chest to hers, enclosing her within an iron-strong clinch. He hissed as heat met fever. He couldn't prevent the words that were wrenched from him. "Hold me, my lovable baby-girl."

Arms curved around his shoulders uncertainly. _Not enough!_ shouted a long neglected emotion within his heart. "Tighter!" One hand worked its tremulous way down her spine. Cupping her hips, he aligned her intimately into his arousal. "Hold me, Melina. Hold me as if you care. Make it feel real even if you don't."

Sensing his anxiety even if neither of them understood it, she further hooked her legs around his waist completing the task her arms alone hadn't fulfilled.

This gorgeous young woman felt as though she'd been part of his lifetime forever. Unexplainable cravings effervesced into a volatile amalgamation. Adam scattered stinging, frantic kisses across her cheeks; her forehead; the corners of her glazed eyes. "Open your mouth," he demanded huskily. "Let me inside you."

Without preamble his tongue thrust deep, enticing Melina out of her innocent world, drowning her in his almost overwhelming, primal passions. God have mercy, he wanted to drop to his knees, hook her legs over his shoulders and plunge his tongue between her more intimate lips. He'd bet his life Melina tasted unsullied, like the sweetest Manna from heaven.

Against his chest—that was constricting with a sensual torment that consumed—he could feel her heart pulsate in synchrony to the rapid rhythm of his own. Unbidden his hand slipped inside the waistband of her jeans, his masterful touch possessive. With a keening moan Melina began to grind herself against him.

Adam was known, sometimes derided, for his almost frigid control, however he'd sell his soul to have her naked, spread out like a delectable feast, her body his to own, to lick and taste. And despite all his warnings, he needed to penetrate her with nothing between her wetness and his penis. "That's it, sweet Melina, tell me what you want," he groaned into her mouth. "Ummm... Harder? Softer? Do you want to feel my mouth down there, baby-girl. So wet, so hot. My tongue inside you." His thumb strummed her clit until she jerked against his fingers in demand. Encouraged by her reaction, he pushed a second digit into her.

Her face tucked into his shoulder, he could feel her teeth nibbling at his shoulder, before sinking deep until she cut through flesh, at the same time her inner muscles began to squeeze around his fingers. "Please, Adam!"

"Say my name again, baby-girl. Say it, and I'll make you come so hard, over and over again, until you beg me to take...

Abruptly, rather like the piercing swish of a guillotine slicing through neck bone, a shriek shattered their euphoria. Adam mentally condemned the arrival of the woman whom he reviled with every atom of his being.

Incensed, he rested his forehead on Melina's collarbone. He felt panicky, almost dreading being separated from her. He braced himself, expecting her to shove him aside and run. Instead, he was suffused with generosity rather than accusation. Though her legs dropped from his hips, her arms remained solid and protective about his shoulders. She placated him with nonsensical whispers, smoothing his back with calming, unhurried caresses.

Adam didn't want to be soothed; he wanted dirty, sweaty sex in every position imaginable. He wanted Melina's gentle whispers to be screams of sexual pleasure. He wanted her nails scoring his back in ecstasy. He wanted her under him, skin-on-skin, his weight dominating her body. He wanted to possess her over and over again, until she became addicted to the orgasms only he could provide. He wanted his scent entrenched so deep into her flesh that she'd never be able to wash him away.

"How dare you? How dare you!"

His back to Divinity, he eased out of Melina's embrace. He refused to let Divinity see his vulnerability, or the extent of his arousal. Only a blind man wouldn't notice the distended placket of his jeans.

Propped by the counter either side of Melina, he shielded her modesty. "How dare I what?" he enquired, abhorrence tainting his voice.

"How dare you behave in such an obscene manner? What the hell do you think you're doing?" Divinity's rapid, staccato questions grated his eardrums.

"You'd be surprised exactly how much I dare. As to what I'm doing? For a woman who treats her own home no better than a whorehouse, I know you don't need an explanation."

Her grip nail-biting, Divinity grabbed his forearm, wrenching him around. She slapped him viciously hard, her witch-pointy acrylic nails bloodied his cheek.

Adam heard Melina's distraught cry as she quickly covered his wounded cheek with her soft palm of protection. A firm squeeze to her knee silenced her. "Touch me again, Divinity, and I swear I'll hit back."

"You don't frighten me, Adamas."

"I'm not trying to frighten you. I'm making you a promise," he stated. Turning his head he kissed Melina's palm before removing her hand. Reaching across the counter he snagged Melina's bra and passed it over his shoulder. Broadening his stance, he continued screening her. "What are you doing here? You're lap-dog said you'd gone to Austria."

"Not that it's your concern, I returned for Melina. I almost forgot her birthday." He didn't miss the implication that she hadn't given him even a fleeting consideration.

In a melodramatic manner, Divinity clutched her ample bosom. "Thank goodness I returned in time to save her from being raped. I never dreamed you'd stoop to something so monstrous just to get back at me."

"Believe it or not, Divinity, I didn't give you a thought either. And whatever's happening between Melina and me is none of _your_ business." With a sweep of his boot, Adam hooked his sweater and scooped it up into his hand. Turning, he gathered up the garment and eased it over Melina's head. "Arms up, baby-girl."

The expression on her face, much like that of a wide-eyed doe staring down the barrel of a Colt .45 being held by a trigger-happy, beer-sodden hunter. "It's yours." Melina's words were almost inaudible.

"Arms up," Adam repeated. Easing the sweater down her limbs, he covered her. He smoothed the dark cashmere, his fingers trembled.

Melina cupped her petite hand over his. "I'm sorry, Adam."

"I'm not," he assured her.

"You bloody should be!" Divinity interjected, waving her arms in a paroxysm of fury. The air chimed with the jangle of platinum bracelets that spanned both her arms from wrist to elbow, while the rings, adorning all ten fingers, captured the light with blinding brilliance; as did the three-inch wide emerald, ruby and diamond choker encircling her neck, and the emerald gracing her belly button.

But then, that had always been Divinity's modus operandi. The more jewellery she wore the less she supposedly needed by the way of actual clothing. Despite the frigid season, she was skimpily attired. A scarlet sequined scarf banded over her breasts and a pair of skin-tight white, leather hot-pants hung low on slim hips.

As Divinity frequently espoused, why camouflage a body that was perfection. As approved by the men who panted after her. Of her many lovers, he'd heard one aficionado describe her as an angel, her alabaster skin as soft as a dream that led to heaven. While another devotee professed that her profuse length of natural sunset-red hair, was a flame that shimmered and danced flirtatiously upon a breath of air direct from God's mouth.

Divinity was definitely no angel. Her exterior may indeed be beyond compare; her inner-self however was unadulterated evil. Her life's mission statement, _"What Divinity wants Divinity gets,"_ no matter whom she had to abuse, use or destroy.

"For God's sake, Melina's a _child_ .... a _child_. She probably didn't even comprehend you were attempting to have sex with her." Divinity's voice rose to a deafening pitch. "How can I ever face her again?"

For certainty, she had no problem doing exactly that. Her gaze raked with fascinated disgust over Melina's sexually ruffled appearance.

Divinity sashayed to the mini-bar, her gem-encrusted stilettos scratching a trail into the marble tiles. Snatching a bottle of wine, she poured, filling a crystal flute to overflowing. With tongue-flicking laps, she licked at the droplets that had dribbled onto her wrist.

"To think, I considered giving you one last chance, Adamas. After witnessing your depraved behaviour..." Throwing back her head, she chugged at the red liquid, emptying the flute in a single gulp. "I insist you leave my home at once. If I ever see you again, I'll personally report you to the police for sexual assault."

Melina jumped off the counter and stretched out her hands beseechingly. "Please, Divinity, please don't be mad at Adam. I encouraged him. Honest-to-God. I asked him to kiss me." She took another step towards to Divinity. "Please, you mustn't send him away."

"Kitten, I'm thinking of _your_ moral wellbeing." Divinity's tone gentled, she spoke slowly as if explaining a complicated mathematical equation to a toddler. "When you're older, you'll better appreciate my intervention."

"I do appreciate you, Divinity, you've always taken care of me, but Adam is your family. Your blood. I'm nothing in comparison. I'll leave and I promise I won't come back."

"Enough!" Grabbing a handful of sweater, Adam dragged Melina back. He wouldn't have her beg; not for him, and certainly not to a soulless woman.

_"I_ made you kiss me, Adam. It's my fault. Tell her it's my fault." Melina openly sobbed with shame.

He gripped her shoulders, hauling her up onto her toes until their eyes levelled. Caught off balance she stumbled, landing flush against him. Her tears ceased at the shock of finding herself plastered against his still aroused body. "Come home with me."

"I don't understand."

"I have family, money. Let me – us – take care of you."

"My cousins, they're _my_ babies. I can't, won't abandon them."

"You won't be abandoning them. They have parents; let them take responsibility."

"I don't know you," Melina further protested.
"You didn't _know_ me when _you_ begged me to kiss you. You didn't _know_ me when _you_ let me strip you. If Divinity hadn't disturbed us, you would've given everything to me."

"Adam..."

"Take a risk, Melina. Surely a life with me can't be any worse than the one you're living?" He could sense her considering the lure of his offer. He didn't understand the impulse nor why he'd made it to a girl he barely knew. He did know one thing for sure, Melina belonged to him.

Again Divinity interposed. "In case you've forgotten, Adamas, she's under the legal custody of her guardians until she turns eighteen."

"Quit butting in," he sneered. "And she is eighteen."

"When it comes to Melina, I'll always be butting in. You'll simply keep her long enough to satisfy your little aches and pains, before dumping her on the streets of some strange and foreign country. Or perhaps worse..." Divinity took another swig of wine, straight from the bottle this time, before persisting, "After all, isn't the slut you have the effrontery to call _mother,_ the progeny of convicted paedophiles and child sex-traffickers?"

Fury blazed within Adam. "You viper-tongued..." Without realising, he took an aggressive step forward. Despite his earlier threat he'd never hit a woman, however, for Divinity he'd betray his personal principles without compunction. Only Melina's hold on his forearm prevented him from tearing into Divinity. Insensitive witch that she was—she lazily flicked away his wrath as one would a buzzing fly.

"Anyhow, Melina can't run away with _you_ because she's going to run away with _me_. I'm treating her to a world cruise for her birthday. Oops! Now look what you've done." Divinity pouted. "It's not enough that you've ruined her, you've also spoiled my extra-special surprise."

Turning away from Divinity, Adam said once again, "Melina, come home with me. Please."

"I'm sorry. I can't."

Wanting to punish Melina for denying him, for causing the pain of loneliness to gouge at his heart, he spanned the back of her head with a domineering hand and pressed his lips to hers. Plundering. Ravaging.

"This isn't the end." Deep in his soul he knew he'd never find this satisfaction, never taste sweet innocence again. In punishing Melina, he almost drove himself over the very precipice of reason.



"Was she telling the truth? Was I a tool for some personal vendetta?" Melina demanded without preamble.

"There wasn't room in my head for anyone or anything but you. And may I remind you, _again_ , you seduced me." Adam winked at her. "If I wasn't such a gentleman, I might even brag that you _begged_ for my kisses."

"The hell I did!" Swooping down, she fisted his hair and returned the savage kiss he'd once given her.

Adam immersed himself into the pure erotic fury—for that was exactly what the kiss was: the biting scrape of her teeth—punishment for his abandonment; the laving of her tongue against his—succour easing his pain.

When he attempted to haul Melina onto the couch, she scrambled away. Her unfettered breasts moved invitingly beneath her nightshirt as she tossed back her tangled hair. "I never believed Divinity's accusations."

"Thank you." He reached out again, intending to resume the kiss she'd initiated. She batted his hands away, and in an act he could only describe as defiant, scrubbed her knuckles across her lips.

"I still want you gone," she informed him before returning to her room.

Closing his eyes, Adam scrunched up on the uncomfortable couch. Despite her protestations, her kiss was proof-positive that she wanted him. What sealed her fate, notwithstanding the intervening years, she continued to wear _his_ gift.

Determination hardened Adam's midnight-black eyes. All his life he had given and given of himself, no call for help had ever gone unanswered. His father had always asserted that for his every act of kindness, the Almighty would reward him accordingly in heaven.

Adam intended to claim his reward now; as he had relinquished his heart to Melina eight years ago, he would _take and take_ until Melina surrendered—heart, body and soul.

~ CHAPTER FOUR ~

Brimming over with a sensation of nervous energy, Melina Cassville leapt out of her bed. After all, it was Saturday; the day she dedicated to the deadly sins of idleness and gluttony _without_ suffering the accompanying guilt pangs.

Her enthusiasm, however, nosedived when she caught sight of the clock. The luminous digits flashed six-twenty-six. She never woke up this early, let alone on a work day; to do so on a weekend was simply sacrilegious.

Since she was already up and about anyway, she contemplated on what to prepare for the most important meal of the day. After mentally listing everything in the kitchen cabinets, she decided to percolate a carafe of decaffeinated-coffee and warm up a batch of croissants. After she'd gorged herself silly, maybe she would climb back into bed and continue dreaming of hunky bodyguards and wet kisses.

Exiting her bedroom, she came to a shocked standstill. The dream hadn't been a dream at all, but a nasty, scaly, fire-breathing nightmare!

Melina rubbed a comforting hand over her chest. God, how could she have forgotten Adam? She shook her head, no she hadn't forgotten him. She had gouged him from her thoughts and memories, for eight years she'd nursed the wound that refused to heal.

Adam and that one moment had become a dangerous obsession that robbed her of reason. His touch and taste had haunted her like a demonic presence. She'd metamorphed into one of those lovesick fools she derided when watching soap-operas. For a month, every night she had hidden in the bushes outside Divinity's front gate, praying, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. She had stopped eating, stopped sleeping. She had felt empty, despondent, almost grief-stricken. She'd craved him worse than an alcoholic craving vodka. The odd times she'd slept due to sheer exhaustion, she'd awoken screaming his name.

Everything had come to a head one night a year later. She'd experienced a nightmare that even now made her tremble; Adam dying in her arms. Ethan had found her unconscious on the kitchen floor, the area beside her scattered with every pill that had been kept in the cabinets. Even now, she couldn't recall that night, but by some miracle she'd not swallowed a single pill. It was also the one and only time she'd truly seen Ethan cry out loud. At that very second she'd suddenly realised how her actions had affected him. She had picked herself up, made Ethan a solemn vow, and learned to live again. Even now, Ethan still phoned her at random times during the night. No matter the lateness of the hour, she answered on the first ring without complaint.

Adam's face had become a blurred image, occasionally scratching the back of her mind until she mentally scrunched up the memories, and nailed them back into a box marked 'do not open'. Her heart had recognised Adam from the offset, her brain however refused to see him, until she'd tasted his flesh brushing against her tongue. Fury had engulfed her with such force that she'd truly wanted to dig out his heart with a teaspoon. How dare he trample all over her survival tactics! How dare he make her feel truly alive again!

Oh God, and she had told him to leave.

Melina stalked across the living room, pride be damned, she'd beg him to stay. Again she stopped. Kneeling beside the couch, an angelic-looking child chatted to the slumbering man, his blond head resting upon a broad shoulder.

Ten minutes later, the boy placed a reverent kiss upon Adam's forehead prior to scrambling to his feet. A beatific smile curved a Cupid-bow mouth when he caught sight of her. Rubbing his hands across his lips he blew her a ten-fingered kiss before disappearing within a trickle of a shimmer.

Now, any other sane person would've fallen to their knees in hysteria. Melina, however, ignored the aberration. She'd been experiencing apparitions far back as her earliest memories. Although, none had actually accosted her nor blown her kisses.

When, as a child, Melina had divulged her scary secret to her mother, she'd received a precise explanation. The anomaly was subject to a genetic flaw permeating their family tree: a flaw originating from great-great-great-great Granddaddy, Brigadier Ebenezer Lancelot Gulch, Esquire.

