Guardian Demon (GUARDIAN SERIES) (35 page)

But she did, twisting and crying. His ravenous groan reverberated against sensitive flesh. Firm pressure from his hands spread her wider and he slid down, his deep, hungry licks slowing to a leisurely feast, as if settling in for thirds and fourths.

The wine had long gone. He only fed from her now. And after he had a taste, it was hard for him to stop.
She
would have to stop him.

But one more orgasm first.

It broke over her in a long, endless wave, left her utterly wrecked. Weakly, she reached for his head. His hair wasn’t long enough to pull. She pushed at him instead.

“No more. Michael. No more. Stop.”

His breathing ragged, he raised his head. She pushed up to her elbows to look at him, and another delicious shudder slipped through her body. God, he was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. A flush darkened his bronze cheekbones. Her arousal glistened on his lips. White sand sparkled against his heavily muscled chest, dotted the gleaming skin of his shoulders.

Licking her from his lips, Michael rose up over her again, raining sand over her belly, her breasts. “You are well?”

It wasn’t obvious? But she was too spent to laugh. “Yes. But you didn’t come.”

“I don’t need to. I took more pleasure with one look at you, one taste . . .” His gaze fell to her mouth. “I could have feasted on you forever.”

“I wouldn’t survive it.” But she would have loved to try.

“Neither would I.” He closed his eyes. His chest expanded on a deep inhalation. Then his breath stopped.

He rose to his feet. The warmth of the sun replaced the heat of his body, and she shielded her eyes against the glare, watching as he turned to look out over the ocean. In the tropics, somewhere. Turquoise water deepened into blue. Soft white sand shifted under his feet. A length of linen appeared in his hand, and she treated herself to the sight of Michael, as vulnerable as she’d ever seen him, preparing for battle with a few wraps of cloth. It was a crime to cover his ass, but somehow he was even sexier in those ancient briefs. The pale linen against his skin only drew attention to the strength of his long, muscular thighs. The wide shoulders and his strong, perfect back, tapering to the tight span of his waist.

Even his scars were perfect, completing the image of an absolute warrior. But they weren’t in the shape that she expected.

She frowned and sat up. “Are those symbols on your back?”

He seemed to stiffen before facing her. “Yes.”

“Those are from Khavi?”

“Yes.”

Heaviness marked the slant of his shoulders, his voice. Why? She studied his expression, couldn’t read anything there but the hardness of his features and the intensity of his gaze. Some deep emotion, kept in check behind a wall of stone.

Because of the symbols? She couldn’t see the marks on his back now, but she’d expected more scars on his torso instead of smooth skin. When she’d been transformed, they’d covered most of his neck and chest.

But perhaps that explained his reaction. In Hell, he’d been furious when he’d seen the glyph Khavi had carved into her chest. Maybe these remained because it had been too painful to heal them.

“What happened to the other symbols? Did they have to be burned out?”

“I don’t have to burn them. The dragon’s taint doesn’t become an infection. It’s already who I am.”

“So they just heal?”

“Eventually.”

Then why hadn’t these healed with the others? Unless they were newer. But she took the formation of his tunic and loose pants as the end of the discussion—and with him covered, sudden self-consciousness reared its head. She wasn’t exactly a beach bunny, blinding white skin and tangled red hair and sand everywhere.

He must have read her discomfort. Eyes amber again, his gaze roamed over her naked form. “You’re lovely, Andromeda,” he said.

“I thought you didn’t see that?”

“I do. It’s just not important to me. That doesn’t mean it’s not important to you.”

Sometimes it mattered. Sometimes it didn’t. Mostly it depended on who was looking.

It mattered when he did. “I like to think I’m more attractive than a pile of dog crap.”

His low laugh accompanied the shake of his head. “You are far more attractive than that. Everything about you is beautiful to me.”

Taylor sighed. No wonder she couldn’t stay mad at him. She climbed to her feet, thought about clothes. Her usual trousers and button-up shirt didn’t seem right here, and a little bikini wouldn’t be right on her. She settled for a big, Michael-sized shirt and looked out over the water.

“Where are we?” Not in the Pacific, because it would still be night there.

“An atoll in the Indian Ocean. One of the locations I visit when my head needs to clear.”

As hers had. She glanced back. The island wasn’t wide. Maybe a few hundred yards across where they stood, and narrowing at the ends, like a crescent. A few trees and grasses grew on a gentle swell. No houses. No hotels. A warm breeze. Nice.

But they couldn’t stay. “Can you anchor to Khavi?”

“Not yet.”

Taylor bit back her frustration with a sigh and dug her left foot into the sand like a shovel. “She lies a lot.”

