Revelation (24 page)

“Yeah. We’re kinda locked out.” She tugged the curled iron door handle, feeling foolish. She always bolted from the inside, even on fourth. Babylon sickos had imagination. But until tonight, she’d never met anything that could fly.

She shuddered, cold. Would she ever feel safe alone again?

Luniel slid his hand beneath hers, gripping the handle. The bolts slid out as if by magic. He twisted the handle, and the door opened.

She forced a laugh, trying to keep it light. “So I can’t lock you guys out, then? Great.”

Lune shrugged against her back. “I could just flash in there. No point in the lock working against me, so it doesn’t.”

Her scientific mind boggled. “O-kaay. So how come I can shoot you, then, if bullets won’t harm you?”

“I can only open the bolts, Morgan. I can’t stop you locking the door.” Reluctantly, he released her. “Go on.”

She sidled inside. Just as she’d left it with Jadzia, dim and
cool, the faint musk of scented candles lingering. Still tidy from her last effort at cleaning a few weeks ago. Since the virus broke out, she’d barely been here except to eat and sleep, and journals were still piled neatly on the low glass table by her desk, the scarlet cushions unmolested on the creamy sofa.

“Lights, low.” The table lamp welled bright, along with a few iron-bracketed wall lamps that reflected golden on the hardwood floors. Her legs still shook, and now that she was home, exhaustion rippled over her, draining her energy. She’d been up all night, and what a night it had been.

She walked unsteadily to the kitchenette, and she’d filled a glass with iced water and microwaved some Chinese takeout before she realized her angel hadn’t followed.

She craned her neck. There he stood, still on the balcony, a hulking dark silhouette in the rising light. “Luniel? You waiting for an invitation?”

“Actually…yeah.” He fidgeted, fingers flexing.

Her belly warmed. Awkward, him? She munched a forkful of rice, ravenous. “What are you, a vampire or something?”

“No. Just old-fashioned, I guess.” His blue gaze caught hers, dark like a midnight ocean. “I don’t expect anything from you, Morgan. Just so you know.”

She flushed. Apparently awkwardness was catching tonight. “Okay. Um…won’t you come in?”

He dipped his head and shoulders in a bow, a courtly gesture she’d never actually seen outside a movie, and came in, locking the door behind him. He had to tuck his wings tight to squeeze through the narrow doorway. He looked feral and strange in her tiny living room, such a big wild creature, stained in blood and dirt. She glanced down, and realized she looked the same, her t-shirt ripped, her pants sticky with stains. Jadzia’s knife rested cool and safe in its sheath, like it was dozing.

Her gritty eyes itched. She could really use a shower. She took a swallow from her glass, then another, the cool water steadying. “Um. Would you like a drink? Or some takeout? I don’t cook, I’m afraid.”

“No, thanks.” He stood, uncomfortable, like he didn’t know where to look or what to do. Undomesticated. His dirty wingtip brushed the sofa, leaving a dark stain, and he bent to wipe it off, hitching his wings in tighter. “Sorry.”

“No problem. At least have a seat, you’re wearing me out.”

“I’ll stand, if that’s all right.”

“Look, I don’t blame you for dropping me, okay? I’m fine. You can relax—”

“No, I can’t. It’s not safe, Morgan. The hellspawn know where we are.”

She shivered in memory. “What were those…starve things?”

“Starvewraiths. Imps of hunger. They spread gluttony.” His gaze smoldered. “They knew who you were, Morgan. Someone’s sending them after us. Just…do what you need to, and I’ll watch over you.”

Her heart shimmered, strangely warm. An odd feeling, being protected. She wasn’t used to it. She wanted to relax, let him care for her. She wanted to shake off the shackles and run. “Don’t you need to sleep, or eat anything?”

“No. You go ahead.” He glanced around the room. “Your front door locked?”

“Yeah. But wouldn’t they just magic it, like you?”

“Maybe, but at least I’ll hear them coming.” He strode over, midnight feathers gleaming, and checked the door locks anyway, making sure the chain was in place. He did the windows, too, tugging them to make them fast, and pulled the folded paper shades down.

She watched, uselessness squirming in her stomach. She was used to being in control. Her place was just that—hers. One bedroom and a living space, which she mostly used as a study. It’d save on rent to find a roommate, but she needed her own space, and rarely had anyone over. Didn’t have that many friends, really, though sometimes the two women next door popped over for pretzels and a movie, mostly because they felt sorry for her. And she’d never invited a man here.

