At First Sight Ch 02 1

Knoxville, Tennessee

Emma Walker had just clocked out at the little tanning salon in the Turkey Creek shopping center where she worked. "Bye, ladies!" she called from the door and her boss, Nancy, along with her relief, Katie, waved back.

"Be careful!" Nancy called from beneath a pile of lotions to be put on display. "I can't believe you forgot your coat today! It's freezing out there!"

"I'm always careful! And, I'll be fine; I'll just run the heat in the car, duh," Emma answered, rolling her eyes at Nancy's overly concerned voice, and pushed the glass door open with her backside, as she had her hands full with a giant soda and to-go box left over from her lunch hour. She sighed. It was her vacation week, starting that minute, and she was looking forward to a week of lying around her apartment eating potato chips, shopping, and yes, reading trashy romance novels. She couldn't wait.

Making her way to her little blue Mustang convertible, Emma felt a powerful gust of December wind hit her, blowing her curls into her face. Must be about to storm, she thought, recalling how the forecast had called for snow, and hurried to the car.

As she opened the door and got in, she could have sworn she felt someone watching her, but shrugged it off and switched on her CD player to distract herself. The sounds of Ray LaMontagne filled her car, and she relaxed a bit. That man's voice could smooth a silk dress that had been left in a suitcase for three weeks.

When she reached her apartment, she fumbled with the key as she balanced both the soda and to-go box in one hand and opened the door with the other. Once she was inside, she closed and locked the door, and prepared to begin her evening rituals of changing into the most comfortable pajama pants and ragged old t-shirt she owned, and feeding her cat Stanley. Before she could even get her cardigan off, however, there was a knock at her door.

Without thinking to check the peephole, she opened it to see the most massive, hulking man she'd ever laid eyes on in her life. The second thing she noticed about him was that his ashen skin was nearly gray, he was so pale. He just stood there, his expression unreadable, until she asked, "Can I help you?" He locked eyes with her for an instant before turning his gaze to the ground, stuttered a nearly incoherent apology in the deepest baritone she'd ever heard, and turned around to leave. It was then she saw that he was barefoot.

"Oh, my God! Sir, come back! You don't even have any shoes on! You'll freeze out there." He turned around and looked at her in amazement. She stepped across the threshold of her door and took him by the elbow. He allowed her to guide him inside. "Sit down. Your skin is ice cold. Are you hungry? How about some coffee? Or, I could heat you up my leftovers from O'Charley's. It's just from earlier today. That's what I'll do. You just stay right there, sir. What's your name?" she asked the last question as she walked through the doorway to the kitchen, her heels clacking across the tile.

6850 didn't know what to say in answer to her question; he had no name. He thought it best to just remain silent. She was right, though—it was freezing out there. He'd never been so cold in his life. But, when she'd touched him...He was on fire. She, perfect little human that she was, had deigned to touch him, a filthy demon. 6850 sat there in stunned silence as she came back into the room with a white plate of what looked to be chicken with some sort of potato and a yellowish sauce.

"Here you go," Emma said, handing him the microwaved chicken fingers and fries. "It's just chicken and fries, but it's something, you know?" 6850 took the plate from her and gingerly picked up a piece of the chicken and sniffed it. It smelled delicious. Within a couple of minutes, he'd eaten all of it. "Wow, um, you must've been hungry." Emma took the now empty Styrofoam plate from him and tossed it in her kitchen trash can. The poor man must have been starving. She came back with a glass of milk.

"Look," she said, handing him the milk, which he downed in one gulp, "Where do you live? Do you own any shoes at all?"

6850 didn't know what to say, so he simply didn't say anything. He hadn't planned this far ahead. Hadn't counted on his mate being as caring, innocent, and sweet as she was. To want to help him, a complete stranger. He stood, preparing to leave. He needed more time to adjust, to get used to the idea of having her in his life.

"Thank you very much for the...chicken and fries. I'll go now. I shouldn't have bothered you...I'm sorry." He moved toward the door.

Emma sighed. There was no way she could let this guy just wander away into the snow, barefoot and hungry, his clothes in tatters. Hopefully, he wasn't a serial killer. "Well, if you don't have anywhere to stay, then you can stay here for the night. It's supposed to snow. You look like you'd like a warm bath and a hot meal—a real one. Does that sound okay? My name is Emma. What's yours?" She realized with embarrassment that her tone suggested she thought he was mentally damaged, or perhaps traumatized. Which, she did, but she didn't want him knowing that.