“Yes.”

“Do you think she lied about Jason when she said that he’d never wake up?”

His voice softened. “She might have. But probably not.”

“Well, how can she be so certain?” She hit wet sand. Water started filling the hole around her toes. “She’s always saying there are things she doesn’t know or can’t see.”

“Because her foresight is based on probabilities, possibilities. It depends upon the choices people are likely to make. That’s why the events that she sees are never certain. Free will changes everything.”

The future wasn’t certain? She stopped digging, looked up at him. “Then why—”

“Because there
are
some certainties. If a man and a woman stand upon the edge of a cliff, and the man falls over and the woman catches his hand, Khavi can see whether the woman will be more likely to hold on when she feels the man’s weight pulling her over with him, or whether she’ll keep trying to save him until it kills them both. Khavi can see if the man will let go to save the woman from falling with him. She knows the probability of all of those things happening, but nothing is certain until the choice to hang on or to let go is made.

“But there are events that don’t depend on choice,” he continued. “Such as whether the woman will have enough strength to pull him up, and if adrenaline can make up the difference. Whether the ground at the edge of the cliff will hold their combined weight, or crumble beneath the woman’s feet and take them both down. Those are certainties.”

Nothing to do with free will. Just good old science. “And the damage to Jason’s brain?”

“Whether it heals does not depend upon choice.”

A hollow pit opened in her chest, deeper than when Michael had first said he couldn’t heal her brother. But she must have still held out hope. “Does it ever happen anyway, despite the certainty?”

“When humans invent cures and create new possibilities.” He met her eyes. “And sometimes there are miracles. But don’t rely on one.”

A bitter laugh escaped her. She wouldn’t expect anything like a miracle. That was what had started screwing with her head in the first place.

“I used to believe in all that stuff. Not hard-core or anything. Just the way my mom and dad brought me up. Just believing that there was some meaning to all of this. Then after my dad was killed, after Jason . . .”

Michael nodded. “It was more comforting to think that there wasn’t.”

Got it in one. Of course he did. Her cheeks flushed. “You’ve probably heard this story a million times.”

“Yes, but that does not make it a trivial story. That it’s so common only reminds me how important the question is. How easy it is to doubt—and why humans have such good reason to.” The sincerity in his voice eased her embarrassment. “You did not have angels at your table when you were growing up.”

She’d had
him
over for dinner instead. And that was the heart of it. “No. But it should have been almost that simple. Because then the Guardians showed up, and I’m . . .” Her throat thickened. “Here I am, still trying to figure out where the fucking meaning is. It was good before, thinking that there wasn’t any. Because that meant the only thing that mattered was who we are, what we do. All that mattered was here, now.”

“That’s still what matters.”

“Yeah, because it determines whether we’re going to Heaven or Hell. And I get the front seat to see who is boarding each train.”

“No.” He stepped in front of her, his expression grave. “What we do matters for far more reasons than that. You don’t give a thought to Heaven or Hell when you speak with your mother, or to Joseph Preston—you only care what they feel, what they think, and whether your actions will hurt them or not. Even for me, though I won’t see Heaven or Hell. But what I did, what I do now . . . they will determine whether I can protect you. Whether you trust me again. That matters more than anything. That is all I care about.”

That might all be true. But it still didn’t change anything. “I shouldn’t trust you.”

His hard face still solemn, he nodded. “I know.”

And yet here she was, on a beach and covered in the remains of sticky wine and clinging sand and a thousand orgasms. “God, I’m like Charlie’s sister,” she moaned and buried her face in her hands. “Despite the evidence, wanting to believe so much.”

Capturing her wrists, he pulled her hands away, revealing his smile. “No. Jane disregards the evidence, or she twists it to fit what she wants to believe. She makes excuses. You don’t. You see the truth of me.”

“And still want to believe? Still want to trust? I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Evidence and reason are telling me one thing, but I believe something else despite them? That’s called delusion.”

“But it’s also called faith.”

She laughed, and though her last had been bitter and hollow, now . . . not so much, as if talking with him had filled some of that ache, sweetened it. “I used to have faith in you. It was so hard to accept that demons are inherently evil, but after I did, I thought there was a flip side, too. Someone who was inherently good. I thought that was you.”

“No.” His smile faded. “That’s not me.”

“I know. I found that out in Hell. Lost faith in you.” She closed her eyes, shook her head, and admitted, “God, that hurt more than anything else.”

Michael didn’t answer. She looked up and her heart stopped. His eyes were obsidian, his features starkly defined, as if by raw agony. Torment. She’d seen that look before, in the frozen field.

And did she smell blood? “Michael?”

