Im a big fan of the strong female heroine; which doesnt necessarily mean a man with boobs. I wanted Rachael to be strong and yet still emotional. Capable of rescuing her man when he needs it, and still feminine.... Consider these scenes: The first time I had my womans menses is a good example of how, exactly, living with an angel can suck big brass donkey balls. He threw a copy of Are you There God, Its Me Margaret at me - while I had blood in my panties and tears on my face - and staggered away, looking sick to his stomach and muttering about original sin under his breath. Oh, yeah. Like that was helpful. Or how about the time he caught me masturbating? Did you know you cant lie to an angel? On the plus side, it also means he cant lie to you, either. He may not answer the question, but hes not actually capable of telling a lie. Not even in the sneaky, subtle way that the fae can tell lies; allowing you to believe something thats not quite true, or telling a lie by leaving out choice bits of information. So at least that was good, because when he asked me what do you think youre doing? and I had to blush and gawk and die my way through an answer, I tacked onto the end of it, what, havent you ever? I discovered that day that when angels are embarrassed, the feathers in their wings turn a brilliant shade of pink. It was a good look for him - the rosy hue went well with his dusky brown skin and the dreadlocks he was just starting to grow out. I told him so and smirked as his wings got even deeper red until he was a crimson avatar of embarrassment. After that, Rafael took great care to knock and wait before he entered my room. ~~~ Better? I sat down near his shoulder. I was still in range, but hed barely twitched through the entire operation. You are still much too close. I know. Rachael. Shut up, Marcus, Im thinking. Oh, a monumental, once in a lifetime occurrence. Pray, continue. Sarcasm. Thats good. Youre feeling better. I picked at the scabs on my knee, flaking off the crusted blood. What are you doing? Marcuss voice was high pitched with distress and his breathing came rapid, fluttering. Helping. That is not help. Rachael, please, stop this. I wet my fingers in my own blood and held the red-smeared digit to his lips. Trust me. I will kill you, he whispered, turning his head away from my offering, but I saw his tongue dart out to touch the place where my finger had rested.
Posted on: Fri, 28 Mar 2014 22:39:34 +0000
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