Which reminded me.
What I knew of angels came mainly from Dogma . In general I didn’t watch fantasy movies—I had a voracious appetite for real life, normal people, everyday happenings. But I hadn’t been able to resist Dogma . In that movie, the angels had no genitalia—maybe these didn’t either. Maybe all this talk about celibacy was because they had no other choice.
I hadn’t seen any children around, after all. Maybe I was worried about nothing. Though having someone drink my blood wasn’t exactly nothing, but he’d made no move toward me.
I should go right now. But I was starving, exhausted, and thoroughly shaken. If I took off in this state, I wouldn’t get far. I did as Michael had suggested, checking the refrigerator, and found cheese, fruit, yogurt—all my favorite things. In the door was bottled water from Norway and Scotland, and cans of Diet Coke.
I’d never tasted it. I’d seen it in movies all the time—product placement, they called it. But soda wasn’t allowed at the convent school, and nothing like that had ever appeared at the castello .
It only took me a moment to figure out how the top opened. There was a hiss as brown liquid bubbled out of the small hole I’d created. I took a tiny sip.
And spat it out in horror. People actually liked this crap?
But this was my new world. Not just Sheol, but beyond, where I firmly intended to be, and everybodyseemed to drink this instead of water. I took another sip, letting the bubbles sting my tongue before swallowing. Not much better.
I pulled out cheese and crackers, hoping to disguise the taste, and sat down on the white sofa in front of the sliding glass doors that overlooked the sea. The food didn’t quite kill the taste but made it palatable, and I worked my way through the can, then forced myself to take another.
It was already getting darker. What time was it in Italy? Did the contessa know Pedersen was dead, and that I had killed him? Did it even matter?
The sea breeze was blowing in, and I could taste the salt on my lips. Part of me longed for it, to feel the water on my feet, my skin. But I was exhausted by all I had been through.
I looked at the bed longingly. There was no reason why I had to escape immediately. It would be better if I acclimated myself to this strange place first. Besides, I had never been so weary in my life.
I took a third can of soda and walked over to the bed. It was bigger than my narrow one in Italy, but smaller than the beds in the movies. It was more than big enough for me, and I stretched out on it, setting the open can of soda on the side table.
It was sinfully, divinely comfortable. Could something be both? Then again, that would describe a fallen angel perfectly. Sinful and divine. A fascinating contradiction, and if things were different, I’d be more than happy to stay here and explore it. Itwasn’t as if Michael was any threat to me—this marriage was a formality, nothing more. He kept insisting he was celibate, and he had no interest in either my body or my blood. There was no real reason to be in such a hurry.
Except I was finding the celibacy thing a little hard to believe, assuming he had all his equipment. There was something about him, the tightly coiled intensity, the way he moved, the way he looked at things, at me, that felt . . . sexual. Not that I had a great deal of experience in the matter, but I knew the difference between creatures who displayed a sexless presence and those who exuded sexuality. Michael, for all his protestations, was definitely the latter.
And whether I liked it or not, when I looked at him I felt something. I couldn’t identify it, didn’t want to, but it made me uneasy, irritable, unsettled. As if I wanted something from him and I wasn’t sure what.
Not my type at all. I liked sweet, gentle men who didn’t try to tell me what to do. I’d had enough of that with the contessa and Pedersen. The last thing I wanted was a stern, cold man bossing me
What I knew of angels came mainly from Dogma . In general I didn’t watch fantasy movies—I had a voracious appetite for real life, normal people, everyday happenings. But I hadn’t been able to resist Dogma . In that movie, the angels had no genitalia—maybe these didn’t either. Maybe all this talk about celibacy was because they had no other choice.
I hadn’t seen any children around, after all. Maybe I was worried about nothing. Though having someone drink my blood wasn’t exactly nothing, but he’d made no move toward me.
I should go right now. But I was starving, exhausted, and thoroughly shaken. If I took off in this state, I wouldn’t get far. I did as Michael had suggested, checking the refrigerator, and found cheese, fruit, yogurt—all my favorite things. In the door was bottled water from Norway and Scotland, and cans of Diet Coke.
I’d never tasted it. I’d seen it in movies all the time—product placement, they called it. But soda wasn’t allowed at the convent school, and nothing like that had ever appeared at the castello .
It only took me a moment to figure out how the top opened. There was a hiss as brown liquid bubbled out of the small hole I’d created. I took a tiny sip.
And spat it out in horror. People actually liked this crap?
But this was my new world. Not just Sheol, but beyond, where I firmly intended to be, and everybodyseemed to drink this instead of water. I took another sip, letting the bubbles sting my tongue before swallowing. Not much better.
I pulled out cheese and crackers, hoping to disguise the taste, and sat down on the white sofa in front of the sliding glass doors that overlooked the sea. The food didn’t quite kill the taste but made it palatable, and I worked my way through the can, then forced myself to take another.
It was already getting darker. What time was it in Italy? Did the contessa know Pedersen was dead, and that I had killed him? Did it even matter?
The sea breeze was blowing in, and I could taste the salt on my lips. Part of me longed for it, to feel the water on my feet, my skin. But I was exhausted by all I had been through.
I looked at the bed longingly. There was no reason why I had to escape immediately. It would be better if I acclimated myself to this strange place first. Besides, I had never been so weary in my life.
I took a third can of soda and walked over to the bed. It was bigger than my narrow one in Italy, but smaller than the beds in the movies. It was more than big enough for me, and I stretched out on it, setting the open can of soda on the side table.
It was sinfully, divinely comfortable. Could something be both? Then again, that would describe a fallen angel perfectly. Sinful and divine. A fascinating contradiction, and if things were different, I’d be more than happy to stay here and explore it. Itwasn’t as if Michael was any threat to me—this marriage was a formality, nothing more. He kept insisting he was celibate, and he had no interest in either my body or my blood. There was no real reason to be in such a hurry.
Except I was finding the celibacy thing a little hard to believe, assuming he had all his equipment. There was something about him, the tightly coiled intensity, the way he moved, the way he looked at things, at me, that felt . . . sexual. Not that I had a great deal of experience in the matter, but I knew the difference between creatures who displayed a sexless presence and those who exuded sexuality. Michael, for all his protestations, was definitely the latter.
And whether I liked it or not, when I looked at him I felt something. I couldn’t identify it, didn’t want to, but it made me uneasy, irritable, unsettled. As if I wanted something from him and I wasn’t sure what.
Not my type at all. I liked sweet, gentle men who didn’t try to tell me what to do. I’d had enough of that with the contessa and Pedersen. The last thing I wanted was a stern, cold man bossing me
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