Free Love Begins in Hell (The Moon Journals: Part 1) by Ally Thomas Page A

face and I was sure my mother had seen it.  I’ll kill him for this.
    Immediately, she turned my attention to the beach.  “Are you alone?”
    “No,” I replied, patting her hand like she was a hundred years old and I was but a child.  “I want to meet someone.”  I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the moonlight seemed to follow us, shining a spotlight on us.
    “He is close to your heart, yes?  I feel this radiance permeating from you.”
    “Yes, Mother.  I think I…” I paused, not daring to utter the words my heart already knew.  “I think I love him,” I finally admitted.  Feeling ashamed, I quickly shut down and blurted out.  “He’s willing to save me from Lucifer’s clutches and that’s all that matters.”
    She contemplated me, never once believing my hesitation.  My mother could always see through any of my charades.  She ran her fingers slowly over her lips in a circle, listening intensely to me, but thinking at the same time as she carefully composed her next statement.  It was a habit that drove my father nuts.  “Elana, who is this boy?  Is he a demon?  You can’t trust…”
    “No, you don’t understand, Mother.  He’s sworn to protect me.  Even though his father is Lucifer, his mother was a sorceress.  I trust him with my life.”
    My mother pressed her index and middle fingers to her lips.  Her golden eyes darted about as she thought.  Then she heaved a great sigh.  “The spark.  You felt that with this young man, didn’t you?”
    “Yes, Mother.  The minute I met him in Hell.  I couldn’t deny it and neither could he.”
    “True love,” she whispered.
    I nodded.  “I think so.”
    “Oh, this is lovely,” she said as she rubbed her hands together in contemplation.  “I must meet him.”
    My heart soared.  Perhaps Dante and I did have a chance.  She patted me on the hand, as I had done to her previously, almost in a mocking manner.  Perhaps it contained motherly love with the advice only a caring parent could give, but her tone reminded me of the elite air of a god, something she may be already possessed and it made me immediately understand that I did not completely know this side of my mother.  This old woman before me was a source of unknown power like all the celestial goddesses.
    Once we made it to the sands of the beach, she paused for a moment as she looked at her feet.  “I miss the beach,” she muttered.  “It’s been too long.”
    I stood by, collecting my thoughts as my mother danced about in the sand.  The moonlight’s rays reflected the gems lined in her dress and she sparkled amid the night.  Visions of that awful night haunted me again.  A savage desire to kill my father rose up in me again.
    My mother reached out and took my hand in hers.  “Elana, you must move on.”
    “I’m sorry?  What do you mean?”
    “You can’t keep hating your father.  He’s angered the gods.  He will pay.  I have it on good authority.  You will have your revenge, but it will not be by your hand.”
    Throwing my head back in a roar of laughter, I let my voice reach to the heavens and then listened as the echo returned to us from across the water.  Finally I asked my mother in a low, gritty voice, “I’ll stop hating him when he’s dead and gone.  He refused to step in and save you that night.  He must pay.  What do you mean I will not have revenge?  He will pay for what he has done to our family, what he did to you.  He will pay.”  I clenched my fists over and over, glaring at her.
    I felt a soft and familiar warm touch on my shoulder.  “Dante.”
    “Elana, are you okay?” he whispered.
    I recovered and, like a statue, I introduced my mother to him, getting the distinct impression they already knew one another.
    “Let us sit down.  We have much to discuss,” my mother announced as she took Dante’s arm.
    He escorted my mother to the wooden bench under the palm trees as I followed.  Gently he touched my arm and