Revelation (23 page)

He didn’t like to watch. It felt dirty and sinful. But watching was what he had instead of doing, and
not
doing it—the anticipation, the imagining, the frustration that he’d never know release—was secretly more compelling than the handful of times he’d ever tried it before he fell.

Back then, he’d always had better things to do. His liaisons were harsh, loveless, violent. But watching Dashiel make this lovely girl cry out with pleasure—over, and over, like Dash was searching for something and not finding it—filled Japheth with longing for a delirious passion he’d never known.

He ached, his feathers quivering hot. He wanted to touch himself. Hurt himself, carve slow welts in his skin, grip his aching shaft in his fist and make the need go away.

But even that was too dangerous. He should go home, take a cold shower. But he couldn’t tear his gaze away, and now Dashiel flipped her over and pushed her thighs apart to taste her sweet pink folds.

Japheth bit his lip savagely. He’d never asked Dash if he minded. Dash wasn’t shy, and would probably like the idea. But Japheth already felt dirty enough. And tonight, he’d extra reason to hide.

Put an end to Dashiel for me, and we can talk about you coming home.
Michael’s words still caressed him, dangerous like a silk-covered blade.

Dashiel was Japheth’s friend. Dash picked him up when he
was broken, held him through nights of shuddering withdrawal from glory. Taught him it was okay to drown his longing in blood and slaughter, so long as he still did heaven’s work.

Japheth sweated and shivered, the breeze flitting through his feathers. None of that mattered, did it? Michael’s orders were simple, and the rules were whatever the archangel said they were. That was what being Tainted meant. Japheth could dive in there right now and end it. Slash the angel’s throat open with his holy sword. Spill Dash’s Tainted blood to the sky, and Michael would take Japheth back.

Redemption. Just like that. His soul restored. No more oblivion. And then, Michael would…what? Love him again? Say sorry for shunning him? Explain what in heaven he’d done to deserve it?

But the lost bliss of home tugged at Japheth’s ice-coated heart, deeper than any hold the archangel once had over him. Misha loved nothing, and no one. Japheth just wanted his soul back. His happiness. An end to frustration and loneliness and empty despair.

But at what cost to his heart?

Dashiel’s girl climaxed again, shuddering. Japheth’s flesh twitched harder. Heaven, it was beautiful, the way she surrendered to her pleasure. The way Dash’s massive body moved, climbing up to glide his glistening shaft inside her again, pinning her hands above her head and thrusting deep and hard.

Pleasure tingled over Dash’s dusky skin, and Japheth shivered in electric empathy. The echo of shared glory resonated between them, a relentless link he couldn’t break. Unwilling, Japheth felt Dash’s pleasure with him, the sweat sliding on his skin, the girl’s teeth on his nipple, the ghostly sensation of her hot wet flesh, gliding over him…

Japheth spun away, but too late.

Dashiel growled, and climaxed, spilling his seed deep inside her, and the feeling hit Japheth in the guts. Horrid sensation without pleasure, pain without passion. Empty. He didn’t enjoy it. He just hurt, like a dead thing, unable to feel anything but echoes of what he once had.

Kill Dashiel, and he’d come alive.

Gulping down a cry of raw frustration, Japheth tumbled into uncaring air.

Luniel slipped his phone away, mortified. How could he have forgotten? Angels could stay awake and fight for days on end if need be, especially with a dazzling gloryhit surging through their veins. That was what heaven made them for. Sustenance was essential, but not urgent. But Morgan would need rest. Food. Care.

Shit. He wasn’t used to caring for anyone but himself. Least of all a human woman, so precious and vulnerable.

She was watching him, a smile tinting her lips. Her face shone pale, her eyes bright with dark rings beneath them. “Finished chatting with your friends? Can we go now?”

He fidgeted. How had he not noticed her exhaustion? “Listen. Um…why don’t we leave it until morning?”

“It is morning.” She indicated the brightening sky.

“Yeah. I mean, I think I should take you home for a while.”

“I don’t want to go home.” She frowned, irritable. “Demons, plagues, curses. Stuff to do. Remember?”

“You’ve been up all night, Morgan. You need food, and sleep, and…y’know.” He gestured vaguely. “All that human stuff.” He held up his hand to stave off her protests. “The Prince of Poison will still be there tonight. Demons thrive on darkness. Now we know where to look, we’ll come back when the party’s
started. And you’re useless to me half-asleep. Let me…” He flushed. “You need to take care of yourself,” he amended lamely.

