Hell's Angel (2 page)

“The present is ever shaped by the past.”

Either his words or their tone coaxed her into opening her eyes, but she couldn’t bring herself to face the archangel. She replied, “The past is irrelevant.”

That was what she had been told when she’d been given her last assignment from Heaven:
The past is irrelevant. What you were, you no longer are. Child of Light, now you belong to Darkness. Serve Hell, and in this way, you serve Heaven.
Those words, delivered by a seraph, had been beautiful, and precise, and so very cold.

Now, to Samael the angel said, “I am supposed to ignore all that has come before, and instead concentrate fully on my new role.”

His hand stilled on her cheek. Softly yet firmly, he said, “We cannot ignore what we are, no matter what others may expect of us.”

“Us?” The question escaped her lips before she could clamp her mouth shut.

“Yes, little cherub.” Though she was not looking at him, she could hear the smile in his voice. He squeezed her hand again, more playful this time. “Us. I, too, understand what it means to no longer be welcome in Heaven.”

Of course he did. She wished she could disappear, flee to Earth or Hell or anyplace where he was not. How could she stand here before the former King of the Underworld and lament her loss of Paradise? She had been banished only for a handful of months; he had been away from the Sky for thousands upon thousands of years.

“If it helps,” Samael said, “while the longing never ceases, the pain of it diminishes. In time.”

Time. What did that mean to one who was eternal?

She berated herself silently, trembled as regret washed over her. Who was she to feel any grief at all? The archangel’s loss must have been immeasurable.

His hand dropped from her face for a moment, leaving her cheek cool. Then his fingers touched her chin, and he gently turned her head until she was facing him. Samael searched her face, his gaze probing, intimate, and she felt herself blush once again.

“Tell me,” he said, “what do you miss about Heaven?”

Unbidden, memories assaulted her, stole her away from the here and now:

Her hands clasped in others’, dancing in a circle that expands and contracts with the world’s breath, laughing as the music of Creation plays along her skin; tears in her eyes, stirred from the powerful, poignant song of the seraphim as they worship the Almighty with their own celestial music; the Divine Presence itself, basking, caressing her and loving her and holding her so close, even as it does so to all the other children of Heaven—she is one of thousands, of hundreds of thousands, part of something far greater than she ever could be alone; she is enthralled, ecstatic; the Hand of God touches her, and she is lost to rapture…

How to put that all into words?

“I miss being part of something bigger than myself alone,” she said slowly, remembering the feeling of music—joyous, pious, tempered with quiet dignity—thrumming along her skin, begging her limbs to move, to react, to dance. “I miss the connection. The…” She fumbled, trying to find the word. “The bliss.” Looking into Samael’s dazzling eyes, the angel said, “I miss holding onto something that completes me.”

“I understand,” he said, and she knew that he, of all creatures, truly
did
understand. That was all too clear in his eyes.

For an eternal moment, they floated outside of Heaven: a lonely cherub and a fallen archangel, both aching for something they’d lost, one recently, the other long ago.

“There are other ways to feel such a connection, Angel.” His voice was a stirring rumble that she somehow felt inside of herself, in her chest, her belly, down lower. Samael’s mouth slowly curved into a smile that hinted of many things.

Many
things
.

She hadn’t remembered he was still holding her hand until he started moving his thumb along her palm—slowly, teasingly. Every stroke sent ripples of warmth along her hand, and those ripples lingered, lengthened, until her entire hand was awash in sensation.

Pleasurable sensation.

“What the celestials have,” he said, “safe in their silver walls, we can have right here, outside of Paradise.” Samael moved his hand from the angel’s chin, let his fingers trace the shape of her jaw, her cheek, the shell of her ear. “Even humans know how to feel bliss, Angel. I can help you feel that bliss again. We can feel it together.”

Whether from his words or from the movement of his fingers along her form, she felt flushed, almost dizzy with…something. Anticipation?

Desire?

She swallowed. “My lord—”

“I am no one’s lord,” he murmured, his hands moving. His fingers danced over the nape of her neck and teased the skin of her wrist.

