still, her
short hair riffled by the wind, her skin pebbling with goose bumps in the cold.
She had to be freezing. It was the second of November, for crying out loud. As
he crept slowly nearer, she leaned forward, arching her back. No more time.
Tomas lunged, snapping his arms around her just above hip level, which was as
high as he could reach. The momentum of her body tried to pull him over with
her, but he braced one foot against the brick wall and jerked her backward,
hard. He landed on his back on the rooftop with her butt on his chest and her
lower back against his face. No sooner had he begun to release his pent-up
breath in a sigh of relief than she was scrambling off him and onto her feet,
turning to look down at him, stark accusation in her huge black eyes.
“Atta balṭata u anāku mūt amât!” she shouted.
Then her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed
straight down, as if her legs had dissolved beneath her.
Tomas got onto his feet. She’d bled on his clothes. On his
face. Her back was cut to ribbons. Bending, he gathered her carefully into his
arms, then turned to carry her back down to her apartment.
* * *
“Owwwww.”
I was facedown on my bed and hurting like hell, and when I
tried to roll over, a strong male hand on my shoulder kept me lying where I
was.
Who the hell is that, and what is he doing
in my apartment?
I twisted my head to see. It was him. Of course it was him.
Hunky Father Tomas was sitting on the edge of my bed. His face was twisted with
what looked like worry, and his hands held gauze and a bottle of something
aromatic.
“Father Tomas? What happened? Why are you here? And why the
hell am I hurting so bad?” I craned my neck a little farther and got a nice
clear view of my own bare ass. “I’m naked!” I tried to roll over again, but his
hand held me still.
“It’s all right, I’m a priest.” He wasn’t trying to be funny.
He tugged the bedsheet up a little to cover my cheeks. “Lie very still or it’ll
hurt even more. If you’ll stop trying to roll, I’ll show you what’s hurting in
the mirror.” The bed moved as he got up and walked to my dresser. I tried to
remember whether I’d left anything embarrassing on it. Tampons, undies. I wasn’t
exactly an immaculate housekeeper. He was back in seconds, holding my silver
hand mirror at an angle that allowed me to see my back. And when I did, my
stomach heaved and I closed my eyes. My back was covered with deep, long cuts.
Stripes. Like a whip would leave behind if—
A whip.
“Shit.”
The nightmare or memory or hallucination or whatever the hell
it was came back to me so hard and fast I had to jam my face into the pillow to
muffle the sob that lurched inside my chest. I was pretty sure he heard it
anyway.
“What happened last night?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” I turned far enough so my words could emerge
unmuffled. “I was…I was trying to work a spell. You must have seen the living
room.”
“I saw the circle. The candles. Figured that much out.”
Frowning, I twisted my head a little farther. “The circle. The
candles…that’s all?” He hadn’t mentioned the shattered window, broken glass,
toppled lamp, tangled curtains.
“Furniture piled in the kitchen?”
I blinked. “There was a storm. It smashed the window to hell
and gone.”
He was staring at me, silent.
“Didn’t it?”
He shook his head slowly. “It must have been part of another
nightmare,” he said. “I spotted you on the roof. You damn near went over the
side, but…”
“But you saved me.” I no longer cared if he saw my tears. He’d
seen my bare ass and my living nightmare. What were a few tears?
“I was across the street in my car. I saw you up there and—
They’re going away.”
“What?” I was confused by the sudden change of subject.
“The wounds, they’re…they’re going away.” He held up the mirror
again.
I ignored it. Pushing past him and his mirror to get to my
feet, dragging the
short hair riffled by the wind, her skin pebbling with goose bumps in the cold.
She had to be freezing. It was the second of November, for crying out loud. As
he crept slowly nearer, she leaned forward, arching her back. No more time.
Tomas lunged, snapping his arms around her just above hip level, which was as
high as he could reach. The momentum of her body tried to pull him over with
her, but he braced one foot against the brick wall and jerked her backward,
hard. He landed on his back on the rooftop with her butt on his chest and her
lower back against his face. No sooner had he begun to release his pent-up
breath in a sigh of relief than she was scrambling off him and onto her feet,
turning to look down at him, stark accusation in her huge black eyes.
“Atta balṭata u anāku mūt amât!” she shouted.
Then her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed
straight down, as if her legs had dissolved beneath her.
Tomas got onto his feet. She’d bled on his clothes. On his
face. Her back was cut to ribbons. Bending, he gathered her carefully into his
arms, then turned to carry her back down to her apartment.
* * *
“Owwwww.”
I was facedown on my bed and hurting like hell, and when I
tried to roll over, a strong male hand on my shoulder kept me lying where I
was.
Who the hell is that, and what is he doing
in my apartment?
I twisted my head to see. It was him. Of course it was him.
Hunky Father Tomas was sitting on the edge of my bed. His face was twisted with
what looked like worry, and his hands held gauze and a bottle of something
aromatic.
“Father Tomas? What happened? Why are you here? And why the
hell am I hurting so bad?” I craned my neck a little farther and got a nice
clear view of my own bare ass. “I’m naked!” I tried to roll over again, but his
hand held me still.
“It’s all right, I’m a priest.” He wasn’t trying to be funny.
He tugged the bedsheet up a little to cover my cheeks. “Lie very still or it’ll
hurt even more. If you’ll stop trying to roll, I’ll show you what’s hurting in
the mirror.” The bed moved as he got up and walked to my dresser. I tried to
remember whether I’d left anything embarrassing on it. Tampons, undies. I wasn’t
exactly an immaculate housekeeper. He was back in seconds, holding my silver
hand mirror at an angle that allowed me to see my back. And when I did, my
stomach heaved and I closed my eyes. My back was covered with deep, long cuts.
Stripes. Like a whip would leave behind if—
A whip.
“Shit.”
The nightmare or memory or hallucination or whatever the hell
it was came back to me so hard and fast I had to jam my face into the pillow to
muffle the sob that lurched inside my chest. I was pretty sure he heard it
anyway.
“What happened last night?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” I turned far enough so my words could emerge
unmuffled. “I was…I was trying to work a spell. You must have seen the living
room.”
“I saw the circle. The candles. Figured that much out.”
Frowning, I twisted my head a little farther. “The circle. The
candles…that’s all?” He hadn’t mentioned the shattered window, broken glass,
toppled lamp, tangled curtains.
“Furniture piled in the kitchen?”
I blinked. “There was a storm. It smashed the window to hell
and gone.”
He was staring at me, silent.
“Didn’t it?”
He shook his head slowly. “It must have been part of another
nightmare,” he said. “I spotted you on the roof. You damn near went over the
side, but…”
“But you saved me.” I no longer cared if he saw my tears. He’d
seen my bare ass and my living nightmare. What were a few tears?
“I was across the street in my car. I saw you up there and—
They’re going away.”
“What?” I was confused by the sudden change of subject.
“The wounds, they’re…they’re going away.” He held up the mirror
again.
I ignored it. Pushing past him and his mirror to get to my
feet, dragging the
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