Elven Blood (Imp Book 3) (23 page)

“Tell me about it. He probably has a little shrine to you in his choir. I’ll bet he practices writing his name as Mrs. Eloa Tsith. Then he dreams of the pair of you with little fat baby angels at your feet.”

“I doubt the last part,” Gregory commented. “Angels can’t interbreed.”

“Seriously?” I asked.

“Angels can only have offspring with demons. There has been no creation since the split.”

Wow. No angel babies for two and a half million years.

“But demons can interbreed. So you all really got the short end of the stick with the separation of our kind, didn’t you? Why in the world would you have banished all of us and basically condemned your own race to extinction?”

“Sometimes painful things must be done to keep true to one’s values. There was simply no compromise on either side of the issue; we chose the only morally acceptable path.”

I shook my head in disbelief. The whole thing seemed so stupid and childish, but, of course, I hadn’t been alive at the time of the war.

“And demons can interbreed, but they shouldn’t,” he added. “Their offspring continue to degrade in vibration pattern. Within another million years or so, demons will be nothing more than animals.”

“So we’re like the hillbillies of the spirit world?” I asked. “Inbred, ridiculed, made fun of?”

“You could be so much more than you are,” Gregory said. “Some of that is because of sloth, some because of improper formation.”

I walked along, feeling self–conscious. I tried to convince myself that this was all very subjective, that the way of the angels was not the only one of value. Still, I felt so puny, so weak next to this angel. An imp. Nothing but a cockroach.

I felt Gregory reach out to me, touching my energy with his own. “You show great promise, little cockroach,” he said, reassuringly.

It helped. And it also reminded me that this welcome break, this stroll at sunset with an angel, was only postponing all the things I needed to do.

I sighed and turned to Gregory. “Give me a lift home?”

“No.” There was a hint of humor in his voice, as though this was a ritual, a joke we shared between us.

“Seriously? Why did you think I summoned you?”

“Seriously?” he mocked me. “I am not your taxi service. Call your toy to come get you.”

“I don’t have a cell phone. Besides I don’t even know where I am. I could be in California for all I know.”

“Just outside of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania,” he informed me.

“Well that doesn’t do me any fucking good when I have no phone, no money, no ID, and I’m walking down a deserted road in the middle of stinking nowhere at nightfall.”

“Figure something out, oh mighty Iblis.”

“I did. I called you so you could give me a lift home.”

“Nope.”

I fumed in silence for a bit. “Fine. I’ll just assume my winged form and fly home. Maybe I’ll grab a few humans along the way for a snack.”

“That’s a long flight,” he said thoughtfully. “And some human is liable to shoot you out of the sky. You’ll wind up stuffed and mounted over a fireplace.”

That was true. Humans were a lot like demons. We would be thrilled to shoot someone out of the sky and mount them over a fireplace. And from what I’d seen in the last forty years, humans truly loved taxidermy.

“Then I’ll fly to the nearest city and hijack a greyhound bus to take me home. I’ll make sure I run a bunch of cars off the road on my way. Maybe plow over some puppies and kittens too.”

“Well, I can’t allow that to happen, can I?” He was making fun of me, that little smile quirking up one side of his lips, his eyes dancing. “I guess I’ll have to gate you home. That way, all the puppies and kittens are safe from your murderous intentions.”

This seemed a little too easy, but I decided to take the offer at face value. I halted and turned, expecting him to grab me like he always did. Instead he remained where he was, arms open, waiting. Waiting for me to come to him. Feeling like this meant something far deeper, I stepped close, pressing myself against him as his arms wrapped around me. We stood there, on the deserted road at sunset, the heat from his power a force even the winter wind couldn’t cut through.

“For this, you will owe me another favor,” he said into my ear. The purr of his voice warmed me. The heat of him burned as he pressed himself against me, both flesh and spirit. I wanted to hold there for all eternity, wrapped up in him, feeling him surround me, feeling him inside me. But I couldn’t let myself be enslaved by my desire for this angel.

“Another favor?” My voice was raw and shaky. “What the fuck? Are you trying to collect the set or something? How many favors does one angel need? And they call
me
greedy. Sheesh.”

“A favor.”

The seductive pull of him intensified. I needed to agree to this favor, or I’d be agreeing to something else in a few seconds. And I really wanted to. I closed my eyes and inhaled, rubbing myself along him, trying to fill every sense, corporeal and otherwise, with him. He pushed in for a brief, tantalizing second then pulled back, just outside of my reach.