“Samael.” She tried to ignore the waves of pleasure stemming from his touch. “You wish us to have sex?”

He smiled—and oh, how the knowledge in that smile, on those lips, unnerved her. “There is sex,” he said. “And that is enjoyable. But there is also making love.” Up moved his hand along her forearm; down moved his hand along her shoulder. “And that is heavenly.”

“Heaven is love,” she said, her voice husky.

“And I would show Heaven to you, Angel, if you let me. I would love you and take away your sorrow, even if it’s just for a small stretch of time.”

Love. Not lust.

Love.

His hands, his voice…his eyes.

There was a pounding in her ears, her mind, an ever-increasing drumbeat that made it difficult to think. She swallowed thickly and blinked away nervous tears. Her body was doing things, telling her things, that made her uneasy and tense.

But the tension wasn’t necessarily bad…and that was upsetting. She should be able to control her own body.

“Angel,” Samael said, his voice like music, “you are afraid?”

Embarrassed, she stammered, “Yes.”

“Of me?”

God Above, yes
. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

Samael’s hands moved, flowed over the curves of her arms until they rested lightly on her shoulders. His voice gentle, he said, “Relax your wings, pretty cherub. You will not fall.”

Trusting him—because really, he was the Light Bringer, not the fabled Lord of Lies that the humans had created to scare themselves into doing Heaven’s work—she took a breath she didn’t need, then she folded her wings against her back and willed them away. She felt their absence like dew against her skin. For one long moment, she hovered, suspended only by the memory of flight.

And then Samael’s power tickled her, buffeted her, and she floated on his whim.

She let out a startled laugh. There was something both terrifying and electrifying in the knowledge that she could plummet like a falling star to the Earth below, and that terror made her giddy. She trusted Samael, and so he kept her aloft.

His laughter joined hers, the sounds mingling like melody and harmony. “As I said, Angel, you will not fall.” He pressed his hands against her shoulders, not quite a squeeze. “You do not need to be afraid. I would go slow, pretty cherub. I would move only with your approval. I would show you bliss only on your allowance.” A pause before he added, “I give you my word, Angel.”

She felt him ghosting through her, whispering against her flesh—not teasing, not coaxing, simply there, letting her fly outside of Heaven. She heard the quiet passion in his voice, the dignity of one who had been a king for millennia. She peered into his eyes, and there she saw not the golden flecks of nearly infinite power but instead something that hinted of melancholy, of a sorrow that touched her heart.

And that emboldened her enough to speak. “Please tell me, Samael,” she said softly, “what brings a fallen archangel to the gates of Heaven?”

He smiled, then sighed. And he admitted what she had already seen in his gaze. “Loneliness.”

Yes.

She reached up to touch his face, placing her fingers lightly against the strong curve of his jaw. His power thrummed beneath her hand, pulsing softly, purposefully. Deep within, she felt her body responding to that power. She tingled from fingertip to toe, and she felt so very aware, as if she were waking from a long sleep.

“If you would show me your vision of Heaven,” she said, still nervous but now also curious and, yes, even hopeful, “I would very much like to see it.”

He smiled again, and it was unlike any smile she’d ever seen, by creatures Above or Below or in between. The archangel smiled, and the sun itself paled. His voice lush, he said, “Then I will show you. Let us share our own paradise.”

His hands moved away from her shoulders and down her back, until he was holding her close. Her breasts pressed against his stomach. The silky material of his toga whispered against her own thin garment, and despite the softness of the clothing, the peaks of her breasts were suddenly hard, and surprisingly tender. Her nipples ached, and deep within her a fire kindled. She rubbed against him, and the heat grew until a flush of warmth rippled through her.

How could something as simple as the feeling of him, swathed in that silk, make her react so strongly? Flustered, she squirmed in his embrace.

If he noticed her embarrassment, he chose to ignore it. “Have you ever been kissed, pretty cherub?”

Not trusting her voice, she shook her head.

“A kiss is a wondrous thing, with many a meaning. It can be quick and precise, perfunctory and cold. It can be loving, as a parent to a child. Or,” he said, his voice low and knowing, “it can be passionate. May I kiss you now, Angel?”