Raven had regaled Melina with wild stories of her _more-than-unconventional_ and socially-challenged relatives. Cousin Edward, a leading Professor of Zoology, claimed he'd been abducted by aliens and whizzed off to a far-off galaxy inhabited by a race of Elvis look-a-likes. Great-great-great Grand-Aunty Shirley, a fanatical suffragette, had insisted Joan of Arc visited her every full moon. Apparently Joan was a vegetarian, loved extra-hot spicy food, and liked to dabble in the stock markets.

As luck would have it, Melina's personal philosophy sanctioned that there wasn't a paranormal ailment in the world that couldn't be cured with a burst of cholesterol and an excessive number of calories. Her taste buds watering with anticipation, she rushed into the kitchen and commenced gathering the ingredients required for her morning fest.

Carrying an over-laden tray of goodies, Melina started towards her bedroom, but was overruled by her feet. They strayed towards Adam, who continued sleeping despite the considerable noise she'd created in the kitchen.

Placing the tray on the coffee table with a deliberate clatter, she slumped into the armchair opposite the couch. Adam appeared painfully cramped. His long legs overshot the length of the couch by several inches, while his arms crossed over a bare chest that rose and fell in a rhythmic undulation of muscles.

The memory of her breasts rubbing against his solid pectorals made her squirm with remembered sensation. "A handsome guy like you must be used to gorgeous chicks swooning into your arms," she whispered. "I guess once the alcohol wore off..."

Melina traced her right eye. "The bruises, cuts, scrapes... were so much a part of me that I no longer noticed how ugly they were. How ugly _I_ was. That night..."

Hidden within the creases of Divinity's girlish allure and open-handed generosity—secreted a psychotic streak.

Age thirteen, Melina had witnessed the horrific killing of a Pekinese puppy after it had accidentally swallowed an antique emerald brooch. With its stubby tail waggling, the fluffy ball of energy had playfully scampered around the house and out onto the lawn. Jumping into a snazzy Porsche, Divinity followed in hot pursuit. The car stereo blasting out "Rebel Yell" by Billy Idol, she'd zigzagged across the lawn until the puppy had met its doom beneath her tyres.

Aghast, Melina and the butler had watched as Divinity reversed over the puppy again and again, grinding flesh and bone into pulp. Then, kneeling beside the carcass, she'd rifled through the crushed intestines. Blood splattered and whooping in triumph, she'd danced riotously, waving the brooch in the air like a prized trophy.

As always, everyone turned a blind eye to Divinity's malicious antics. Her employees were amply rewarded for their discretion. As for Melina, she simply feared losing the sanctuary and peace the mansion provided against her abusive guardians.

"I thought I knew all Divinity's dangerous moods. After so many years, I thought I was shock-proof.

"She screamed and screamed and screamed... clawed her own face... snatched clumps of her own hair out by the roots." Assailed by memories, Melina was oblivious that she still spoke or that Adam watched her from beneath somnolent eyelids. "She grabbed the wine and champagne bottles. The first armful destroyed the glass shower-stall. The second armful smashed the television screen.

"I hoped if I stayed really, really still, she'd forget I was there. I was so afraid if I ran, she'd come after me just as she'd gone after the puppy."

Only when a bottle had whizzed past Melina's head and into the mirror had her arms risen in defense, protecting her face from a raining explosion of glass, mirror shards and liquid red.

Charging at Melina, Divinity had grabbed a fistful of her hair. Twisting cruelly, she'd forced Melina to look at her own contorted reflection in the shattered mirror. As if it were yesterday rather than eight years ago, Melina could still hear the malignant diatribe that had followed:

"You bastard child of a porn she-bitch! Look! Fucking look! Do you think any man, least of all my beautiful Adamas, would want you?" Divinity spat nastily. Her nails jabbed into Melina's scalp. "Worthless, ugly slut... how dare you mash your ugly lips upon his... touch him as if he was yours to possess. He's mine! Mine! I'll never allow your ugliness to taint him. He'll never belong to you, you two-faced, traitorous, ugly... ugly slapper!"

Fed-up with her trip down memories' superhighway, Melina grabbed a croissant and chomped into it with gusto. The delicious additions of fresh cream and jam melted on her tongue along with her annoyance. Goodness, nothing could ever taste this good. Her eyes settled on Adam's lips; buttery-soft, creamy-moist and appetizing.

She forced her eyes away from him. Her gaze landed instead on the box by her seat. Stretching out, she dipped in and arbitrarily pulled out a wedge of papers covered in the now familiar childish scrawl.



Summer 1850 – The night before when in the shadow of death the truth is spoken.

Psalm 27, v.1 "The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom then shall I fear: the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom then shall I be afraid?"

Lyris Katherine Anderson clutched Gabriel to her bosom as he unrelentingly wrestled the assertive hands of Death. His bloodshot eyes rolled back in their sockets, searing breath heaved from damaged lungs as he quaked in agony.

Dipping her head, she sealed her mouth over his blistered lips, giving him the sustenance of her own breath. His whole body became rigid with pain, but when she tried removing her mouth; he took her lower lip between his teeth in a gentle, possessive bite. His mouth parted with a sensuous appeal that hers answered without hesitation.

Gabriel Claybourne. Her lover. Her life's blood. Her soulmate.

Lyris burrowed her face within the slope of his shoulder. Sorrow dripped from eyes swollen from tears that had flowed incessantly for three days and nights. "God, I beg of you do not abandon us!" For days she had prayed to let this situation be nothing more than a vindictive prank.

"Must not... grieve," the order slurred from his scalded throat.

"You were not meant to die before me. You swore an oath!" she reminded him.

"Cannot cheat death," Gabriel grunted through gritted teeth. "Tired... s-sleep."

"Promise you will not leave without saying goodbye."

"Never without g-goodbye... never w-without b-b-blessing."

"Then sleep, my angel," she crooned, snuggling him closer.

Lyris forced herself to look again at Gabriel's crushed, charred body; a ritualistic self-torture; a confrontation of the bleak void Destiny had elected to be her future. However a curtain of love deceived her heart. She saw only smooth skin covered in a fine layer of honey-blond hair. A workingman's physique of muscled arms, strong legs, and wide shoulders that had willingly lugged the burdens life had thrust upon them. A smooth, broad chest marred only by a tiny birthmark upon his breastbone. And, long-fingered hands; scarred and callused from a lifetime of farm _labour. Hands that_ cherished her body.

Gabriel lay rigid upon a wooden cot in a small, chilly room; a rough extension haphazardly built onto the physician's own home. Layers of grime and dried blood carpeted a hard floor. The stench of burnt flesh, stale liquor and the reek of death permeated the walls.

Outside the room were the sounds of activity: the comings and goings of the villagers; the hacking cough of a man with an obvious chest ailment; the wailing of someone in pain. And, the shrill voices of mothers yelling at their rambunctious children to quieten down.

Worse were the sounds of the night. The melancholic screams that emanated from behind a locked door further down the hallway. Cries that blended with the gurgling wails of babies.

The body within her arms jerked, straining her already exhausted limbs. She caressed Gabriel's forehead, whispering soft words of comfort. "Rest my beautiful one."

The physician had officially diagnosed his patient's demise and all but ceased his ministering. He had handed Lyris a tall bottle of rum and a tiny vial of Laudanum, prescribing as medicine to help numb Gabriel's suffering. As much as the physician hated her, he respected Gabriel with equal fervor, for Gabriel had once saved his family from certain tragedy.

The physician could not have been more wrong on one account. This was Gabriel's third day. Sheer cussed strength of will restrained the Reaper's siren call. He would never voluntarily surrender to peace without her blessing. But she was too selfish to grant him that boon.

To protect her, Gabriel had sacrificed persistently. His reputation. His standing in the community. Even his religion. He assumed responsibility of her when she had been but sixteen years of age. For over two decades he had not slackened in his commitment.

However, all that he had forfeited was now insufficient. He hoarded only two things: his words of love and the renewed offer of marriage. The former, Lyris could live without, for his actions had been proclamation enough. The latter, she would not let him withhold any longer.

Harsh breath puffed from between his dehydrated lips. Stretching over to the wooden table beside the cot, she dipped the edge of her shawl into a bowl of blood-tinged water and delicately dabbed at his lips. His tongue peeked out, licking at the moist materiel.

He remained undisturbed as she continued swabbing his face and sweet lips. Lips that had never uttered a harsh word nor held her culpable for the injury her kin, Schoolmaster Oswald Anderson, had inflicted upon him and so many others.

Lyris could still see a perfect depiction of Gabriel's baby brother, Christian Claybourne, in her minds' eye; a head abundant with white-blond hair and eyes that glowed with energy. His exuberant smile had lit up the darkest of rooms. He had been love personified. And merely six years of age when his lifespan had been prematurely severed.

The crime, committed twenty-two years ago, continued to fester in the hearts of all the murdered victims' families. Though, Lyris had not perpetrated the depraved act, Obsidian-Veil held her liable. As the schoolmaster's only blood-relation, she was the perfect target for their revenge. After all, the schoolmaster had denied them justice by committing his own execution.

Obsidian-Veil would have destroyed Lyris had Gabriel not shielded her. In reward for his chivalry, a constant love/hate battle existed between him and the villagers. They could not reject him outright for his loss, too, was the fatal bond that united them all.

Despite their underlying hatred, in order to prevent the destruction of another generation of children, Gabriel had without aforethought damned his life to rescue their offspring. A raging fire had engulfed the new schoolhouse, razing it to the ground. The villagers' eyes had turned upon Lyris in accusation. The proximity of another Anderson near yet another cursed schoolhouse was too much a coincidence.

Fortunately, the men had worked rapidly, rescuing nearly all without injury. Everyone except Gabriel, that is. Sensing the harm that would befall her should there be even one fatality, he had rushed back into the building, despite others having lost faith in fighting the flames that almost touched the sky.

As Gabriel had stumbled out with the last terrified child, a burning beam obstructed his path. The child had been flung to safety, but the heat and strength of the conflagration instantly set Gabriel's body aflame; his innards had been crushed beneath the weight of falling debris.

A constricting pain circling her wrist snapped Lyris out of her reverie. Blood trickled from the corner of Gabriel's mouth. His body lurched like a suffocating fish too long out of water. A wretched gurgle emanated from within the walls of his chest.

"Lyris!" Glazed eyes searched blindly. He wheezed, spluttering up more blood. "Set me free!"

"I cannot."

"Why make me suffer? What... you want?"

"Your name. I want to hold my head up high and declare 'I am Mrs Gabriel Claybourne.' Lyris Katherine A-Anderson is a w-wretched c-creature to be sh-shunned and d-derided," she stammered. "Please!"

She watched his jaw move, the beginning of the word "no" shape his perfect lips. Before rejection became sound, she pressed the rum bottle to his mouth. He slurped thirstily for but a moment before turning his head away. Returning the bottle to the table, she then mopped up the blood and liquor that trickled down his cheeks and soaked into the stained pillow.

Gabriel's bandaged hand sluggishly lifted off the bed. With a strength that amazed her, he tangled his fingers into her hair; pulling cruelly. "Why? You have

l-lived under my roof. S-shared my b-bed. Given me your body. Why n-now?"

"You told me you would never marry, never sire children, because you could not suffer to lose again. You had no more heart to break." Her next words fanned across his face in allegation. "I am losing. You owe me. Make me a part of you, not just physically, but spiritually as sanctified by God."

Untangling his fingers from the abundant black tresses, he sighed. Keeping her face near, he traced her features with bandaged fingers. The slight dip on her nose. A star-shaped scar beneath her left eye. Legacies of past cruelties. The smoothness of pale cheeks. The fine lines of age. The gentle slopping contour of her eyebrows. The very tips of her stubby eyelashes.

"Sweet Lyris, you s-said what I-I had to give... w-what little I could spare was enough. Were the years a l-lie?"

Almost as Gabriel now feared her response, he pressed harsh fingers against her mouth, gagging her. However, he could not hide the shame in his eyes. The same remorse that pervaded his soul every time he sought pleasure in her body without benefit of marriage. Always, with a single touch of love she could eradicate that look. In conclusion, wedded or not, their souls were inexorably intertwined.

"Never a lie! You cherished me as only a mother could. You were a brother when I needed protection. You are the lover I dared not dream of. Even when he..." her breath quivered. "...took your Christian, you loved me no less." She paused, attempting to smile her reassurance. "You are right, what we have is enough."

"Damn it w-woman! Demand... curse... condemn... do n-not k-kowtow to me," Gabriel censured.

"Are you saying if I had demanded it of you all these years, you would have married me?"

"No. But, now I have n-neither the voice nor the strength to d-deny you. If you so wish, in exchange for breaking my vow, I will give you my n-name."

"Truly?"

His confirmation was hesitant. The way his eyes veered from meeting hers, hurt deep. She wanted to recall her challenge, for their bond was not based on stipulations and ultimatums.

"My parents' rings... fetch them and the Bible. Together we shall find the right words within the Lord's book."

Sliding from the cot, Lyris rose. "You will not regret your decision. I promise." Then more timidly, "You will wait for me?"

A grimace cracked his blistered lips. "Darling-heart, there is little chance of me abandoning you at the altar. As for regretting my decision? I shall not live long enough to rue the day I married."

On exiting the room, Lyris Katherine Anderson was immediately confronted by a roomful of people waiting to be attended by the physician.

The cacophony that had disturbed Gabriel's rest since dawn became silent. Every face turned towards her. Familiar faces masked over by the psychologically unhealed lesions suffered at the violent loss of their children; features haggard with hate; eyes shot through with malevolence. Shoulders stooped from hauling the yoke of their rage for too long a time.

Abruptly, as if a puppet-master had heaved on a single string, all heads turned in unison towards the physician's sanctum. With leisured stealth the door creaked open; the squeak of hinges horrifyingly earsplitting. At first an elongated shadow blackened the stone floor. Shadow then became substance as form stepped arrogantly forth.

Preacher Nathaniel Bullivant-Rivage, a self-proclaimed messenger of God who cracked the whip of retribution with his right hand and in his left, palmed the lightening bolts of destruction with thunderous ferocity.

To the inhabitants of Obsidian-Veil, he was their ultimate salvation.

Obsidian-Veil: An insignificant village known of only through word-of-mouth as a vile dream that refused to be eviscerated. It had been bypassed by modernization and industrialization without so much as derogatory salutation.

Much as their forefathers, the villagers' needs remained simple. They laboured hard for their earnings—striving to feed their families, maintain the roofs over their heads and clothe their bodies. They had neither ambition to seek their fortunes nor aspirations to venture beyond the boundaries of Obsidian-Veil.

All that remained to be catered for were their sinning souls. Preacher Bullivant-Rivage was their deliverance from the evils of the world. More significantly, he, too, was a victim of the affliction that curdled the community.

In sharing their anguish, the preacher could have assisted his people in their pursuit of the peace they craved. Instead he fed their torment, nurturing it into a vindictive monster that repudiated death. As long as the villagers continued to abide within the labyrinth he contrived, they would never see beyond the sinister façade camouflaging the beast that rode upon his back.

The preacher stood amongst his people, a peacock dressed in the finest. Lean and well kempt, he carried himself with majestic pride. Dissimilar to the fatigued faces of his followers, the glow of a quality diet and health radiated an ageless physicality.

Upon his head, a silken top hat. A navy tailcoat, with black satin collars, tapered to his waist before flaring outwards. Adorning his neck, a cravat in a myriad of _colours_. Pristine white gloves encased delicate hands that were drenched with the stains of his many crimes.

_Gray_ trousers, immaculately creased, hugged gangly legs. Whereas most of the men wore Wellington boots, sturdy and thick soled; covered in the daily grime of their labours; the preacher's boots laced up to his knees—the leather polished to excellence in order to hide the soiled marks left by the numerous bodies he had stomped upon in order to reach his exalted status.

Each season he vacated Obsidian-Veil, returning two weeks later sporting the latest _fashions_. Accompanying him, new trunks overflowing with apparel, footwear and the most vital accessories.

Four things remained constant about the preacher.

He was never seen without his white ivory cane with its bulbous gold handle in the shape of a wolf's skull. Always slap-slapping against his right palm in a most impatient manner.

