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Excerpt from
The Cure
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Grabbing her robe, she moved into the living room and,
stretching out onto the
sofa, she flicked on the remote for the radio—the area
immediately filled with the soft,
soothing sound of Frank Sinatra.
It’s not the pale moon that excites me,
that thrills and delights me,
Oh—no—
It’s just the nearness of you.
The music swirled around the room as Chancella’s eyelids grew
heavier and
heavier until slowly, delicately, she fell into a deep
slumber...
She was floating, high above the trees and rooftops, her body gliding and
at times
hovering like a feather as it drifted delicately down to the earth. Only
she was moving
upwards, first soft and slowly, then whoosh in an expulsion of spontaneous
energy that
sent her hair and clothing flying back with the force of the movement.
Her limbs, limp and lifeless, hung loose, complacent and free and her
flesh, muscles
and veins, indeed every fiber of her being was coursing with a strange new
vitality.
A strong pair of arms enfolded her from behind and she swooned at the warm
sensation of someone nuzzling her neck. Reaching back and up over her
head, she let
her fingers run through the soft, smooth strands of hair of her heavenly
captor, the firm
caress of his hands on her breasts and thighs sending shock waves of light
and love
through her.
Higher they flew, locked in their ardent embrace, up through the fluffy
white
clouds that dotted the night sky towards the sun and heat, the steady,
constant warmth
soon giving way to an intense feverish pain.
Squirming, Chancella fought against their agonized upward course into the
increasingly excruciating blaze, and still they pushed on. Her head buried
against the
dark angel’s shoulder as her screams merged with his...
Chancella sat upright, blinking into the darkness, the sound
of her frightened
panting hissing in the stillness of the shadowy living room.
With a disoriented uncertainty, she brought a trembling hand
up to her face where
she wiped at the surprising tears that moistened her cheek.
Jesus, what a nightmare.
She ran a still shaking hand through her tousled hair and,
moving back a bit,
propped against the armrest of the sofa. Just then, the
spotlight over the fireplace flickered on to
reveal the form of a man leaning nonchalantly against the
mantle.
"Good morning," he offered casually, the low timbre of his
voice sending an
immediate shiver through her.
Chancella jumped and, swallowing hard, slowly edged up even
further into a
sitting position.
"What do you want?" she sputtered hoarsely, the words coming
out in a sound
between a whisper and a croak.
He looked sincerely surprised for a moment.
"Better watch how you talk to me. You wouldn’t want me to get
angry." His eyes
gleamed with the last word. Then he rolled his head back and
laughed, the movement
revealing the tips of two gleaming white fangs that elongated
as she watched,
lengthening to jut down over the line of his bottom lip.
Chancella could only stare at the figure in a terror-induced
speechlessness.
He had a tall, lean frame and his hair, a streaky
bleached-blonde shade, fell in full,
feathery waves to his shoulders. His burgundy silk shirt hung
open to reveal an
impressive set of abs that gave way to skintight snakeskin
pants and matching tan
boots. Chancella noted how his skin was iridescent in the
light, almost shimmering, and
the strange shiny quality constant except for the slightest
hint of an after-five shadow.
Oddly, his eyes matched the color of the single gold earring,
a crucifix, that dangled
from his left ear. His eyes flashed with a strange light as
they fell over her body.
"I watched you undress," he purred. "Nice panties."
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