Tonight, suddenly, the room felt full of man. Dangerous, dominant, overwhelming man. And it made her shiver.

She coughed. “I’m going to take a shower. Is, uh, is that okay?”

“Sure.” He concentrated on the window shades. Was that a flush, staining his cheek?

“You don’t need to, um, watch or anything?” Shit. That sounded like an invitation. She just didn’t want him bursting in on her. Right?

He didn’t answer. But the golden sparks that fired his wings bright told her all she needed to know.

She headed down the short corridor, nerves still itching. Her bedroom lamp shone, the wooden table piled in books. She emptied her pockets onto the soft chocolate quilt, and the sight of her phone reminded her she was supposed to be at work in a few hours.

Sorry, not happening.
She made a quick call to the machine, calling in sick, and switched her phone off with a twinge of guilt. They needed her. And no doubt the discovery of the mortuary’s broken window and ceiling would soon be evidenced by the length of her missed call list.

But the end of the world was bigger than a few gunshot homicides. She entered the bathroom and shut the door, faint dawn light gleaming through glass bricks and over the cinnamon-brown tiles.

“Lights. Shower, hot.” She kicked her boots off, unclipped the knife and peeled off her stained t-shirt and jeans. She crawled out of her sweaty underwear and under the spray.

The hot water slid through her hair, over her bruised skin, down her legs. She sighed, dousing her raised arms, her face, rinsing her mouth. God, it felt great. Her thighs ached from fighting and running, and she bent to massage them, running strong thumbs down the muscles.

Water trickled over her breasts, dripping from her nipples, and lazily she imagined how good
his
big hands would feel, kneading the tension from her thighs. He was so strong. He’d stand behind her and bend over her like this, rubbing her thigh muscles, his wet hair sliding over her shoulder. His body would brush her back, naked, so warm and smooth in the water. She’d lean back into him, pushing her butt into his lap where he’d be so deliciously hard for her, just like before…

Her body tingled, and she flushed at the memory. That such a man would be so hot for her made her ache. He’d groan, that deep sound that turned her on so, and wrap his hands between her thighs. Pull them apart, open her for him. And she’d tilt her hips and he’d slide into her. Fill her with his heat. Stroke her deep. It’d feel so good.

Morgan sighed, shivering, easing her fingers between her legs, caressing herself. She was wet. She ached. She hadn’t
wanted like this in forever, and her blood stung bright with all the idiot neurotransmitters of fight-or-flight. She could call him to her, make him finish what he started at his aerie. Surely it couldn’t hurt to indulge. She was a woman, not an inexperienced girl. And he was however many thousand years old. It wasn’t like she could hurt his feelings.

And she’d already experienced the raw edge on his desire. He wouldn’t treat her gently. He’d give her what she needed, rough caresses, hard unforgiving flesh, thrusts that slammed her breath away…

She gasped, pressing harder, imagining him taking her up against the wall. Wings glittering wet, fiery sky-blue eyes fixed on hers, powerful muscles flexing. He’d take her so deep and hard, she’d never want another. He wouldn’t be satisfied with merely fucking her. He’d possess her. Make her beg to be possessed. Make her his…

No.
Insane with frustration, she yanked her hand away, and let the water rinse her aching body clean.

Yes, she wanted him. The fierceness of her desire astonished her. But all her adult life, she’d fought for control, trusted no one, taken charge. She wasn’t ready to surrender, in bed or in life, and Luniel was the kind of man who wanted it all—and she didn’t doubt for a moment he had the power to make her burn to give it to him.

To trust someone so completely was foolish. Suicidal, even. Her mother was proof of that.

But still, Morgan ached, fierce and weary.

“Shower off,” she whispered, and the water lapsed into silence.

She dried herself, and slipped on panties and a clean t-shirt that reached to the tops of her thighs. Combing out her hair, she examined her reflection. Face pale, dark red lips a contrast, her eyes bruised with fatigue. All-nighters didn’t get easier with practice, and she wasn’t a young student anymore. She needed sleep. Whether she’d get any with her fire-eyed angel lurking about was another story.

Morgan tiptoed into the living room, awareness a hot stone in her belly. Luniel had removed his silver breastplate. It lay neatly on the floor by the window, and his feet were bare. The light shirt he wore glistened from within, his skin luminous, but
he was still spattered with blood and dirt. He stood, gazing out the window, seemingly at ease, but his fist clenched at her footstep and he let the rippled paper blind fall.