A black velvet-hooded robe that covered him from head to foot, swirling and billowing as he traversed the streets, making him appear larger than life. At night he resembled an unearthly silhouette, dipping and weaving without substance.

A scalp of brilliant white hair, straight and lank. Even the fingers of a brisk wind could not dislodge a single strand. The whiteness so in contrast to the dense, black eyebrows contouring his eyes.

Snake-like eyes, darker then all-hallows'-eve night, overindulged with the specters of malignant torture. Cruel eyes that penetrated the soul; injecting it to the brim with a sense of hopelessness and inescapable nightmares.

Through bitter experience, Lyris had learned to conceal her fears. Yet she could not control the burning churn of acid within her belly at the sight of him.

"Is his time come?"

Was it her imagination or had she detected a touch of relish at the idea of Gabriel's death? "N-no!" Clearing her throat, she summoned the confidence Gabriel had schooled into her. Lifting her head high, she stood proud. "Gabriel has asked for my hand in marriage. I am to become his wife." Only after the words slipped off her tongue did she regret her indiscretion.

The preacher sneered in derision as if aware she lied. That she had in fact wheedled a proposal from a dying man too weak to decline. His onyx gaze mocked her, but as always he acted the indulgent host when standing amongst witnesses.

"Child, I suspect the grief has irrevocably affected your mind." He turned to his doting spectators. "Come, ye faithful. Let us kneel and pray that the Lord be compassionate in his dealings with this demented girl."

So instructed, they knelt at the feet of their mentor in devoted supplication. Folding his hands, he lowered his head in prayer. His congregation mimicked his every move in perfect synchronization.

"Father, in thee we look in all our sorrow: thou art the fountain whence our healing flows. Dark though the night, joy cometh with the morrow; safely they rest who on thy love repose..."

"Why, this once, can you not show me compassion? Is that not what God commands? Forgiveness and charity to all?" Lost in anger, Lyris unwittingly moved into the circle that cosseted the preacher.

"You have the mettle to question me?" He grabbed her by the collar of her dress. "Whose wicked blood murdered my sons? Caused my poor wife to become insane with misery!" he screamed, spewing his hatred into her face. "What rights have you to compassion?"

Empathizing, his audience surrounded him within a protective embrace. Taking several gasping breaths he thanked them while rubbing away non-existent tears. "Bless you. Bless you."

Shaking himself, he eased out of the constricting circle. "You are correct, child. You are entitled to compassion. My compassion."

The preacher paused, quoting rather spectacularly, "For is it not written: love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who ill-treat you. If someone strikes you on one cheek, turn to him the other also. If someone takes your cloak, do not stop him from taking your tunic. Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back."

His head bowed. "Though you stole my treasured sons, struck me down with grief and took my wife from me, I must remember that I presently stand before you not as a man—not as a father—not as a husband; but as an emissary of the Almighty. Thus, in His name, I shall show compassion and perform your nuptials."

Lyris stared at him with stunned disbelief. "Th-thank you, but..."

The preacher interrupted her mid-sentence. "Please, do not humble me with your gratitude." Opening a leather-bound and gold embossed Bible, he thumbed the pages. "You will, of course, require witnesses."

"Witnesses?"

"Yes. Witnesses."

"We do not want..."

"Surely someone will stand for you?" No one moved. No one even blinked. "Also, consider, when I ask if there are any just impediments why you should not be lawfully wed to Brother Gabriel, do you expect me to remain silent? To perjure myself before God and Obsidian-Veil?"

Preacher Bullivant-Rivage continued his denigration. "Is it not common knowledge that your grandmother was an infamous whore? The harlot knew not the names of the infidels whose bastards she bore. Your uncle... No!" He sliced a vicious hand through the air. "I refuse to even acknowledge the murdering heathen again.

"As for your mother, she who fornicated with a man betrothed to another—who abandoned her own flesh so that she could persist in her profane acts of decadence and corruption. And you..." He shook his head remorsefully. "Misfortune accompanies wherever your feet tread."

An arm stretched out, indicating all surrounding him. "Every man, woman and child knows you bewitched Gabriel. Drew him unto your contaminated bosom so that he could debauch the milk of immorality from your teats. Ensnared him within your web of silken limbs and sinful ways."

On cue, his people expressed their repugnance with hissing catcalls.

"That is a lie. Gabriel wanted me. Gabriel saved me." Lyris foolishly pleaded for their understanding, but these people were deaf to everything except one voice. Indeed it was him who bewitched and enchanted.

"You may have despoiled his heart and body, but you could not oppress his soul. His purity recognized your depravity. Otherwise, would he not have married you the first time you draped your nakedness upon his?"

"You are wrong. He loves me. As for my worth, I told him everything. I kept no secrets. He loves me!" she reiterated, unable to break away from the frenzy he induced. She felt herself tumbling into the abyss of his pitiless eyes.

"Come now, look deep within yourself and face the truth. Only then can you take the first step towards redemption." He held out a gloved hand coaxing her to take that first step. "When the wicked man turneth away from his wickedness that he hath committed, and doeth that which is lawful and right, he shall save his soul alive."

His tongue clicked at her hesitation. "Take my hand. You are amongst your peers." Glancing at his spectators, he appealed, "Will you not help save this soul despite her delinquency? Rescue her from an eternity of hellfire and brimstone?"

Responding to his call, all stepped forward, holding out encouraging hands in imitation.

"The Lord knows you are not responsible for the sins you commit. A malevolent contagion worms its way through your veins." Pulling back his proffered hand he commenced slipping off a glove. "For is it not said, from the seed of a mighty lion a future king will flourish, but from the womb of a whore only a whore can be born."

Slow, methodic, the preacher undressed each finger. "There is still time to redeem yourself. Bare your soul unto me as I bare my hand to you. Let us be your spiritual guardians."

When Lyris still condescended not to take his hand, he tried another ploy. "In fact I give thee more than my hand; I offer my arms, open to embrace you as a newborn." He approached her, arms outspread. "Do not fear to enter into His glorious ways."

Unable to control her limbs, she fell into his embrace. His arms enfolded her unwilling form against his body. An unbelievably strong smack of lust enshrouded her. Something grotesque and ominous gushed into her belly.

Lyris wondered why no one protested his embrace. Much to her surprise, everyone in the room was motionless as stone, their unblinking eyes transfixed upon them.

"Our time cometh hurriedly, tempting-morsel. Before you are punished for your sins against me, we shall conclude the game you instigated many centuries ago. We shall feast upon each other. Even now, can you not taste the yearning that burns within the core of your most willing body?"

Lyris wanted to reject his words but no sound issued from her frozen lips. As she felt herself melting into him, a high-pitched scream delivering curses and threats infiltrated the waiting-room. The preacher became diverted by the disturbance.

With an enormous burst of energy, Lyris thrust him away. "I will not allow you to do this to me!"

Losing balance, he tumbled, precisely into the arms of his people, who recovered their senses in time to witness her mistreatment of their beloved saviour. "You pitiable, demented creature, how loud and vehemently you speak. Is it to convince us of your lie? Yet we know the truth for it came from the silence of Gabriel's own lips. Or is it to convince yourself? Do you believe, if you say the words loud enough and often enough they will be true?" Sighing, he shook his head in commiseration. "We offer you salvation and still you shun us."

Lyris felt her lungs expand with air that could not be expelled. Her heart pounded, her ears echoed with his tormenting words. A scream lashed at her mind. Her mouth stretched open in agony. No cry emerged.

Preacher Bullivant-Rivage turned his back on her. "Be gone. Plague us no more. You are a stench. An abomination not only upon Obsidian-Veil but upon Gabriel, as well." Pivoting gracefully, he called upon those present. "Let us kneel and pray. Only in death shall Gabriel's soul be released from this harpy's clutches."

Perched at the foot of the cot, shuddering against the cold night air, Lyris watched her lover sleep. Midnight had come and gone, yet the preacher's condemnations continued resonating in her head. Made worse when he had launched into an impromptu prayer service in the physician's waiting room.

After their departure, she had expunged the bile burning a hole in her belly. In a dark corner of the room, she retched until her already empty stomach felt shredded from within.

Breath rasped from her mouth as she sipped from the almost empty rum bottle. Despite its rawness, the potent liquor numbed her physical pain, though not her mental anguish. In a hoarse whisper, she uttered the questions that tormented her since the altercation. "Did he speak the truth, Gabriel? Did you fear your children's blood would be contaminated by mine?"

Her tone was conversational, belying the emotions blistering her tongue. "You should have said you loved me, even if it was a lie. Then his words would not ring so true."

In the everlasting cycle of death and birth, night surrendered unto the light of dawn. Brightness silently crept into the dank room announcing the revivification of a new day. Illumination danced over the lovers slumbering upon the cot, each adrift in a realm of torment.

Lyris cringed and bucked, attempting to evade the hands that ripped at her clothes. As she lay naked at the feet of her persecutor, whose face remained oblique, she had no choice but to submit to his punishment. He screamed out depraved allegations—his words scarred her skin with the intensity of a horsewhip.

"Lyris, where are you?" demanded a voice that dragged her into a world of heartrending reality.

She scrambled to his side. "Always with you, Gabriel."

"Thirsty."

She pressed a damp cloth to his lips but he was too weak to suckle. "Are you in so much pain?"

"M-more than I can b-bear."

"Then sleep, my angel," she choked, giving him the permission he sought.

His mouth quirked. "S-shame on you, Lyris, you would send me away without your b-blessing."

"Gabriel..."

"Why are you angered with m-me?"

"Angry? With you? Never!"

"No? You have l-learnt to disguise your emotions, but I c-could always see your d-distress in the trembling of your hands, no matter h-how h-hard you sought to conceal. I a-always tried to correct my f-faults. Tell me h-how I have w-wronged you. I s-swear I shall do my best to a-atone."

"You were right; we do not need to marry to prove our love."

"Lyris?"

"He said I bewitched... entrapped you... that I am evil," she quoted with self-contempt. "He said if you had loved, you would have married me long ago. I told them all they were wrong but even I am not so sure any more."

"If you are not sure... if you have more f-faith in that l-loathsome man... then I do not wish you beside me. Let me d-die alone then in your doubting presence."

Gabriel's words caused an excruciating wrench to her heart. "Do not send me away!" He remained silent so long she shook him. "Forgive me!"

"The rings," the command was strong, clear of the slurring. The expression in his eyes radiated with anticipation.

Lyris felt ashamed for she had no rings. Subsequent to her exchange with Preacher Bullivant-Rivage, she had reverted to the pathetic creature he accused her of. A wounded animal, slinking away to lick its injuries, she had returned to her sanctuary. Gabriel.

A sudden flash of gold almost blinded her. On the table, illuminated by the light of dawn, were not only the rings but also the family Bible. How? Picking up the wedding bands, she tipped them onto his injured palm.

"Left hand, darling-heart."

She pressed her trembling hand into his, and despite the bandages, heat seeped from his burnt flesh. "Lyris Katherine Anderson. My lover. My counsel. My cherished beloved. Be my wife. Belong unto me until Judgment day and beyond."

"Oh, my Gabriel, to the very end of time!"

Sliding the ring onto her slim finger, he stated with fervor. "I take thee, Lyris, as my wife."

"I take thee, Gabriel, as my husband, my lover, my heart. My everything."

"My father's ring, place it where it belongs." She did as instructed but the band slid no further then his swollen knuckle. "In the sight of God, we shall always be one. Amen"

"Amen."

"Mrs Gabriel Claybourne. Wife. How blessed the sound. Yet, you shall be a widow longer than you were ever a bride." He crushed her newly bejeweled hand in a tight grip. "Lyris, you must believe I never regretted my time with you. I would not barter one moment. Not the hardships. Not the pain. You made every second worth living."

"I love you." Lips to his, Lyris sealed her declaration with tears.

"Lie beside me, wife." Toeing off her slippers, she tucked herself in next to Gabriel. "Help me into your arms. I wish the last sound I hear to be the beating of your living heart."

Carefully, she rearranged Gabriel so that he lay across her. He snuggled closer, his breath warmed her chest, and his heaviness pleasured her senses.

"Cold."

Lyris felt terrible for she had nothing to cover him with. Again, to her surprise, a clean blanket had been draped at the foot of the cot. She sent up a prayer of gratitude to whatever guardian angel watched over them.

"I remember when you first held me against your bosom. After my mother's funeral. I thought I would break from my loss. You permitted me to cry when others insisted I remain strong. Again, when my Christian..." Gabriel paused, lost in memories. "I knew him to be dead... I needed to comfort him... to allow him the solace of my embrace one last time."

Lyris remained silent, listening to his faltering speech slur once more. "You embraced us both against your heart. You gave me consolation." With tenderness, he petted her breast. "How did I repay my darling-heart? By abandoning her to a pack of ravenous beasts. Can you ever forgive me?"

"There is nothing to forgive. You were lost in grief."

"And what of your grief?"

"What justification had I to grieve, Gabriel? Do you think I am unaware of the outcome of my life had you not taken me into your protection?"

Lyris traced his face, memorizing every beautiful line and curve into a heart already abundant with him. "You silenced the voices of self-hate that subsisted inside my mind. You gave me back my pride... my faith. You loved and cherished me better than any husband a wife. What more dared I ask for?"

"The words. I may have been mute, but never blind to your anguish."

"The words were never important to me," she lied.

"Lyris, time is short. Let there be no more silences between us." He began to cough, a harsh, barking hack that concaved his chest.

Lyris massaged him comfortingly. "Beloved, rest."

"I must speak. Do not let me die with this burden."

"Gabriel..."

"Can you not see I was proved right? You are here beside me unlike my family buried deep within the earth." His eyes brimmed over with tears. "It is I who owe you. The day Christian died, I thought my life had also ended. There were times I could not breathe for the storm in my heart. Days when I craved insanity to take me by the hand, for it offered me a reprieve from the nightmares that consumed my mind. I would have willingly crawled into his grave and slumbered forever beside Christian," he confessed. "Then I would hear your voice. Feel your touch. You are my salvation."

"There is no need for explanations," Lyris insisted. "I understood."

"If I speak now, will you forgive me my cowardice?"

Her ears hummed with excited expectation. "Yes!"

Taking her face between his hands, he held her tightly. In a sure, unwavering voice Gabriel stated, "Lyris, my darling-heart... I love you. All that I am... I love you." Calloused thumbs swiped away her tears.

His hold weakening, dejected he fell against her. As he continued speaking his speech became almost incomprehensible. "Remember, honey-child, no one could or will ever love you more than your beloved angel."

Without warning his body began to shudder, his face contorted in agony. His teeth gritted as he fought for air. His fingers dug into her. "Promise me, always care for my Christian. He will lose heart... without me. Protect him. Remind him... I love him. Do not abandon him... desolation of... hell-hole."

"I promise!"

"Swear on our love. Else... soul... be destroyed."

"On all that is holy, I swear it!" she cried.

"Next time... will give... marriage... children." His body jerked so hard, even the cot bounced beneath the pressure. "Lyris, you are my eternity. Forgive my sins against you. Forgive my leaving you."

"Gabriel!"

"Blessings... wife."

"Oh God, how will I survive without you?"

"Pain... I burn!"

"God bless you, my beloved angel. God bless you on your journey."

"Remember... promise."

Lyris took a fortifying lungful of air before saying, "I must tell you..."

"Our son."

"How?" She had never told Gabriel of the child born into the cradle rocked by Death. It was her secret, not only because she felt guilty at having failed to keep their unborn son from harm, but also she feared the knowledge would destroy him. After so many years, she finally understood why Gabriel had starved her right to be a mother. Not because he worried any child of theirs would be contaminated by her blood as the preacher had goaded, but because he was already a father.

In that, once again, Fate had played a most vicious trick. As Fate had betrayed him the right to be a son, a brother, a husband, so had it deprived him the entitlement of fatherhood.

Gabriel grabbed a fistful of her hair. "Say it."

Despite the circumstances Lyris giggled. "I love you."

"More."

"I belong to you."

"Finish it!"

"No other man will touch me. I belong to you, my beloved."

"Love me forever... wife!" With that arrogant edict he slipped into death.

