Disciplining the Beast: Taming the Beast, Book 5 (7 page)

Rafael’s lids snapped open. He took one look at her face and turned white. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t move.” She dragged the chair over, stood on it, and ran the cloth over his right wing.

He trembled.

“I said don’t move.”

“I can’t help it. That feels good.”

It wouldn’t when he saw what she had. His once pristine wings were snowy no more, each were black at the top, the color diminishing to gray an eighth of the way down. Had to be dirt, mud, or maybe even tar. Holding back a whimper, she brushed as lightly as she could. The stain didn’t budge. She rubbed harder.

“Hey, stop. That hurts.”

Her legs gave out. She sank to the chair and held out the cloth to him.

He glanced at it. “What am I supposed to be looking for?”

“Dirt, mud, grease, tar, take your pick.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“I know. It won’t come off your wings.”

“What won’t?” He looked over and stilled.

Now he got it. Wait. “Maybe I need to use soap or shampoo.” She jumped to her feet and pulled him into the bath.

Rafael hoped to God Wynona’s plan worked. Not so much for his sake, for hers.

She dropped the soap twice, cursed the bar, kicked the tub, and grabbed the shampoo. Her grip was too tight, her aim damn bad. A stream of the strawberry-scented stuff hit his chin, neck, and pecs.

She groaned. “Sorry.”

“S’okay. It’ll wash off.”

“On your chest. What if the black doesn’t come off your wings?” She bounced on her heels. “What if you’re ruined?”

He should have cared but didn’t. Spending last night with her had been the only true happiness he’d ever known. As a man, he’d died before knowing real love. As a good angel, he’d dedicated himself to Heaven’s cause and considered his lingering carnal desires a failing. Something he’d eventually get over.

After the few nights he’d spent with Ursula, he’d been ready to embrace celibacy. Then Wynona had stomped into his life, a bundle of contractions and sass wrapped in pure female allure.

He smiled. No, he glowed.

She scraped shampoo off his chest, worked up lather, and applied the bubbles to the top feathers on his left wing. His lids slipped down. Blindly, he reached for the sink and grabbed the edge for support before his legs folded.

She jerked back. “Did I hurt you again?”

He was about to come. There were as many nerve endings in his feathers as his rod, each sending pleasure storming between his legs, centering in his balls. “Feels good.”

“You sound like you’re in pain.”

Only because his shaft wasn’t burrowed deeply within her. Them being apart hurt him worse than any physical injury could. Her worry pained him deeply. “I’m fine. Please relax.”

“Soon as your wings are back to normal.”

“They’ll be fine.”

“Hold still.” She scooped water from the basin, poured it over the lather and moaned. “It’s not working.”

“Let’s take a shower.”

“What? No. Maybe toothpaste will do the trick. It has grit to scour junk off teeth. I have a whitening brand.” She whooped. “That should work great with my electric toothbrush.”

He caught her wrist before she could grab the thing and scour his plumage.

She patted his arm with her free hand. “I swear I’ll be careful. If this doesn’t work, I can get peroxide or hair dye from the drugstore and bleach you back to the way you should be. Why didn’t I think of that before? I should try it first. It’ll be quicker.”

He pulled her into him. “Don’t go.”

“I’ll only be gone for a few minutes.”

“Too long.” He brushed his lips over hers and slipped his tongue inside.

She slumped against him, her mouth loose and willing beneath his.

He tasted her tears, worry, sorrow, and what he knew was her deepening bond with him. No one had ever fallen apart on his behalf as she had. He’d been an orphan in Greece, his indifferent uncle raising him. He suspected the man hadn’t worried a moment about his capture and subsequent slavery. His Roman master had been equally callous, paying little attention to him unless he didn’t obey quickly enough or needed more to eat than the usual starvation rations. His celestial bosses were kind, but their love wasn’t unconditional. They weren’t family.

Wynona could be. She wanted him in spite of who he was. She cared about his future when she didn’t give a crap about her own. He had to change things for her and them. How, he had no idea. Maybe he’d get an idea once they both relaxed.

He tore his mouth free and pulled her to the tub. “How about that shower? The mist might make the black go away faster. You can scrub me all you want while I scrub you.”

She lowered her face. “You can’t get rid of my darkness. It runs too deep.”

“You’re too hard on yourself.”

She tilted her head and looked at him. “Aren’t you the one who’s been bitching about my mishaps?”

