chapter 13
HEART OF A HARLOT
Elam crested a bare hill and turned in a slow circle. Nothing but gorgeous greenery and dazzling flowers as far as the eye could see. He glanced at Dikaios, who was munching a mouthful of grass.
“There doesn’t seem to be anywhere to go,” Elam said. “Should I just stay here and wait for something to happen?”
Dikaios swallowed. “Why do you ask me? I am no authority on what humans who seek Heaven’s altar should do.”
“But you have seen others. Maybe a white-haired girl and a smaller girl who was probably being carried?”
The horse shuddered his mane. “Carried by Joseph the grail-keeper?”
“You did see them! How did they get to the altar?”
Dikaios lowered his head and gathered another mouthful of grass. He took his time chewing, glancing up at Elam every few seconds. He grabbed another bite, and chewed, still peering up.
Elam scanned every horizon with his enhanced vision before turning back to Dikaios. He watched the horse’s eyes dart between him and the ground. Would this strange animal ever answer his question?
Finally, Dikaios raised his head again. “You are indeed unusual. That is certain.”
Elam averted his eyes. “I’m sorry. I hope my staring didn’t offend you.”
“There is no need to apologize. I was not speaking about your ocular focus.”
Elam sighed and spread out his hands. “The two girls are very precious to me, so I’m hoping to find them and bring them back to the world of the living. Merlin the prophet gave me this task, so I have to succeed.”
“Is that so?” the horse asked with a casual air. “Why?”
“Which are you asking about—why they are precious, or why I have to succeed?”
“Either one. It matters little.” Dikaios reached for another mouthful of grass.
Elam raised two fingers. “I will answer the second, because the first needs no answer. Merlin gave me this mission, and his word is good enough for me, even if I don’t understand the purpose. If it’s important to him, it’s important, period.”
Dikaios nodded. When his mouth cleared of grass, he replied. “Then I suppose you will learn the purpose when you finish your journey.”
“I’m not sure of that, either. I just need to listen and obey.”
Dikaios drew close and sniffed Elam’s face. “Most unusual,” he said, drawing back again. “Most, most unusual.”
Elam again stared at the horse. Obviously he wasn’t going to get a straight answer. He strolled down the slope, heading toward another stand of trees in the distance. As the sound of soft hoof steps followed, he smiled. “Still coming with me?” he called back.
“You intrigue me. I must learn more.”
Elam slowed to let the plodding horse catch up. “I get the impression that you have already learned a lot about humans, otherwise you wouldn’t find me so unusual. There would be no one to compare me to.”
“A wise deduction.” Dikaios now walked at his side. “I have seen many humans tread the fine grasses of the Bridgelands. Some still wander here searching for the altar and its scarlet key, even after centuries of futility.”
Elam’s gaze darted from side to side. “Are any close by?”
“I do not keep track of their comings and goings. I merely see them in passing as they peer under the same stone for the tenth time, or come out of a cave they searched the day before and the day before that.”
“What are they looking for?”
“A clue, perhaps a riddle or a poem that will allow them to deduce the way to the everlasting. They analyze, they pick apart, some even speak the Scriptures, quoting every verse from memory as they sermonize from one end of this sanctuary to the other, yet they never seem to learn the heart of the very words they chant.”
Elam slowed and walked closer to the horse. “And what is that heart?”
Dikaios halted. “Why do you ask this question? You have already given me its answer.”
“I did?” Elam stopped at the horse’s side and looked around. Something felt different … very different. It wasn’t a physical change, more like a spiritual shift. Everything had felt peaceful and at rest, but now a sense of anxiety crept into his mind. A shadow approached, a shadow of mind and soul. He scanned the trees, now only a dozen or so paces away.
Dikaios’s voice became low and serious. “You are troubled, Elam.”
“I sense something … something familiar that brings back bad memories. I hear a voice, a song … sad and forlorn.”
“Does it frighten you?”
“I’m not sure.” Elam stood as quietly as he could. “I think tension is a better word … a curious tension.”
The gentle sound of weeping drifted from the trees, a whimpering sort of humming, soft and feminine, yet filled with the lyrics of poetic verse.
Elam tiptoed toward the woods. As he drew close, the words became clear—a melancholy song warbled in a lovely contralto.
My heart is ice, my prayers are cold,
I’ve lived too long, I’m tired and old.