Still unwilling to speak, she nodded.

“Thank you,” he murmured. And with those words, he bowed his head to hers, his lips suddenly on her mouth.

In that initial moment, the angel’s eyes widened in surprise. She’d known what a kiss actually was, but there had been no way to imagine the sensations it would bring with it. First an indescribable joy, one that sang of connection, of commitment, of sharing each other’s very essence. On the heels of that, overwhelming arousal filled every part of her.

The angel’s eyelids slipped closed, and she let out a sound of pleasure. His lips were so very warm on hers, almost burning in the intensity of that kiss—his lips pressed against hers, heating her, sending licks of fire through her.

His mouth opened wider, and his tongue darted between her lips. She let out a startled sound, one that melted away as his tongue rolled against hers. He kissed her more deeply, and now she kissed him in return, pouring herself into that kiss, telling him without words just how much she was enjoying what he was doing to her.

And then his lips left hers, and for that long, long moment she felt a crushing need for him to return to her, to kiss her again until her mouth was swollen, bruised with his passion.
Too soon
, she wanted to cry. It had ended far too soon. She opened her eyes to see him gazing at her with naked longing.

His voice soft, he said, “I wish to do more than hold you as I kiss you.”

“More?” Oh yes. She wanted more.

“I wish to move my hands over your body. May I, pretty Angel?”

“Please,” she said—either an approval or a plea, she could not say which.

“Thank you,” he murmured, then kissed her again, deeper than before, and the angel felt as if she were falling, falling forever into Samael’s arms.

An eternity in his embrace, with his kisses
,
would be its own small paradise.

Now his hands were moving in slow circles along her back, massaging her, soothing her yet coaxing her, goading her into feeling more, and more still until she thought she would burst. Those circles widened slowly, until his fingers were tracing the curves of her waist, the swell of her bottom.

With every lingering touch, she coiled tighter. With every dragging caress, she moved with him, wishing for his hands to do even more. She wanted his fingers to explore her, to dance along her limbs and awaken every inch of her. He had promised to show her bliss, and oh, she believed that he could, that he would…

Once again his lips left hers, but now Samael peppered tender kisses along her jaw and down her throat, darting his tongue against her neck.

The angel was dizzy with joy, overwhelmed by sensation as he kissed her. He lapped at her collarbone, at the neckline of her shift, back up the sensitive curve of her throat until her skin was slick from his mouth. Her arms had fallen around his shoulders, and now she wrapped her fingers in his curling black hair and held him as he kissed her, held him and urged him to do more.

He obliged, moving back up her neck, nuzzling her, working his way to her earlobe. He nipped her there, a gentle sting that she felt echo in the tips of her breasts, at the apex of her thighs.

She’d never felt such an awakening within her own body before. Even in Heaven, dancing among her brethren, she had never felt such an individual awareness. It was a heady feeling, one that left her breathless and eager.

Samael must have been encouraged by her reaction, because he continued to tease her ear with his lips and tongue and teeth. He sucked on her lobe; he traced the delicate shell; he blew softly over her moist skin, and she shivered, delighted. One of his hands left her back so that he could play with her other ear, his fingers mimicking the movements of his mouth.

She groaned—and she was abashed by the base sound. She was an angel, created to bask in the sun-drenched Sky. She was not supposed to moan like a creature of clay or coal. She…

…threw her head back as Samael’s tongue did something that sent sparks through every part of her body. She floated, her eyes closed and mouth agape, lost in spiraling pleasure. Her pride gave way, kiss by kiss, as the Angel of Death seduced her.

His fingers slid up her waist, drunkenly slow, driving her mad as they skimmed her. Up went his hands, over her arms, until his fingers were entwined in hers. He moved her arms up until they were high over her head, and then he teased his way back down her limbs, his fingers like sparks along her skin, his mouth working along her neckline. He kissed her and kissed her, just above the swells of her breasts, and his hands moved like water over her stomach. Her garment was thin, filmy, and did little to mask the feeling of him stroking her along the smooth skin of her belly.