Revelation (31 page)

Her body shuddered with lust. Her stomach cramped, aching to be sated. Fuck, she was so hungry, she was getting turned on. Lune stroked her hair, and his strong wrist brushed her cheek. She could see the veins, blue and pulsing, and desire burned deep in her belly. Crunch her teeth into that taut skin, tear a slow chunk of flesh free and swallow, the blood pouring…

Something inside her wailed dimly in horror and disgust. Noisy thing. She kicked at it.
Be silent, thing. I’m hungry.

And a dark and sultry whisper caressed her ear, tainted
bright with a hell-spelled smile.
That’s a good girl. Yummy angelflesh, munch crunch slurp. You eat.

Why, I think I shall.
Her eyes slitted, crafty. Tasty angel, so virtuous. Wouldn’t even take her when she’d asked him to. A splurt of hellcurse in his blood would do him good. He liked her. Wanted her. She knew that. His tongue between her legs had felt so good. And she longed for sensation, taste, smell, touch, anything to slake this raging hunger. Mouth full of meat. Body filled with his hard flesh. Eat. Fuck. Both.

She sighed, and curled against him in the cushions, arching her back to press her breasts against his armored chest. Her nipples tweaked hard, and she shivered, feverheat sliding over her like the hot licks of a lover. Mmm. He’d taste so good.

“Luniel,” she murmured, the demon’s spell cutting a seductive edge to her voice. “Touch me.”

Morgan’s whisper scorched Lune’s shoulder, ripe with hellcurse. He smoothed her hair, his heart racing. “No, Morgan, you’re sick. I have to make you well.”

And how the fuck would he do that? He had nothing. Heaven had deserted him. He was probably already damned…

She pressed her half-naked body against him on the sofa cushions, murmuring darkly with pleasure and devil-warped desire. “Mmm. You feel good. Touch me. I’m so hot, Lune, I’m burning up. I need to feel you.”

His flesh ached. Even in sickness, she was so beautiful, he burned. Her naked skin was so soft, so inviting, the dark lace of her bra so thin. He wanted to tear his armor off and crush her breasts against his bare chest, feel those taut little nipples rise against his skin…

Blood rushed to all the wrong places, and his mind stumbled, blind. All wrong. She didn’t mean it. She was sick. He couldn’t…

His mouth dried. “Hush, love. You’re fine.”

“No.” She gathered her hair above her head, arching into full view. Her jeans were undone, offering a tantalizing glimpse of creamy belly, the fine dark blush where hair grew. She slid her hands down her thighs and pushed the denim downwards.
Underneath, she was naked, and moisture slicked silvery between her legs. “No, Luniel. I need you inside me. Touch me. I know you want to. I’m aching for you. Make me well.”

His wing light sprang alive, spilling treacherous lust. The warm female scent of her desire inflamed him. He wanted to grab those smooth hips and pull her onto him, feel her hot wet flesh enfolding him. Inhale her demon-scented breath, and die in her embrace.

She laughed, low and seductive, and his feathers shivered, hot and taut. She rid herself of her jeans, and crawled towards him. Her dark curls tumbled invitingly. “Shy, my handsome angel? Don’t be. I know what I want.”

He scrambled back from her, thoughts racing as hard as his pulse. He had to help her. Make her stop. Did he have any holy water left? It might still work, he still believed, after all, even if they didn’t believe in him and sweet fucking heaven, he was hard for her, she was so damned beautiful and he wanted to pin her under him and push her thighs apart and fill her, fuck her, own her…“Morgan, stop it. Let me…oh, shit.”

She pushed him onto his back and climbed on. She locked her thighs around his hips, and rubbed herself against his aching cock with a sultry sigh. Her lace-clad breasts crushed against his armor as she bent to whisper, her lips an inch from his. “I want you to fuck me, lover. So deep and hard, I can’t breathe. I want you to sit me on your lap and bite my nipples while you fuck me and make me come. I want to slide your cock into my mouth and suck you until you explode. Wouldn’t that feel good?”

Fuck, it’d feel so good he’d probably die. “Wait. Don’t do that. Stop it…”

But she’d already slid her hands to his hips, unbuckling his bloodstained leather beneath her. Her burning hands found his straining cock, and at the first expert stroke of her nails he groaned and pressed up against her, his balls clenching tight. His body tingled all over, weak. Heaven, he was so sensitive. So hard.