My sins, their scarlet threads I’ve weaved,
A gown of mourning I’ve received.
O who will wash the stains I bear
The harlot’s mark of sin I wear?
Exposed and shorn of all I prized,
And now I beg for mercy’s eyes.
As the last sighing note carried across the stillness, Elam took another step closer to the woods and whispered to Dikaios. “I recognize that voice.”
“Interesting,” Dikaios said. “I have grazed this area a thousand times and not heard it before.”
Elam’s tone grew cold. “I have heard it too many times. She was one of my torturers centuries ago. She used to come to the brick kilns and tempt me to go to her chamber with her, but when I refused, she would have me stretched out and beaten with thorn bushes. She would laugh at my torment, but whenever Morgan, her mistress, came by, she would sneak away and avoid her wrath. I saw her and Morgan together many years after her tortures, but she pretended she didn’t know who I was.”
“Such a wicked seductress!” Dikaios said. “Certainly this sadistic harlot deserves death, does she not?”
“No doubt she does.” Elam listened to the words again as the singer repeated each line. He stepped back toward Dikaios. “Why would a seductress be here? Glewlwyd told me there was evil here, but I didn’t expect to see her.”
“You will learn to expect the unexpected.” Dikaios pawed the ground. “This is a bridge between two everlasting lands, Hades and Heaven, a courtyard where special concourse takes place. Even Lucifer himself once traversed this field when he and the sons of God were summoned to present themselves before the Lord. It could be that she has been brought here for a purpose that you know nothing about.”
The song repeated, piercing Elam’s heart. Every phrase was so sad and lovely, filled with remorse and dampened with bitter tears. Yet, could this be the prophesied enemy? Surely she could easily be the one who would lust after his fruit, a bat in voluptuous disguise ready to drink his life’s blood.
“I’m going to find out for sure.” Elam called into the woods. “Who is there?”
At first, a soft gasp drifted from the trees, then a timid voice. “I am called Naamah.”
Elam took yet another step closer. “Naamah, the seducer of men and minion of Morgan Le Faye?”
The voice drifted again from the dark woods, wounded and forlorn. “I am no longer in her service. If you know of my past harlotries, please have mercy on me.”
Setting his feet, Elam cleared his throat. “Come out, Naamah. If you have any weapons, drop them first.”
“I cannot come out. Not only do I have no weapons, my clothing is shredded and does little to cover me, so it would be shameful for me to show myself.”
Elam squinted at the tree line. A young woman peeked out from behind a trunk, her hair draping a bare shoulder. Her face suddenly turned pale, and she hid herself again. “Elam!” she cried. “Go away from me! I am a sinful woman who deserves nothing from you but death.”
Elam’s heart melted. The fear in her eyes was more real than any he had ever seen. Switching to the most soothing tone he could muster, he called again. “Come out, Naamah. You have nothing to be afraid of.” He took off his cloak and held it in front as he walked toward her tree, watching the ground at his feet. “Let me know when I’m close enough. Then, please cover yourself with my cloak.”
After a few more steps, her soft voice came to his ears. “You are close enough.”
Elam turned his head and locked his gaze on Dikaios. The horse eyed him back, as if probing his mind for a thought.
As the cloak pulled away from his hands, Elam kept his eyes on Dikaios and spoke in the same soothing tone. “Let me know when you’re covered so we can talk face-to-face.”
After several seconds, she spoke quietly. “I am covered.”
Turning back toward her, Elam saw the familiar face from the magnetite mines, the place of his childhood slavery. Still petite and beautiful, yet with streaming tears marring her lovely face, Naamah stood before him, her arms crossed in front of her as she shivered. She had gathered the cloak’s long cape, passed it between her legs, and tied it at her hip. Her legs showed from the knee down along with a dangling black shred from her dress underneath.
Seeing her, Elam’s bitter memories of her cruelty quickly fled from his mind. “Why are you here?” he asked.
Backing away a step, Naamah replied, her words punctuated with sobs. “It … It is all such a mystery. I remember … getting stabbed in my guise as Constance in Dragons’ Rest. I remember bleeding … bleeding all over the street. … Everything went dark, and someone picked me up off the ground.”
