John Miller - Death Draws Five

“If you drive Blood too hard,” Nighthawk said, “you’ll kill him.”

“Let him die and be damned,” the Cardinal said. “His only chance at salvation is to die in Christ’s service, anyway. He should welcome the opportunity.”

We’ll see about that, Nighthawk thought. He suppressed a sigh as he stood.

“I guess this means we’ll have to skip supper at Loaves and Fishes,” Usher said.

Nighthawk nodded.

“Pity,” Usher said. “They have great grits.” He looked at the Witness, who scowled back at him. “You can’t really get them outside the South,” he said seriously

Peaceable Kingdom: The Manger

Ray was tired, but he could not sleep.

His hand hurt, but it was bandaged and healing, as were all his numerous other wounds. He was jazzed as he always was after a fight, though it hadn’t been much of one. The Witness might have provided some real competition, but he’d been a disappointment. It kind of disturbed Ray when he screamed like a little girl. The trip through what the Brit had called ‘the Short Cut’ had been disturbing as well. Sure, he’d got to put a period to the career of Ti Malice, and that counted for something, but fighting spider-things wasn’t exactly his cup of tea. And although he’d suddenly gotten to know Angel a lot better than he had before, he couldn’t find her. She’d vanished after he’d gotten his hand bandaged, and the Peaceable Kingdom was one damn big place when you were trying to find a single angel in it.

He paced his room. It was usually like this. The adrenaline took forever to leave his system, making him edgy and keeping him awake no matter how much he wanted sleep. He looked out the window of his room. Night had come to the Peaceable Kingdom, and he was back to wishing that he was just about anywhere else in the world.

He started, uncharacteristically, at the tentative tap at his door, a single knock, unrepeated.

“Who is it?” Ray asked.

“The Angel,” she said quietly, barely audible through the door.

He was before it in a moment, and opened it. She stood in the hallway, blinking, her hair mussed, her leathers dirty and sweaty, scuffed and torn, still wearing his shirt. She was beautiful.

“Come in,” he said, and she did.

She stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. “John Fortune is asleep,” she said. “Fortunato is with him.”

“Good,” Ray said. “He okay?”

Angel shook her head. “We don’t know. He’s frightened, exhausted. The Hand—”

“What’s with all this ‘Hand’ sh—stuff?” he asked.

“That’s his title,” Angel said. “The Hand of God.”

“Jeez,” Ray said. “And to think I knew him when he was only the President of the United States.”

Angel closed her eyes, and Ray could see that suddenly she was on the verge of tears.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” he asked. “I didn’t mean anything. You can call him The Spleen of God for all I care. What’s wrong?”

She took a deep, shuddering breath, controlling herself. “Nothing. Nothing. I’m just tired. The job is done. We’ve saved him from the Allumbrados. But...”

“Yeah,” Ray said. “The job is done, but life goes on, doesn’t it?”

Angel looked down at the floor. “I don’t want to be alone,” she said in a small voice. “I can’t be alone, any more.”

“You don’t have to be,” Ray said. He came close, but didn’t touch her. He felt an odd sensation. For a moment he couldn’t identify it, then he realized that it was fear. He was afraid to touch her, he realized. Afraid of how she would react.

“I meant to take a shower, to clean up, but I don’t have any other clothes—”

Ray laid a finger softly against her lips. At the touch of his flesh on hers, his fear was suddenly gone. He smiled, but suppressed a relieved sigh. “You don’t have to apologize.”

She finally looked at him. She had the darkest, largest eyes he had ever seen. They were two sad bruises in the alabaster of her face. “My mother never let me listen to music,” she said, seemingly irreverently, “except in church. She thought that music was the tool of Satan. But sometimes she’d drink, like that night she cut me, and listen to a records she had from when she was young. She’d listen to them over and over again. They were all scratched and hissing so you could barely make out the words. One of them had a song on it that said something like, ‘I’m afraid of the Devil, but I’m drawn to them that ain’t.’ I didn’t understand the words then, but I think I understand now why she listened to that song. I think I know what it means. I think I’m the same way as my mother.”

She looked seriously at him.

“I think you think too much sometimes,” Ray said, bending his head to hers.

Unlike their first kiss, this one began soft, but didn’t stay that way for long. It grew in hunger and passion. Her mouth tasted so good that he wasn’t sure how she got out of her clothes or even whether she or he had taken them off.

She was magnificent. That was all he could think. Her breasts were heavy and dark tipped. Her nipples were already erect. She moaned when he caressed them. Her breath hissed inward when he took one in his mouth. Her hips were wide, her waist narrow and ribbed with muscle. Her thighs were lean and sinewy, the juncture at them dark and inviting. He put a hand there and she shuddered against his body. He trailed his fingers across her flat abdomen, tracing the path of the scar as it twisted upon her stomach.

“It’s so ugly,” she said.

“Nothing about you is ugly, Angel.”

“You’re not just saying that?” she asked in a whisper.

He bit her neck gently where it curved into the ivory strength of her shoulder. “Have I ever lied to you?”

“I don’t know,” she said, shivering as his kisses went up the column of her throat, “but you’d better not now.”

They fell on the bed. She was already ready. It seemed like she had been for quite awhile now. She closed her eyes. “Thy will be done,” she said, and gasped when he took her.

It was a wild ride. Ray had never experienced anything like it before. She was strong and eager and he didn’t last as long as he wanted to. He did have the pleasure of bringing her to at least one screaming orgasm before he succumbed himself and shuddered against her in what seemed like an endless stream of pleasure. They lay together, panting, and Ray shook his head.

“I’ve never screwed like that before. You’re so strong. So hungry.”

“I’ve never screwed before. Period.”

“Well,” Ray said, “that was one Hell of a first try.” He leaned back on one elbow, but couldn’t keep his hands from the silken skin of her breasts. Their nipples puckered again at his first touch. “Did you like it?”

She closed her eyes. “It was glorious.” She opened them and looked seriously at Ray. “When can we do it again?”

He laughed. “With any other guy, it might take awhile. But, lucky you.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Don’t you know that one of my powers is regeneration?” he asked.

Her laughter turned to groans of delight as his mouth closed over hers.

The corridor leading from the elevator to Barnett’s sanctum was lousy with Secret Service agents, and the second string—Mushroom Daddy, Digger Downs, and that kid Secret Service agent whose name Jerry kept forgetting—were in the reception room with Sally Lou. She looked as cool and desirable as ever.

Only Barnett and Fortunato were inside. Barnett looked up sourly as Jerry knocked and entered. He was not, Jerry realized, in a good mood. He turned to Fortunato. “You were saying about the boy?”