Morgan laughed, her wicked hands doing things to him he’d only ever dreamed of. She leaned over him, her lovely breasts hovering in thin lace, and he couldn’t help reaching for her, caressing them, sliding his hands behind her to unclip her bra and get her naked.

She crooned in satisfaction, rubbing her breasts into his palms. Her dark pink nipples jutted. Hellfire, he wanted to suck on them, make her moan. They were smeared with blood. He didn’t care. He just wanted to…
holy fucking Jesus.
She slid the head of his cock against her slick wetness, and he nearly howled in frustration. He could feel the dimple of her entrance, rubbing on him, so firm and tight. And so deliciously hot. Her fever made her flesh burn. Fuck, how amazing that’d feel, wrapped around his cock as he pushed inside her to the hilt…

No.
Lune gripped her hips and levered her off him.

“Come on, sweet angel. Take me.” She writhed, luscious, breasts and limbs and dusky woman scent and, Christ, how he’d ever stopped was beyond him.

But he had to. This wasn’t her. Not his beautiful Morgan. Just the hungry virus, a fevered dream. And screwed if he’d have her like this.

He fought her into his arms, ignoring her kicks and struggles, and dived for his cool white bathroom. His spelled knife still lay on the sink where he’d left it, and the vanity mirror glared at him, accusing. He laid her in the bathtub and held her down by one shoulder. She struggled, whimpering, her pretty lips trembling. “Please. I want it. You have to. I need it so badly. I’m so fucking hungry for you, I’ll die. Please.”

He dropped the plug and flipped the water on cold. It rinsed off blood and dirt, and she squealed, the fever fighting back. She slid her hand over his hip into his pants, trying to undress him, and licked her swelling rosy lips. “Mmm, let me taste you. I want you in my mouth. Give it to me, Lune.”

He jerked away, yanking his buckles tight before he could give in. A hot ache stabbed. He barely fit, he was so hard. He stuffed his hand in the pocket—ouch—and yanked out his last blessed jar.

The water glimmered in his grip, angry blue. For all he knew, it’d burn him as well as her. But he didn’t have time to care. He popped the lid with his thumb and emptied it into the bath.

The water splashed. Glittered. Faded.

A sob clutched Lune’s throat. He couldn’t save her. Couldn’t scare Vorvian’s curse from her body. And this glorious, maddening, intoxicating woman would die, eaten up by fever and hunger and cruel demon vengeance.

What a fucking waste.

He gripped the bathtub, shaking, and banged his forehead against it. His grief, his guilt, the anguish of losing her seemed so weak and selfish. Pointless. But his heart still screamed, a lost howl of reckless fury, and it was all for her.

Morgan crushed hungry fists in his hair, drooling, trying to tug him closer. The metal bath crunched in his fists. Her brilliant love for life, cut so short. That fire in her eyes as they argued, her bright animation as she talked of science and medicine and wanting to help people. Eternal torment was hideous, sure. But life on this earth was the brief sunlit flash that made it all worthwhile, and now hers was gone.

He loved her. It wasn’t a question anymore. She’d stolen his heart, and he wanted her at his side forever. But what he wanted didn’t matter a damn to him now.

Tears dripped onto the floor, the first he’d shed in eight hundred long years of shame and denial, and his shattered heart cried out to heaven.

Don’t let her die. Do what you want with me, I don’t care. Just don’t let her blink out like this. Let her have her life. It’s worth so much more than mine.

Glare blinded him, and glory whispered hot over his feathers.

He blinked, clearing his eyes. A faint golden shimmer surrounded him, heaven’s light, the warm glow he’d thought was lost.

His heart skipped. Was it a sign, that golden shimmer? So long since he’d felt the gentle touch of heaven, anything other than a grudging flash of glory to keep him alive.

But this felt kind, enlightening. Almost…tender.

Morgan thrashed in the running water, gnawing for him. Her teeth grazed his knuckles. They stung and sizzled, holy on unholy, and in a wild flash of inspiration, Lune knew what he had to do.

Swiftly, he fumbled behind him on the sink. The cool spellsilver of his knife licked his fingertips, and he grabbed it and jammed the stinging point against the hollow of his throat.

His pulse jerked, desperate, trying to escape. But he steadied his hand with a deep breath.
My blood for hers. My life for hers. My soul for hers. All that I am, all that I have. Sweet heaven, just let her live.

Luniel closed his eyes, and drove the blade deep into his throat.