She sniffed hard, and her voice settled. “Then I was clothed in my old black dress, and I walked through a dark tunnel for hours and hours, maybe even more than a day. A voice kept echoing in the tunnel. It said, ‘Abandon hope, all ye who enter here’ over and over again. That’s when I knew I must have died. After a while, I saw Morgan walking next to me, but she couldn’t hear me no matter how loud I cried out to her. I screamed, ‘You lied to me! You promised me eternal life! You lied to me!’ But she just kept walking. I wanted to grab her throat and strangle her, but for some reason, I couldn’t reach out at all. I just had to walk on and on.
“Finally, we came to the end of the tunnel where an angel sat at a huge table. He had four faces and four wings, and when he stared at me, it felt like his gaze burned into my mind and read every thought inside. He spoke to Morgan first. He said, ‘You cannot go to Hades, for you have become the mistress of that place and have the power to conquer and subdue it once again. You will go directly to the great judgment seat where your sentence will be delivered and the manner of your final death revealed.’
“Morgan never even flinched. She didn’t cry or beg for mercy. She just stared defiantly without a word. Then, another angel wrapped a heavy chain around her and dragged her away.”
Naamah lowered herself to the ground and sat cross-legged on the grass, tucking the cloak around her legs. While Dikaios grazed nearby, Elam sat at her side, leaning close. “So, what happened to you?”
“The angel pointed at a page in a huge book that sat on a table and said, ‘You have followed an unusual path and arrived here without dying.’
“Of course, I was shocked. ‘I died twice,’ I told him, ‘at least it seemed that way. The first time, Morgan pushed me out of the ark and made me a wraith, then someone stabbed me with a staurolite blade, which can even kill a wraith, and that’s how I came to be here.’
“He stared at his book long and hard, as if he were reading my life’s history. ‘No,’ he finally said, ‘you were merely translated without dying. The staurolite blade can, indeed, kill a wraith, but Lilith never had the power to raise a soul from the dead or transform you into a wraith. Her master, the father of lies, deceived her and did not tell her that God is the one who transformed you, but into a being of a higher order than a wraith. Lilith was jealous of your lack of need of regeneration and invented the lie that her continual deterioration was due to her union with a Watcher, when the truth is that you retained a real, living human spirit that kept you whole.’
“Again, I was shocked. I could only blurt out, ‘But why?’
“He said, ‘It seems that God has another purpose for you. You have, however, used your God-given gifts of beauty and song for wanton pleasure and seduction, so God has pronounced his judgment, as he did against Israel by the mouth of Ezekiel. Therefore, O harlot, hear the word of the Lord. Because your lewdness was poured out and your nakedness uncovered through your harlotries with your lovers and with all your detestable idols, behold, I shall gather all your lovers with whom you took pleasure, even all those whom you loved and all those whom you hated and expose you to them. They will strip you of your clothing and will leave you naked and bare. Behold, I will bring your conduct down on your own head, so that you will not again commit this lewdness on top of all your other abominations.’
“I wept bitterly and cried out, ‘Is there no mercy? It is true; I have been deceived by Lilith, the ancient witch. And, yes, I willingly accepted her offer of eternal life and beauty, but I was a foolish sheep led to slaughter. Will God have mercy on this wretched soul?’
“Then the angel’s face began to glow, and he said, ‘The Lord has heard your cry, and like Israel, he will establish a covenant with you, and you shall know that he is the Lord, in order that you may remember and be ashamed, and never open your mouth in perverted song because of your humiliation, when he has forgiven you for all that you have done. You will wander in the Bridgelands until someone comes who takes pity on you and covers your nakedness. He will have the fruit of righteousness within him, and the blood of eternal life runs through his veins. If you want to prove your repentance, then serve him in righteousness for as long as he has need of your wisdom, and he will offer you the life you seek.’
“‘But I have no wisdom,’ I said to him. ‘I am a harlot, as you have rightfully proclaimed, so what good would I be to such a man?’
“Then he said, ‘I will teach you what you need to know.’
“After his teaching, the angel took me to this forest and left me here alone. I have since spent many nights waiting for deliverance, yet the men who have come by have only offered to expose me further, attacking me and tearing my clothes, but they were struck blind and wandered away before they could do me more harm.”
Naamah sighed and lowered her head. “And now here I am.”
“I’m the one who covered you,” Elam said, “so I guess you’re supposed to tell me what you learned.”