"I don't have a name," he said. "But, a bath sounds wonderful."

Emma smiled, hiding her confusion. O-kay. No name. His voice was so deep, though, like she would imagine Frankenstein to sound. Thinking of the movie monster made her wonder why his skin was the pale, ashen color that it was. Some kind of skin condition? Either way, she was going to get him some real clothes to put back on before she let him use her bath.

"Well, first we should go get you some shoes and clothes, okay? So that you have something to wear when you're all clean. I'm afraid I don't have anything lying around that would even almost fit you—we'll have to go out. Is that okay? Are you okay with riding in a car with me?"

Was he okay with it? He was thrilled. But, all he could manage was a silent nod as she led him out the door and into her car, which was apparently what her machine was called. It was much smaller inside than he would have imagined, though, and he was extremely cramped.

Emma had to stifle a giggle at the sight of the huge man trying to arrange himself so that there was room for his legs in the Mustang. "Here," she said, and pulled a lever on the side of the seat to make it slide back. Even so, there was only just enough room for his massive form.

"Thank you," he said to his lap. I'm so stupid, he thought. I should have known to do that. She thinks I am a freak. And, why shouldn't she? I am. Sitting so close to her in the car, he caught her scent and it made him instantly hard, aching for her. She smelled like...Emma. Like spices and something else he couldn't place. He loved it. He loved her already. It was all he could do to just stare at his lap and hope that the evidence of his desire remained concealed.

"No problem," she said, smiling at him as she pulled out and made her way to a store in town that specialized in men's big and tall sizes.

###

An hour and about seventy dollars later, Emma had shoes on the man's feet and a sack of clothes in the backseat as they made their way back to her apartment. She drew a bath for him and lay out a towel, a pair of jeans, boxers, and a t-shirt in her bathroom and left him to it while she started dinner. She couldn't count the times he'd said "thank you" to her. He didn't say much other than that. But, he seemed like a genuinely sweet person, and she could never have lived with herself had she left him out in the cold. When they were shopping, she'd asked him several times what he thought of this piece of clothing or that, and his answer was never more than a nod.

A man of few words, she thought. He's really not bad looking. She thought about his short, dark hair and equally dark, fathomless eyes that always seemed to be looking into her soul. He had a nose that was slightly crooked in spots—it had clearly been broken several times. His jaw was squared and strong, and his mouth was just full enough to look kissable, in spite of the hard line it was almost always pressed into. He wasn't jaw-droppingly handsome by anyone's standards, but...he had a way about him that was incredibly endearing.

As she poured oil into the frying pan, she found herself lost in thoughts of him. Of his hard, muscled arms around her, holding her, caressing her... He seemed so gentle, despite his hulking body. It was clear that he was capable of doing major damage to anyone stupid enough to get in his way, but it was hard for her to imagine him as anything but the soft-spoken, introverted man she had interacted with. His biceps told a different story, however. I wonder if he's been to prison...nah, no tattoos. Emma stirred in the beef and focused on dinner.

6850 sat in the large bathtub down the hall from where Emma was cooking a meal for him. He couldn't believe how generous and accepting she was. Surely, if I work hard and please her, she will accept me, he thought. His mind was racing with the possibilities and fantasies of having her—in the tub, on her couch, on the inviting canopy bed he'd glimpsed through an open door in the hallway. He imagined her small, perfect hands all over him as they lay across that bed and he held her close. He would be gentle and slow, savoring her. He would kiss and taste every inch of her perfect curves. He could just imagine how sweet she would taste. Imagine how soft those full, pink lips would be when he kissed her. Just thinking about it made him instantly hard and aching. "Emma," he whispered.

"If I strive to be as good as she is, then perhaps she could love me." 6850 instantly hated himself for that thought. Of course she couldn't love him. He was a monster. A freakishly ugly demon, and she was a beautiful, delicate, little human. How could she ever love him? It doesn't mean I can't try, he argued with himself. If I show her that I could protect her, then perhaps she would accept me. He resolved to try his very best to please her as he cleaned his hair with the soap she had given him.