But he wasn’t moving, wasn’t calling in his sword. His throat worked, and his voice was hoarse as he said, “I wouldn’t hurt you again.”

Holding his gaze, she nodded. “Then I’m going to do something really stupid. Even knowing what you are, I’ll trust that you won’t. And I’ll call it a leap of faith.”

“I’ll catch you this time.” His hands cradled her face, his eyes suddenly glowing a warm amber. “I swear it.”

“I’ll hold you to that promise.” She grinned. “And it’s better knowing you aren’t all good, or like an angel. I won’t feel so blasphemous when I imagine you all sexy.”

His rumbling laugh was as warm as his hands, as his eyes. Oh, his mouth. She focused on his firm lips, but her next breath made her stop. That scent was still there. Coppery blood.

“Do you smell that?”

He shook his head. “I’m all right now.”

But he hadn’t been? She pushed under his arm and around his side, following the scent. For an instant, she saw the crimson soaking through the back of his tunic in a familiar pattern before it vanished, leaving only clean white cloth.

She pulled back to frown up at him. “Are your scars bleeding?”

“I’m fine. It should stop in a moment. And—” He stiffened. Before she could blink, he swept her up against his side and pivoted, his spear flaming in his right hand.

Khavi stood on the beach behind them—and looking unlike Taylor had ever seen her before. A bronze helmet covered her dark braids, with guards over her nose and cheeks. More armor protected her arms and legs, and the sun made a gleaming mirror of her breastplate.

Her voice was as harmonious as Michael’s, but lighter, more feminine. “I see that you need to speak with me, Taylor.”

Taylor threw up her hands. “So
now
you can see our future?”

“No. This is written on your face. You are thinking, ‘It’s about fucking time Khavi showed up.’ But I cannot stay long. Other matters demand my attention. I will keep my shields open long enough for Michael to follow me to Anaria’s camp.”

She disappeared.

A moment later, she came back. “Make sure you’re dressed.”

Then she was gone again.

Khavi had gotten one thing right, at least. Taylor
had
been thinking that it was about fucking time—and Michael didn’t waste any after she disappeared.

They spun into a dimly lit room. A wall of windows overlooked the west side of the city, the long shadows of the early morning sun. They were going to find Hugh, Taylor realized—so that Khavi couldn’t lie when Michael asked if she was communicating with Lucifer. Apparently Hugh and Lilith hadn’t gone home but had grabbed a few minutes of shut-eye on a sofa in one of the offices.

Sleeping. It shouldn’t have surprised Taylor, except that it was hard to imagine Lilith ever needing to rest. But of course, as a human, she did. Even more surprising was seeing her in a tank and shorts, cradled against Hugh’s side, her legs entwined with his and his shoulder pillowing her cheek. Her long black hair spilled over his chest.

So Lilith could be soft. Taylor would never have expected it.

“Only with him,” Michael said, so quietly that only a Guardian might have heard.

She looked up. He’d been watching her face. “What?”

“Don’t make the mistake of thinking this is some hidden part of her. That if you get beneath the surface, you’ll find that this is what she truly is. But she’s only this with him.”

Good to know. And though they couldn’t have heard Michael and Taylor speaking, both Hugh and Lilith had opened their eyes when she looked back. Lilith had pulled a sword from somewhere.

She sat up. Softness gone, replaced by abs of steel. Obviously, neither she nor Hugh ever skipped a workout. “What news?”

“I am going to question Khavi.”

“In Hell,” Taylor added, because it seemed like an important detail, then wished she’d kept her mouth shut when Lilith’s eyes narrowed on her and swept from head to toes.

Damn it. Taylor tried not to wince. She hadn’t changed before Michael had teleported them here. Wearing nothing but a big shirt, sand all over her naked legs, and with Michael’s arm still possessively circling her waist, she might as well have hung a sign around her neck:
Recently Had Brains Screwed Out on a Beach.
Except with no real screwing. They hadn’t even kissed.

The wine had been nice, though.

Lilith’s gaze hardened when she looked back to Michael. “You really think this is a good idea?”

That put Taylor’s back up. “You’re questioning the wisdom of visiting Hell, I hope.”

Because Lilith better not be asking whether Michael was making a mistake with her. It was none of her goddamn business.

“What else?” With a sharp smile, Lilith rose to her feet. “Got any pants for me, Sir Pup?”

Taylor hadn’t even realized the hellhound was in the office with them. She looked over her shoulder, and her heart stuttered a beat. He lay in front of the door, blocking the entrance. Even lying down, his back rose almost to the ceiling. At rest, the barbs in his fur lay flat instead of standing out like daggers. Hellfire flickered in the two eyes that he’d opened.

