Revelation (6 page)

He waved an impatient hand, and Zuul’s chained collar fell away. “Get going, filth. And remember what I said.”

“Yes, Master. May I humbly beg your indulgence, Master?” Zuul rushed up and knelt at his feet, glossy crimson hair falling to hide his face.

“What is it?”

The pain demon craned his bleeding neck upwards. His dark eyes flamed red with desire, and his lips shone wet. “Hit me again?”

Michael’s flesh stirred, and his lips curled in a smile. Then again, maybe he’d stay in a while.

He rose, slipping his silken wrap from his hips. Already, he was hard. “Ask me nicely.”

Zuul cowered in anticipation, and started to beg.

And soon, the room filled with the scent of blood and the demon’s shuddering screams.

Hot summer shadows ghosted around the summit of 30 Rockefeller Plaza, and in a puff of ashen breeze, Zuul materialized in human form, perched on a concrete pillar with his legs dangling over the edge. Seventy floors below, the city glittered and burned, oblivious.

He shifted, muscles aching deliciously, and a lazy smile licked his lips. Michael had beaten him within a breath of unconsciousness, and it had felt so good he’d made more than one mess on the floor. Then they’d fucked, and the hot hard thrust of the archangel entering him made Zuul scream with miserable delight. Angel and demon flesh burned like acid on contact, and the agony was a thing of beauty. Besides, the archangel’s cock was a fucking prodigy. Michael had come three times without losing his hard-on, and he’d only stopped because Zuul fainted and didn’t scream anymore.

Warm breeze lifted Zuul’s bloodred hair, and he bit his lip, tasting the memory. His body had already healed the damage,
but his lust for pain was insatiable. He devoured it, stored it up inside him and consumed it. It sustained him, and Michael’s appetite for dealing it out had yet to be sated.

Still, the handsome archangel was just a fling, a casual if scorching-hot affair. The real prize yet awaited him.

The reign of Satan. Living hell on earth. An eternity of endless, incomparable torture, dealt out by the most prodigious torturer of them all. Zuul’s dick got hard again just thinking about it, and he squirmed. The Lord of Pain. Nothing Michael offered could match that. The sooner this Apocalypse got going, the better.

Chill wind licked his skin, and the scalloped metal railing iced itself to his palms.

Zuul stumbled off the fence, his spine crackling cold. Skin ripped from his hands, delicious, but he paid no attention.

“Welcome, Zuul.” The deep, empty voice swirled around him like arctic wind.

Zuul’s guts knotted, though he could see no one. Just shadows, dark and shifting like a living creature.

Azaroth. Lord of Emptiness. Prince of Anguish. Bringer of Unholy Misery. The Demon King had many forms, human, animal and…elsewhat.

He bowed, shivering, and it wasn’t the flirty obeisance he gave Michael. This was pure terror. Somehow, he kept his voice steady. “My king.”

The shadows eddied, frost crackling on the glass walls. “What news?”

Zuul swallowed. “Michael is suspicious, my king. He sent me to find the one in charge.”

“Does he know I am responsible?”

“He said not, my king, and I believe him. His Tainted are tracking down the signs.”

“The Tainted Host.” Contempt cracked the glass, and fragments fell, whistled away by the wind. “Weaklings and hypocrites. I shall take pleasure in eviscerating their emotions. You have done well.”

“Thank you, my king,” said Zuul fervently. But his hands shook. The coming of Satan, bringer of the torment Zuul craved, was one thing. But Azaroth, Satan’s would-be savior…

He shuddered. Azaroth knew your darkest fears, and fed them to you mercilessly. Sought your deepest need, and tore it away from you forever.

“Very well, Zuul. You shall be rewarded.”

Agony spiked down Zuul’s spine, straight to his balls, the pain so intense and beautiful he whimpered and let himself go, a hot rending flood of sensation that crippled him. He fell to his knees, limp. His nerves howled, muscles turning to water. He crumpled onto his face and squeezed his thighs, but it was no good. He was going to dirty himself.

The shadows flickered mildly. “You know what to do now. My plagues must be allowed to take hold, Zuul, if Satan is to rise and return. My demon princes must proceed unmolested. See that they do.”

He felt Azaroth smile, cold as a corpse. “Y-y-yes, my king.” Stalk the Tainted, put obstacles in their way. Hinder their feeble efforts to stop Azaroth’s plan. Zuul had a posse of imps at his command that would do the job nicely.