Once he was done, he stepped out of the tub and pulled the plug to let the water drain like she'd showed him to do. He felt considerably better as he donned his new clothes. Clothes that had never been worn by anyone but him. Human clothes. Emma had taken his old ones to wash them. Looking into her mirror, he saw his reflection for the first time in years. He could not imagine Emma next to him. He was simply too big, too bumbling, too awkward, to be her mate.

No, do not think like that, he reassured himself. 6850 shook his head and pushed those thoughts aside. Taking a deep breath, he exited the bathroom, his hair still damp, and his nose filled with the most delicious scent of food he'd ever encountered.

Following the smell into the kitchen, he saw Emma, still wearing her pretty black dress, only now she was barefoot and minus the cardigan. She swayed to a slow, steady song coming from a little box next to the stove and hummed along as she stirred a skillet full of delicious vegetables and beef. "...I could hold you forever," she sang. "When you kiss my lips with my mouth so full of questions, it's my worried mind that you quiet. Place your hands on my face, close my eyes and say that love is a poor man's food. Don't prophesize." 6850 stood there, watching her intently. He wanted her so badly. He wanted to take her gently, lovingly, and make her happy. But, he knew better.

Emma had just turned to feed Stanley the Cat a piece of beef when she saw the man standing in the doorway, looking awkward and out of place. "Oh!" she exclaimed, holding her hand to her heart. "You scared the life out of me...um, look, we are gonna have to settle on a name for you. You really don't have one?" She grinned at him and stirred the food in the skillet again.

"I've never had a name." His dark eyes were deeper than any she'd ever looked into before as he crossed the room and stood before her. His eyes were directed at something slightly below her face. She couldn't tell if it was her chest or dinner. He inhaled deeply.

Emma felt as if, logically, she should be wary of this man, but...she couldn't be. She couldn't imagine this giant ever being anything other than gentle with her. But, he was so huge...

"How about Goliath? Since you're such a giant," she asked, smiling up at him. "Do you like that name?"

Goliath... It seemed to fit. Reality sunk in—his mate had given him a name. Goliath—for that was his name now—was overcome with emotion that he nearly failed to hide. He was proud, so proud, of his sweet mate that she would be so caring as to name him.

"I like it," he said, his voice only slightly rough with emotion. He hoped she wouldn't notice that he was overcome with shock and gratitude. A name. He had a name. He was Goliath. He was her Goliath. She had given him a name.

"Okay, then, Goliath. Open up that cabinet in front of your face and take down two bowls, please. We are having beef stir-fry for dinner."

They ate peacefully on the couch next to each other, Emma chattering away about her life, asking questions that Goliath rarely had answers for. Eventually, she turned on a box in the center of the room that she called a "television" and they watched a play called "Sense and Sensibility" which revolved around the lives of two sisters who were looking for their mates as well. Goliath thought it incredibly boring and would have much preferred to watch Romeo and Juliet, as he had no idea what was going on most of the time, but he liked watching Emma watch it.

She truly seemed to enjoy it, and would speak to the screen, although it was obvious that they couldn't hear her, saying things like, "Oh, but Marianne, he doesn't love you!" and then turning to Goliath with, "She is so stupid! Can't she see that the Colonel loves her?"

However, by the time the play was over, Emma was fast asleep, lying against the pillows of the couch at an awkward angle. Goliath was overcome by a sense of possessiveness for her, and before he could stop himself, gently picked her up and laid her across his own body until her head was settled against his shoulder and their legs were intertwined, stretched across the couch together.

Goliath looked down at their feet. Her pretty, slightly tanned feet were dwarfed by his huge, ashen ones, not to mention they were about a foot away from his—she was so much smaller than him. Her toenails were painted a deep, glittery blue. How he wanted to kiss them. Then, he would kiss her ankles, her pretty little legs. Her sweet, flaring hips. Her tiny waist. Her breasts—oh, God, he would kiss those perfect breasts—rose and fell with every deep, even breath Emma took as she slept. Pulling a quilt that was tossed over the back of the couch over them, he settled in for a night of sweet torture as Emma bent her leg at the knee as she slept, rubbing against his aching cock. Goliath sighed. It would be a long night.