Lyris held Gabriel's head close to her bosom. Words discharged from her mouth in a garbled litany of anguish. "When I was a child, my mother pledged life was a dream. I had but to close my eyes and all the badness would cease to exist.

"Mother left me. Disappeared without explanation. I was shunted from orphanage to orphanage, treated as rubbish, abused and starved. I knew she had lied. Life was no dream, but a never-ending nightmare," she said, her tone hate-filled and harsh.

"Then one day Uncle Oswald appeared. He had such a kind face. He claimed to want me. Like the knights of legends riding in to save the damsel-in-distress, he rescued me. But he also betrayed me. He was a cruel, vindictive man who had gorged on a lifetime of brutality.

"Every night I prayed for death. All those religious, sanctimonious men preached that God is love. Where was His love for me?"

Lyris began to laugh, recalling the very second Gabriel had entered her life. "Your smile, brighter than the sun, stole my heart. My life had been filled with nothingness. Then you were there, warming me." Unable to control her physical grief, she began to rock, back-and-forth as a sinking ship in stormy seas.

"I understood why I had been spared. The Lord had gifted you to me. From that night, I prayed and prayed that you would love me forever. You did more than love me; you made me a part of your heartbeat."

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Even when you realized my most shameful secret, you did not torment me as the others."

Very quickly the rocking escalated, taking on a ferocious tempo. "Why did you have to be a good man, Gabriel? You should have married Elizabeth... had sons and daughters ... a content, peaceful life. Your whole future waited on a golden platter. Yet you chose to save me.

"And how did Providence recompense you for your act of charity? It spat in your face and condemned you to a lifetime of tragedy. If you had been but selfish, you would still be alive. Instead, you chose to be a hero to the very people who rejected you and despised me."

Her accusations rose to a deafening pitch as she screamed at him. "I hate you, Gabriel!" Lyris heard the words reverberate the walls and regretted them. "No!" she crooned. "Everything I am is because of you. You saw the best in me when all else saw only the legacy of an atrocity. Your heart heard my voice when all others asserted I remain voiceless. You were my guardian angel, lifting me from the pits of hell into the arms of heaven."

Lyris' world collapsed. A tormented scream ruptured from her soul.

Emma Bullivant-Rivage felt her heart cracking at the sight of Lyris bent over the broken body of her husband.

Though the villagers had denounced the couple, neither had permitted their spirits to harden. Both their arms and doors had been open to the needy. In the darkness of the night, in the shelter of the shadows, they had emptied their own larders to feed the hungry; given refuge to the desolate, and sat beside the beds of the sick, nurturing those who had no other carer.

Emma's husband decreed it sacrilege to speak of the carnage. Defying him, Lyris and Gabriel had provided a safe haven to gather and share memories of happier times; to laugh, to grieve, to seek solace amongst their brethren.

There had been infinite moments when the sharp edge of sorrow had been blunted and Obsidian-Veil thrived once more. It was then Nathaniel slithered in, ramming the wrath of God down the villagers' throats. Reminding them of their loss. Saturating their minds with frenzied hate. Lancing at their grief until it wept and oozed puss.

Once again Obsidian-Veil would descend into a barren abyss of unlimited despondency. Vanquished of joy, there would be no voices or laughter in the streets; no kindness towards Gabriel and Lyris.

Exactly as desired by Nathaniel and the beast that rode upon his back. Both had a reason, a confidence Emma dared not share. If she ever verbalized the secret that haunted worse than a malicious poltergeist, her life-force would be extinguished. Then again, she concealed a secret of her own. In a short while both she and her babies would finally be free.

Limping to the cot, Emma sat beside Lyris. A ravaged countenance, eyes bleeding with torment, turned towards her. "He said he loved me. He promised never to abandon me again," Lyris cried. "If this is love, then I shall never love again. Never-never-never!"

Emma gathered the mourning girl into her arms. She pressed her scarred cheek against a softer one. "If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging symbol. If I have the gift of prophecy and I can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing..."

She meant to give solace, instead her words further inflamed Lyris.

"Then I would be nothing! Gabriel shared his soul with me. What am I without him? A body is dead without a soul. I shall be nothing more than a walking carrion for the vultures to feed upon."

Lyris' voice dropped to a defeated whisper. "He will come for me now. These long years I have lived in a gilded cage, the bars constructed by Gabriel. But he was not my jailer, rather my defender from the dangers that lay in wait. Who will protect me now?" she asked. "He will grind me beneath the heels of his shiny boots. How then, shall I keep my sacred promise to Gabriel? How then, shall I protect Christian?"

"The Lord is the source of my light and my safety, so whom shall I fear?" Emma quoted. "The Lord will protect you. Now close your eyes and rest."

"I must stay awake. Gabriel suffers terrible nightmares. Who will awaken him?"

"I will."

"Promise me?"

"I promise." She stroked Lyris' hair. "Sleep, now. Sleep deep."

Lyris complied, her voice growing fainter. "You smell like my mother. Summer roses and pink pansies. You have a pretty voice. My mother had a pretty voice. Will you talk to me until I fall asleep?"

"As you wish."

Turning towards Gabriel, Lyris kissed his lips, once, twice. Placing her head upon his shoulder, draping an arm across his chest, she closed her eyes. "Pleasant dreams, my beloved angel. I will love you eternally."

"Sleep. Sleep deep," Emma encouraged again.

A flicker of movement caught Emma's attention. The physician made to enter; with a shake of her head she stalled him. He blinked once in acknowledgement. They had long ago devised their own private sign language, thus concealing their familiarity from Nathaniel.

Returning her attention to Lyris, Emma commenced speaking. "Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh..."

Lyris seemed to melt into Gabriel even as his burnt flesh absorbed the tears dripping from beneath her eyelids.

Emma crooked her finger and beckoned over the physician.

With a skillful movement, he poured several drops of a clear liquid from a small vial onto a square of white gauze. Taking the cloth, she arranged it over Lyris' nose. In the blink of a moment, the young woman virtually ceased to breathe. To the unpracticed eye, she might seem dead. However benevolent death may have been, her demise was not their goal. That privilege belonged solely to Nathaniel.

Emma leant down, and for the second time in her life, kissed her first born. Her daughter...



Scrunched up in the armchair, knees tucked into her chest, Melina awoke to the sound of strident, aggressive banging noises. She threw aside the blanket Adam had considerately draped over her, and glanced at the couch.

Something twisted within the deepest core of her. He was gone. "Stop being so pathetic! I did tell him to leave. But still... after kissing me senseless, a goodbye would've been gentlemanly."

"You did indeed, but lucky for you I have selective hearing. And _you_ kissed _me_ ," came the response from inside her bedroom. "Now, are you going to answer the door or do you want me to get it?" After a deliberate pause he added, "By the way, I'm naked. N.A.K.E.D... N.A.K.E.D..." he sing-songed.

"Jerk," she mumbled.

"And Ethan said you're not to let either your uncle or aunt in."

Unfortunately, only one person knocked with such imperious force. Praying for patience, she unhurriedly deactivated the security alarm and reluctantly allowed her aunt and uncle to enter.

"If you gave us a key, as I've suggested numerous times, we wouldn't have to wait for you to get off your lazy backside and answer the door."

"Jonas. Jean," Melina acknowledged the diminutive woman who followed in her uncle's wake.

"Good morning, Milly. How's my favourite girl?" Jean asked in a too cheerful voice.

"My name is Melina."

"You'll always be Milly to me. Why, I've called you Milly since you were knee-high." She tweaked Melina's cheek as she flitted past.

Melina wiped away the woman's touch. "And I've told you ever since, not to."

"Tut-tut-tut. Looks like someone just got out from the wrong side of her bed this morning."

" _Just_ being the operative word." Jonas turned a critical gaze upon Melina's ratty cardigan and saggy nightshirt. " _She_ always was a slothful child."

Without invitation, Jonas gracelessly waddled over to the couch and plopped down. His obese size caused it to tilt precariously backwards prior to settling. Jean, on the other hand, minced the circumference of the living room, running her fingers over various surfaces. Her elegant hands were tipped with manicured, lilac-varnished nails that perfectly matched her glossy lipstick and stylish summer dress of delicate chiffon and dainty frills.

"Milly, I taught you better than this." Jean sounded exultant at the spec of dust coating a fingertip. Snapping open a Chanel handbag, she conjured up a pristine yellow duster. "No offence intended, the last time we visited, your place resembled a pigsty. So, why don't you go make a fresh pot of coffee while I wipe down these filthy surfaces."

"Oh, pah-leaze, sit down." Melina ordered, unimpressed. "You wouldn't know what to do with that duster if it grew arms and legs and demonstrated for you. And, FYI, a pair of shoes left by the armchair and an empty chocolate box does not constitute a _pigsty_."

"Really, dear, no need to be so rude. It's Raven's fault, not ours, that you suffer from an inferiority complex." The cleaning products disappeared back into Jean's handbag. "There's no shame in admitting you can't cope with housework and a fulltime job. If you moved back _home,_ life would be so much easier for _you_."

Hands now idle, Jean furtively veered towards a glass display cabinet. "Milly, do get rid of that mess." She pointed at the remnants of a croissant soaking in a puddle of congealed cream. "The sight turns my stomach."

Melina quietly simmered with anger as Jean rearranged the three framed, black-and-white prints on display—each of her mother in the heyday of her glamour model career. To her surprise, Ethan had located the memorabilia. The prints portrayed Raven in a profoundly un-maternal light: two were risqué, while the third verged on obscene but for the discreet placement of an ostrich feather. In regards to her mother, Melina had only _one_ other item of any personal significance. An act of sheer defiance had salvaged the hand-crocheted bedspread from a bonfire, which in effect had erased Raven Cassville from existence. She'd received her first punishment at her uncle's hands for her supposed insubordination.

However, the bedspread held little sentimental value. Raven had borne a problematical pregnancy and been confined to total bed rest for five months. Bored senseless, she'd found a hobby with which to occupy herself while waiting for the parasite inside her body to be expelled. A little titbit she'd laughingly shared with Melina while teaching her the actual craft during a scarce mother/daughter bonding session.

"Gosh, you might have left _home_ years ago but I still miss you. Especially the head massages." Jean tapped her scalp. "Your talented fingers were, without exception, the best medicine for my migraines."

Melina sighed. Why hadn't she listened to Adam's instructions? Where was Ethan when she actually needed him? He could send the pair scampering with a mere curl of his upper lip. Jonas may be a mean-tempered bastard, but like all bullies, he feared the threat of violence on his own person.

"Right... coffee." She scooped up the tray of leftovers and turned towards the kitchen.

Setting the beverage to perk, Melina returned to find the pair huddled together and whispering to one another. "How are _my_ kids?" Melina asked, filling in the awkward silence that ensued.

"Wonderful. Thank you for asking." Jean smiled. "Kimmi and Tammi mentioned spending an extended weekend with you."

"I did explain I couldn't promise anything, what with the year-end audit coinciding with a VAT inspection of Hunter's Security Services. Tell them to give me another call, we'll compare schedules."

Jonas interrupted brusquely, "You _will_ find time for my chickpeas. Work permitting or not. Anyway you have no choice. Jean and I are attending a retreat in a fortnight. We've been working our fingers to the bone on behalf of the parish. We require respite and time to commune with God."

Melina stood her ground, her stance antagonistic. "You're so wrong, Jonas. Since leaving your workhouse, I have a plethora of choices."

"Don't sass me, missy!" His face a sick-purple, his posture aggressive, he chafed his belt buckle.

Jean placed a pacifying hand over her husband's. "Snockums, Milly is a grown woman with her own life," she admonished, kissing the side of his balding head. She then shook a finger in Melina's direction. "You're too sensitive for your own good, young Milly. Snockums may sound gruff but he's just a big cuddly-wuddly, loving teddy bear when it comes to your wellbeing."

Melina stifled the fury that threatened to throttle her. "I could tell exactly how much your 'cuddly-wuddly-loving-teddy-bear' cared for my wellbeing every time he used his belt on me, or backhanded me across the face. Or when you locked me in the garden shed all night," she accused. "I bet you would've left me there to rot, only you two needed a skivvy to do the housework and parenting you were too idle to do yourselves."

"You mealy-mouthed harridan!" Jonas seethed, incensed by her disparagement. "You needed disciplining. _Spare the rod and spoil the child_ ," he roared. "Maybe, if your Grandfather had taken a belt to Raven, instead of indulging her every whim, the slut would be alive instead of burdening me with her tainted offspring. As for your father..."

"Leave my parents out of this, you son-of-a...!"

"Enough!" Jean shouted. "You two need a time-out. You're both so alike it's eerie; bull-headed and temperamental."

Pivoting, Melina strode back to the kitchen before she gave into the temptation of putting a few of her well-practised wrestling moves to good use.

Five minutes later, she clunked two chipped mugs, filled dangerously to the brim, onto the coffee-table. The mugs depicted a cobra slinking out of a mutilated skull: souvenirs from the last Rock Festival Ethan had attended.

She smothered a giggle; the expression of distaste on Jean's face was priceless, as she barely stopped herself from spitting out a mouthful of the tepid, extra-strong liquid.

"Oh, how rude of me, I forgot to ask, how's Ethan?"

"Oh, no." Melina's already aggravated nerves slid into red-alert. "Don't go there, Jean."

"Whatever do you mean, dear? I only asked as to his health."

"Ethan is fine, thank you." Melina waited with baited breath for the derogatory remarks that would most certainly follow.

"Milly, though it saddens me to keep having to say this, you've changed and not for the better. You used to be such a biddable, considerate girl." Jean took another cautious sip of the dark beverage. "Under our influence, you'd never have _dared_ accuse me of being idle. Especially, as I slave six days a week for the benefit of our parish and various charitable organizations."

Funny, Melina didn't remember reading the commandments; _honour thy beautician thrice weekly_ nor _thou shalt commit retail therapy till thy credit card exceeds its limit._

Jean plonked her mug back down. Then snatching up her handbag, she withdrew a lilac handkerchief. Dabbing her eyes, she swiped at tears she could dredge up at a moments' notice. "Ever since Ethan enticed you away from your real _home_..."

In empathy, Jonas kissed her cheek. "There-there, Jelly-tot, don't upset yourself."

Snuggled together, the pair resembled mismatched bookends. Jean was diminutive, stylish and overtly-feminine, from her girlish dresses to her shoulder-length, bleach-blonde ringlets. Jonas, however, was a behemoth of a man, sloppily dressed and bald as a bread-roll.

"Love you, snockums. Where was I? Since Ethan practically kidnapped you off our very doorstep, you've become disrespectful and disobedient." Jean turned to stroke her husband's bald scalp. "That's why your Uncle forgave you despite your unprovoked attack upon him. We know that dreadful man is manipulating you. But, because we sheltered and babied you against this wicked world, you're too sweet to see you mean less than nothing to Ethan."

"Stop there, please..."

Ignoring Melina, she persisted. "Even you must agree he treated you abysmally. _Good enough to bed but not to wed._ "

Jean bounced from her seat and threw her arms around Melina in a strangling, Chanel No 5-drenched clinch. "Repent and save yourself. Return unto the bosom of your family. Together we'll pray until your soul is purified."

Incensed, Melina shoved Jean aside. "Shut the fuck up! How Ethan treats me is nobody's fucking business! So, why don't you two quit pissing me off and tell me what the friggin' hell you really want."

"Must you be so vulgar?" Any pretence of distress ceased without-further-ado. Shaking out the hankie, Jean folded it neatly before returning it to the handbag. "Divinity, may she rest in peace, had a great affection for you and will have provided in accordance."

She held up a hand indicating silence, should Melina have felt the need to contradict her. "Now, we're not asking for ourselves—although, we wouldn't reject your charity—however, I think it fair you divide your inheritance amongst your cousins. After all, they shared their parents and their home without once asking for recompense; on occasion had to go without, so that you could be provided for."

Melina was bewildered by the incredulous drivel spewing out of Jean's mouth. In the twelve years Melina had resided in their house, she'd never been _provided_ for. She'd worn the family's hand-me-downs while they'd all indulged in the latest fashion-trends. She'd only been allowed leftovers, though she cooked all the meals. Neither had they enrolled her in a school, any education she'd gained had been self-taught by peeking at her cousins' textbooks while they slept.