“And Zuul?” Azaroth’s voice faded to an icy whisper.

“Yes, my king?”

The shadows drifted away, but Azaroth’s voice echoed deep in Zuul’s bones. “Defy me, and I’ll lock you in a fleshless prison for eternity, with nothing but numbness for company.”

Zuul’s bladder let go, and he crawled to his knees in terrified tears and stumbled away.

The woman fell, and Luniel caught her in his arms.

His mind stumbled. That gloryflash would only stun her. Her bullet couldn’t harm him. The wound had already healed, only a bloody smear left on his shirt. It didn’t matter. She’d shot him, calm and determined, though she obviously feared him. At the end, she’d understood what he was. He’d seen it in her lovely honey-dark eyes: blankness, then recognition, then amazement and distrust.

And now he held her, her lithe female body warm against his chest, and her cool dark hair spilled over his arms and her scent made him drunk on forbidden memory and he didn’t know what to do. Surely, someone had heard that gunshot, would come to help her. But no one had. The place was empty. They were alone.

Ithiel was dead, killed by a demon prince’s sword. A fucking demon prince. Christ. If Ithiel was a Vial Guardian, and the vial was stolen…Lune shuddered. The Apocalypse with Michael at the helm was scary enough. If demons were emptying the vials…

Catastrophe. Everything prophesied would be perverted. In the Book, the seven plagues cleansed the earth and made way for heaven’s victory in the final battle. If demons twisted His
holy wrath to their own ends, the opposite would happen. Evil would overrun the earth, and hell would win.

But first things first.

Morgan had seen both him and Ithiel uncloaked. Recognized them for what they were. She’d remember, and even with the remnants of his holy powers, he couldn’t trick that away. He should take Ithiel’s body and get rid of this Dr. Morgan Sterling, before she ran screaming to the world that she’d seen an angel.

But for some reason, he didn’t want to let her go. Her heartbeat raced lightly against his chest. It made his skin tingle into bumps, his feathers springing alive. Her breasts felt so soft and full. Her legs were so long and shapely in sheer smoky stockings, covered to the knee by that prim office skirt, but luscious. And she smelled so good, lab chemicals and soap, yes, but underneath, a dusting of glimmer-sweet perfume over the hot musky scent of female skin and sex.

He bent closer, sniffing, and a growl simmered in his throat. So delicious. He hadn’t held a human woman like this—one who wasn’t dead or screaming—in centuries. He’d forgotten how…tempting they were. And this one was exquisite. He’d seen her look at him, appreciation firing her gaze. Maybe he could just…

No. Get rid of her, Lune. Kill her while she’s still going to a good place, and get out of here. You know what happens if you get involved.

But his body reacted, blood pumping hot and hard between his legs, and the ache of longing in his flesh wouldn’t ease. She was beautiful. Any man would be tempted by those curving hips, her sinful dark hair, her lickable lips. But it wasn’t just her beauty that made him ache. It was the fire in her eyes. The defiance. The
screw you, angel, I don’t believe in you.

Made him want to claim her. Tame her. Lick and plunge and stroke that defiance into fever. Hold her down beneath him and pleasure her until she screamed his name in submission.

His cock twitched, and hardened further, and he groaned.
Yeah. Because that turned out so well last time.

Morgan murmured, stirring. Her lips parted as she breathed deeply. Her white coat and blouse pulled taut, revealing more of the soft curve of her breast. Her lacy black bra’s edge peeked out.
He wanted to slip his finger inside. Longed to pop the buttons, reveal what lay underneath. What color would her nipples be? He imagined the springy feel of them on his tongue. By the time he finished sucking and biting them, they’d be pink and hard, so swollen…

Yeah. Bad idea. Once demons got wind of any attachment, even a whiff of affection passing between angel and human, that human became a target for their vicious power games. Screwing around worked okay for Dashiel, because Dash truly didn’t care. He didn’t get attached. Lune wasn’t like that. He’d never been like that. Wherever he lay, he left a piece of his heart behind, and demons took sniggering delight in eating it up.

He’d seen enough souls spin screaming to damnation because of him. Just one, long ago. But one was enough.

Lune gritted his teeth in frustration. So what was he supposed to do, kill her? Just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time? She wasn’t his enemy. He wasn’t a murderer. And Christ, she smelled glorious. He could smell the soft wet flesh between her thighs. Wanted to ease his fingers inside her, stroke her, feel that moist warmth just one more time…

Can’t make love to her. Can’t kill her. What are you going to do, Lune? Walk away, now she’s seen what you are? There’s a word for people who’ve had one little glimpse of heaven. Insane. You think she deserves that, just because you blundered in here without paying attention?