Shit. Had he heard her, in the shower? His hearing was spectacular, and she’d breathed hard, maybe even moaned. Her face heated. God, she hoped she hadn’t said his name.

She swallowed. “Luniel?”

He turned, and his gaze raked up and down her body. “Feel better?”

She flushed hotter. Did he mean after a shower? Or the fantasy almost orgasm he’d stroked her to? Her nipples tingled, warm. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Surely he could see them, stiff and eager. He’d nuzzle them, hot breath teasing, tongue circling, lips closing over the tip, sucking deep…“I’m going to bed. You sure you don’t want to sleep on the couch?”

“I’ll watch you, if that’s okay.”

“You mean…in my room?”

“It’d be safer.” He smiled, a hint of his former cheekiness. “It’s okay, Morgan, I won’t steal the covers or anything. I’ll sit in the corner like a good boy. I just…want to be able to see you, that’s all. Just in case.”

“Okay.” She licked her lips, and led the way.

Climbing under the covers was sweet relief. The smooth cotton sheets soothed her bruised skin. So cool and soft, a welcome antidote to her current hypersensitivity. Luniel watched her from the doorway, and she tried not to think about his gaze, caressing her body…

She expected him to take the chair in the corner, but when she laid her head on the pillow he lighted on the dark wooden bed end, wings flaring. He crouched there on his toes, perfectly balanced, wrists crossed on his knees. His black hair tangled, windswept. His feathers twitched, black and silky, a golden spark or two dancing, and his deep blue gaze settled on her.

She shivered. Such a dark, strange, magnificent creature. He’d protect her, all right. Until her will wore away, and she surrendered.

Still, as she closed her eyes, she imagined snuggling into his embrace, his body close and strong against her back, and warmth stole over her heart.

She slept, and dreamed of falling. Wind whipped her hair, and her eyes blistered raw with the glittering lights of Babylon. Strong arms caught her, and she sobbed with relief, only it wasn’t her angel but a demon, and as the evil creature sank its poisoned teeth into her throat, she threw her head back with her own hot blood splashing her face and screamed Luniel’s name like a curse.

Luniel watched her, mesmerized by the rise and fall of her chest, the play of her muscles as she sleepily brushed hair from her cheek. Soon, her breathing deepened, and he could tell by her warm contented scent that she slept. Finally, he squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his face to uncaring heaven.

God, he wanted to hold her. Slide into bed and wrap himself around her, smell her luscious damp hair. Peel off her shirt, stroke her shower-softened skin and ease her back into that gasping desire.

He wasn’t deaf. He’d heard her in the shower, her sighs as she touched herself in the streaming water. The sexiest fucking thing he’d ever heard. For all he knew, she did it every day and twice on Sundays, but he hoped she was thinking of him when she stroked herself. He knew what she felt like, the smooth slick heat of her secret flesh under his fingers, the hard little pulse where her pleasure centered, and he’d wanted to join her. Taste her essence, suck that pretty bud into his mouth and feel her shudder.

But he’d nearly killed her, only a few minutes ago. Imagining himself worthy to make love to her was the worst, most sinful kind of denial.

He opened his eyes, willing his hands not to shake. There she lay, fresh and beautiful, only a few thin cloth layers covering her nakedness. The sight of her hard nipples under that t-shirt when she walked out of the bathroom nearly undid him. He’d wanted those in his mouth, too.

Temptation licked his skin aflame. He could touch her right now, at least pretend to. Hover inches away, turn her skin to bumps under soft wing breeze. Make her beautiful nipples harden again. Ease the sheet from her thighs, breathe softly on
the sensitive skin there until she parted her legs, and inhale, imagining he was sliding his tongue between her luscious folds and into her heat…

Yeah. You know who does that, Lune? Stalkers. Crazy people. Sickos who can’t get laid.

But sweet heaven, he was hard for her again. He’d have a fucking bruise if he didn’t relax. His balls already ached from ill temptation, and he hopped off the bed and stretched to ease the cramp. Morgan slept on, her rose-dark lips parting on a sigh, and the image of her lowering that mouth onto him, taking his cock between her lips, wrapping her tongue around his shaft and sucking him deep, only made his pants stretch tighter.