She sighed, frustrated, but he could tell she knew he was right. “Okay. But you’re not coming back here without me, hear?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Flash or fly?”

“Huh?”

“Your place. No subway here, and I’m not walking. Wanna flash or fly?”

Her beautiful eyes glinted eagerly. “Can we fly? Please?”

Her excitement tingled his skin. He grinned, and vanished his sword—but only a tiny wish’s breadth away. He could still feel it, vibrating the ether, ready to snap back into his hand. No way was he losing her now. He held out his arm, beckoning. “Madam.”

She came to him, holding on tight to his breastplate. Her arms barely reached around him. She tucked her head under his chin, dark hair spilling over silver. Her scent thrilled him, sweet sweat and smoke and woman.

He’d held her before—flown with her, touched her body, felt her slick wet flesh on his fingers and tasted her pleasure’s hot sigh—but somehow this was different. Closer. More real.

His heart swelled, and deep inside, for the first time in centuries, something hard and cold melted like ice in the sun.

And he folded his arms around her—so warm—and dived for the brightening sky.

Morgan hung on tightly, and let her angel make her fly.

Breeze tugged her hair, the ground falling dizzily away. His armor glistened, warm and smooth under her cheek. His scent enveloped her, toffee and hot male skin and the crisp freshness of sunrise. She gripped his hair, enjoying the wind thrumming in his thick silken locks.

He held her effortlessly, and the feel of his strong embrace filled her with a safety she’d rarely known. The pressure on her breasts as he breathed felt good. She breathed, too, slow and deep, invigorated.

His wings beat the air hard, feathers zinging. He felt warm and supple, muscles working in perfect concert. This quiet flight
seemed a simple marvel, not ugly and heaving like a fuel-powered aircraft struggling against physics to get off the ground. Their weight seemed reduced to zero, gravity meaningless, yet here he was, hot and hard and real. On the ground, he was strong, graceful like a snarling panther. In the air, he was…magical. Like a new creature, transformed, a sleek spearing weapon.

Night breeze tugged her t-shirt tight, caressing her bare belly. Her hair tickled her face, mingling with his. Lights jeweled the city, gems on a fading black velvet sea, proud gold-flashed towers mingling with colored lanterns and bonfires. Virtual neon advertising scrolled like rainbows below her, meaningless from a vantage point never intended. Skyscrapers gleamed in a sliver of rising sun, and beyond the coast, the eastern horizon gleamed like a golden thread.

He dipped, and the skyline tilted, crazy. Pleasure tingled at the pressure of his big thighs, muscles jumping as he instinctively adjusted trim and balance.

“You okay?” His big hand gripped the curve of her ass. Warm strings of desire plucked in her belly when she felt his hot hardness press against her. He liked holding her.

“Mmm.” She liked it, too. Liked him wanting her. She wanted to do the same to him with her own hand, run her palm over those taut muscles. Wrap her leg around him, enjoy the pulsing evidence of his desire, with the wind in her face and his luscious scent washing over her. It didn’t seem sordid or strange. It seemed…worthy. Satisfying. Like tonight they’d earned the pleasure, somehow.

Desire kindled in her belly, warm and dangerous. She hadn’t really wanted a man—beyond the natural itch for sex when you weren’t getting any—for a long time. Not like this. Passion had been missing from her life, replaced by cold hard determination to succeed alone, and with this glorious, sensual creature in her arms, she knew it was no substitute. Only this—only he—would do.

And for the first time since her mother’s death—through years of poverty and sleeplessness and harsh reality—real fear slithered warm into her guts.

God, no.
She couldn’t fall for him. Not an angel, this frightening creature of faith and terror. Her mind was too set, her heart too full of distrust. After this was over, she’d probably
never see him again. Surely, he had more important things to do than pay attention to her.

Assuming she didn’t get the virus and die at his hand.

But that didn’t mean this wasn’t the freshest, most liberating night of her life.

His eyes glowed, bluer than blue, scanning the horizon for threat. He had the most beautiful mouth. “Lune,” she murmured.

He surveyed the airspace, but his gaze kept slipping back to hers, like he couldn’t stop it. “Mmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?” His gaze tracked to her mouth, and stayed there. His lips mesmerized her. She wanted to taste them. She wanted closeness, safety, the strange warmth of his understanding. But this was like a dream of flying, impossible and wonderful as well as terrifying. She didn’t want to wake disappointed.