“Do you grant me another favor?” he asked.

“Yes,” I breathed. I’d agree to anything. Anything.

He gathered me in tighter, but instead of the delicious joining I was longing for, I felt an instant of vertigo and saw a flash of light from behind my eyelids. I opened my eyes and we were in my living room. There was a scream, and a bowl of pasta flew across the room as Leethu dove to safety behind the sofa. She peeked over the edge at us with huge eyes. I was relieved and disappointed. He’d hardly pursue angel sex with the annoying succubus watching us.

Wrong. Leethu’s eyes grew impossibly big as he continued to hold me close, laying his energy right on top of mine and joining in a thin edge with mine. I was torn between the urge to reciprocate, and the need to regain control, to push him away.

“Leethu is watching,” I warned him, pulling slightly back.

“Go away,” he commanded. He didn’t even look at her.

Leethu squeaked and darted for the stairs.

“Stop. As your Iblis and head of your household, I command you to stay.”

Leethu froze halfway up the stairs, shooting pleading looks down at me.

“So now you want her to watch?” he teased. “Make up your mind here.”

“No. I want you to leave so I can finish this stupid report of yours.”

He leaned back and looked at me in surprise. “You’re not done yet? What is taking so long?”

I pulled myself out of his arms and gained some much needed distance between us. “No, I’m not done yet. I got summoned, remember? I was just starting when those stupid boys yanked me out of my living room and into a circle. Before that I had to go over to Wyatt’s and kill a demon that was trying to set his house on fire.”

I glanced over at the clock. Eight at night. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I’ll give you until dawn,” Gregory said, his eyes following mine. “Only because I’ve had such an enjoyable evening, and I’m feeling rather generous.”

I glared at him.

“It’s ample time. You should be energized after your long nap in that roadside ditch. A couple of hours on that report then pop over to Hel and take care of your demon issue then resolve the problem your sister has and get her out of your house. Everything wrapped up by dawn. I’ll show up to collect the report, and make you a cup of coffee while you lob breakfast foods at me, or do whatever it is you do in the morning.”

Still glaring.

He grinned and rubbed a piece of my hair between his fingers.

Nope. Still glaring.

“See you in,” he looked at the clock. “Ten hours.”

Then he was gone and I was glaring at the spot where he had been.

“Ni–ni, he really scares me,” Leethu whined.

“I know, I know.” I looked over at the daunting stack of papers on the table. “I’ve got a lot to do tonight, so can you try to stay quiet and out of sight?”

“He’ll be back in the morning?” Leethu asked. She was clearly planning to be at the farthest end of the house.

“Yes, but hopefully after that we won’t see as much of him for a while.” It was a depressing thought—more depressing than the stack of papers calling me.

I worked all night on that stupid report. It was impossible. The amount of detail, and the questions were absolutely ridiculous. I took a brief break to make a pot of coffee and looked desperately at the hint of pink on the horizon. Fuck.

The sun was full up by the time I felt the burn of Gregory’s presence. I was late. Damn it all, I was late.

“Deadline,” he said. “Past deadline, actually, even with the reprieve I gave you for being summoned by a bunch of teenage boys.”

I wouldn’t have put it past him to arrogantly yank me out of the middle of something to meet an arbitrary angelic deadline. Still, it had been very generous of him to give me an extension.

“I’m almost done,” I told him. “Just fifty more pages left, although I couldn’t figure out section four. I kind of had to wing that one.”

He sighed. “Let’s go.”

“Get yourself a cup of coffee and sit for a bit. Just a few moments more.”

“No.”

“I’m almost done! Just chill out for a bit and I’ll race through these last few pages.” I’d just scribble some shit down and hand it over. I doubted anyone would read this stupid report anyway. Well, that snotty Gabriel might, just to spite me.

He sighed again. “Let’s go,” he said, reaching for me.

“No, no.” I felt the panic rise in me again. “I can’t do that again. I can’t. Please. I’m almost done.”

There was the faint blue again. I think it might be an involuntary thing with him. Either way, it was a nice gesture.

“You won’t die. I promise, and, unlike you, I keep my promises.”

“No. I can’t. I can’t.”

“I will stay by your side again. You won’t die.”

“No, please no.”