Pain stabbed to his core. Blood splashed red into the water, down his armor, onto Morgan’s fevered skin. She howled, sizzling. Lune choked, but jammed the blade harder, twisting with the last shred of his strength, and then crimson sheeted everywhere and he couldn’t hold the knife anymore.

Dizzy, he fell forwards against the bathtub. His ears screamed deaf. His limbs slackened, nerves imploding. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Could only feel the blood, throbbing against his skin as it forced out under pressure. It spilled over Morgan, washing her in hissing crimson as the demon’s curse fought back.

She struggled and choked, steam curling from her burning flesh. Blue sparks of glory ignited, and sank glittering under her skin. Her pretty mouth stretched in agony. Her body convulsed, and retched, and from her mouth spilled bile and chewed flesh and…a slithering black devilworm that hissed and gnashed jagged teeth.

Lune gasped, but no air went in. Scarlet mist flooded his eyes, and he barely saw the horrid curse-thing drop thrashing into the red-stained water. It shrieked, thwarted, and dissolved in a blue flash and a twist of ashen smoke.

Morgan sucked in a shuddering breath. Her mouth opened, a stop-motion scream, and then Lune’s vision died.

Satisfaction made him smile inside. He’d given her the best of him. He’d never made love to her. Never told her how he really felt. But that didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. Only Morgan.

He crumpled, his strength drained. He couldn’t feel his limbs. The knife ripped out and hit the water, a distant slow-motion splash. God, he was so cold, here in the dark. Her scent shimmered, and drifted out of reach. His flesh cooled, and in his ears, his pulse faded. Slowed. Stopped.

Silent. Black. Empty. The first eternal second of forever. He drifted, dim, waiting for the flash of hellfire.

A dull ache spread through Morgan’s limbs from the blackness, as if she woke from a tense and ugly sleep. She groaned, and forced her sticky eyelids open.

Pale tiles greeted her. Her head clunked on lacquered steel. Warm clear water splashed. She looked down, dazed. In the bath. Naked.

She fought to sit up, slipping. Her whole body ached like she’d worked out for hours, and her muscles shriveled, weak. She coughed, raw, and gripped the side of the tub to rise.

Luniel lay on the white floor, silver armor shining, enveloped in a soft blue glow. His black wings sprawled limp. Beside him, fallen from his hand, his silver-steel knife gleamed.

“Lune?” A dry croak. “Lune, are you okay?”

He didn’t move. Wasn’t breathing. And in a cruel flash, Morgan remembered everything.

Kissing that foul demon, the vile worm creature that slithered down her throat. Fever, wracking her body with agony and insane hunger. The crunch of flesh between her teeth and…
oh, God. No
.

She’d eaten. Swallowed human flesh. Let that cursed zombie touch her, lick her, grope its loathsome fingers over her, smear her in filth and rotten skin…

Her face burned, and she dry retched, painful, her guts desperate to be cleansed. But nothing came up.

She wiped her eyes, coughing, and grabbed a towel to wrap
herself in before scrambling to her knees at his side. His warm blue light flowed over her, soothing, but it couldn’t burn away her self-disgust. She’d touched him, while the sickness twisted her wits. Kissed him. Tried to seduce him, so she could eat. All in the grip of the horrid virus, sure, but she’d said and done things that made her skin burn and her guts cramp with shame.

And then he’d killed himself. Bled himself dry with his silver-spelled blade. For her.

“Lune, wake up.” Her whisper choked her, sick. She smoothed his hair, tugging it away from his face. He was so warm, she thought distantly. So fragrant and fresh. No blood. No wound. Healed. But he didn’t move. She pressed two fingers for his pulse. Nothing.

Tears spilled out, scorching. She ached, deep inside where she’d sworn she’d never let him close, never let him deceive her.

Well, he hadn’t deceived her.

He’d given everything for her. He’d let the demon escape. Drained out his life. Thrown away his soul. And now she’d be without him forever.

She buried her face in his warm feathers, inhaled his sparkling scent, twisted her fingers in his rough-silk hair. The hot blue glitter of mercy stung her skin, harsh and unforgiving. She didn’t deserve mercy.

Her tears slicked hot. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered against his lips. “I should have believed in you. You earned it. I called you a liar, Lune, but the truth is”—she swallowed tears, the confession too late, a dying shot of starlight in her soul—“I’m the liar. I…I care for you. I was just too scared to let you care for me. And now you’ll never know. I’m so sorry—oh!”

White light cracked like thunder, burning away the blue.

Her ears rang. And Luniel sucked in a shuddering breath.