“That’s not the real you. Come on.” He helped her into the tub, folded his wings, got in too, and closed the shower curtain on them. The lavender plastic made the small space wonderfully colorful and cozy. “While I wash you, I want to hear about your earliest memories, and what you didn’t admit in the personality tests.”

“Sounds more like an interrogation than a shower.”

He held her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Trust me, I’ll go easy on you.”

She glanced at his cock, so rigid it defied gravity, pointing at her cunt. “Uh-huh.”

With warm water misting around them and his soapy hands on her boobs, he backed her into the wall. “Relax.”

“I don’t think I can with you thumbing my nipples.”

“I can always stop.”

“And risk getting one of my knees to your balls?”

He fondled her gently, liking the flush spreading across her cheeks. “How far back do you remember? How old were you then?”

She lifted her face to the ceiling, her lids sliding down. “Just created. One minute I had no conscious thought, the next there I was, all grown up, looking exactly as you see me now, totally nude, and eye to eye with TGR.”

“Who’s that?”

“The Grim Reaper. Death. Call him whatever you will, it’s the same concept. I asked him who he was. Wait. I asked him who I was. I recall him laughing. ‘Not who, what’, he said. ‘Reapers like you aren’t people. You were never mortal. You’re not anything.’”

Damn. What an SOB.
“I’m so sorry.”

She swallowed hard but waved dismissively. “I didn’t know any better at the time, so it was no big deal. I told myself he was just a mean old turd or seriously deluded and believed it until I reaped my first soul. That was probably an hour after he created me, so I had sixty minutes to build myself up into something I wasn’t.”

She smiled sadly. “The kids and teens have always been the worst. For the longest time, I kept asking him why I couldn’t swap someone else’s soul for theirs. The world’s never had a shortage of psychopaths. Who’d miss one? Same with crooked politicians, maniacs who start wars, control freaks who beat up women so they’ll feel like men, or jerks who make everyone’s life miserable. He always said the same thing—wasn’t their time. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Who wrote that stupid rule?”

Rafael eased her hair over her shoulder.

She lowered her face, eyes glistening. “Eventually, I just went through the motions, then the nineteen-fifties rolled around.” She shook her head. “I’m too embarrassed to tell you any more.”

“I won’t laugh or judge.”

“You’ll think I’m nuts.”

He cradled her cheek. “Never. Please go on.”

She glanced away. “When I saw how the kids in this country were having fun, I wanted to go to high school too, be a teenybopper. I dreamt of frilly prom dresses, dating the football captain, attending college, having a life with the picket fence, two kids and dog. Stupid stuff.”

“Not stupid. Sweet.”

“You feel sorry for me.”

He loved her. Completely. Mindlessly. Her file picture had captivated him first. She’d glared at the camera as gangsters did in their mug shots. Reading about her had intrigued him. Meeting her had stolen his breath. He’d fought his feelings, striving for indifference. Hadn’t worked.

No way could he tell her how he felt. She wasn’t ready. He hoped someday she would be.

“No, never sorry.” He stroked her cheek. “I admire you for surviving an impossible existence that you didn’t choose. When I died, Frank at least gave me a choice.”

“Frank?”

“My CO, commanding officer, boss, you know. He said I could serve Heaven for eternity or close my eyes and that’d be it. No more pain.”

“Why didn’t you close your eyes?”

“There wouldn’t have been any pleasure either.” He wouldn’t have met her. Took him long enough, but the miracle had happened. “I don’t know if I could have managed to do what you have. I’m not that good a man. I’m not that brave.”

“Hush.” She rested her forehead against his. “You’re a god.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Not think. Know.” She kissed him deep and long.

He coaxed her into his arms, her legs around his hips, and mounted her standing up, driving his cock into her cunt effortlessly. No surprise. They’d been created for each other. The fact that she didn’t have a navel, parents, had never experienced childhood, or any mortal stuff didn’t make him want to run away. It pissed him off, saddened him too.

Her being a reaper made him love her even more.

She did the world’s dirty work and everyone reviled her for it. She was stronger than any man he’d met, better than every good angel he knew. One act of kindness or bravery had given them a ticket to Heaven. She’d fought for children’s lives, wanted to right wrongs, needed to haul the bad guys in.

For that, the powers that be had branded her a rebel. Screw them.

He pumped into her, not savagely as he had last night, but with tenderness and respect. She was his woman now. Hopefully, she’d go along with the plan.

They kissed until they needed air, bellowed their respective climaxes, laughed, and stumbled to bed. Relaxed for the first time in forever, Rafael couldn’t wait to sleep. He reached for her.