“We’re making an entrance,” Michael told Hugh.

Hugh nodded, looked to the hellhound. “I’ll need my armor, too, pup.”

Lilith hiked up a pair of trousers. “Do you intend to stay while he dresses, Michael? I’ll let you watch if you kiss him.”

“All right,” Michael said.

They only stayed long enough for Lilith to glance up, eyes wide. Hugh sighed. Then they spun into an empty office, Michael’s deep laugh echoing through it.

Taylor was grinning, wobbling. “You called her bluff.”

“It wasn’t a bluff.” He held her against him while she steadied. “And although I enjoy surprising her, the follow-up would please her too well. I couldn’t say the same for Hugh.”

“Or you?”

“Only if it pleased
you
.” Gently, his fingers tucked a stray curl away from her forehead. “Ready?”

Nodding, she stepped back, brushed the sand from her legs. Her ass. Everywhere. God, it was like water or blood. Guardians could vanish it all at once, essentially cleaning themselves, but she couldn’t quite wrap her head around that trick yet.

She glanced at Michael. “A little help?”

A second later she was squeaky clean. And since he hadn’t taught her how to do it herself, guiding her through the process as he had everything else, she guessed that meant he was in a hurry. She replaced her big shirt with jeans and a tee while on her way to the office door.

Lilith had already joined Irena, Alice, and Alejandro in the main room. At a nearby desk, Jake sat at a computer, with Drifter looking over his shoulder. Joe waited beside them, his lined face tired—and brightening when he caught sight of Taylor.

Irena glanced over, sized her up. “Do you need armor as well?”

“No,” Michael answered. “She’s not coming with us.”

Taylor wouldn’t argue, but she wanted to know why. “Is there a reason?”

“I don’t know the situation that we are teleporting into. And I don’t want to draw attention to you or your Gift.”

Okay. Taylor wasn’t eager to draw attention to herself, either.

“Take Sir Pup,” Lilith said. “The Rules will protect Hugh from the halflings and demons, but not from Anaria.”

“Or the humans in her army,” Irena said.

“Hugh can defeat any of them.” Michael held Irena’s gaze. “You will protect Andromeda while we are gone. Lucifer’s demons might come for her.”

Even as Irena nodded, Taylor shook her head. “You think I’m still in danger? They took Colin, Savi, and Katherine. If they need tainted blood, they have it.”

“Yes, but that is not why.” His jaw clenched briefly before he said, “Yesterday, Lucifer saw that I care for you.”

And he’d returned full of rage and fear. But although Taylor loved that he so easily acknowledged his attraction to her, that shouldn’t have made any difference. “You care for a lot of Guardians.”

“It wouldn’t matter if Michael cared for you or hated you,” Lilith said. “Any demon would enjoy hurting you, regardless. That Michael cares would be a bonus, but Lucifer would torture you just for the fun of it.”

Michael’s eyes darkened. “He specifically threatened her.”

Okay, that
was
different. “Then I’ll hang around here with Irena for a while.”

“You can hang right there.” Lilith pointed to the desk facing Jake’s. “Bradford sent over the initial surveillance about an hour ago.”

Worries about Lucifer and his threats fled. Why hadn’t Lilith already shot her a message about the surveillance? With luck, Taylor would find the vampire or demon who’d bought Mark Brandt’s food—or at least their vehicle. And since Michael didn’t look like he was leaving in the next second, she could take a look at how much Bradford’s men had dug up.

Joe straightened a little when she joined him. Judging by the shadows on his face and the size of the coffee in his hand, he’d had a long night. Up late with Drifter, looking over those cases and searching for a connection to Brandt.

Taylor hoped that she hadn’t kept him up for nothing. “Did you find anything?”

“Not yet. We’ll be waving the vampire’s photo in front of the families today.” His gaze searched her face. “You and me—we’re okay?”

It killed her that he even had to ask. “I think we’re better than okay.”

“I threw some heavy shit at you.”

“Well, we’re all dealing with some heavy shit. And what good is a partner if she can’t take an extra shovelful now and then?” She shrugged. “It all washes off.”

He smiled and shook his head before giving her a once-over. “You look better today.”

“I feel better.” Not quite as ready to crack. “Though I’ll feel even better when we find Colin and Savi.”

Joe’s gaze shifted beyond her, and his expression suddenly appeared exactly as it had the night before, when he’d said that two miracles had landed in his lap. “I think you will.”

Taylor glanced back and her knees went weak. Holy shit. Michael had worn the hell out of a three-piece suit, and she’d already seen his Big Warrior Guardian look. But that was nothing compared to what he could do for armor.

