Absolution At Dawn Read online

  Slowly they rose up, floating over the floor with her back still pressed against the arbor letting the soft rose petals run over her bare skin. Cold air swirled around them locking them in a cocoon that pulled her hair over her head in a spiral that was similar to the flame of a candle. The air continued to lift her up as he released her wrists, dragging his hand over her arms and down her back where his other hand held her securely in place. She floated up a few inches until her breasts matched his face, the soft billowing rise of her feminine shape. Turning his head to the side he brushed a cheek against the side of one breast, letting the softness of her skin sooth his face, the short stubble on his jaw tickled her, bringing the prickling result of goosebumps. She shivered from the sensation of his rough touch and the cold air, allowing herself to be exposed to the elements of his seduction. Azrael turned his head and latched his mouth over one breast. Her hot flesh filled the cold cavern of his mouth, while his tongue flicked at her erect nipple.

  When at last his lips released her with a pop, she fell limp in his arms, her body completely submitting to his desire. Azrael held her close as the swirling wind lifted them higher before breaking free from around them, leaving them to plummet to the ground and landing softly on a bed of grass in a planter box that resembled an antique bed. Azrael climbed over her, his body heavy over hers, his pants open and the dominating girth released to brush against her smooth naked thigh. He reached behind his head with one arm, pulling his shirt off and tossing it to the ground. Lying over her, he reveled in the sensation of her naked breasts crushed against his bare chest and her heart beat out a driving rhythm that took him back to the tribal drums he had heard played the first time he’d laid eyes on her, when the world was simpler, and he was not a fallen angel.

  Chapter Two

  4thCentury BC

  The heart of the Persian Empire

  Moonlight blunted the heat of the desert landscape like a cool bath. Nights in the desert were cold and isolated but beheld a beauty that was unmatched for Azrael. He hovered over a sand dune looking down at a small circle of tents that glowed from the fire pit at the center. They were a nomad tribe, celebrating in their nightly ritual of food and dance, celebrating the life of an elder who was nearing the end of his journey. The deep trill of stretched lambskin over the barrel-deep drums echoed into the emptiness of the night calling out to Azrael’s soul. He had come with a mission, but there was something in their celebration that distracted him, a presence that he did not know which called out to him, a presence other than the soul he had been sent to collect. Azrael lowered himself onto the ground, the sand spread to cushion his bare feet as he walked down toward the tribe that he knew would welcome him, little did they know they would be welcoming the Angel of Death.

  A bouncing mane of black curls ran across his path when Azrael reached the outside of the camp, stopping in her tracks the little girl turned and smiled at him before running off with giggles, chasing after a dog not much bigger than her. The heat of the communal fire penetrated the cold, bathing Azrael’s face and arms in a welcoming warmth as he walked into the camp. There was no fear of hostility as his kind exuded a loving warmth that brought out a hospitality in mortals that was unfailing, only the darkest of hearts rejected the love of an angel.

  He moved with ease through the people gathered around the fire, three men sat on the ground with their legs folded around their drums. Their hands beat out a hypnotic rhythm, playing for the assembly of women dancing around the fire. Scarves flowed from their fingers and their robes hung heavy, weighted down by the decoration of beading and coins that played out an added chorus to the drums. It was a traditional dance of mourning for their community that touched his beating heart and nearly brought him to tears. Azrael lived an existence of death, but he saw it more as his honor to escort the soul of the dying into the next world, and he felt honored to see to one who was clearly so loved by his community.

  Walking among the few who stood off to the side clapping their hands in time to the music, he studied every face, seeing the pain of loss in their eyes, but despite his calling there was still the unsettling feeling of someone else there, someone pulling him away from his sworn duty. Temptation was not unknown to him, but something he never gave into and this perplexed him, despite knowing his purpose there, he could not escape the nagging feeling that there was something else there for him.

  The women dancing around the fire ran up to the flames, their hands joined together and raised up, then they broke the hold and spun away from each other drawing their scarves in the air, with large bold movements. They turned together around the fire, following the leader and all passing by him and then he saw her. The fiery apparition, a beauty dressed in a white flowing robe that made her bright orange and red hair glow flowing freely over her shoulders. The women danced, unaware that an angel was beside them, dancing freely with her eyes closed and her hands up in praise. She twirled and twirled, weaving between the other women and floating up over the center of the fire, a free spirit, the beautiful essence of pure joy.

  Azrael stood there unable to speak or move, for fear that he might startle her and cause her to stop, but his presence drew her attention, much like she had done with him, and she spun over the fire one last time before pausing to look at him. Silently her arms fell to her sides and she walked on the billowing smoke of the fire back down to the ground. She slowly walked in his direction, her hips swaying beneath her robe, shifting the fabric to move side to side with her steps, hugging her curvy form. Her hair floated over her shoulders like a magical cape and the closer she got he could see the glowing waves of blue and emerald highlights. Every movement was a testament to her name, for he was well aware before she spoke that this was Aurora, the Angel of the Dawn and protector of mothers.

  “You have come for him?” her voice had a sweet melodic tone which reflected her femininity, but she held herself with the confidence of a warrior.

