Satan's Vessel

8.

Kaitlyn woke panting and hot and very uncomfortable. As was usual, she forgot her dream the moment she opened her eyes. But it didn't mean that her body didn't remember—and continued to remember. Grimacing she pressed her knees together as she rolled onto her side. Her underwear was soaked; she could feel it. She needed to get up and fix herself, but she felt so drained. All she wanted to do was to go back to sleep.

Closing her eyes, she rolled onto her other side, doing her best to ignore it. Then she remembered where she was. Snapping open her eyes, she sat up.

This time she was alone, no Jacob, no Zeke, no Alex the priest. She dropped her head into her hands, unable to believe she'd fainted—again. She was back in the little room. It was dark, the light switched off. Someone must have carried her back.

Kaitlyn hugged herself. She was trapped in a church with a bunch of strange men. Jacob's white wings—he'd shown them to her right here. They'd been here. How they'd blazed like the sun! Angels. Her heart raced.

Feeling dizzy, Kaitlyn sat on the edge of the bed and tried to slow her breathing. As usual her bed was a mess. In between her dreams she remembered tossing and turning. Her mouth was dry and a sudden hunger pang tightened a knot in her stomach. She was sticky with sweat and beer. She desperately needed to get out of her clothes. She desperately needed to have a shower.

But first she needed to find a bathroom. Carefully, Kaitlyn stood, closing her eyes as the blood drained from her head. Once the dizziness passed, she quietly approached the door, pressing her ear against it. She heard nothing. Slowly, she turned the handle and opened it a crack. Like her room, the hall was dark and empty. Kaitlyn released a breath of relief. The last thing she wanted was to encounter anyone in her current state.

She winced as her body throbbed. Her head was pounding. Her pelvis gave another painful twist which made her gasp. Images flashed in her head. Sensations. Feelings. How her hips ached! Again, she saw his blonde hair. He'd done something to her in her dream. She'd let him do something to her. But she couldn't remember what.

All she knew was that it had felt good.

So damn good.

Satan. Could it really be him? But they were just dreams! She was just lonely, that was all. She hadn't had a boyfriend in so long. It wasn't surprising to have fantasies. And yet ... there was no denying Jacob's wings, nor the squirming man with the twisted neck. There was no denying the honesty of Jacob's face.

His face. His beautiful, otherworldly face.

Kaitlyn felt a stirring in her belly. She suddenly found herself wanting to see him again. She touched her cheek where he'd touched her. It had felt so warm. Have no fear. You are safe with us. No man had ever touched her like that before. Not her lovers or boyfriends. Her father, maybe.

He'd been so careful. So gentle. Nothing like she pictured a killer would be. She shook her head and took a breath. Slowly, she walked down the hall.

Kaitlyn paused briefly at the bottom of the stairs, listening, but it was all quiet above. On tentative feet, she climbed.

At the top, she froze. It was morning, dim grey light beaming through the large stained-glass windows. The front door remained firmly shut. The church itself was quiet. The candles were unlit. And standing by the altar was a man. No. Not a man. She knew right away that he was an angel. Again, he had that brightness to his face—and the beauty. He was bare-chested like the rest of them—what was with that?—but he was not Jacob nor Zeke nor the redhead. This one was tanned with cropped dark hair and a pair of yellowish eyes that seemed to cut right into her soul.

Kaitlyn couldn't help but feel fearful—and guilty. Did he know about her dreams? Did he suspect, even now, what she'd done last night? Her mouth dried up. Did he know that she'd probably just fucked Satan? Perhaps he did. He looked like he did. Already she could tell that he lacked Jacob's kindness and Zeke's light-heartedness. His arms were folded and he was watching her with his cold, yellow eyes. What did he think of her? Sinful, filthy, repulsive. She thought of Jacob. Are you having dreams, Kaitlyn? How much did he know? How much did he suspect? Did he know that she gave in?

'I-I need the bathroom,' Kaitlyn said.

Wordlessly, the man pointed a long, muscular arm towards the other side of the chancel. She wanted to ask where her bag was but kept her mouth shut at his stern look. Her heart sank at the thought that they'd probably left it on the street and it was likely in the hands of some thief.

'Th-thank you.'

She was about to hurry away when she looked over at the sound of a door opening. It was one of the front doors. In walked Jacob wearing his grey hoodie again. He paused at the sight of her. Kaitlyn's heart fluttered. The door slid shut.

'You're up,' he said, his husky voice echoing through the nave. Her heart fluttered again. Wings. He had wings! And yet, even as she thought it, it seemed so far away, like somebody else's life, like something impossible. Particularly after her long night's rest. Particularly now when he was looking so normal in his ridiculous sweater.

Then he pushed off his hood and all her doubts swept away. He said something but she couldn't hear in her shock. His beauty, his aura—they were unmistakeable. Her heart fluttered again.

'Kaitlyn?' he said.

Kaitlyn blinked with a start. Shaking her head, she felt herself blush. 'Sorry. What did you say?'

'I said, are you feeling okay? Did you need something to drink? Something to eat?'

'I-I'm fine.'

He gazed at her and Kaitlyn was forced to drop her eyes as she felt herself blush more. She couldn't help but remember how he carried her to the car. How he eased her to the floor when she'd fainted. How he must have carried her to the bed. It didn't help the ache in her hips.

An angel. He was an angel. Trumpets. Feathers. Halos. The whole shebang! People had written stories about him. He was a walking, breathing myth now standing so humbly in front of her. She glanced behind her at the cold-faced angel standing silent and watchful by the altar.

They all were myths—and she, apparently, a part of a legend.