_Worthless_ is what her guardians had called her. And what was worthless was ultimately discarded.

Without warning, Adam hurried into the living room, wearing nothing more than a scowl and a towel secured slackly around his trim waist. Realising his intentions, Melina imperceptibly shook her head. The last thing she needed was a knight-in-shinning-armour rushing to her rescue. Or to be precise, a stunning, half-naked, dripping wet knight in pink towelling no bigger than a loincloth.

Although he surrendered to her silent command, he didn't immediately return to the bedroom. Instead, his scowl arched into a rakish grin. His fingers lightly skimmed over the knotted edge of the towel, loosening it further with each wickedly naughty foray.

Her pulse speeded up with both apprehension and desire. Was he blind to the presence of her unwanted guests? On the other hand, who gave a hot-damn when faced with such hunky perfection? He was an audacious walking, talking, breathing advertisement for sin.

As if tuned into her stimulated thoughts, Adam's left hand changed direction. He leisurely feathered his smooth chest, trailing an invisible line from rippling pectorals, over a well-defined six-pack down to a rock-solid abdomen. The pink towel slipped an infinitesimal degree, revealing a hint of darkness. Eyes boring into hers, he moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue.

Melina could almost taste the wetness. Her mouth dried while other parts of her anatomy bloomed with heated dampness. The urge to throw a humdinger of a tantrum suddenly overcame her.

Damn Adam for enticing her at such an inopportune moment!

Damn Jonas and Jean for picking today of all days to visit!

And damn herself for not listening to Adam's instructions, because after an early breakfast, she was desperate for desert. She'd bet a month's pay that Adam tasted delicious smeared in chocolate.

Then, in a theatrical bump-and-grind motion, he whipped off the towel. He moved so fast she saw nothing but a taunting smirk and a flash of tanned curves as he slipped back into her bedroom.

"I see there's no talking to you today. You're obviously in one of your delinquent moods." Jean pulled Jonas to his feet beside her. "We'll be going now. After the reading of the Will, I expect a high priority phone call. It wouldn't behove you to be avaricious and deny, what in principle, belongs to your cousins."

About to exit, Jean turned and rushed back. Embracing Melina yet again, she kissed her cheek. "We love you, Milly. Remember our _home_ will always be your _home_."

Before the door had closed behind the departing couple, Melina stomped towards the bathroom with murder and chocolate on her mind. Stopping along the way, she snatched up several wet-wipes from a container on the dresser, and scrubbed her cheek until it stung.

She found Adam lathering shaving gel onto his cheeks while humming a jazzy tune. In the midst of imagining skinning him alive and sacrificing his carcass to a pack of hyenas, her brain abruptly stopped operating.

Adam's toothbrush hung cosily next to hers in the holder. His deodorant and shaving gel nestled between her antiperspirant and perfumed body-sprays. His towel overlapped hers on the towelling rack. She also noted that his suitcase lay open upon her bed, the contents spilling out.

This apartment was her sanctuary. The sacred space she'd aspired to half her life, had been occupied and conquered.

Even when exhibiting his insensitive-bastard-man tendencies, Ethan knew better than to mess with her so-called _eccentricities_. He'd never invaded the areas she'd literally marked as her own private space. Knowing the situation was being blown out of all proportion, further exacerbated by her ex-guardians' visit, but Melina felt trapped. The air around her became toxic, unbreathable.

Silently backtracking, she quickly pulled on a pair of leggings, stuffed her feet into her favourite black boots and threw a denim jacket over her nightshirt. She dragged a brush through her tangled hair and swiped on a touch of lip-gloss. On her way out, she grabbed her tote-bag and mobile phone.

"Hey. Wait up." Adam came up behind her, still wearing the towel-cum-loincloth. "Where do you think you're going?"

"There's no _thinking_ about it. I _am_ going."

"Where?"

"None of your friggin' business!"

In between chomping on a vegetarian burger and large fries, and slurping a super-sized chocolate milkshake, Melina's fingers flew with dexterous speed over the computer keyboard. Notwithstanding the numerous corrections, the columns of figures she'd re-input and double-checked three times refused to tally.

Hiding out at her workplace had been a stroke of genius. She'd avoided her predictable haunts, knowing those were the first places Ethan would go hunting. She didn't mind working morning-to-midnight five days a week; come the weekend, however, she refused to even go near the building. Ethan would never dream of searching for her in his own office.

Hunters Security Services was Ethan's baby. Within six years he'd built its reputation from the ground upward, and in the last four his workforce had trebled. His adoptive father, Dhamir Khalil, had provided the initial capital; since then, Ethan had profited hand-over-fist and repaid his father with interest.

Melina strummed the keyboard in irritation. She spoke determinedly to the computer screen, her tone stern. "Now listen up. You _will_ balance my figures or I'll get Ethan to swap you for one of those super-duper, mega-fast systems that not only writes its own formulae but can do anything from preparing a three course meal to predicting the gender of my firstborn. You'll become obsolete and spend the rest of your days alone, rusting in the archive room while mutant-ugly spiders make themselves at home in your circuitry."

"Something you are well acquainted with, flower-petal. Is not loneliness your most dedicated companion?" a disembodied voice boomed before a smacking kiss grazed her cheek. "But you are never alone. I have and continue to watch over you; watch your every move; your every degradation. Your cries were louder than an echo in a mountain wilderness."

Melina flew from her chair, huddling into a wall. "Where are you?"

"Boo!" Something sharp stung her left ear lobe. "Behind you!"

Heart pounding, she bounced away from the wall and dived behind Ethan's desk. "Perhaps I am beside you." A playful bite gouged her shoulder.

Shrieking, she scrambled around the desk and into the centre of the room, frantically searching for somewhere safe to hide. "Or could it be that I am beneath you?"

Startled, Melina looked down. Blackness slithered and twirled around her ankles, constraining her. "You will not escape me, lovely-Lyris. You belong to me."

"My name is _Melina_. Melina Cassville!" she insisted, as she stared at the menacing blackness continue upwards until it wrapped around her waist; a strong arm imprisoning her against an invisible body.

"A name does not alter who you are." She felt a curled tongue slurp at the sweat of anxiety gathering upon her upper lip. "Yum-yum, sugary-sweet."

Pins-and-needles pierced the surface of her skin. Light and shapes flashed behind burning eyelids. Hundreds of faces blurring in and out of focus. Snarling countenances twisted with rage. Roaring voices shouted and jeered, deafening her.

"Make them stop!" Melina pleaded. She couldn't move, nor escape the brutal hands tethering her head, forcing her to watch a manic river of blood. "Let them go! Stop hurting them!"

"Beware the games you play, lamb-chop. They are like wishes, treading a fine line between fantasy and destruction."

The warning, a mere buzz, was drowned out by the continuing demands for death. Yet two calls penetrated the caterwauling. The first, a melodious tenor, issued from Melina's own contorted lips. "God has forsaken us, for we have allowed this whore and her spawn to mate with the scarlet beast. We must seek deliverance in the cleansing of their blood!"

Then, in the manner of a terrified child, throat torn and raw, Melina cried out, _"Mummy-mine, forgive me!"_

Released from the inhuman embrace, she fell forward.

Mind numbed, every movement sluggish, she staggered to her feet. On autopilot, she deleted the spreadsheets she'd compiled and shut down the computer. Gathering her jacket and bag, she flicked off the lights and then locked the office. After resetting the security alarm she quietly exited the building.

Melina wasted what remained of the evening at the cinema. She watched three movies back-to-back. Her thought process frozen, the first movie had been a forgettable haze; the second—still absorbed in her chaotic thoughts—she'd forced herself to laugh along with the audience, although she had no idea what she was actually laughing at. By the third, a late night showing of a classic fantasy staring fire-breathing dragons bent on annihilating all mankind, and battling heroes willing to risk life-and-limb and singed eyebrows to save the world; she'd gorged herself back into sanity.

She'd crunched on an extra-large tub of butter-popcorn; swigged down six cans of her favourite fizzy drink; and scooped her way through three large cartons of mint-chocolate-chip and butterscotch flavoured ice-creams, before topping off her eating-frenzy with a giant box of miscellaneous chocolate-covered delights. What with the cost of cinema snacks, the gluttonous over-indulgence had busted a crater-sized whole in her sweet-treat budget for the next two months.

By the time Melina returned home at one-forty-five the following morning, she was experiencing a whammy of a sugar-high and an overwhelming urge to boogie until dawn. Her hips rocking to a raunchy thrust-thrust, shimmy-shimmy drum beat that popped into her head, she further added a synchronized flick-flick-shake of her hair.

And for the second day in a row, she found her apartment occupied. Seriously, why couldn't these people accept her need for solitude and quit bugging her? Not to mention, her legs were flexed and ready to do a burlesque can-can, their presence was using up valuable dance space. What the fudge-a-licious heck, she needed a rock-chick name to go with her newly-invented dance moves.

"Xena, Princess Warrior," she whispered to herself. "Oh yeah, a tight leather bodice and a sharp pointy sword... go Xena... go Xena." Uh, oh, her legs were beginning to buckle to the compulsion to kick high. Maybe if she pushed the couch... "Well, damn and boo."

Lilijana lay on the couch, tucked up and fast asleep. Ethan was perched on the edge of the armchair, his fisted hands resting on his thighs. As for Adam, he loitered by the glass display cabinet staring at a framed print of a beauteous Raven.

It was her apartment, her home, her name on the deed, yet it felt like everyone had marked their spot. Where was she meant to sit or stand? The only place left was the tiny hallway, out of sight of the others. Perhaps that's where she truly belonged, out of sight, out of mind. She certainly didn't belong amongst these beautiful people who knew how to love and were loved. She was the odd one out, the waddling ugly duckling trying to keep up with the super-models; the demon trying to blend in with the gods. In fact no one loved her apart from a psychotic apparition.

Melina felt a tear gather at the corner or her eye. "Oh no-no-no, freakin' bummer, major downer. Need more chocolate." She eyed the three in front of her and silently formulated the best strategic route to the kitchen. "A back flip, a couple of cartwheels and a giant leap. Yeah, yeah, and, if I'm super quiet, no one will even notice me. I'm invisible... I am the invisible woman. Behold my super powers and fear me. Go Xena! Go Xena!"

"You're not invisible, _Melina_ , and we can hear you."

"Oh, hi guys, umm, didn't see you there. Ah, you look sad, like mourners at a funeral. Did someone else die?"

"We're rehearsing for yours," Ethan answered with deceptive calmness. However, as that bulging artery in his throat indicated, he was losing the battle to retain his temper.

"Wishful thinking. Seriously, what're you doing here at this ungodly hour?"

" _Seriously?_ We're waiting for Godzilla to make an appearance," he replied, imitating her glibness. "Hey, now that you're back safe and sound, we'd better make a move."

"Of course I'm back _safe and sound_. Why wouldn't I be?" Melina mentally kicked herself can-can style. Sugar-highs and bulging arteries in the same vicinity were a catastrophic combination.

" _Why?_ It's almost two in the morning. You've been gone since yesterday. _Yesterday!_ " Ethan's eyes turned stormy-grey with fury. "And why the fuck did you switch off your mobile?"

"I don't understand what all the fuss is about. I'm a big girl. I don't need to ask your permission before I go out. Nor do I need to phone home every five minutes to inform you of my whereabouts."

Double damn sugar-highs!

"Melina, I swear to God...!" Ethan sliced the air with a dismissive hand gesture. "I don't know why the hell I bother." He held out the same hand towards Lilijana, who'd jerked awake at his Godzilla quip. "Come on, home." Though his tone eased, anger still glinted in his eyes.

"Ethan, you need to talk this out with Melina. Hopefully without resorting to abuse," Lilijana rebuked.

"There's nothing left to discuss. But you were right about one thing, we can't keep our lives on hold simply because she won't keep out of trouble."

"I never meant it like that," Lilijana protested.

"It's okay, Lilijana," Melina soothed. "As for you, Ethan, I've never asked for your help, or friggin' anything else for that matter." She turned her back on him. "In case you've forgotten, I survived the first eighteen years without you, just as I'll survive the next eighteen, and the eighteen years after that!"

"You thankless bitch! Jonas had you sussed right—you really are worthless."

The derisive comment caused her stomach muscles to cramp with an almost debilitating pain. "Hey, we can't all be as perfect as you," she stated, pleased by the feigned light and airy tone of her voice. "I'm going to bed, now. I'd appreciate it if you _all_ saw yourselves out."

Melina had scarcely stepped into her bedroom when she was physically spun round. Confronted by a boiling cauldron of ferocity she became overwhelmed with dread. Panicked voices scrambled her brain, screaming that she run and hide. Suddenly, all she could see was her uncle's face staring back at her. Her body instinctively readied itself, her arms curled over her head as she waited for the sharp cutting, burning sting of leather.

"Don't you fucking walk away from me! Don't you dare cringe or I swear...!"

The voiced astringent warning pulled her back to the present. She calmed herself with the knowledge that Ethan wouldn't ever strike her, no matter the provocation. "Ethan...?"

Surprisingly the anger had left his gaze to be replaced by something akin to confusion as he focused instead on the jewellery adorning her neck. She'd nervously caressed the bloodstone all evening, the chain was twisted and tangled and would no doubt need replacing.

Hooking the chain, Ethan tugged at it with his long index digit. He stroked the flawless perfection of the polished bloodstone, then flipped the gem over and traced the hairline fracture.

"This always, _always_ looked familiar. I thought I was being paranoid, but this does belong to Addy. He cracked it when he crashed his dirt-bike on the racing circuit... _Divinity_!" Ethan concluded. "Talk about dense. It never occurred to me you two already knew each other."

"We met briefly years ago. We don't actually _know_ each other."

"You never mentioned him. Funny thing, Addy never mentioned you, either."

"I guess I didn't make much of an impression." The blush burning her cheeks betrayed the lie.

"I think you made a fucking good impression," he growled through compressed lips. "In fact, you fucking never take _this_ off."

"Let go, Ethan." Melina tugged hard on a wrist of solid-steel strength, afraid he'd crush the gemstone. "How was I to know your Addy was my Adam? You always fly over to Bahrain to be with your family. The longest conversation I ever had with your Addy was 'Hiya' and 'Hang on.'"

_"My Adam_?" Ethan repeated. Beneath her fingertips his pulse beat fast and hard. "I can't believe you've been lying to me all these years."

"I swear I haven't!" Despite her plea, he appeared unconvinced. Then again, when he descended into one of his "Blue-Meanie" moods as she called them, nothing short of a threatening to use a steel scouring pad on the paintwork of his prized, limited edition BMW i8 coupe could subdue him.

Adam's intervention broke their impasse. "Ethan, let her go," he commanded in a calming tone guaranteed to tame even a charging rhinoceros. "You're upsetting your girlfriend and Melina looks about ready to drop."

Ethan's gaze darted towards his brother and stayed there. As if Adam was his touchstone, his fury liquefied like snow on a hot tin roof.

"Bro, I promise we'll talk. Okay?"

"Okay." Releasing her, Ethan stepped back towards Lilijana. "Come on, let's go home."

Melina tensed. If Ethan left, Adam would follow. Why should he stay when she kept pushing him away? She wouldn't be surprised if he thought she was mentally unstable. Over the last two days all he'd seen was her less than exemplary crazy side. If he left this time, she feared he'd never come back and her heart would surely break.

And what if that _thing_ came after her again? She could still feel its slimy tongue licking at her. His menacing voice continued resonating in her head. She grabbed Ethan's arm in an almost bruising hold. "Why don't you all spend what's left of the night here. I'll treat you to breakfast in bed."

"I don't want..."

"Lilijana, tell him," she urged.

"Say yes, honey. I'm exhausted," Lilijana coaxed, snuggling up against him.

He stroked her thick, wavy hair. "Lily, we live only ten minutes down the road. Four if there's no traffic or coppers on the prowl."

"Melina's offering breakfast in bed. Something you're always too rushed or too sleepy to do yourself."