  “His time grows near.” Azrael’s heart was heavy with the knowledge that his presence would bring an end to her dance and felt shame that in his duties he would bring her sorrow- a feeling he often wrestled with but had never before felt with such an impact.

  “He is ready to move on,” a warm glow filled her face rather than the resentment or ridicule of his duty that he had come to expect, “It is a blessing that his passing will be peaceful with his family and friends close by.”

  “Thank you.” The meaning of his gratitude was received and she partially smiled before turning her attention toward the camp, who were still deep in their ritual of life and death.

  “They are a good people and he is very much loved among them. I know he will be missed, that is why I thought it best for another to be here.” There was a reverence in how she spoke of the mortals, which took him by surprise.

  She made a slow turn, scanning the camp in reflection. Her hair floated and her flowing robe billowed trailing behind her completing the image of angelic elegance. Azrael was distracted, his emotions and senses were in flux as he tried to hold onto his mission there, but Aurora had a power about her that eclipsed the rest of the world around her. She finished her turn and stopped to look him in the face, a closed lip smile that lifted up at one corner of her mouth in a cheeky expression.

  “I don’t suppose you are in a rush tonight?” she asked, holding a hand out to him.

  Azrael felt as though he were standing on a precipice, much like Eve holding the apple to Adam, there was something about her that he couldn’t ignore, a power that had taken hold of him from the moment he’d sensed her presence. There was something about this angel, something that intrigued him, but scared him at the same time. With trepidation, Azrael took her offered hand and followed her into the center of the circle. Among the tribe it would have been frowned upon, even scorned, for a man and woman to hold hands and dance together, but they moved among the mortals, not invisible, but unnoticed, there was an innocent oblivion to how the humans could see angels, almost a displacement o
f time that allowed them to be seen, but unnoticed.

  She glowed with joy and led him through the circle of women dancing, her steps were light, and her body bounced with everyone. Her smile was infections and soon he followed her over the flame, floating above the camp. Joined hand-in-hand they built a bridge with their arms, encouraging the flames to grow higher and higher. He felt free and filled with joy in her presence and for once was not weighed down with the burden of his duty. There was always the threat of consequences should he fail in his mission and duty sworn. He had never failed in avoiding distraction, until this moment. Happiness expelled from Aurora with an exhale and floated down to the camp, they breathed in her joy, her happiness, and peace as they would air. Suddenly the music took a turn, the rhythm grew faster and a call rose up from two men standing at the outside of the circle watching the women dance. Soon they were intoxicated by the dance, the entire camp was enchanted in an uplifting joy born from the purity of Aurora.

  Azrael was distracted, he failed to recall why he was there and gave in to the dance until a cry of pain shattered the joy and brought the drums to a sudden silence. Everyone froze, their eyes danced looking from one shadow to the other, fearfully waiting for the cry to come again. And it did. The cry came from the tent that had already brought a steady stream of sorrowful cries. The old one’s time had come and without Azrael to collect his soul he was left, trapped between the world of the living and the spiritual realm.

  Without a word spoken Azrael left Aurora’s side, turning to face the tent and flying to the man’s side. He passed through the walls of the tent and into the room heavy with the scent of incense and dimly lit by a single oil lantern. Detailed cuts in the brass frame of the lantern cast large imposing shadows around the room. Azrael floated toward the bed, his motion bringing the lantern to turn, animating the shadows in a violent dance between light and dark. The mourning wife, holding onto her husband’s hand, looked up at the twisted chain the lantern hung by and watched in fearful silence for what had caused the lantern to move. It was an odd distraction from the events of the moment, but Azrael understood how his presence had brought more harm than good when he watched the man lean his head back and cry out again in pain. Panting for a pain-filled breath, the old man’s eyes settled on Azrael, a recognition came across his face and Azrael knew that the time had come. Reaching a hand out to the old man, Azrael waited until he complied and took the Angel’s hand leaving his body behind and taking his first step away from the world he knew and the woman he loved.

  “Come,” he encouraged the man with solemn reflection in his voice, “Peace awaits you.” But the man passed and turned his head to look over his shoulder to see his wife fall over his empty body, crying from her agony. His eyes welled up with tears, a glistening example of his own pain in leaving the love of his life. “This pain is only a moment in time. Soon you will know what it means to exist without pain and loss and when the time comes you will be reunited.”

  The man silently looked up into Azrael’s face, searching his eyes for an understanding, but there was no explanation he could give the man. This was a journey that he had to make blind. Azrael knew that the man would find harmony and happiness in their destination, but he was troubled knowing that in his prior distraction he had brought pain to the man when he should have been there to bring him peace. Outside the tent, Aurora was waiting for them, her hands folded in front of her and a solemn expression on her face with her eyes turned down toward the ground. The three of them hovered over the camp, the cool night breeze blowing through her colorful hair and tempting him to step away from his charge just to run his fingers through it, but he didn’t, his duty to the man overruled any such temptation, nothing else mattered until he delivered this man to paradise.