Inwardly, he cursed, but the truth was inescapable. This was the twenty-first century. Modern humans were too damn reasonable, especially the science-y ones like Morgan Sterling. They couldn’t just accept this shit without explanation anymore. And he’d gone too far already to wash his hands of her now. She at least deserved the choice. He’d just have to make the best of a bad situation.

Yeah. Because it’s not like you just want her, or anything.

He drifted his lips over hers, letting their breath mingle, and magical glory tingled over his skin, a tiny euphoria spell he hoped would calm her down enough to talk. “Morgan,” he whispered, resisting the desperate need to slant his mouth over hers, taste her lips, kiss her until they both couldn’t breathe. “Don’t be afraid. Wake up.”

Morgan stirred, her slumber dissolving in gentle heat that wrapped her like a sparkling blanket. Cool air flowed over her skin, the mortuary’s familiar chemical odor, but the arms holding her were warm. A man’s arms, strong, protective, her head resting against his chest.

She inhaled, dreamy. God, he smelled fantastic, melted chocolate and whiskey and every sinful thing.

Lips brushed hers, a searing caress, his warm breath tingling her tongue. “Morgan,” he whispered, and her name sounded so soft and wonderful in his mouth. “Wake up.”

Warmth stole deep into her belly. The flesh between her legs tingled. Mmm. What a way to wake up.

“Don’t be afraid.” His whisper dizzied her, so calm and safe. “I won’t hurt you.”

His hair drifted over her cheek, long and silken, imbued with that powerful sweet scent, and she moaned in surrender and tilted her mouth up for his kiss.

His lips danced over hers, an intake of his breath. “Morgan…”

“Mmm.” She pressed closer. “Kiss me.”

And he did, with a soft groan. Oh, wow. So hot. So wonderful. So deeply sexy, she shuddered. His lips explored hers, tasting, tempting her to open. She parted her lips. His tongue teased inside to caress hers, and heat sparkled down her body, sinking deep into her flesh where she ached. And now he gasped, and kissed her harder, deeper. Her breasts swelled to be touched. Heat slicked between her legs, ready for him, and beneath her his body strained hard and tense. Oh, yes. She’d not been touched like this in far too long. She was so ready. How good he would feel, easing inside her…She sighed, and shifted her thighs apart, inviting.

A groan rumbled inside his chest. “Morgan. Don’t. We have to stop.”

Well, maybe so soon was unreasonable. She blinked, sleepy, and opened her eyes.

Soot-black hair tumbled on her shoulder. A massive chest, bare arms, curving male lips still shiny with her kiss. Burning
eyes, deep sky blue. And behind him…glossy feathers, blacker than black.

She jerked backwards, her heart pounding even harder.

Shit. The lunatic bird guy.

She’d let him hold her. Let him
kiss
her. And damn it all if he hadn’t felt as shiveringly, achingly good as any man she’d ever touched.

Hell, he
looked
better than any man she’d ever touched. And it was disgustingly fitting that an angel of God—or whoever—would be so gorgeous. So seductive.

All the better to screw you over with, my dear.

She tried to leap out of his embrace, but her feet found nothing. The bastard was holding her. Carrying her, effortlessly, like a bride over the threshold. She struggled, kicking. “Let me go, you brute!”

And he did, setting her gently on her feet. But his gaze didn’t let her go. It blazed deep into her body, rich with desire. He had a hard-on for her. At least he was honest about that.

Morgan staggered back, wiping her mouth, her thoughts racing. Her gun. No good. He’d already picked it up. In any case, she’d already shot him, and the wound was gone. Just a blot on his dark shirt. And no one had come running to help her. Did no one hear the shot? Had everyone gone home? And then, she’d kissed him. Opened her mouth to let him in, and he’d made her ache, for things and in ways that no man had for a very long time.

But he wasn’t a man. He was an angel, as mad as that sounded. And angels, no doubt, just like preachers, were all filthy liars.

She struggled to reset her mind, adapt, make it believe. Angels existed. Fine. That didn’t mean there was a God who cared. And it didn’t mean angels were good. On the contrary. She could never trust this…
creature
. No matter how good a kisser he was.