The arch of his wings rose to the ceiling, the feathers so black and dense they seemed to absorb the light, as if he carried darkness itself on his back. Unlike Khavi, he didn’t wear a helmet, but instead of leaving him vulnerable he just looked tall and untouchable, and completely unconcerned that someone might dare take a swing at his head. A sculpted steel cuirass molded to the muscles of his chest and back, following his form as closely as Taylor’s fingers had less than an hour before. The metal didn’t gleam. Dull with use and stained with dried blood, it spoke of untold battles, of thousands of opponents who’d fallen before his sword. Undecorated bronze greaves did less to protect his legs than to emphasize their strength.

Gorgeous. Terrifying. As if he’d stepped straight out of a classical painting, made by an artist plagued with visions of angels sent by a
very
angry God.

And his feet were still bare.

His obsidian gaze locked with hers. Taylor’s heart stopped. Dimly, she was aware that Hugh and Sir Pup had joined him. That Michael had the spear in his hand. But she couldn’t look away from his face long enough to see anything else.

Then he disappeared, and she could breathe again.

“Christ Almighty,” Drifter said, followed up with a low whistle. “If he was coming after me, I’d piss myself.”

“If we
could
piss,” Jake agreed. “So we’d probably manifest it as a new Gift on the spot. We’d call it the Wicked Stream of Yellow-Bellied Fear.”

No, not fear. The sight of Michael like that filled Taylor with the opposite of fear: a ridiculous amount of hope.

And that could be just as dangerous.

*   *   *

A few weeks
would
be enough. It would be. Even now, he held her exquisite taste upon his tongue and his memory. If an hour on the sand marked the end of his days, he would have nothing to regret. Of the millions of hours that had come before it, none had given him so much pleasure or so many moments to hold close to his heart. Andromeda’s every sigh and scream, the curl of her toes and the flavor of her skin, her need for anger and order and meaning. Each response was worth a lifetime of hours, and he’d had them all in one.

Yet instead of contentment, rage blasted through him like fire. Michael teleported to five miles from Khavi’s location. He looked over the army of human and halfling souls under Anaria’s command, to Belial’s army of demons in the far distance, and Lucifer’s tower rising on the horizon—and his only thought was to destroy them, to slay them all before they might harm her.

But this army might be the only chance to stop Lucifer, and a few weeks was not enough time to kill them all.

“Do you carry binoculars, puppy?” Hugh said beside him.

Sir Pup shook his left head. Hugh sighed and looked to Michael. “What do you see?”

Some of his rage dissipated, replaced by humor. They had done this before. When Hugh had been a young knight, still human, his poor eyesight blurred detail at a distance. Now he wore corrective lenses, but he still needed Michael’s description. Human, Hugh couldn’t see clearly from five miles away. Neither of them wanted to teleport blind into the middle of an army.

“They are arranged like a Spartan camp.” In quarters, with two wide avenues dividing the sections of tents. A demon army would never have included such accommodations; they didn’t need to sleep or eat. None of these soldiers would need to, either, but they’d all been human once. They would enjoy the camaraderie, the familiarity of tents and private spaces. “Almost a thousand halflings in the sky. They look to be practicing combat maneuvers. Others are on the ground, training with swords.”

Though Hugh nodded, a frown creased his brow. “Why Sparta? There are others more efficient.”

“The arrangement would have come from Khavi.” She’d always studied human military tactics and training, and the Spartan army had been the strongest at the time she’d been trapped in Hell. “Except for the general’s tent in the middle. That must have been Anaria’s decision. Khavi would never let herself be surrounded on all sides.”

And Anaria would never believe that she might be betrayed.

At the mention of Michael’s sister’s name, Hugh’s expression hardened. His friend did not hate many people. After Anaria had crushed Lilith’s chest and almost killed her, she had become one of the few.

“Do you intend to take your revenge?” If so, Michael wouldn’t stop him. He’d have to help Hugh, instead—and he’d rather make preparations here, before entering the camp. Slaying Anaria would never be easy.

Sir Pup growled and grinned all at once. An expression of hope, not intent. Michael waited, watched the struggle on the other man’s face.

Saw the resigned anger that settled in him. “No. Finding Savi comes first.”

The hellhound whined his disappointment. Hugh scratched Sir Pup’s nearest chin, though he had to reach above his own head to do it.

“Lily would never forgive either of us if we were killed,” he said to the pup. “We should not trade the hundred years we have left for revenge. No matter how tempting.”

Sir Pup gave another whine, licked his hand. Hugh gave him a final scratch, then looked to Michael. Ready, then. But Michael could not go yet.