“But it is such a mystery! The angel showed me the face of a mountain, like a tall slab of marble, that drew pictures on itself as he sang. He told me that I should lead my new master to the cliff and that the words of a new song would alter the scenes and explain what my master needed to know. I didn’t understand the drawing or the angel’s song, so how can I explain them to you? And I don’t even know where the cliff is. How can I possibly lead you to it?” Naamah spread out her hands and sighed. “Since I didn’t have a chance to ask the angel before he left, these thoughts have tortured me ever since. And now that I have found my new master, how can I ever gain the eternal life that flows in his blood, since I’m unable to do this task?”
“I know of a cliff that holds drawings,” Dikaios said. “It is far, but I think we can reach it before we tire.”
Elam stood and brushed off his pants. “Then, if you would be so kind, good horse, please lead the way.”
Dikaios snorted and gazed at Elam. “Most unusual, indeed.” He turned toward a high ridge in the distance and loped away.
Elam reached for Naamah. “Shall we follow?”
“If it pleases you,” she replied, taking his hand. “But I fear that I will disappoint you greatly.”
After a few minutes of walking, they came to a grassy field striated with bands of knee-high red flowers. More stones than usual littered the grass, most smaller than hens’ eggs, but a few would have taken both hands to lift. Dikaios picked up the pace, avoiding the random stripes of nodding blossoms, and pulled ahead by about forty feet.
Elam quickened his gait to match the horse’s, but Naamah slipped away and waded into one of the flower beds.
“We’d better get going,” Elam said, waving his hand. “He’s leaving us behind.”
“Wait!” Naamah bent over and picked three red flowers. “The aroma is so sweet!” She ran up to him and pressed the petals up to his nose. “You see?”
Elam sniffed. The smell was sweet … dizzying. He backed away, feeling confused. “Dikaios!” he shouted. “Wait a minute!”
Hoofbeats sounded. “Get rid of those flowers!” the horse yelled.
Naamah threw them to the ground. Dikaios grabbed Elam’s sleeve with his teeth and pulled him away from the garden while Naamah followed, her head bowed.
When they were in a clear, grassy area, Dikaios let go. “Those flowers are for weary travelers,” he said. “The scent helps them get to sleep quickly.”
Naamah yawned and laid a hand on her brow. “They work very well.” Lowering herself to the ground, she yawned again and stretched her body across a soft bed of grass. “I’m sorry. I just can’t help it. I have to rest.” The moment her head touched the ground, she fell asleep.
Elam rubbed his eyes. “It’s got me, too.” Yawning, he looked at Dikaios. “How long does it last?”
“It depends on how deep a draught you took and how tired you are. When did you last sleep?”
Elam shook his head, barely able to see through the fog building in his vision. “I had a pretty bad night’s sleep in the second circle of Hades, but I don’t know how long ago that was. Time passes so strangely. And I slept for a little while when I first got here, but that wasn’t exactly a normal nap.”
“Since you are both still among the living, you require sleep.” Dikaios nudged his ribs. “It might be better if we all take a rest. The journey is difficult.”
Elam yawned again. “Just a short nap.” He knelt close to Naamah and was about to lie down, but he quickly rose again. “I’d better put some space between us.” As he walked about twenty paces away, putting Dikaios between himself and Naamah, the horse just watched, saying nothing.
Interlacing his fingers behind his head, Elam lay back and closed his eyes. Within seconds, he was asleep. At first, he knew a dream had begun, but the scenes absorbed his mind, making them come alive.
He was back in the brick kilns with Raphah, his fellow slave in the days before Nabal, the giant taskmaster, cruelly whipped him to death. They had just finished a day’s work and were washing their hands and faces in the underground spring. They scrubbed away kiln residue that had coated their bare arms, exposed by short-sleeved tunics necessary for the hot labors of brick making.
Nabal entered, Naamah at his side. “Nabal,” she said, pointing at Raphah, “take him to the antechamber.”
Jerking Raphah’s arm, the giant led the boy away. Raphah looked back at Elam and pressed his hands together in a prayer posture.
Naamah, wearing a silky black gown, slinked up to Elam and gazed into his eyes. Her lips pursed as she pressed close. “Elam,” she said, caressing the muscles rippling across his bare arm, “you have been strong. You have honored your father’s rules, and I’m sure he would be proud of you. He wouldn’t expect you to suffer.” She glanced briefly at a pair of shadows projected onto a rocky wall, two forms standing behind a partition, the larger one raising a whip. “Or your friends to suffer.”