She backed into her nightstand, bumping the lamp. Amber-colored light streamed across the bed. Her face went slack.

Rafael looked over. The formerly gray parts were now black, the discoloration taking up even more of each wing. “It’s all right.”

“The hell it is.” She tugged on a lacy red thong.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting dressed.” She threw on a short leather skirt, long leather top, and boots that reached her thighs, each item in black. “I’m getting the peroxide and hair dye. Be right back.”

She returned within the hour and used both products at the same time.

They burned like mad, but he tried not to wince.

Wynona raced back and forth, blowing on his wings to ease the pain. When he was finally comfortable, she held his hand. “Everything’s going to be all right. This will work.”

The timer dinged. She shoved him into the shower and turned on the water full blast. He gagged at the awful chemical odors.

She checked his feathers, sank to the floor, and buried her face in her hands.

Chapter Seven

That night, Wynona arrived at the service early, which she’d never done. Living on the edge and pissing off people had been her only goal.

Not any longer.

When she hurried inside, Heather had her face raised to the flickering lights. She turned, saw Wynona, and flinched. “Oh, didn’t know it was you. I should have guessed because of the… I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean anything bad. I’m sorry. Can you forgive—”

“No prob.” Wynona could barely keep still. “Is MJ here too?”

Heather pushed back in her chair. “Why?”

Good Lord, she wasn’t going to reap MJ’s soul since the genie didn’t have one, nor was Wynona interested in her as a potential lover. Unlike Heather, Wynona wasn’t bi. “I need to talk to her.”

“Oh. Yeah, she came in early with me so we could…” Heather’s cheeks turned bright red. She pointed her pen to the left. “MJ’s in her office.”

The genie had her feet propped on the desk, hands behind her head, and
Sons of Anarchy
playing on her computer screen. She didn’t bother looking up. “Please don’t tell me I have a client already. Jax’s about to kick some ass. For a guy, he’s epic.”

“We need to talk.” Wynona closed the door and shut the laptop, cutting off the program.

MJ made a face. “I know you’re still pissed at us for supposedly hurting your feelings. But just so you know, you’re living dangerously here.”

“Seriously? What can little old you do to mean old me? I’m a freaking reaper. Death has already screwed me big time. In the scheme of things, you’re a gnat.”

“Wow, you have a nice way of starting a conversation after giving me the silent treatment for weeks.” She brought her feet down.

Tiny bells tinkled on her anklets. She wore a ton of bells on her bracelets too. The buttons on her crimson silk blouse were open to her bra, her jeans tighter than the skinny ones currently in vogue. Downright modest for MJ, considering she liked to show up in little more than chains that barely hid her nudity. The clients hadn’t complained.

Wynona leaned in. “I need a wish.” MJ granted them to customers, for a price, as an extra part of the service. “I’m willing to pay whatever you want. Money’s no object.”

“Must be some wish.”

It was. More important than her fifties fantasy. “You gotta do this now.”

“Back up a little. If you’re intending to wish me, Becca, Heather, and Constance out of existence, I can’t oblige. Sorry.”

“That’s not what I want. You’re all safe from me.”

“Alrighty then. I can give you the employee discount.” MJ pulled out her wish form. “That should ease the pain a bit. Fill this out.”

Wynona slid the sheet right back. “No form. No record. This has to be a secret between us.”

MJ’s violet eyes glittered. “I’m all ears. You want to be mortal now? Or a guy maybe? An animal?”

“No…could you actually make me mortal?”

“Nope. Just wondering.”

Wynona wanted to smack her. “The wish isn’t for you to do something to me, but to Rafael.”

“Oh, hey.” MJ held up her hands. “I don’t off good angels.”

“I don’t want you to kill him, which isn’t possible anyway. I want you to fix him.”

“I don’t do vasectomies either.”

Wynona held back a scream. “I’m not worried about his balls. His feathers have turned black. Not all of them, just the top half. They should be white as the driven snow. Not off-white, not ecru, but white white, the kind that makes you squint and will burn out your irises if you don’t wear shades. I want to wish his wings back to the way they were and keep them that way forever.”

“Technically, that’s two wishes.”

Another second of this, and she’d strangle MJ. “Fine. I’ll pay whatever you want. Just get it done pronto.”

“There are a few formalities first.” She rummaged in her desk and slid another paper over. “Have him fill this out, in triplicate, initial each page, and sign at the bottom.”

Wynona tore up the form and tossed the pieces in the wastebasket. “He can’t know how this happened. It just has to.”