Emma came awake to the feel of strong arms around her, but not the arms that she was expecting to feel. These were lean, sinewy, and held her tightly. Opening her eyes in shock, she looked up at the most beautiful man she'd ever seen.

He had fiery red hair that was pulled back into a short ponytail at the base of his neck, perfect, creamy skin, and blue eyes that were so...peaceful. He was extremely tall and deceptively slender. Emma could feel the corded muscle and sinew in his arms. He stared into her eyes and smiled at her, and then his face grew serious as he glanced back at a sleeping Goliath on the couch next to them.

Her mind still foggy from sleep, Emma started in his arms, attempting to get back to Goliath. He would protect her, if only she could get back into his arms. The red-haired man shook his head at her slightly and carried her toward the door. Emma took a deep breath to scream for Goliath, but the man put a hand over her mouth. "Buddy, if you think that's going to stop me, you've got another thing coming," Emma thought. She screamed for all she was worth. "GOLIATH! GOLIATH, HELP!"

Goliath's eyes shot open, and he immediately took in the sight of Emma being carried away by a tall, red-haired man. An angel. Not just any angel, either, but one of the Seraphim. He bore the mark on his left temple, a birthmark in the shape of a star. "Seraph," he said, his voice gravelly from sleep and thick with anger. "Let her go."

Ethan closed his eyes as the mammoth demon—apparently named Goliath—approached them with a murderous look, and envisioned a small, empty home deep in the Appalachian Mountains that he sometimes escaped to. He and Emma were instantly there, minus the behemoth. Ethan had been surprised to find his mate sleeping soundly in the arms of the brute, as if nothing were amiss about a demon being inside her home at all. No matter, he thought. She is safe with me, now.

His tiny home in the mountains was little more than a cabin, with a living room (which doubled as a bedroom, with a couch that pulled out into a mattress), kitchen, and bathroom. There was also a fireplace, working electricity, and running water. Not to mention a heartily stocked pantry.

Ethan sat Emma, who was shaking uncontrollably, in a large armchair while he pulled the bed out, covered it with flannel sheets and laid out several pillows for her.

"Come here, darling," he said, opening his arms to her. She stared at him in horror.

"W-who are you?"

"Come to me, my darling girl, and I will tell you everything," Ethan replied, and lifted her out of the chair. She noticed that he had a light, crisp accent that reminded her of an Englishman, but was just a bit off. As he carried her to the bed, he rubbed his nose against hers. "You are much more beautiful than I ever could have hoped, do you know that?" He smiled at her with what seemed like genuine happiness.

"What are you?" Emma was terrified. One moment they'd been in her apartment, and the next they were in this cabin, and she was freezing. She was barefoot, wearing a sleeveless dress with no coat. And there was a snowstorm outside. "I'm c-cold."

Ethan frowned. "Of course," he said, and fluttered his hand at the fireplace several feet in front of them. A fire was instantly blazing there. "You asked what I am," he continued as he sat down next to her on the bed, lifted her left foot into his lap, and began rubbing it. "I am an angel. Part of the class of Seraphim warriors, specifically. And, your friend"—he said the word delicately—"is a demon. A nameless, mindless, killing machine from the Horde of demons in the lowest level of Hell. We have both been mated to you by the Seer, who is an authority of Fate in our world, and are now competing for your affections." He switched feet. "I've taken you away from the barbarian in order to let you know what is happening. He most certainly would not have. Oh, and my name is Ethan."

Emma sat there, letting everything he'd said sink in. She wanted to laugh, deny it, call him crazy. But, there was the fact that she was God-knows-where, letting some guy who could conjure fire at will massage her feet. She cast him a dubious look.

Ethan smiled back at her, delighted at how well she was taking everything. She was strong-willed. And lovely. She was so lovely. Her cheeks were flushed, and her dress had ridden up her thighs to reveal sweet, soft skin the color of coffee with too much cream in it. He itched to run his hand up her perfect little leg to touch those thighs. But, no. He pushed those thoughts away, to save for a time when he knew that they would complete the mating ritual. That was the time to be enchanted by her physical appearance. Not now. He shifted his gaze (with a surprising amount of effort) to her face and, while that was no less beautiful, he noticed it had a look of supreme doubt on it. "Don't you believe me?" he asked.