THE DARKEST ANGEL (10 page)

CHAPTER TEN

W
IND
WHIPPED
THROUGH
Bianka’s hair, and she knew that Lysander was flying her somewhere with those majestic wings. She had her eyes closed, too busy enjoying him—finally!—to care where he took her. His tongue made love to hers. His hands clutched her hips, fingers digging sharply. Then she was tipping over, a cool, soft mattress pressing into her back. His weight pinned her deliciously.

And it shouldn’t have been delicious. This was not a position she allowed. Ever. It caged her wings, and her wings were the source of her strength. Without them, she was almost as weak as a human. But this was Lysander, honest to a fault, and she’d wanted him forever, it seemed. And as wary as he’d been about this sort of thing, she was afraid any type of rebuke would send him flying away.

Besides, he could do anything he wanted to her like this...

“No one is to enter,” he said roughly.

Moaning, she wound her legs around his waist, tilted her head to receive his newest kiss and enjoyed a deeper thrust of his tongue. White lightning, the man was a fast learner. Very fast. He was now an expert at kissing. The best she’d ever had. By the time she finished with him, he’d be an expert at
everything
carnal.

His erection, hard and long and thick, rode the apex of her thighs. She could feel every inch of him through the softness of his robe. His arms enveloped her, and when she opened her eyes—they were inside his cloud, she realized—she saw his golden wings were spread, forming a blanket over them.

She tangled her hands in his hair and pulled from the kiss. “Are you going to get into trouble for this?” she asked, panting. Wait. What? Where had that thought come from?

His eyes narrowed. “Do you care?”

“No,” she lied, forcing a grin. No, no, no. That wasn’t a lie. “But that adds a little extra danger, don’t you think?” There. Better. That was more like her normal self. She didn’t like his goodness, didn’t want to preserve it and keep him safe.

Did she?

“Well, I will not get into the kind of trouble you mean.” He flattened his palms at her temples, boxing her in and taking the bulk of his own weight. “If that is the only reason you are here, you can leave.”

How fierce he appeared. “So sensitive, warrior.” She hooked her fingers at the neck of his robe and tugged. The material ripped easily. But as she held it, it began to weave itself back together. Frowning, she ripped again, harder this time, until there was a big enough gap to shove the clothing from his shoulders and off his arms. “I was only teasing.”

His chest was magnificent. A work of art. Muscled and sun-kissed and devoid of any hair. She lifted her head and licked the pulse at the base of his neck, then traced his collarbone, then circled one of his nipples. “Do you like?”

“Hot. Wet,” he rasped, lids squeezed tight.

“Yeah, but do you like?”

“Yes.”

She sucked a peak until he gasped, then kissed away the sting. A tremor of pleasure rocked him, which caused a lance of pride to work through her. “Why do you desire me? Why do you care if I’m good or not?”

A pause. A tortured, “Your skin...”

Every muscle in her body stiffened, and she glared up at him. “So any Harpy will do?” She tried to hide her insult, but didn’t quite manage it. The thought of another Harpy—hell, any other woman, immortal or not—enjoying him roused her most vicious instincts. Her nails lengthened, and her teeth sharpened. A red haze dotted her line of vision.
Mine,
she thought. She would kill anyone who touched him. “We all have this skin, you know?” The words were guttural, scraping her throat.

His lashes separated as his eyes opened. His pupils were dilated, his expression tightening with...an emotion she didn’t recognize. “Yes, but only yours tempts me. Why is that?”

“Oh,” was all she could first think to say, her anger draining completely. But she needed to respond, had to think of something light, easy. “To answer your question, you want me because I’m made of awesome. And guess what? I will make you so happy you said that, warrior.”

“No. I will make
you
happy.” He ripped her shirt just as she had done his robe. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and her breasts sprang free. Another tremor moved through him as he lowered his head.

He licked and sucked one nipple, as she had done to him, then the other, feasting. Savoring. Soon she was arching and writhing against him, craving his mouth elsewhere. Her skin was sensitized, her body desperate for release. Yet she didn’t want to rush him. She was still afraid of scaring him away. But if he didn’t hurry, didn’t touch her between her legs, she was going to die.

“Lysander,” she said on a trembling breath.

His wings brushed both her arms, up and down, tickling, caressing, raising goose bumps on her flesh. Oh, that was good. So good.

He lifted from her completely.

“Wh-what are you doing? I wasn’t going to tell you to leave,” she screeched, bracing her weight on her elbows.

