Disclaimer: They are not mine, they are NOT mine, they are SO not mine! Sigh.
Dedication: This story is dedicated to Lady T for filling in for me, for putting up with my oddities and for going above and beyond the call of duty. The girl is a saint! ; )
Someone was calling my name... "Elizabeth." A firm hand was slapping gently at my cheek as I tried desperately to remain in the safe, painless darkness. "ELIZEBETH!" As I drifted into consciousness, thunder crashed and I was suddenly terrified, and I struggled against him and cried out.
"It's alright, it's me -- He is gone -- he is dead, he will never be able to hurt you again. I promise."
I opened my eyes slowly, as if awaking from a dream, and Thomas' concerned face swam hazily before my vision. I shook my head, still waking from a deep fog, "How?" I swallowed. My stomach churned with nausea. " I saw you -- you were -- you should be dead... " Then everything was black again.
X~O~X
"What the Hell?" Logan exclaimed, as he quickly flipped the page back and re-read the scene.
As the lightning flashed, I could see Thomas on his knees with the knife deeply impaled in his chest. Blood was spreading out in a slow and curious pattern, the rain causing it to run in dark red lines down his shirt to his waist.
All of this my mind saw and took in as if in a dream, but the most intriguing thing I remember -- that I am absolutely certain that I saw, was the stunned look on his face as he held out his hands and looked at them, with a strange, wondering look in his eyes --
"Shit!" Logan was stunned. The kid HAD to be dead. She'd said he had a knife deeply impaled in his chest! He flipped the page back and started reading eagerly.
X~O~X
When I awoke next, I was in my bed. My blankets were drawn up full and warm about my face and I sighed and snuggled in further. The thunder sounded farther off and I could hear movements in the house below, and I was certain that it was Thomas and that he was alive and well and that I was completely safe with him.
I frowned as it struck me that I had no idea how I came to be in bed, and I looked down quickly, relieved to see that I was still in my chemise. Fire poured through my veins as I imagined Thomas gently undressing me and placing me into my bed.
Then, as I lay there, the memories began returning and I shuddered as they did, feeling first the horrible arm around my throat, making it difficult to breathe. Then the fear for his life as Thomas came to my rescue, and finally the horrible dread as I remembered what I had seen when the lightning flashed.
I heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and I closed my eyes tightly, feigning sleep, as I was suddenly afraid to see who was in the house. I was afraid that perhaps Thomas was really dead and that maybe it was Silas who had removed my clothes and placed me in my bed.
I waited for several minutes, listening to the quiet movements in my room and it did not take long for me to realize that I had no need to fear. Whoever it was, it was obvious they meant me no harm, as they were moving about quietly, avoiding waking me. It was someone who cared about me.
I opened my eyes carefully without moving at all and I breathed an inner sigh of relief as I saw Thomas standing before the mirror at my dresser. He had filled the wash-basin with fresh, steaming hot water and was washing his face with a cloth slowly and silently. He was completely absorbed in his own thoughts and he stared at himself in the mirror as if he was looking at a stranger.
He methodically unbuttoned what was left of his tattered, blood-soaked shirt, his gaze continually fixed on his chest. He pulled his shirt down over his arms, leaving it hanging from the waistband of his trousers, and reached up slowly to touch the spot where the knife had been. There was not a mark on him. His face was pure white and a mask of confusion as he washed his upper body clean of blood and dirt.
I watched, and my heart tugged in sympathy, as he washed his hands clean in the basin and then held them up, staring at them in wonder. I knew exactly what he was looking for, but there was no sign of what we had seen earlier. His eyes were exhausted -- confused, filled with deep pain, and I wanted to comfort him but I was afraid to move.
I stared at his hands and his arms, my gaze traveling to his beautifully muscled back. I felt the familiar warmth beginning to creep through my body and then coursing through as I looked at his strong chest in the mirror. I wanted to move my hands over it, to feel the dark curling hairs against my breasts. I wanted to feel for myself the spot that should have meant his death that was now perfect and seemingly untouched.
His black hair was hanging loosely, a few still-damp curls falling out of the now lax leather tie that usually held it so tightly. It was thick and black, beautiful, and I wanted to move my fingers through it. I wanted to touch his face. My eyes moved there, at the thought, and I watched his beautiful dark eyes in the mirror, as he flexed his hands and felt between his knuckles, shaking his head and staring at them in misery.
I was as confused as he was and my mind reeled as I tried to understand, delving wildly into everything I had ever learned, felt, seen with my own eyes, scrambling desperately for an answer for him. A theory, a hypothesis, anything would be better than this horrible uncertainty.
There was only one thing, one memory that I kept coming back to, the only thing I could imagine could possibly explain what we had witnessed.
When I finally managed to speak, my words were barely above a whisper.
"Thomas, in Genesis it says..."
His startled, dark eyes met mine in the mirror as thunder boomed and rolled quietly in the distance. "When men began to increase in number and daughters were born to them, the sons of God (the angels, Thomas) saw that the daughters of men were beautiful, and they married any of them they chose."
Thomas frowned and swallowed. I went on. "It says that "the Nephilim were on earth in those days -- and also afterward -- when the sons of God went to the daughters of men and had children by them. They were the mighty men of old, the men of renown."
I hesitated, and he turned and spoke softly, his voice quivering and low. "Does it say anything about this, Elizabeth?" he asked, swallowing and raising a trembling hand to his unmarked chest.
I shook my head slowly, sadly, rising in my bed, sliding my legs under me and sitting up onto them. "There is only one other time that they are even mentioned, in Numbers, where it says that the Israelites saw them in the land of Canaan -- they were giants. Many scholars believe that Goliath was part of the Nephilim, but these men were all giants Thomas -- Goliath, himself, was nine feet tall, and..." I motioned to him, he was barely above average in height. "I am sorry." It had been the only possibility that I could think of.
He sighed and turned back toward the mirror, shaking his head, tears welling up in his eyes. The look of sheer anguish in them brought me shakily to my feet beside the bed. I knew what would happen if I went to him, but I couldn't convince myself not to go. I walked across the room to him silently, slowly, my mind still struggling for an answer. My eyes met his in the mirror, and he gasped and straightened sharply when my hand touched his naked back.
Eyes filled with passion fixed on one another in the mirror for what seemed like an eternity, until we were both breathing heavily, still searching for answers to something that was far beyond our comprehension.
My voice nearly failed as I spoke the only two alternatives that were left. "You could be an angel, sent to Earth to save me from this night." He turned as I spoke, and I placed my hands on his chest, where the knife had pierced him, where there was not even a scratch to show for it.
Ours eyes met again, as he took my hands in his and drew them slowly up to his mouth. I closed my eyes and whispered, "... or are you a demon Thomas, sent here to tempt me to sin...? Because if you are, I find myself utterly incapable of fighting you."
He groaned and pulled me into his arms, cupping my face with his hands.
"Look at me Elizabeth," he begged. I opened my eyes reluctantly, afraid of my own weakness. "I promise you that I am only a man -- and I am equally helpless to fight this." He bent his head to mine and opened my mouth with his, moaning softly and kissing me more deeply and passionately than I have ever been kissed.
X~O~X
"Shit," Logan repeated as he squirmed against the bed, suddenly uncomfortable. He got up, stretched and lay down on his back. He slid a hand down into his jeans, adjusting himself into a more comfortable position and stroking his erection absentmindedly for a moment before again opening the book.
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