Elam averted his eyes, keeping them trained on his day’s work, a tall stack of bricks still radiating heat and smelling of smoke. He tried to slide his arm away from Naamah’s fingertips, but the sight of Raphah’s imminent beating paralyzed him.
“You have something I want, Elam. This is my third visit, and it is not often that I can come here without Morgan’s knowledge. You won’t disappoint me again, will you?”
Crack! The whip’s cruel bark echoed from wall to wall, but no human cry followed.
Elam sucked in a breath. Raphah was holding his tongue. Brave, brave Raphah.
“There is no need for anyone to suffer,” Naamah continued, her fingers creeping toward his shoulder, “when pleasure is so close at hand.”
Elam’s cheeks burned. Prickles crawled across his skin from head to toe. He had to escape. Just run away. But where?
Crack! This time a muffled grunt blended with the whip’s sadistic echo. Raphah’s shadow collapsed, and Nabal’s silhouette began to raise the whip yet again.
“So, Elam …” She pinched his tunic and pulled him away from the wash basin. He shuffled his feet, following her tractive gait, still watching the shadows out of the corner of his eye. Naamah stopped next to his bed. She laid both hands on his chest and nestled her head between them. A subtle aroma from Naamah’s hair sweetened his rapid breaths. She sighed, sending warmth through his tunic. “What is your answer?” she asked, her voice cooing like a dove. “Will you give me what I desire?”
“No!” Elam shook his head violently and snapped open his eyes. A blue sky? Grass and flowers? He exhaled loudly. It was just a dream. He was back in the Bridgelands. But the familiar scent hovered in his nostrils. Naamah’s hair. The same gentle touch.
He glanced down at his body. She was there! One hand was on his chest, and her face was close to his neck but pulling away slowly. Were those fangs over her lip? He lurched to his feet and scuffled back, shouting, “What do you think you’re doing?”
Lying in the grass, Dikaios thrashed his body and lunged upright. “What? What did she do?”
Naamah rose slowly to her knees and stared at them, her cheeks awash in red. “I … I was trying to get close to you. I woke up all alone, and I was scared, so I wanted …” She covered her face with her hands and wept.
“She was after your life’s blood!” Dikaios yelled. “She was using her harlotries to seduce you so she could steal your eternal life for herself!”
Elam’s stomach felt like daggers were piercing it through. “Naamah? Is that true?” As he waited for an answer, the prophetic rhyme swam through his brain.
But still there lurks a dangerous foe
Who seeks to drink of Elam’s life,
To take the fruit that burns within
The flame that melts a subtle knife.
Staying on her knees, she scuffled toward Elam, her hands folded. “No, Elam,” she cried, “Please believe me. I just wanted to be close to you. You’re the only one who ever showed me any mercy.” Grasping his ankles, she bowed low and dripped tears on his sandaled feet. “I confess that I thought about stealing your life while you slept, but I didn’t do it. Even as my lips drew near to your throat, I changed my mind and decided just to rest at your side.” She wiped the exposed part of his feet with her hair, and her cries became a long wail. “Please forgive me!”
As her head bobbed up and down, Elam glanced at Dikaios. The horse wagged his head hard. “The only reason she didn’t steal your life is because you awakened before she could strike! She has used your goodness against you, Elam. She gained your trust only to get close enough to drain your life. She is the worst of harlots! She is a deceiver! A betrayer!”
Elam stepped back, pulling free of Naamah’s grasp. “What should I do?”
“The harlot must die. If you let her live, she will only seek your life again. She is insatiable and can never change.” Dikaios kicked a stone next to Elam’s foot. “You must do away with her. Stone the wretch and cast her into the eternal fire.”
Elam bent down and picked up the fist-sized stone. Tightening his grip around it, he lifted it to his shoulder and glared at Naamah. “You have been a deceiver all your life. You tortured both Sapphira and me and many other laborers in your slave pit. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t do what Dikaios says!”
“No, Elam!” Naamah raised her folded hands. “You must believe me! The angel said a man would cover me and offer me life. Other men came by, but they did the opposite. They talked of Jesus, but it wasn’t the Jesus I knew. It wasn’t the Jesus I met in Palestine. He offered me freedom from Morgan’s spell, but I refused. He was kind and gentle, not like those fools. They mistreated me and counted me as nothing but a harlot, a worthless harlot.”