“I do not want anything between us.” He shoved the robe down his legs until he was gloriously naked. Moisture gleamed at the head of his penis, and her mouth watered. Reaching out, he gripped her boots and tore them off. Her jeans quickly followed. She, of course, was not wearing any panties.

His gaze drank her in, and she knew what he saw. Her flushed, glowing skin. The aching juncture between her legs. Her rose-tinted nipples.

“I want to touch and taste every inch,” he said and just kind of fell on her, as if his will to resist had abandoned him completely.

“Touch and taste every inch next time.” Please let there be a next time. She tried to hook her legs around his waist again. “I need release
now.
”

He grabbed her by the knees and spread her. Her head fell back, her hair tangling around her, and he kissed a path to her breasts, then to her stomach. He lingered at her navel until she was moaning.

“Lysander,” she said again. Fine. She’d jump on this grenade if she had to; if he wanted to taste, he could taste. “More. I need more.”

Rather than give it to her, he stilled. “I...took care of myself before following you this day,” he admitted, cheeks pinkening. “I thought that would give me resistance against you.”

Her eyes widened, shock pouring through her. “You pleasured yourself?”

A stiff nod.

“Did you think of me?”

Another nod.

“Oh, baby. That’s good. I can picture it, and I love what I see.” His hand on his shaft, stroking up and down, eyes closed, features tight with arousal, body straining toward release. Wings spread as he fell to his knees, the pleasure too much. Her, naked in his mind. “What did you think about doing?”

Another pause. A hesitant response. “Licking. Between your legs. Tasting you, as I said.”

She arched her back, hands skimming down her middle to her thighs. Although he already held her open, she pushed her legs farther apart. “Then do it. Lick me. I want it so bad. Want your tongue on me. See how wet I am?”

He hissed in a breath. “Yes. Yes.” Leaning down, he started at her ankles and kissed his way up, lingering at the back of her knees, at the crease of her legs.

“Please,” she said, so on edge she was ready to scream. “Please. Do it.”

“Yes,” he whispered again. “Yes.” Finally he settled over her, mouth poised, ready. His tongue flicked out. Then, sweet contact.

She expected the touch, but nothing could have prepared her for the perfection of it. She did scream, shivered. Begged for more. “Yes, yes, yes. Please, please, please.”

At first, he merely lapped at her, humming his approval at her taste.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
If he hadn’t liked her in that way, she wasn’t sure what she would have done. In that moment, she wanted—needed—to be everything
he
wanted—needed. She wanted him to crave every part of her, as she craved every part of him.

Even his goodness?

Yes, she thought, finally admitting it. Yes. Just then, she had no defenses; she’d been stripped to her soul. His goodness somehow balanced her out. She’d fought against it—and still had no plans to change—but they were two extremes and actually complemented each other, each giving the other what he or she lacked. In her case, the knowledge that some things were worth taking seriously. In his, that it wasn’t a crime to have fun.

“Bianka,” he moaned. “Tell me how...what...”

“More. Don’t stop.”

Soon his tongue was darting in and out of her, mimicking the act of sex. She grasped at the sheets, fisting them. She writhed, meeting his every thrust. She screamed again, moaned and begged some more.

Finally, she splintered apart. Bit down on her bottom lip until she tasted blood. White lights danced over her eyes—from her skin, she realized. Her skin was so bright it was almost blinding, glowing like a lamp, something that had never happened before.

Then Lysander was looming above her. “You are not fertile,” he rasped. Sweat beaded him.

That gave her fuzzy mind pause. “I know.” Her words were as labored as his. Harpies were only fertile once a year and this wasn’t her time. “But how do you know that?”

“Sense it. Always know that kind of thing. So...are you ready?” he asked, and she could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

He must not know proper etiquette, the darling virgin. He would learn. With her, there was no etiquette. Doing what felt good was the only thing that drove her.

“Not yet.” She flattened her hands on his shoulders and pushed him to his back, careful of his wings. He didn’t protest or fight her as she straddled his waist and gripped his length by the base. Her wings fluttered in joy at their freedom. “Better?”

He licked his lips, nodded.
His
wings lifted, enveloped her, caressing her. Her head fell, the long length of her hair tickling his thighs. He trembled.

Would he regret this? she suddenly wondered. She didn’t want him to hate her for supposedly ruining him.

“Are
you
ready?” she asked. “There’s no taking it back once it’s done.” If he wasn’t ready, well, she would...wait, she realized. Yes, she would wait until he
was
ready. Only he would do. No other. Her body only wanted him.

“Do not stop,” he commanded, mimicking her.

A grin bloomed. “I’ll be careful with you,” she assured him. “I won’t hurt you.”