He threw up his hands in defeat. "On condition we get the full works."

"You can have _anything_ you want, as long as it's not meat. You know I don't keep anything in my fridge that was born with a face," Melina said.

"Damn. I guess it's too late to change my mind anyway," he mused. Without even a smidgeon of modesty, Lilijana had stripped down to her bra and thong and dived into Melina's bed.

"You can bet your sweet, sexy life on it, Ethan Hunter-Khalil."

Ethan saluted her. Then to Melina, "Where will you sleep? What about Addy?"

"No problem. I'll sleep on the couch. Adam can have the airbed."

He glanced over to where his brother stood silently watching their exchange. "That all right with you?"

"Sure, bro. I'll use the facilities first." Adam skirted around them. As Ethan seemed to be doing, Adam also avoided direct eye-contact with Melina.

Melina felt like a pariah. On the verge of full-on crying session, she turned away. She hated that her problems had seeped into Ethan's life and thereby into his brother's—despite having tried her hardest to protect him. If she had her way, she'd pack a suitcase and disappear for a while. The upshot was—she feared Ethan's temper way more than whatever or whoever else was after her; even if he did occasionally think she was worthless he'd still protect her.

As if Ethan could read her tumultuous thoughts, he snarled in a low pitch, "Damned. Stupid. Fucking..." Grabbing her, he enclosed her within a crushing embrace. "I'm sorry, my beautiful, precious little munchkin. On all that is holy, I'm sorry, baby."

Ethan rocked her, his strong arms sheltering. "I love you. I love you. If anything happened to you..." his voice petered out, unable to complete the sentence.

Melina sighed into his chest; sometimes a cuddle simply outweighed a chocolate-fix. "I'm sorry, too."

"So you know, I've now informed Addy of your _space_ fetish and other idiosyncrasies." He cupped her chin. "How about the three of us make a deal? Addy promises to respect your boundaries. I promise to back-off _a little_. You promise to cooperate until we know what the hell's going on. If we're wrong, you have my permission to gloat until one of us kills the other."

"I'm good at gloating."

Ethan smiled at her admission. "And while we're in the discussion mood, it's time you told Jonas and Jean to take a permanent hike."

"My kids..."

"This isn't up for negotiation anymore. Do it, or I will. Believe me, if I get involved the results won't be pretty." He then gently set her aside. "Now get out of my face. Your antics today have drained me of the will to live."

Melina was in the midst of inflating the airbed when Adam returned, dressed in pyjamas minus the jacket. "I'll finish that," he offered.

"Ah, thank you."

While she brushed her teeth, she noted Adam had collected his paraphernalia and shaving kit, and tucked the lot away on a shelf almost out of sight. She felt petty for having made him feel so unwelcome. Perhaps she owed him an apology as well.

Catching her reflection in the mirror above the washbasin, her attention riveted upon the star-shaped birthmark beneath her eye. How odd. Hadn't she read that Lyris... why had that monstrous thing called _her_ Lyris?

"Melville, you asleep in there?"

She opened the door to yet another topless, broad-shouldered man. "I may be considering it." Without thinking she mapped the tattoo on Ethan's chest: a juicy, bright red cherry on a stalk. Despite her constant probing, he wouldn't say what it symbolized other than a belligerent "fruit".

He flattened a large hand over hers. The strong thump-thump of his heartbeat fluttered against her palm. "Are you going to give Addy a chance?"

"He may not want to invest in damaged goods."

Lifting her hand, he kissed her knuckles. "We're all damaged, love. You've just got to decide whether to let past pains rule your life or to let yourself embrace a brand new future." He laughed, tapping her nose playfully. "Aren't those the exact words you quoted when you shoved me into _take a_ _leap-of-faith_ with Lilijana? In fact you mounted a twenty-four hour proverb campaign. I moved her in only so you'd shut-up."

"Actually you should be thanking Melina," Lilijana instructed around a yawn. "She saved your life. I was so frustrated by _your_ indecision I had a wax effigy prepared, along with a thousand extremely sharp, red-hot pins."

"Gee, thanks, Melville."

"Quit gabbing and get ready for bed, Ethan," Lilijana further ordered. "If I don't get my beauty-sleep I wake up hideous."

"Hideous? Never in a million years, Lilly." He blew her a kiss, before entering the bathroom.

Melina was about to depart as well, when Lilijana observed, "Did I mention Adam's star sign is Aries?"

Sighing, she faced Ethan's girlfriend, who lay propped up on the fluffy pillows piled under her head. Lilijana's mahogany-coloured hair cascaded over her shoulders in wild, reckless waves. Her flawless olive-tinted skin and large violet eyes further accentuated her exotic beauty. From her ears swung crescent-moon-shaped earrings and a circle of amber on a leather twine rested between her breasts.

"So?"

_"So_ are you: two rams butting horns; a volatile, occasionally dangerous combination, also fiery and passionate. Not generally a good pairing. However, you being born under Aquarius rising; the water sign should temper your dominant personality, thereby allowing him to supposedly be the _man-of-the-house_ when in actuality the control lies in your hands."

Melina laughed. "Thanks for the astrology lesson, my spooky mystic friend."

After thumping, scrunching and flipping her pillow around and over, Melina finally created a comfortable sleeping environment.

"Good night, Adam," she said for the third time. For the third time he ignored her. Reaching down, she yanked a fistful of his hair to get his attention.

In a swift move, he grabbed her hand before she could pull back. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Didn't your parents teach you never to go to bed on an argument?"

"How come that rule doesn't apply when you're throwing the tantrum?"

"Yesterday we didn't have to share a room. Quit being churlish and say goodnight."

"Say please."

"Please, Adam, with icing and a cherry on top."

However, instead of responding he asked instead, "You and Ethan have a somewhat volatile relationship. Has he ever... hurt you?"

"Ethan, hurt me? No way!"

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart." Melina held up her free hand in a gesture of taking a solemn oath. "More importantly, how did _you_ get him to calm down so fast?"

Again, Adam didn't respond directly to her question. To her astonishment, he tugged at her wrist; not painfully, but with a controlled burst of strength. Sliding off the couch she tumbled onto the mattress beside him.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, struggling to rise.

"Making the most of being roomies," he answered at length. "Head up." At her puzzled acquiescence, he pushed under a pillow and tucked the blanket around her as if she were a child in need of coddling.

Melina tossed back the blanket. "What about Ethan?"

"What about my brother?" Adam's hot fingers settled into an erotic dance below her bellybutton. Her muscles contracted with waves of sensation. His lips joined the torture, travelling over the arch of her neck, nipping and tasting.

"Adam?"

"Umm..."

"If Ethan finds me in bed with you, he'll marinate me in chilli sauce and barbecue me for breakfast."

"Ah, baby-girl." He sighed with disappointment. "Turn over."

"Adam..."

Rather than repeating himself, he rolled Melina over, spooning his hard body to her back. "Go to sleep. I promise I'll have you back on the couch well before anyone wakes up."

Despite Adam's edict, she knew she wouldn't fall asleep, fidgety by nature, she tended to toss-and-turn before plunging into exhaustion.

"By the way, that deal Ethan made with you: firstly, I'm totally into the respect thing; secondly, but let me make it clear, there'll be no boundaries between us; thirdly, don't ever fondle his chest again, or any man's for that matter."

Chuckling, Melina dismissed his order. "And I'm totally into the ignoring you thing." All the same she entwined her fingers between his and folded his hand over her ribs. "Remember you promised to have me back on the couch before Ethan wakes up."



Ethan Hunter-Khalil awoke petrified, struggling against the nightmare that tried to envelope him within its dark folds. Always the same miserable bastard-of-a-dream.

He'd been sprinting through a maze of rat infested alleyways and empty, littered streets; shadowed by skyscrapers that loomed overhead like a phantom ready to devour him into the madness that still inhabited a tiny periphery of his mind. The cold air nipped at his naked body as he rushed around, screaming out his brother's name. Always his entreaties were met with silence.

Searching, always searching. Every so often he'd catch a glimpse of Dristan, grinning dementedly at the brother who called out to him. Sometimes Dristan would appear before him, reaching out to embrace his lost brother, Ethan would realise it was simply his own reflection.

Ethan glanced over to check on Lilijana, before climbing out of the bed and tiptoeing barefoot through to the living room and into the kitchen. Edging his way through the moonlit darkness, he reached for the fridge. Pulling out a milk carton, he unscrewed the lid and gulped down the remaining cool liquid content. On his way out, he snapped open a biscuit-tin, snitching a handful of chocolate-chip, fudge-cream cookies. He smiled. Melina loved everything chocolate. If she could dine on it twenty-four-seven, without turning into a replica of the Michelin Man, she'd do so with wholehearted zeal.

A frown creased his forehead. No matter how afraid he'd been for her safety, he shouldn't have lashed out or called her _worthless_. Though Melina was feisty, self-reliant and intolerably sarcastic at times, she lacked confidence and belief in herself.

An undulating movement on the couch caught Ethan's attention. No doubt he'd inadvertently awoken her. Usually a few comforting words and a gentle touch returned her to slumber. Once revived, she tended to remain awake for the remainder of the night miserable-as-sin.

To his surprise, she wasn't on the couch. Melina, who barely tolerated being touched, who'd resigned herself to spinsterhood, was sprawled over Addy. In return, Addy held her with tight possessiveness.

Truth-be-told, Ethan couldn't be more ecstatic. When he'd collected Addy from the airport, for a micro-instant, an image of Addy and Melina together had flashed in Ethan's mind. He'd had no idea from where the thought materialised, but it refused to budge. Not once in all these years, however, had it occurred to him that they may already be acquainted.

Ethan felt emotionally connected to only a handful of people.

His parents, Andorra and Burton Hunter: he loved and hated both with equal fervour. Each, in their obsessive selfishness, had made split-second decisions that ultimately destroyed their family unit.

He and his identical twin brother had been inseparable since birth, that is before they'd been made wards of the courts at the age of fourteen. Shuffled from one foster home to another, unable to bear the constant separations, they'd decided to escape.

They had been living a homeless life for five months when, without warning, Dristan disappeared. He and Addy had searched the streets like sniffer-dogs on a drugs bust, but Dristan had simply abandoned them, stealing what little money they had saved for emergencies. Not a single moment passed when he didn't miss Dristan. If he ever found him, Ethan intended to break both his legs so that Dristan could never abandon him again.

Then there was Dhamir and Seraphim Khalil. Never had he met such amazing people. They'd integrated him into their family-fold without question or hesitation. He was their son in every sense.

Finally, Addy and Melina.

Addy was everything to Ethan; blood-brother, guardian, parent, companion and selfless protector. He'd taught Ethan when to stand and fight, and when to rein in his temper in order to survive another day.

Unlike Melina, who, no matter how enraged he became, refused to back down. Which, Ethan supposed was his own dumbass fault. At the commencement of their developing relationship, she'd tended to be cowed by his explosive temper, even though the sparks that had emanated off her pointed towards an equally fiery temperament. One particular day, after she'd made him feel like a rampaging bull that had squished Tinkerbelle beneath cloven hooves; he'd backed her into a corner, poking and prodding until she'd struck back. In the process he'd created a fearless monster he no longer had any control over.

Melina also had an independent streak that riled him no end. In fact, she was so self-sufficient he'd seen her chew the lid off a jam jar rather than ask for help.

Ethan more than loved Addy and Melina, a fanatical creature resided within him that wouldn't let either go. His brother shared that compulsive streak, while Melina had learnt tolerance.

To keep them safe, he'd kill anyone who dared harm either.

Melina had only a vague sense of danger, but Ethan had seen the absolute proof. Two days before the date of Divinity's funeral, he'd gone to her apartment with the intention of fixing a leaking tap in the bathroom. On entry, he'd found the blood-written words _"Return what is Mine"_ scrawled across _all_ her mirrors. While Lilijana had kept Melina occupied with a forced shopping trip for the perfect funeral outfit, he'd collected evidence and then cleaned the mirrors. After which, he'd immediately phoned his brother for help.

Feeling thoroughly sentimental, if a little voyeuristic, Ethan turned to leave. His subsequent silent departure was hampered by his shin colliding with the coffee-table. He bit down the curse that rolled off his tongue.

Pain receding, an amazing realisation hit him. Apart from the streetlight filtering in through the window blinds, Melina slept in the dark. Though she refused to admit it, she feared the night, terrified of the supposed ghouls, goblins and monsters lurking in the murky corners.

It seemed Addy had defeated her fears—as he'd once slain the madness that had almost destroyed Ethan's sanity.



Grunting with the most deliciously intense pleasure, he drew the blanket Melina had abandoned over his cold form. His nostrils flared, inhaling her luscious fragrance. His taste buds celebrated as he suckled upon the fibrous cloth, tasting her deliciousness.

A century-and-a-half he'd awaited her return. He'd sensed her presence the instant she'd been reincarnated. Like a call to prayer, her birth had enticed him to resurrect from the depths of his secreted dwelling. The imprisoned blackness from whence he'd aspired to not only seek revenge but to also slake his long-deprived cravings upon her yielding silkiness.

Tipping his head, he spoke with extreme confidence, "Ah, my sweet-sweet morsel, you will learn to lie with me – quiet and submissive as you rest within this interloper's arms."

A shadowy digit pointed aggressively in her face. "You shall belong wholly to me. I intend to feast upon the blood of your succulent body as I tear at the barrier that protects your soul."

His sweet-morsel would grow to revel in the glory of his lust. "And I shall teach the angel to hunger after the demon." Twist her soul until it resembled the reflection of the abomination nurtured within the obsidian blood broiling through his own veins.

An unexpected twinge tweaked the sliver of soul that remained unblemished by the evil he had embraced. Respect! An honour never bestowed even upon the minions who served him as devotees unto their prophet; whose, every actions and thoughts were dedicated unto his veneration. Despite his terrible intentions, he held Melina's ancient soul in the highest regard.

"For over seven centuries, Knights Templars, warriors, educated men of great faith and willpower, attempted to destroy me. Yet, you with the mere shield of love in your right hand and the sword of revenge in your left, sought my ruination.

"As you may see, flower-petal, you failed. After I have regurgitated the disciples of Death, I shall be rejuvenated once more!" he crowed. "To rule again! Ummm, to slurp and gnaw and chew-chew-chew upon the fodder that is mankind and that breeds with such abundance within this globe of depravity where human life no longer has value."

The undeniable need to sample a little meaty-matter engulfed him: A minuscule nibble-nibble upon Melina's flesh; a tiny sip-sip of her stomach-churning purity.

Belly gurgling, he peeled away from the couch and slithered to lie beside the slumbering couple. His tongue snaked out, bent on ingesting prey. The very second he probed at her flushed cheek the man at her side awoke. Incandescent eyes stared unseeingly. He spied something familiar in the somnolent gaze that promised retribution if he dared touch Melina.

The gesture protective, her companion twisted, moving his precious bundle away from unseen danger. Melina mewed at their separation, fighting her way back into strong arms.

He could _see_ Melina dreamt of an obese figure, features veiled behind a mask of righteousness, lashing at her back with a wide leather belt. The objective—to enforce her sense of worthlessness. She recoiled, attempting to escape the wounds that gouged her back. Her companion, too, seemed to understand the contents of her dream, for he tunnelled a large hand beneath her nightshirt, relieving her pain with loving caresses. Whispered words of devotion and promises to protect, acted as an anaesthetic, easing her into dreamless sleep.

"Sweet dreams, my tasty morsel. I will wait a _little_ longer."

Frustrated, exhausted, he rose with a shadowy billow, lying once again upon the couch. He required a little nap to ease his tiredness; a moment of silence in which to fine-tune his strategies. He felt himself slipping when he heard the sleep-filled, possessive utterance, "I love you. You belong to me."

"You are mistaken, young sir. Her life is mine. _She_ is mine. A devoted pet, she will serve me for eternity."

The young man did not challenge his authority. To the couple he was no more than a voice in the mist, a dark shadow that blighted the periphery of their dreams. Soon though there would be no escaping the reality of his hunger.