She paused and took a gasping breath, her eyes growing wider. “But you … you covered me, so I knew you were the one who had life. All I had to do was somehow get it, but I thought when I came to the mountain face I would be unable to make the drawing change, and you would send me away. So, in my vain imaginings, I wondered if I could take the blessing before you learned of my inability to serve you. But I didn’t do it, I …” Again she paused. Lowering her hands, she gazed at him. As new tears dripped down her chin, she bent her body low and curled up into a trembling ball. “I am still a foolish harlot,” she said quietly. “Do to me what you must. Even for thinking about betraying you, I deserve worse than stoning.”
Dikaios nudged Elam’s arm. “She has finally spoken the truth. Take back your cloak, which she has defiled with her filthy body, and cast her into the Lake of Fire. One stone well aimed will take care of this witch once and for all!”
As Naamah’s body continued to shake, a tremulous melody poured from her lips—lamenting, forlorn, and plaintive.
O who will wash the stains I bear
The harlot’s mark of sin I wear?
Exposed and shorn of all I prized,
And now I beg for mercy’s eyes.
O Jesus, look upon my strife
And spare this foolish harlot’s life.
I bow, surrender, pour my tears;
Forgive my sins and draw me near.
Finishing with a sigh, Naamah covered her head with her hands.
Dikaios snorted scornfully. “Her words have proven vain, Elam! She cannot be trusted. Take your vengeance now!”
Elam gazed at the shivering woman on the ground, still wearing his cloak, the very covering he offered in love and acceptance, even after all she had done to him. He glanced at the stone in his clenched hand. Would Raphah have forgiven her? She ended up causing his death when she accused him in front of Morgan. And now, if not for a startling dream, would she have taken his life, the one who offered her help when no one else would? Could she ever be trusted?
He turned to Dikaios, but the horse said no more. His big eyes drilled an icy stare.
Finally, as Naamah’s quaking grew, Elam dropped the stone and laid a hand on her back. “You asked me to forgive you, Naamah. Who am I to refuse?”
She looked up at him. Wet strands of hair stuck to her dirty face. As her eyes widened once again, she could barely whisper, “Do you mean, you …”
He lowered his hand to her. “I forgive you. That’s really the only life I have to offer … yours.”
Reaching out her trembling fingers, she took his hand and rose to her feet. When he released her, she just stared at her palm, as if he had left something there. Her mouth opened to speak again, but no words came out.
Elam kicked the stone far away. “You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to do anything at all.” He nodded at Dikaios. “If you will lead the way, good horse, I will follow. What Naamah does is up to her.”
Without a word, Dikaios turned and loped in the direction they had been traveling before.
Elam marched behind him, glancing back at Naamah every few seconds. With her hand still in front of her face, she continued staring, and as the distance grew between them, her petite form seemed to shrink even further.
Turning to the front, Elam strode up a gently sloping rise, and when he reached the top, he halted. Dikaios stopped and turned around. Saying nothing, he lowered his head and sniffed the grass.
Elam raised a fist and stared at his hardened knuckles. Naamah really was a deceiver, the worst kind of harlot, but she chose not to follow. Why would that be? If her new repentance was another deception, wouldn’t she just tag along again and continue her pretense, waiting for another chance to take his life’s blood?
Not wanting to turn to look, Elam pictured Naamah behind him, standing pitifully in the distance, watching her hand, waiting. But waiting for what? Elam opened his own hand and stared at his palm. Blistered and bloodied from hanging on to the bridge, dirty and grass-smeared from lying in the fields, his hand was no more majestic than any other. It was human—strong, real, the ultimate symbol of reaching out from one wanderer to another. Finally, it all made sense.
Slowly turning, Elam stretched out his arm and extended his open hand toward Naamah. She leaped forward and sprinted toward him, her bare legs and feet kicking up the hem of his cloak. When she reached the hill, she dashed up the slope and dropped to her knees. She grabbed his hand and kissed his palm, crying, “You won’t regret this, Elam. I promise, you won’t regret your mercy.”
He raised her to her feet and looked into her teary eyes, speaking softly. “To be wanted and not lusted for. To be loved and not pitied. To be asked and not commanded.” After passing a hand over her bedraggled hair, he slipped it into hers, touching their palms together. “Is that right?”
As her cheeks flushed, a shy smile emerged. In contrast to her red face, her white teeth dazzled, but now her fangs were gone. “And to be believed, even after all my lies.”