His fingers circled her hips and lifted her until she was poised at his tip. “The only thing that could hurt me is if you leave me like this.”

“No chance of that,” she said, and sank all the way to the hilt.

He arched up to meet her, feeding her his length, his eyes squeezing shut, his teeth nearly chewing their way through his bottom lip. He stretched her perfectly, hit her in just the right spot, and she found herself desperate for release once more. But she paused, his enjoyment more important than her own. For whatever reason.

“Tell me when you’re ready for me to—”

“Move!” he shouted, hips thrusting so high he raised her knees from the mattress.

Groaning at the pleasure, she moved, up and down, slipping and sliding over his erection. He was wild beneath her, as if he’d kept his passion bottled up all these years and it had suddenly exploded from him, unstoppable.

Soon, even that wasn’t enough for him. He began hammering inside her, and she loved it. Loved his intensity. All she could do was hold on for the ride, slamming down on him, gasping. Her nails dug into his chest, her moans blended with his. And when her second orgasm hit, Lysander was right there with her, roaring, muscles stiffening.

He grabbed her by the neck and jerked her down, meshing their lips together. Their teeth scraped as he primitively, savagely kissed her. It was a kiss that stripped her once more to her soul, left her raw, agonized. Reeling.

He was indeed her consort, she thought, dazed. There was no denying it now. He was it for her. Her one and only. Necessary. She laughed, and was surprised by how carefree it sounded. Tamed by great sex. It figured. After this, no other man would do. Ever. She knew it, sensed it.

She collapsed atop him, panting, sweating. Scared. Suddenly vulnerable. How did he feel about her? He didn’t approve of her, yet he had gifted her with his virginity. Surely that meant he liked her, just as she was. Surely that meant he wanted her around.

His heart thundered in his chest, and she grinned. Surely.

“Bianka,” he said shakily.

She yawned, more replete than she’d ever been.
My consort.
Her eyelids closed, her lashes suddenly too heavy to hold up. Fatigue washed through her, so intense she couldn’t fight it.

“Talk...later,” she replied, and drifted into the most peaceful sleep of her life.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

F
OR
HOURS
L
YSANDER
held Bianka in the crook of his arm while she slept, marveling—this was what she’d craved most in the world and
he
had given it to her—and yet, he was also worrying. He knew what that meant, knew how difficult it was for a Harpy to let down her guard and sleep in front of another. It meant she trusted him to protect her, to keep her safe. And he was glad. He
wanted
to protect her. Even from herself.

But could he? He didn’t know. They were so different.

Until they got into bed, that is.

He could not believe what had just happened. He had become a creature of sensation, his baser urges all that mattered. The pleasure...unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Her taste was like honey, her skin so soft he wanted it against him for the rest of eternity. Her breathy moans—even her screams—had been a caress inside his ears. He’d loved every moment of it.

Had he been called to battle, he wasn’t sure he would have been able to leave her.

Why her, though? Why had
she
been the one to captivate him?

She lied to him at every opportunity. She embodied everything he despised. Yet he did not despise her. For every moment with her, he only wanted more. Everything she did excited him. The pleasure she’d found in his arms...she had been unashamed, uninhibited, demanding everything he had to give.

Would he have been as enthralled by her if she had led a blameless life? If she had been more demure? He didn’t think so. He liked her exactly as she was.

Why? he wondered again.

By the time she stretched lazily, sensually against him, he still did not have the answers. Nor did he know what to do with her. He’d already proven he could not leave her alone. And now that he knew all of her, she would be even more impossible to resist.

“Lysander,” she said, voice husky from her rest.

“I am here.”

She blinked open her eyes, jolted upright. “I fell asleep.”

“I know.”

“Yeah, but I feel asleep.” She scrubbed a hand down her beautiful face, twisted and peered down at him with vulnerable astonishment. “I should be ashamed of myself, but I’m not. What’s wrong with me?”

He reached up and traced a fingertip over her swollen lips. How hard had he kissed her? “I’m...sorry,” he said. “I lost control for a moment. I shouldn’t have taken you so—”

She nipped at his finger, her self-recrimination seeming to melt away in favor of amusement. “Do you hear me complaining about that?”

He relaxed. No, he did not hear her complaining. In fact, she appeared utterly sated. And he had done that. He had given her pleasure. Pride filled him. Pride—a foolish emotion that often led to a man’s downfall. Was that how Bianka would make him fall? For as his temptation, she
would
make him fall.

With a sigh, she flopped back against him. “You turned serious all of the sudden. Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Do you want to talk about
anything?
”

“No.”