Thoroughly content, he wriggled onto his side and burrowed into the cushions. A gentle hand pressed against his head. "Mummy-mine?"

"Yes, my little king," responded a melancholic voice that lived forever in his heart.

"I miss you, Mummy-mine. May I come home now?" he pleaded, inhaling the familiar scent of wild flowers enveloping him like the soft arms of love. "I promise to behave."

"Soon, my little king, soon."

"When? Tick-tock-tick-tock, time stops for no man...and soon may be too late." The prophecies of those long slain and decomposed ripped his eardrums, " _Foul Beast, can you feel it? With a single swipe of His mighty hand, the wind changes direction. A storm cometh; listen to it spew out your name! The Day of your Judgement has arrived!"_

"Can you feel it, Mummy-mine? A storm cometh. Thunder and lightning. I am afraid, Mummy-mine." Turning back over, he rested his head upon the sweet lap of his childhood. All the while his eyes remained shut. Fearing if he peeped, the truth would be too hard to tolerate. That it was indeed lunacy that kept him company. That, in fact, he was alone. Always alone. "I am weary of this existence, Mummy-mine."

"Then allow the melodious hands of Morpheus to give you peace."

"Tell me a story, Mummy-mine," he requested. "Of the great adventures of the sons' of Zeus."

"Prayers before stories, my little king, always prayers before stories."

"Our father who art in heaven..."

Alas, even monsters required sleep!

~ CHAPTER FIVE ~

Adam proved to be an exceptional roommate: a sexy domestic-god with such superlative culinary talents as to leave a restaurant critic weeping in rapture.

He'd even had the audacity to compile a shopping list, post-inspection of cupboards filled with scrumptious, highly-calorific foods; for the first time ever, Melina's kitchen shelves heaved with fresh vegetables and fruits. Plus a colourful array of spices and herbs and bottles of olive oils imbued with the most enticing bouquets.

Meanwhile, Ethan was fast becoming an almost permanent resident. Every spare moment spent in Adam's company; much to Lilijana's irritation. Yet he remained undeterred – his devotion borderline neurotic. Melina had long ago established that Ethan valued Adam more than his _own_ life.

In many ways, Melina empathised with Ethan. As a youth, he had lost everything he'd held close to his heart. _Addy_ was his touchstone. Every four months, without fail, Ethan visited Bahrain for two weeks, and each time he returned, desolation engulfed him. This last year, his need to return home to his family had grown much stronger. She faced every day with the possibility that soon he'd wave goodbye and never look back.

In between all the comings-and-goings were quiet moments. Moments when Melina _needed_ to ask Adam what he'd been doing all these years; how many women he'd loved; how many hearts he'd broken? More importantly, why he'd never sought her out again over the intervening years?

Subsequent to their one night of literally sleeping together, there'd been no more impromptu cuddles; no more ravishing kisses; no more bedtime shenanigans.

For the first time in her life, Melina regretted her lack of experience. She wanted impromptu cuddles at least twenty-four times a day. She wanted to become addicted to his ravishing kisses. And she wanted erotic, bedtime shenanigans that lasted all night. However, without a single seduction technique under her belt—she was tempted to resort to drastic measures to get Adam's attention. He seemed to find her breasts fascinating; maybe if she walked around topless, she could entice him into demonstrating exactly how _good_ he was when he got down on his knees.

Five days into their continued _cohabitation_ , Melina received a phone call from Mr Grimes. Divinity's Last Will and Testament had been finalised.

Later that evening, she lounged on her bed and gave herself a pedicure. She'd had a fragrant bubble-bath, and then conditioned her hair into a swirl of silk. As an extra treat, she'd massaged sweet-scented aromatic oils, a permutation of jasmine and ylang-ylang, into her skin until it tingled.

She'd also decided in advance which outfit to wear and the exact shades of cosmetics that would suit her best. She intended to strut into Mr Grimes' office with her head held high. She had an inkling Divinity had something special planned to debase her.

Alone in the living room, Adam watched a DVD; a movie that consisted of fast cars, men with sophisticated weapons that made things go bang-boom-bang, and women flaunting silicone-implant enhanced breasts.

Suddenly, a most atrocious revelation crashed into Melina's head with the force of a wrecking-ball. So busy fighting Adam's presence as her babysitter/bodyguard, she'd forgotten a most significant fact: Adam was Divinity's nephew.

Had she offered him a solitary word of commiseration?

A shoulder to cry on?

Begged forgiveness?

Heck no!

Melina found Adam slouched on the carpet and nibbling on a spicy chicken wing. Ethan, horrified by the meatless diet his brother had been _forced_ to endure—had dropped off a fast-food bucket of animal-flesh delights.

Climbing onto the couch, she contemplated a suitable apology. He acknowledged her with a wink before returning his engrossed attention to the screen; where two grotesque, _I-never-touch-steroids,_ muscle-bound guys compared the size of their artillery.

Adam truly was a beautiful. Every part of him stimulated her senses. From the day he'd arrived she'd dreamt about him every night. Some of her dreams were so salacious she'd awoken fully aroused and ready for action. Unfortunately those highs were immediately followed by silent tears, when she'd realised the other side of her bed was empty of Adam's presence.

But some dreams were painted with a dark edge of death that felt all too real. Something evil waited to not only destroy her but to inflict unimaginable pain on her beloved Adam. Those dreams scared her to the point that she'd left the warmth of her bed with a determination to protect him. She'd spent most of the previous night huddled in the armchair intently watching him sleep, guarding him from the monster she could feel lurking in the shadows.

"I'm sorry."

"What particularly for, brat?" Adam's head turned; his eyebrows hiked in consternation. "Ignoring my attempts to make conversation? Keeping me prisoner inside this miniscule apartment because I won't let you out unchaperoned? Deafening me with that God-awful racket you and Ethan call music?"

"Sorry about Divinity." Grunting, he returned his attention to the film. "Adam?"

"I heard." His tone lacked emotion, as if she'd commented on the weather.

Irritated by his complacency, Melina snatched up the remote and flicked off the television. "I admit I'm a little... _difficult_ ... to get along with sometimes, and I've been a dud-brain in getting round to expressing my condolences, but I want you to know I'm here for you if you want to talk."

"Great! Two days straight you've ignored me. Now _you_ decide _you_ want to talk? Jeez, I can think of some choice adjectives to describe you, and _difficult_ isn't one of them." Stretching over, he manually clicked the TV back on.

Aiming the remote, she snapped the TV off again. "I explained everything to Divinity. That _I'd_ encouraged you. She was sincerely apologetic. Promised to contact you and ask your forgiveness; to also forgive you for the things you'd said. You have to do the same. Without forgiveness there can be no healing."

"Ethan was right; you do love your quotations. So here's one for you. The day I forgive that woman is the day the earth spins off its axis and crashes into the sun."

"Why do you always make Divinity out to be some kind of ogre?" Melina demanded. "She may have been a highly-strung but she wasn't totally bad. Take me for instance, she gave _me_ , a stranger, a safe haven to escape from my problems."

"Worship her memory if you makes you happy, but leave me out of it. Now switch the bloody television back on."

"You need to forgive her," she reiterated with more vigour.

"Fine. You forgive your useless guardians, I'll forgive Divinity."

"Already done." Adam's jaw dropped in disbelief. "I have too. It's just that I'm bad at the forgetting part. I also have a tendency to hold grudges for an unhealthy length of time. But this isn't about me—it's about your relationship with Divinity."

"There is no _relationship_. I'm here because my brother asked for my help. A decision I'm seriously regretting."

"I don't need anyone to take care of me!"

"That being the case." Rising gracefully, in a liquid-fluid motion despite his anger, he stormed off towards the hallway.

Melina followed, dogging his every step. "Where're you going?"

He slung on a well-worn, black leather jacket Ethan had left behind. "I need some fresh air."

"It's ten-thirty. It's dark outside."

"Guess what? I can take care of myself, too."

"Adam..."

"Back off, Melina!"



The digital clock on her bedside cabinet glowed one-fifteen-and-thirty-two-seconds.

"Exactly how much fresh air do you need anyway? We're off the main road, you're more likely to get a lungful of carbon emissions then anything resembling _fresh_ air."

Thoughts churning, Melina jumped out of bed. What if Adam had become a victim of a hit-and-run, and been abandoned, bleeding and broken in a ditch somewhere? Worse, lying on a mortuary slab... dead!

Aliens!

Melina had watched every episode of _X-Files_ plus the spin-off movies _;_ Adam had been abducted by aliens! A prime specimen of manliness to be used as a live incubator for a space-baby that would later develop into an uber-powerful entity destined to conquer the Galaxy!

If only she knew Fox Mulder's direct-dial, he'd have this mystery sorted in forty-five minutes tops.

She'd have to bite-the-bullet and admit to Ethan she'd lost Adam. God forbid, if any harm came to his Addy! Hands shaking, she snatched up the phone and hit speed-dial.

"Howdy?"

"Ethan?"

"Hey, my fav-fav-fav'ite monkey-chin!"

"Ethan, are you drunk?"

"Nah! What the heck... I'm h-a-p-p-y, I'm h-a-p-p-y, h-a-p..."

"Great," Melina muttered, controlling the urge to wail louder than a stroppy teenager who'd just hit puberty. "Put Lilijana on the phone."

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"Have ya' forgotten, Lily-flower and her parents have gone up North to visit with rel-rela-fam-family."

"And why didn't you go?"

"Couldn't. The lads are here. We need shome man time. Know wha' I mean?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean, you chauvinistic, misogynistic bastard. Booze. An extra-hot curry. Booze. More booze. And an "X" rated action flick containing gratuitous violence, pimped-up cars, boobs, boobs and neck'id bitches," she recited. Proving her predictions, Melina heard raucous laughter and wolf-whistles.

"Ethan, I need you to listen carefully. Adam. Has. Gone. Missing." She enunciated each word so as to penetrate his soused brain. "Don't go getting all stressed out. I'm sure he's not been abducted by aliens. I'm going out for a quick scout round. I won't be long. I promise I will find him. Okay?"

"Melina," a recognizable voice interrupted.

"Adam? Is that you?" Talk about dumb! She could've slapped herself silly.

"Ethan, my man, is this me?" Adam shouted out. "Yep, Ethan says it's me," he confirmed.

"Please tell me you're not drunk, too."

"You're not drunk, too," he slurred.

"You mean to say, I've been crazy out of my mind with worry, while you're partying-it-up with the lads? I can't believe I tried to Google Fox Mulder's direct dial!"

"Have you been worried? No need. I'm having fun."

"And the only way you can have fun is by getting drunk?"

"Had some of the best times in my life when I was drunk. Got me between your legs last time." His sigh was unsteady as he whispered, "God, Melina, do you realise how soft your skin is? All these years... I can still taste your tits on my tongue." There was a moment of absolute silence before his voice turned guttural, his breath harsh. "I dream of tasting your sweet pussy, I could pleasure you for hours with my tongue, my fingers... I'd make you scream my name and cum in mouth..."

"Adam..." Melina's collapsed onto her bed. Earlier, when she'd been rubbing the aromatic oils into her skin, she'd found her hands slowing as she'd imagined Adam performing that task. Her imagination alone had almost made her hyperventilate, his words were about to push her into a whole new level of sexual fantasy.

"Tell me no man has touched what belongs to me. Tell me you're still a virgin. Tell me you saved yourself for me. God, Melina, give me a reason to come home."

"Adam, please, you're drunk..." God help her, she wanted to say yes to all his demands, tie him to her bed until he promised never to leave her again, but she was damaged beyond repair. Too ugly for a man as beautiful as Adam. She had nothing left to give him but broken pieces of herself.

She heard him sigh again, this time in frustration. "Perhaps. Just go to bed, Melina. Stay indoors or I swear I'll take you over my knee."

"Adam..."

"Nighty-night-night, angel-face, sleep tight. Hope the bed bugs don't bite." Adam hung up.

Infuriated, she slammed down the receiver. "Jerk! I hope the bed bugs eat you alive!"



The morning found Melina agitatedly pacing around-and-around her apartment, reminiscent of a caged polar bear at the zoo.

Mr Grimes had given strict instructions to arrive at his office ten-thirty sharp. The taxi had been pre-booked for ten; it seemed likely she'd be travelling alone.

She then heaved a secret sigh of relief, recognising the grumpy voice cussing the wailing security alarm as he pounded in the six-digit code to silence it. She quietly mumbled the ditty Ethan had pounded into her head; alpha, numeric, character...uppercase, lowercase, numeric.

"Uh... good morning," Adam mumbled, scrubbing the back of his neck.

"Morning."

"Guess I'm late."

"No."

"How long have I got?"

"An hour-and-a-half."

"Wow!" His bloodshot eyes roamed over her attire before finally meeting her puffy-eyed cinnamon-gaze. "For a member of the female gender, you sure are ready early. What's the matter? Couldn't sleep?" Then, a little too conceitedly, "Miss me?"

"I slept well, thank you."

"Yeah? Is that why you're wearing a thick layer of concealer under your pretty eyes?" Reaching out, he smoothed a fingertip over the visible shadows.

"Look who's talking. You look like something the cat dragged in backwards and spat out." Which was an out-and-out lie; regardless of his spiky hair and stubbly cheeks, he was a feast for her tired eyes.

Adam grinned at her acerbic tone. "That bad? Funny, your neighbour seemed to find me likeable enough. In fact, Annette invited me over for breakfast. By the way she cuddled up close; cereal isn't the only thing she'd be willing to lay on the table for me."

Tone neutral, Melina encouraged, "Go. Enjoy. If you hurry, you may have time for second helpings."

"I told her you wouldn't mind," he replied, imitating her indifference. "That's why I gave Annette a rain-check. Right now I need to shower and shave. I don't suppose coffee's on offer?" She turned in the direction of the kitchen without answering. "Black. Three sugars." As an afterthought he added, "Please."

The coffee had almost perked when Melina heard a disgruntled summons for attention.

Adam stood in the middle of her bedroom, impatient, forlorn, annoyed, and struggling to button-up his shirt. He wore one black shoe; laces undone; no socks. She smacked a hand over a grin.

"I've lost all sensation in my hands. And this damn shirt is damn defective. The damn buttonholes are too damn small for the damn buttons. Your bedroom is definitely suffering from subsidence, because every time I bend down to lace my shoes, the damn room tilts," he groaned.

"That'll teach you to drink all night."

"No lectures. Not today. Okay?"

"Okay. But may I have a rain-check, too?"

"Brat, you're welcome to the whole damned check-book. Now come help me."

With the practised efficiency of practically mothering six children, Melina reversed the mess he'd made buttoning his shirt and started again. "What happened to the shave?"

Rubbing his chin, he checked the extent of the raspy coarseness. "Later, when my hands start cooperating."

"Want me to try? Shaving a face can't be any different from shaving my legs."

Adam grinned sardonically. "The mood you're in? I wouldn't risk letting you anywhere near me with a butter knife, let alone a sharp blade."

"Coward!"

"Better a coward then my vital organs air-freighted home in a doggy-bag."

Finished buttoning, she tugged at his shirttails. "Want me to tuck you in, baby boy?"

"Hey, lady, this _baby boy_ isn't that easy," he joked. "I prefer a slow build-up to the moment; a date or two; a few enticing promises. Maybe a bunch of flowers; orchids are my favourite by the way. Not to mention, a lot of foreplay, lots and lots of foreplay, before I allow you to put your beautiful hands down my trousers."

Melina smacked his chest. "Adam, you have a one track mind that's going to land you in a whole heap of trouble."

"Only with you, angel-face. Only with you." Plonking down on the bed, he held out a pair of grey socks and one black boot.

Snatching the items out of his hands, she knelt at his feet. He gave her a beguiling smile that expressed his gratitude. Leaning in closer, his minty-fresh breath wafted over her skin as he placed light kisses to her forehead. Her senses delighted in the smell of his spicy aftershave and clean masculine scent.

"Nice outfit. I don't suppose you're wearing that racy-lacy stuff underneath?" He tucked a proprietary finger into the neckline of her jacket.

"Behave!"