“In that case, no can do.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Third-party wishes aren’t allowed without the receiving party’s consent. If they were, anyone could wish any horrible thing on someone else without their knowledge or consent.”

“I don’t want him hurt. I want him back the way he was, not the way he is now.”

“Did he bruise his feathers? Maybe the black will go away.”

“It’s freaking permanent. If peroxide and L’Oréal’s extreme platinum together can’t lighten it, nothing will.”

MJ folded her arms on the desk and leaned close. “You saw his wings? You dyed them? What happened between you guys?” She grinned slyly. “Things got a little rough while you did the deed?”

“Please, you have to help me.”

“Sorry, only if he agrees.”

His damn stupid integrity wouldn’t let him. This morning, when the chemicals had failed, he’d been stoic, rather than concerned, telling her it was for the best. He couldn’t deliberately con Frank and SACS. Wouldn’t be right. He’d rather suffer the consequences than lie. Freaking fool.

No matter how she’d shouted, pleaded, or cried, he wouldn’t budge. If his wings turned black and fell off because they made love, so be it. He was ready to dive in for more, wanting them to screw in the shower again, on the table, floor, bed, every-goddamned-where, no matter the consequences.

Men. Always thinking with their little head rather than their big one.

She raced from MJ’s office to Becca’s and slammed the door.

Becca jerked and looked over from her laptop. She was watching
The Blacklist.
Didn’t anyone work here? “We need to talk.”

Surprise swept her features. She turned off the video. “Of course. Sit down. I’m so glad we’re finally having a chance to iron out what happened.”

“I’m still pissed about that. Maybe next week I’ll feel different.” Wynona pointed at Becca’s smartphone. “Call your mom.”

“Why?” She looked at her office phone. “Did Heather tell you to tell me to phone my mother? Isn’t Heather’s intercom working?”

“I don’t know.” Wynona planted her hands on Becca’s desk. “I need a potion or spell or both from your mom.”

“What—why?”

“Because I can’t count on yours to turn out right.”

Becca crossed her arms. “You have a funny way of finally breaking the ice between us and asking for a favor.”

“Sorry. I don’t have time for pleasantries. Please, call your mom for me. I’d do it myself, but I don’t have her number.”

“She’s unlisted. What kind of spell or potion did you want?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a witch.”

“What did you want the magic to do?”

“Swear you won’t tell anyone, especially Rafael.”

“You’re not trying to off him, are you?”

What was with these people? “No, I’m trying to help him.” She explained the problem, pacing as she did. By the time she’d finished, she was winded and sagged against the wall. “Surely there has to be a potion or spell that can help.”

“Only if he agrees to it.”

“Why?” She stomped across the room, hands flapping. “And don’t give me that third-party shit. Witches cast spells on poor schmucks all the time, doing all sorts of crappy things to them.”

“That’s second-party, not third. And only bad witches do that, not good ones like me and my mom.”

“Do you have a list of the bad ones? Their phone numbers? Websites? Email addies? Something?”

“We don’t associate with them. Can’t you just talk to him?”

“I did until my voice went out. He won’t listen. He’s laser-focused on us fooling around.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

Well, duh. “I’ve already told him no way are we ever, and I do mean ever, getting together again, not even if I’m able to fix this. I don’t want him hurt. I couldn’t bear doing anything bad to him.”

“You poor baby.” Becca came around her desk and hugged her. “This isn’t your fault. You didn’t know.”

“He asked me to corrupt him, and I did.” She rested her chin on Becca’s shoulder. “I should be shot. I wish I could be.”

“Shhh. You don’t mean that. Maybe he’ll come around and agree to magic.”

Not in a zillion years. “I have to do something.” She pulled away and ran to the door.

“Where are you going?”

To see Constance.

She was in her office, leaning into her laptop, speaking baby talk to Gabe, her mortal boyfriend and a New Orleans cop. Two qualities that should have kept them apart, considering Constance was a voodoo priestess and worked in this nut house. Somehow, the world hadn’t ended when Gabe had found out about her and everyone else here. He was too much in love and kept the secret.

He probably wouldn’t have felt the same if Constance had been a reaper.

Wynona slammed the door. Constance slid her gaze over and then focused on the screen. “Can I call you back, sweetie? One of the staff just tried to break my door.”

“Are you all right, babe? Want me to come over?”

Constance leveled her gaze on Wynona. “No, I can handle this.” She blew him a kiss, killed the call, and turned. “I’m not apologizing to you again for something I didn’t do. You need to lose the attitude, lady.”

“I need your help…your special help.”