“For showing me a new world,” she said simply, and hid her face against his chest.

His laugh rumbled, delightful. “Sorry it had to be one that’s ending. But you’re welcome. Where’d you say you lived?”

She risked letting go to point. “East Thirty-Seventh, near Lexington…Look, there’s my building. The gray one. Fourth floor, on the corner. Nothing so hip as yours, naturally—ugh!”

Poisonous darkness whooshed. Reflexively, she jerked backwards against Luniel’s grip. A cackle ripped her ears, the air ripe with rotting leather. Luniel rolled, dizzying her, and blue light dazzled as he flashed out his sword. His feathers thrummed tight with a sound like harp strings, and they jerked to an impossible, hanging halt.

Claws slashed inches from her face. A horrible hellcreature somersaulted away from Lune’s sword. It hung on rotted black-feathered wings, snarling, reminiscent of the bats that attacked them in the mortuary, but worse.

Much worse.

These things—three of them—looked like huge rabid vultures, long scrawny necks and meat-hook talons. Sick yellow eyes gleamed with hunger in rheumy sockets, and their flesh was decomposing, their starved bodies like two-week-old corpses, bones and sinews visible. The nearest one laughed, its stinking breath wetting her face, and a wave of ghastly hunger rocked her.

Her stomach groaned. The creatures’ stench coated her tongue, and her famished mouth watered. So hungry, she’d eat anything. She shuddered. What kind of curse monsters were these?

“Die, godshit.” The hellvulture’s snarl grated, nails on glass. “You and your doctor slut.”

“Hold on!” Luniel gave her no time to react. He somersaulted, backwards, kicking the thing in the face, and flipped around with his sword spitting blue flame.

She shook herself, dizzy and ravenous, and blinked. The creature wasn’t there.

And something slammed into Luniel’s back. His wing bones popped, and he grunted in pain, and the thing’s jagged beak crunched onto his forearm. Blood hissed. His body jolted, shaking her loose, and she fell.

Morgan’s stomach plummeted. Gravity lashed out at her with evil intent. She grabbed at the sky, useless, grasping at nothing. Air rushed up to beat her back and scream in her ears. Friction blistered her skin. Hair whipped her face. Stars and sky and ground tumbled. Her breath tore away, and terror clawed her gibbering heart. She couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

White light cracked, a stinging lash of thunder. And strong arms caught her waist and dragged her upwards.

Her neck whiplashed. Sickness lurched in her guts. Luniel cradled her against his chest, tucking her knees up. Momentum speared them into a somersault, and he drove them higher on strong wings. “You’re okay, I’ve got you. Shh.”

She clutched him, quivering. Her nerves were ripped ragged. She was safe, the foul hunger obliterated, but her heart still hammered. She couldn’t calm it. She sucked in air, her throat rough like broken glass, and realized she’d been screaming.

She tried to swallow, panting. “Where are…those…”

“Starvewraiths. Dead. Gone. Never mind them. I’m so sorry, Morgan. Forgive me.” He stroked her hair, crushing her to his chest, holding on like he’d make up for dropping her by never letting go.

“I’m okay.” She cleared her throat, embarrassed. At least, she noted clinically, she hadn’t wet herself. “I’m okay. Let me breathe.”

“Sorry,” he said again, and loosened his grip, but only a little.

She laughed, shaking, crazy tension ebbing. “Stop saying that. We’re still here. I know you didn’t mean it…” Her voice trailed off. Had she truly believed he’d catch her? Or assumed he’d let her fall, rather than let his enemy escape?

For a woman who hadn’t believed with all her soul she was about to die, her terror had felt sickeningly real.

Guilt burned her lungs, and she coughed it away. Stupid. She didn’t owe him her trust. He hadn’t earned it. Had he?

His feathers whipped the wind, and she closed her eyes. It was still magical. But even enchantment could kill, if you made a mistake.

She didn’t open her eyes again until she felt him land.

He eased gracefully to a halt, folding his wings. She blinked as he set her gently on her feet. Black metal railing, tiny concrete balcony, just big enough for them both to stand.

“This the one?” He still held her against his chest, like he wouldn’t risk letting her go even now. His arms around her felt safe. They felt stifling, too.