"How about you give _me_ a rain-check, then?" He laughed at her grouchy silence. "Can I at least comment on how beautiful you look this morning?" he asked, twirling a tendril of hair around his finger.

Melina smacked his hand away. "Don't touch."

"Ah, sweet Melina, are you going to stay mad at me all day long?" Then in a surprise move, he encompassed her waist and pulled her up and back down on the bed next to him. "I'm sorry, Melina. I'm sorry I walked out on you last night. I'm especially sorry for the crude comments over the phone." The expression on his face was sincere, the look in his eyes vulnerable, as if he expected her to reject his apology.

"No, I should apologize. I shouldn't have pushed." Melina paused before taking the plunge, "Since we're sort of alluding to it anyway... I was wondering... if you'd given last night's conversation any more thought."

"Not again!" He jack-knifed away from her. He grabbed his tie from the dresser and looped it around his shirt collar. "I don't want to bloody forgive Divinity. Just let it go!"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I... I..." Melina felt herself tremble inside. What the hell was she doing? He'd already walked out on her last night, and here she was practically shoving him out the door this time.

"You what, Melina? I'm a grown man. I have the right to make my own choices. And I certainly have the right to decide who I will or will not forgive." Adam preceded knot his tie, his movements stilted, violent. To her surprise she didn't even feel a smidgeon of fear that he would redirect that violence towards her.

"Would you do it for me? Would you forgive her if I asked you too?" Oh God, the look in his eyes, the utter disappointment. "You don't have to mean it. Could you pretend to forgive her, for my sake?"

"Fucking hell, woman, you say the most asinine things!" Shaking his head in bafflement, he crooked a finger and ordered, "Come here."

She did as requested, stopping an arm's length from him. When she made no move closer, Adam reached out and drew her into himself. "Why is it so important that I forgive her?"

"If you don't forgive Divinity, I can't ask you to forgive me."

A gentle hand curled around her neck, forcing her eyes to meet his. "Forgive you? For what?"

"If I hadn't encouraged you that night, you wouldn't have almost..."

"Draped you atop the bathroom counter and had my wicked way with you?"

"It was the other way around."

"Nah, there's not an ounce of wickedness in you. Although, you do have a tongue that's swifter and sharper than the sword of Zorro, not to mention a glare Medusa herself would envy."

"This is serious, Adam," Melina protested. "If _I_ hadn't encouraged you, Divinity wouldn't have caught us. She wouldn't have lost her temper. You two wouldn't have quarrelled. She wouldn't have thrown you out..."

"Melina..."

"Honest, I told her I asked you to... you know. She said she forgave me. I guess she was too proud to ask your forgiveness."

"Shut-up!" She shuddered at his harsh command and started to pull away. His hold tightened. "Divinity and I hated each other. The truth of the matter, we'd been on a destructive road-to-ruin for a long time. Unfortunately, you got caught-up in the wreckage."

"If you're telling the truth and there's nothing to forgive, then you won't mind forgiving me?" she almost begged.

"Melina, that made no sense at all!"

"Please."

"Fine. On three conditions."

"Anything," Melina promised rashly.

_"You_ promise not to hassle me about Divinity again. There are things I need to tell you, but I'll do so when I'm bloody good-and-ready. Not before."

"I promise to try my very best," she prevaricated.

"I guess your _very best_ will have to do," he mused. "I forgive you, Melina, even though there's nothing to forgive."

"Thank you, Adam," she sighed, then cleared her throat and asked, "The other conditions?"

"I brought you a present from Bahrain." He brushed her lower lip with his thumb. She felt her lipstick smudge, but after he'd condescended to absolve her she didn't intend to complain. "Promise you'll wear it for me."

Before she could ask what 'it' was he shook his head. "Say yes."

"As long as you understand, I'm capitulating because I owe you one. Don't expect me to roll over obediently every time."

"Duly noted." Returning to the bed Adam reached under and slid out his suitcase. He presented her with a long, flat unmarked jeweller's case. Curious, she flipped open the lid. Blanketed within a sheath of black velvet; a beautifully designed chain of pure gold.

"I can't accept this," she protested, placing the case back into his hand.

"You promised. Unless you'd prefer something else."

Melina shook her head. "It's stunning."

"I'll pass on your compliments to my mother."

"Your mother? For me?" she asked, noticing the symbol embroidered into the velvet lining matched the crest on the ring adorning the middle finger of his right hand.

"It's for the waist."

Melina stared up at him wide-eyed with surprise. "How did you know?"

"I didn't. I wanted something intimate, something only I get to see."

"You seem to be taking a lot for granted."

"Ah, sweetheart, never that. You're too unpredictable to ever be taken for granted."

"Jerk," she said affectionately. "And the third condition?"

Adam reached for the top button of her jacket. "Let me taste you again."



Mr Grimes' personal assistant escorted Melina and Adam into a plush, executive office. Rather than just announce their arrival, the youthful Divinity-doppelganger sidled up against her employer, brazenly leant over his desk and whispered into his ear. Busy polishing his glasses with the end of his shimmering-green tie, he blinked vaguely before blatantly focusing on his assistant's seriously glittering cleavage.

As if remembering he had an audience, he shook his head hard. "Thank you, Delilah, that'll be all for now."

Melina was about to apologize for their tardiness, but realised Mr Grimes had turned his lustful gaze on the man who accompanied her. "Adamas? Adamas! Well, my goodness me. Look at you, all grown up. Welcome. Welcome," he effused. Mr Grimes wiped at a single tear that rolled down his cheek tear.

Stepping out from behind his desk, Mr Grimes held out a manicured hand. He appeared to have returned to his usual well-groomed, glossy-haired, perky self. "It's been so long. My goodness me. What an absolute pleasure to see you again."

"Grimes," Adam acknowledged, snubbing the proffered handshake.

Mr Grimes flushed at being so summarily rebuffed. "Please do be seated. If there is anything I can get you, please let me know." He indicated two empty sea-green leather armchairs beside the three already occupied by Divinity's godchildren. Again Adam ignored him, and instead crossed the office to lounge by a gleaming, floor-to-ceiling, emerald-tinted window that overlooked several restaurants, an exclusive fitness centre for elite athletes and a members only strip joint.

"Here, sit beside me." Melina smiled at the eldest of Divinity's godchildren and namesake, Divinity Diamond Curtis. "How's my pretty dolly today?" she asked, placing a sticky, lip-gloss kiss on Melina's cheek.

"I'm fine, Deedee. You?" Melina couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something about Deedee seemed slightly off, different.

An attention-seeking cough stopped any further dialogue. "Best get started. There's much to get through. " Judging by the thick portfolio upon Mr Grimes' desk, they were all in for a butt-numbing session.

With every movement, the chain encircling Melina's waist caressed her curves; reminding her of Adam's lapping kisses and long-fingered strokes as he'd fastened the length of gold. Lord have mercy, sometimes reliving the past was like stealing a piece of heaven. When his lips had wrapped around her nipple she'd almost experienced her first orgasm. If not for the taxi driver who'd arrived on schedule. The poor driver had been the recipient of a fierce scowl during the whole journey for which Adam had compensated him for with an overly generous tip.

Catching her gaze, Adam's midnight eyes glinted with a sexual intimacy that reactivated her already over-stimulated hormones.

Substantial endowments went to Divinity's employees for their years of service and continued discretion. Boris and Jade Van-Dyke, the butler and housekeeper, received in addition to a monetary bequest, the entitlement to reside within the servants' quarters for the remainder of their days.

Numerous items of jewellery and antiquities were bequeathed to various lovers, acquaintances and historical institutes.

Eventually, Mr Grimes faced Divinity's godchildren. The fathers of each had, at one time or another, been Divinity's lovers.

Furthest to the left sat Chastity Jet Rutherford III, CJ as he preferred to be called. Strategically placed padding sewn into his handmade, pinstriped, cashmere suit enhanced his gangly stature. The blue of his ruffled shirt and tie accurately matched the hue of his eyes and sapphire stud in his earlobe.

CJ was, in his own right, heir to a multimillion-dollar oil corporation. The fortune financed not only his extravagant lifestyle and occasional drug habit, but also alimony payments to his numerous ex-wives. By age thirty-five, he'd been married six times and divorced five. Allegedly marriage number six was in the midst of imploding.

To his left, Charity Amethyst Evington. Thirty years old, she could easily pass for a teenager. Charity had but one aspiration in life, to enthral the world with her beauty.

When she tossed mahogany-brown, hip-length hair over a shoulder, her _abundant_ breasts jingled. The room resounded with the constant refrain of the tinkling bells hand-sewn into her undergarments. Charity hadn't ceased fidgeting and jingling from the moment Adam walked into the room. She couldn't seem to take her eyes off him either.

Charity's breast augmentations, was just a sliver compared to the other measures she'd taken to fulfil her ambitions. There wasn't a part of her body that hadn't been surgically transformed. From head-to-toe she'd been snipped, tucked, scraped, chiselled, lipo-suctioned and silicone enhanced.

Each godchild inherited numerous pieces of hideously expensive jewellery and an eye-popping, scrape-me-off-the-floor financial portfolio. In addition, CJ became the proprietor of a hacienda in Brazil overlooking a beach filled with tanned, bikini-clad beauties; Charity, a ranch in Texas USA, along with all the _whoopdeedoo baby-ride-me-till-I-drop_ cowboys that worked there. And, Deedee, a secluded island in the Caribbean.

Melina cringed, as four pairs of eyes focused upon her. Head high, she refused to feel belittled by their insensitive reactions. CJ muffled his hilarity behind a silk handkerchief, swiping at the tears of mirth rolling down his hollow cheeks. Charity laughed so hard her breasts jingled and jiggled until the top two buttons on her too-tight, animal-print blouse, popped. Her laughter spiralled into girlish giggles as she turned towards Adam, offering him an eyeful of firm globes.

It was, however, Deedee's reaction that shocked everyone into silence.

A self-proclaimed computer-geek and highly sought-after genius in the field of programming and troubleshooting, Deedee had spent most of her adulthood behind a computer screen. As a consequence, she'd reached the age of forty-five with neither a private life nor the family she craved. Once, during a rare binge-and-bitch session, she'd confessed to Melina her undying love for someone called Jeremiah.

"Pardon me for asking, Euphrates, can the Will be contested?" Deedee questioned, never taking her contemptuous grass-green gaze off Melina.

"It's ironclad. I drew it up myself," he replied conceitedly.

"I'm pleased to hear that." Then to Melina, "I do hope you weren't considering kicking up a fuss. After all, you're only an honorary godchild; or, to be specific, a welfare case."

Equally stunned by Deedee's abrupt personality transplant; jaws slack, both CJ and Charity ogled her.

"Be assured, Deedee, the thought never crossed my mind."

"Under the circumstances, I think it best you call me Ms Curtis."

In a bombshell move, CJ reached over and patted Deedee's thigh. His hand lingered proprietarily. Deedee gave him a look that could cauterize. If anything, his expression flushed with the excitement of an unexpected challenge.

"There is however a codicil pertaining to Melina." Mr Grimes eased out a document from yet another file. "Divinity has set aside five hundred thousand pounds, payable to Miss Melina Cassville; on condition she wholly disassociates herself from Adamas Dhamir Khalil."

His fingers unsteady, Mr Grimes slicked back his sleek, platinum-blond coiffure before reaching for a glass of water. He swallowed the contents in a single gulp.

"I understand this places you in a somewhat awkward position, considering, I'm assuming, since Adamas accompanied you, your apartment is his current place of residence? However, you _will_ agree the monetary compensation far outweighs any sentimental attachments." The document slid across his desk towards Melina. "Sign and print your name where indicated. Please note the small print. A two hour deadline is applicable, after which the offer becomes null-and-void."

He aimed a toothy grin towards Adam. "I took the liberty of arranging for a limousine to drive us to the mansion on the off-chance you came by today. Be assured, I, Boris and Jade, wait with great anticipation to be of service to you."

"I'm happy where I am, Grimes," Adam asserted.

"With respect, I insist you permit Melina to make that decision. Half a million may be pocket-change to people of our calibre, for someone of her impoverished background, its money for nothing. A life-changing opportunity."

"Mr Grimes, I've already decided." Melina held out her hand. "Pen please."

With an I-knew-you-couldn't-resist chuckle, he passed over his own jade and emerald-encrusted fountain pen. He then spoke into the intercom. "Delilah, please process the on-line transfer of funds to Miss Cassville's bank account. And since she's been so cooperative, throw in a further one-hundred-thousand from my personal account."

"As you wish, sir," came the simpering response.

With an exaggerated flourish, Melina returned both pen and document to Mr Grimes. On verifying her signature he blushed. " _You_ of all people should know I'm not for sale, _Euphrates_."

"Disgraceful. Such obscenities are absolutely reprehensible. A simple no would've sufficed. May I also suggest you seek professional counselling? Your proposition..."

CJ snatched the document before Mr Grimes could conclude his reprimand. After skimming the page, he passed it onto Charity who giggled-jiggled-and-jingled. "Sweet-cakes, you're my kind of woman." CJ winked salaciously. " _I'll_ give you the cash if you demonstrate for me. Unlike Grimy, I'm always open to the sexually impossible."

A menacing snarl emanated from Adam's direction; however, it was Deedee who intervened, contradicting her earlier hostility. "Back-off, you dim-witted ass. Melina's not interested nor is she your type."

CJ laughed, flashing bleached-white, surgically straightened teeth. "Deeds, you're one hot-totty when riled." He replaced a fondling hand to her knee. "And personal experience guarantees, for the right amount of money, any woman is _my_ type."

"Only if she's brain-dead, weasel-dick. Your type is usually a bitch-in-heat with dollar signs in her eyes and the intelligence of a dodo," Deedee spat out. "If you dare put your grubby hand on me again, I'll castrate you with a rusty meat cleaver."

CJ's face blanched whiter than his teeth at the threat. Melina wondered at Deedee's fierceness. The mouse had morphed into an aggressor. What had caused the sudden metamorphosis?

Mr Grimes banged his desktop with a fist. "People, decorum!" After another sip of water, he cleared his throat and read, "I, Divinity Emerald Virtue, of sound mind and unequivocally magnificent body, bequeath the residue of my wealth, the mansion and all remaining contents, not to my nephew Adamas Dhamir Khalil..." An appalled hush filled the office. Even Charity's breasts ceased jingling.

"...not to my nephew Adamas Dhamir Khalil, but to my true heir, my beloved and much adored son, Adam Virtue."

A cacophony of surprised shouts deafened Melina as her shocked gaze encapsulated Adam. She was reminded of a game she used to play with her cousins-whereby two opponents stared into each others eyes, the first to blink lost. She had always been the loser. She'd had no choice but to let her cousins win, else Jonas would harshly rebuke the child so weak-willed as to be beaten by a _worthless_ nobody.

Melina blinked.

Melina lost.

Acknowledgment

I would like extend my sincere thanks to all the readers who took the time to download my novel and read it. As this is my first foray into the world of authorship, I would very much appreciate any constructive criticism.

Better yet, tell me what you enjoyed.

RoisianAK.Shaam@hotmail.com

Watch out for the second part of the OBSIDIAN VEIL trilogy:

OBSIDIAN VEIL Book 2

Angels Amongst the Tombstones

Copyright and Disclaimer

Copyright © December 2014

Registered with UK Copyright Service www.copyrightservice.co.uk

Reg No. 284687104

Obsidian Veil: An Angels Amongst the Tombstones trilogy paranormal romance is

© Copyright 2014 by the author; no part of this publication may be reproduced, resold or given away \- nor shall it be stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form without express written permission from the copyright holder.

The novella in its entirety is a work of fiction and, due to its content and subject nature, is intended for the mature audiences only i.e. 18 years of age and over. This novel contains: sexual scenes; strong language; images and acts of violence; and subject matters some may find offensive and/or of a taboo nature. Please do not read if you are easily offended.

Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and have only been used for the sole intention as a reference. There is no implied endorsement from the author.

Any and all characters, events and places are solely of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons bearing the same name, living or dead, or events or places is merely coincidence. None of the characters or individuals, known or unknown to the author, are inspired by any particular person(s).