She leaned up in her chair. “You want me to remove your memories of this place?”

“No.” Wynona backed away. As much as she hated to admit it, she’d grown used to coming here, scaring the shit out of weres, intimidating vamps and reapers. She’d especially enjoyed how Becca and the others had groveled these last weeks, trying to get back in her good graces.

She did have a shitty attitude and would try to work on it as soon as she settled this. “I want you to remove Rafael’s memories of me.”

Maybe if he forgot her, everything could return to normal for him.

Constance tapped a tapered nail against her cheek. “He’s giving you a hard time, huh?”

She had no idea. “This is personal, not work related. I’ll still do my time here. He just won’t remember who I am.”

“Okay, you lost me. How could that work?”

He wouldn’t be her PO any longer. Once he forgot who she was, he’d panic, return to Heaven, and they’d send Xavier or someone else down, chalking up Rafael’s memory loss and blackened wings to toxic air, water, or her driving him nuts. After a long rest, he might be able to move on to another case.

The plan wasn’t perfect, but it was all she had. “I’ll pay you whatever you want. Twice the going rate. Hell, fifty times. Name your price.”

“No can do.”

She growled. “Doesn’t anyone here say yes to anything?”

“Hey, I would if I could. I can see you’re hurting.” She regarded Wynona closely. “Why? What happened between you two?”

“What didn’t?”

“Oh, yeah?” Constance left her chair, her mint-green gown fluttering around her curves. “We are talking about the same thing, right? The eagle has landed. You two did the nasty. You got down and—”

“What we did was beyond anything you could imagine.”

“I doubt that.” She pressed her hand to her throat. “Was it good for you?”

“Epic.”

“Little wonder. He’s a definite hottie.”

“You have no idea. His wingspan alone…” She shivered.

Constance pulled her to the sofa. “Sit. I want to hear every gory detail.”

“I’ll give you all the particulars if you promise to remove his memories of me without his consent or his knowledge that you’re going to do so. Nothing in writing either.”

“That would be unethical.”

“That’s too bad.” Wynona stood. “My lips are sealed.”

“I could always ask him.”

“But you won’t, because you’re my friend. Please say you are. I mean it.” Wynona needed Constance, Becca, and the others. She’d never felt more alone.

“You bet.” Constance patted her hand. “Wish I could help.”

“Me too.” She hurried from the room and ran to the reception area.

Heather froze in her chair, her grin painfully stiff. “Hi.”

“Yeah. We’re friends, right?”

“Oh, I hope so.” She sighed and relaxed, color returning to her cheeks. “These last weeks have been terrible. It’s awful when anyone’s angry with me. I’m so glad you’re not any longer.”

Wynona glanced at the hall. “Has Rafael come in yet?”

“A few minutes ago. He asked for you. I told him you were talking to MJ.”

Oh crap.
“Is he with her now?”

“No. The break room. Want me to get him for you?”

Wynona grabbed Heather’s wrist before she could skip away. “Nope. I do have a favor though. As my friend, you’ll help, right?”

She sat. “I’ll do the best I can.”

“That’s not good enough, sweetie.” She hated to play with Heather’s head, but now wasn’t the time to be fair or kind. “Friends don’t qualify favors. They do them. They succeed.”

Heather nodded so quickly her hair bounced. “I will. I hope.” She bit her bottom lip.

Crap. Wynona huddled close so no one would overhear. “This isn’t hard, really. I’d like you to heal Rafael.”

“He’s sick?”

Yeah, in the head. They both were for wanting each other. She explained the situation again and smiled non-threateningly. “So you can help?”

Heather pulled in her shoulders.

Wynona sighed. “Let me guess. Unless he wants you to heal his wings, it’s no can do.”

“I’m so sorry. I’ll try to heal whatever’s wrong with them, if he lets me. But if he doesn’t, I can’t trick him, lie, cheat, or anything like that to get it done. That would be wrong. Forgive me for saying so, but I can’t—”

“Right. Tell you what, forget the healing for now. Talk to him as one perfect person to the other. Both of you are pure goodness and all that other stuff. He’ll listen to you.”

“About what?”

“Tell him he needs to get his wings fixed. Explain his very existence depends upon doing so, because it does. He can do it with your healing, get a wish from MJ, or a potion and spell from Becca’s mom. As a backup, he can have Constance remove his memories of me. Tell me you can do that.”

Her complexion was pasty again. “Why would he want to forget you?”

“I’m poison to him. You have to make him see the truth.”

“Oh, no. I can’t believe it. You’re a good person.”