He frowned, perplexed. “You don’t react like this when we join, and that act requires us to be non–corporeal. We faced terrible risk doing that here, yet you were fine. Why do you panic in Aaru, but not here where there is a chance of death?”

I hadn’t thought of that. When we’d angel–fucked, I’d been too occupied with the sensation to think about the risks. I hadn’t even notice I’d left my body behind, never considered that we might die. I guess I just trusted him to take care of me. He’d been in me, around me, a part of me. I’d assumed I was safe in the embrace of his personal energy, of his spirit self.

“Uh, I uh.” Shit, what should I say? I could hardly tell him this. Pride is not my sin, and normally I don’t have any problem admitting weakness, but I just couldn’t spit this one out.

He waited patiently.

“I’m a trespasser in Aaru. Even if I am the Iblis, the angels hate me and I don’t trust them to honor my diplomatic immunity. Accidents happen, and it’s easier to ask forgiveness then permission.”

“I’m
right
there. I won’t leave you. Just relax and enjoy it. Your kind used to live as beings of spirit before the exile. Back when you were angels.”

“We’re not angels anymore, we’re demons. Please. Just a few more hours.”

His face hardened. “No.”

I was restrained and naked in Aaru in a flash, trying to push down that sick feeling of fear.

“Relax.” He sounded irritated, but that blue continued to cover me, soothing and calming. And then he was gone.

I tried to remind myself that he was right next to me; that I wasn’t dying. I kept thinking of all the demons who existed this way millions of years ago and reassure myself I’d be okay. I couldn’t sense him anywhere near me. And I didn’t feel okay. I felt … naked—naked and defenseless.

“Oh for the love of the Creator,” I heard him say. Then I felt him. Felt his spirit surrounding me with its red purple, his energy a furnace of fire against me. And I felt safe.

18

A
fter Gregory returned me from my punishment, I pounded out the last few pages of my report, sent Wyatt an obligatory text telling him that I was, again, home and, again, sorry I’d missed the lunch with his sister. Then I went to bed and slept like the dead until the next afternoon. With the Ruling Council off my back, I could now turn my attention to finding the elf hybrid and hopefully getting Haagenti off my back then finding and retrieving my horse.

Dar’s light was flashing on my mirror, but I didn’t have time to deal with him. I grabbed a bite for the road and headed to Falls Church, hopefully to have an enlightening conversation with Joseph Barakel. I had a lot to think about on the ninety–minute drive to Virginia, but the angel dominated, pushing every other thought aside. He was being caring, protective even, towards me. Six months ago he’d wanted nothing more than to end my life. When had his attitude changed into … this? Wyatt was right, I thought with some guilt. It was more than just sex; there was a weird kind of friendship there, something that up until now, I’d only felt for Wyatt. Whatever it was, I wanted it to grow, to see where we’d end up.

I pulled up to the row of townhouses that my GPS indicated was my final destination, and parked the Corvette a few blocks down. The neighborhood was like a graveyard. Clearly everyone worked nine to five, and it was only four in the afternoon. No one answered the door at Joseph Barakel’s house, so I rifled through his mail and peered in his windows. He definitely lived here, judging by his bills and junk mail, and the house looked occupied, so I let myself in and explored while I waited for him to come home.

According to Wyatt’s research and my quick addition, the guy would have been about mid sixties in age. The clothes in the closet indicated he was around six feet tall, about two hundred pounds, and not a particularly snappy dresser. There were a lot of sweat pants, button down sweater vests, and slip on shoes. Healthy food sat in the fridge, and not a beer in sight. I rifled through some magazines about technology on the coffee table along with a crossword puzzle book. Boring. Until I got to the box under the bed, that is. That held a nice variety of porno mags—nothing unusual though.

I dug through a wooden box on his dresser that held spare keys, change, a pair of ancient cufflinks, and some golf tees stamped with the names of various clubs. The elves didn’t golf. He must have picked up the sport when he’d returned to live with the humans. I’d almost put the box aside when I noticed another small one taped to the back. Prying it free, I removed the lid and pulled out a picture, a lock of hair, and a ribbon. The picture was of a young blond girl, about ten years old, smiling at the camera. Her hair matched the little scrap of blond that accompanied the photo. Flipping it over, I saw a name on the back and a date from ten years ago. Susannah Boschetto. She’d be about twenty years old now by my assessment—jackpot; maybe.