“Well, too bad,” she grumbled, but he heard a layer of satisfaction in her tone. Did she enjoy making him do things he didn’t want to do—or didn’t think he wanted to do? “Because you’re going to talk. A lot. You can start with why you first abducted me. I know you wanted to change me, but why me? I still don’t know.”

He shouldn’t tell her; she already had enough power over him, and knowing the truth would only increase that power. But he also wanted her to understand how desperate he’d been. Was. “At the heart of my duties, I am a peacekeeper, and as such, I must peek into the lives of the Lords of the Underworld every so often, making sure they are obeying heavenly laws. I...saw you with them. And as I have proven with my actions this day, I realized you are my one temptation. The one thing that can tear me from my righteous path.”

She sat up again, faced him again. Her eyes were wide with...pleasure? “Really? I alone can ruin you?”

He frowned. “That does not mean you should try and do so.”

Laughing, she leaned down and kissed him. Her breasts pressed against his chest, once again heating his blood in that way only she could do. But he was done fighting it, done resisting it. “That’s not what I meant. I just like being important to you, I guess.” Her cheeks suddenly bloomed with color. “Wait. That’s not what I meant, either. What I’m trying to say is that you’re forgiven for whisking me to your palace in the sky. I would have done the same thing to you had the situation been reversed.”

He had not expected forgiveness to come so easily. Not from her. Frown intensifying, he cupped her cheeks and forced her to meet his gaze. “Why were
you
with
me?
I know I am not what your kind views as acceptable.”

She shrugged, the action a little stiff. “I guess you’re my temptation.”

Now he understood why she’d grinned over his proclamation. He wanted to whoop with satisfied laughter.

“If we’re going to be together—” She stopped, waiting. When he nodded, she relaxed and continued, “Then I guess I could only steal from the wicked. Or not at all. I don’t know. Argh! I need to think about this some more.”

It was a concession. A concession he’d never thought she would make. She truly must like him. Must want more time with him.

“So listen,” she said. “My sister is getting married in a week, as I told you before. Do you want to, like, come with me? As my guest? I know, I know. It’s short notice. But I didn’t intend to invite you. I mean, you’re a Sent One.” There was disgust in her voice. “But you make love like a pro so I guess I should, I don’t know, show you off or something.”

He opened his mouth to reply. What he would say, he didn’t know. They could not tell others of their relationship. Ever. But a voice stopped him.

“Lysander. Are you home?”

Lysander recognized the speaker immediately. Raphael, the warrior. Panic nearly choked him. He couldn’t let the man see him like this. Couldn’t let any of his kind see him with the Harpy.

“We must discuss Olivia,” Raphael called. “May I enter your abode? There is some sort of block preventing me from doing so.”

“Not yet,” he called. Was his panic in his voice? He’d never experienced it before, so didn’t know how to combat it. “Wait for me. I will emerge.” He sat up and slipped from the bed, from Bianka. He grabbed his robe, or rather, the pieces of it, from the floor and wrapped it around himself. Immediately it wove back together to fit his frame. The material even cleaned him, wiping away Bianka’s scent.

The latter, he inwardly cursed.
For the best.

“Let him in,” Bianka said, fitting the sheet around her, oblivious. “I don’t mind.”

Lysander kept his back to her. “I do not want him to see you.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve covered my naughty nakedness.”

He gave no reply. Unlike her, he would not lie. And if he did not lie to her, he would hurt her. He did not want to do that either.

“So call him in already,” she said with a laugh. “I want to see if all Sent Ones look like sin but act like saints.”

“No. I don’t want him inside right now. I will go out to meet him. You will stay here,” he said. Still he couldn’t face her.

“Wait. Are you jealous?”

He gave no reply.

“Lysander?”

“Stay silent. Please. Cloud walls are thin.”

“Stay...silent?” A moment passed in the very silence he’d requested. Only, he didn’t like it. He heard the rustle of fabric, a sharp intake of breath. “You don’t want him to know I’m here, do you? You’re ashamed of me,” she said, clearly shocked. “You don’t want your friend to know you’ve been with me.”

“Bianka.”

“No. You don’t get to speak right now.” With every word, her voice rose. “I was willing to take you to my sister’s wedding. Even though I knew my family would laugh at me or view me with disgust. I was willing to give you a chance. Give us a chance. But not you. You were going to hide me away. As if
I’m
something shameful.”

He whirled on her, fury burning through him. At her, at himself. “You
are
something shameful. I kill beings like you. I do not fall in love with them.”