  “Good journey and blessing be upon you,” she told the man with a stinging smile on her lips, then turned her attention to Azrael, still diverting her eyes from his. “I did not know that there would have been such a sacrifice for a moments distraction.”

  “You needn’t worry yourself, he is at peace now and ready to start his new journey.” They began to pass her, but then Azrael paused, tormented by the pain and guilt in her face. “It was good to finally meet you.”

  “You as well.” She finally looked him in the eyes and gifted him her most sincere smile.

  Present Day New Orleans

  “Was it planned?” Azrael asked her, hovering over her body caging her over the grass with his arms and legs. Aurora responded only with a look of confusion. “When you first appeared that night in the camp, was it planned? Did you come there with the intent to distract me from my sworn duty?”

  She tried to answer, but paused with her lips parted, rethinking it.

  “Had my damnation always been an intent for you? Was this all part of some darker plan?” At last he asked the question that had occupied his thoughts for centuries.

  “No,” she finally said, her voice weak from the emotional defeat.

  “Then why? Why was it that the first time you appeared to me was the first time I allowed myself to be distracted, and nearly failed in my duty?” His question was disjointed, but emotions occupied his thoughts.

  “I don’t know what you speak of,” she spoke with such conviction that he almost forgot that Angels never forget, their memories are infinite, though sometimes influenced by emotions.

  “Very well,” he replied, accepting that she was not about to answer him honestly at the moment, and instead returned to the matter at hand.

  Thrusting his hips forward, he impaled himself into her glorious heat and was greeted with a thunderstorm of pleasure. Every dead nerve was struck by a lightning bolt of electrified lust and brought to life what had been dead for so long. Aurora threw her head back and cried out when he pulled himself out nearly to the tip and then drove in again, repeating the motion with a hurried rage that possessed him. He had to have all of her, he had to consume her, in that instant nothing else existed beyond Aurora’s sinfully blessed body.

  Azrael fell over Aurora kissing her softly, then rolled over to the side in exhaustion from his powerful release. Turning his head, he looked over her body, soft and shapely, glistening in the moonlight. She stretched her arms over her head and raised one knee up innocently posing for his pleasure. She was a sexual feast to behold, every motion, every gesture sang to his dead heart and stirred his body in response. If he were alive he was certain that his heart would beat with exhilaration from being so close to her.

  “You do not disappoint,” he complimented her, struggling for the first time in centuries to breathe, a burden uncommon to his kind.

  “Thank you,” she replied with a tinge of bitterness.

  Azrael rolled onto his side, cringing when his open zipper scratched his fatigued phallus. Reaching down he adjusted himself and zipped his jeans up safely only to look up into Aurora’s unpleasing eyes. There was a coldness there that he had not expected, catching him off guard. Expelling a breath, Aurora rolled away from him and lowered her feet off of the frame of the bed shaped planter, her toes dangling over the cold tiled floor, and she sat there in silence.

  “Regrets?” he asked lying on his side with one arm bent under him to prop up his head. When she made no response and he reached out to touch her shoulder Aurora shied away from his hand and stood up, walking slowly to where her robe lay piled on the floor, never making the effort to hide her nudity with her hands as a mortal woman might do. “Or do you wish regrets on me?” he asked, but still there was no answer.

  Refusing to be ignored and resentful of the guilt her silence plagued him with, Azrael stood up and walked toward her, keeping a respectable distance between them. He may have been driven by his desire to offer up such an undesirable bargain with her, but she willingly agreed to his terms and, more than willingly, submitted to him. Despite how she may feel about him or how he may feel about himself under the circumstances, they could not ignore the fact that Aurora had found pleasure and willing desire in his ar
ms.

  “You may wish to play the martyr, but I will not allow you to ignore what we shared just now!” he shouted at her in growing frustration.

  “Sex is a natural result between two bodies,” she responded, her voice flat and unemotional. “It is natural and common to respond in kind.” She bent down to pick up her robe and paused holding it to her when he spoke.

  “But desire is not so common, or something to be cast off so lightly,” he argued.

  Aurora spun around, throwing her robe to the side in anger, her hair burning bright around her face and her eyes wide and wet with tears. She was more beautiful than he remembered, and if his heart were still alive it would break from the look of pain in her face.

  “Desire! You make me your prisoner, holding Damian’s life hostage and you try to twist this around like some unrequited love!” She threw her hands over her head in effigy, never shying away from the fact that she was standing naked in her rage. “Desire? You wish to believe there is lasting desire between us, while you are nothing more than a monster, a dark shadow of the man you once were?” A vengeful laughter broke out from her less than civil expression. This was not the sweet and pleasant Aurora he knew, this woman was impassioned by fury and it was directed at him. “If you think that what just occurred is a loving testament to what we once shared you are far from correct. I was forced to fulfill a bargain to save the life of a friend’s son.”

  “Who had tried to kill me,” he defended.

  “He tried to kill a monster.” It was a low blow and she knew that she had struck her target head on.

  There was a brief pause as they looked at each other and Azrael took his time to lay out his retort.

  “Only one of your making,” he said in a low and controlled voice.

  Hit by the meaning in his words she turned in a huff and made her way toward the glass door, leaving her robe behind.