She didn’t say anything. Just looked up at him with wide hurt-filled eyes. So much hurt he actually stumbled back. A sharp pain lanced
his
chest. But as he watched, her hurt mutated into a fury that far surpassed his.

“Kill me, then,” she growled.

“You know I will not.”

“Why?”

“Because!”

“Let me guess. Because deep down you still think you can change me. You think that I will become the pure virtuous woman you want me to be. Well, who are you to say what’s virtuous and what isn’t?”

He merely arched a brow. The answer was obvious and didn’t need to be stated.

“I told you that from now on I’d only hurt the wicked, right? Well, surprise! That’s what I’ve done since the beginning. The pie you watched me eat? The owner of that restaurant cheats at cards, takes money that doesn’t belong to him. The wallet I stole? I took it from a man cheating on his wife.”

He blinked down at her, unsure he’d heard correctly. “Why would you have kept that from me?”

“Why should it change how you feel about me?” She tossed back the cover and stood, glorious in her nakedness. Her skin was still aglow, multihued light reflecting off it—he’d touched that skin. Dark hair cascaded around her—he’d fisted that hair.

“I want to be with you,” he said. “I do. But it has to be in secret.”

“I thought the same. Until what we just did,” she said as she hastily dressed. Her clothes were not like his, did not repair on their own, and so that ripped shirt revealed more than it hid.

He tried again. Tried to make her understand. “You are everything my kind stands against, Bianka. I train warriors to hunt and kill demons. What would it say to them were I to take you as my companion?”

“Here’s a better question. What does it say to them that you hide your sin? Because that’s how you view me, isn’t it? Your sin. You are such a hypocrite.” She stormed past him, careful not to touch him. “And I will not be with a hypocrite. That’s worse than being an angel.”

He thought she meant to race to Raphael and flaunt her presence. Shockingly enough, she didn’t. And because he hadn’t commanded her to stay, when she said, “I want to leave,” the cloud opened up at her feet.

She disappeared, falling through the sky.

“Bianka,” he shouted. Lysander spread his wings and jumped after her. He passed Raphael, but at that point, he didn’t care. He only wanted Bianka safe—and that hurt and fury wiped away from her expression.

She’d turned facedown to increase her momentum. He had to tuck his wings into his back to increase his own. Finally, he caught her halfway and wrapped his arms around her, her back pressed into his stomach. She didn’t flail, didn’t order him to release her, which he’d been prepared for.

When they reached her cabin, he straightened them, spread his wings and slowed. Snow still covered the ground and crunched when they landed. She didn’t pull away. Didn’t run. Something else he’d been prepared for.

Clearly he knew very little about her.

“It’s probably best this way, you know,” she said flatly, keeping her back to him. The wind slapped her hair against his cheeks. “That was my afterglow talking earlier, anyway. I never should have invited you to the wedding. We’re too different to make anything work.”

“I was willing to try,” he said through gritted teeth.
Don’t do this,
he projected.
Don’t end us.

She laughed without humor, and he marveled at the difference between this laugh and the one she’d given inside his cloud. Marveled and mourned. “No, you were willing to hide me away.”

“Yes. Therefore I was
trying
to make something work. I want to be with you, Bianka. Otherwise I would not have followed you. I would have left you alone from the first. I would not have tried to show you the light.”

“You are so arrogant,” she spat. “You’re still in darkness yourself and you want to show me the light? Please! You claim to do good, but your actions don’t fit your words. You took something that belonged to me.”

“What?”

“My hea—freedom. And you know what else? You’re rigid. I will never live up to the person you want me to be. No one can.”

“You could try.”

She laughed again, this one bleaker, grim. “The scarves I took were made by child laborers. So I haven’t really done anything too terrible yet. But I will. And you know what? If you were to do something nauseatingly righteous, I wouldn’t have cared. I would still have wanted to take you to the wedding. That’s the difference between us. Evil or not, good or not, I wanted you.”

“I want you, too. But the way you feel now was not always the case, and you know it. You
would
care.” He tightened his grip on her. “Bianka. We can work this out.”

“No, we can’t.” Finally, she twisted to face him. “That would require giving you a second chance, and I don’t do second chances.”

“I don’t need a second chance. I just need you to think about this. To realize our relationship must stay hidden.”

“I’m not going to be your secret shame, Lysander.”

His eyes narrowed. She was trying to force his hand, and he didn’t like it. “You steal in secret. You sleep in secret. Why not this?”

“That you don’t know the answer proves you aren’t the warrior I thought you were. Have a nice life, Lysander,” she said, jerking from his hold and walking away without a backward glance.