Uriel's Descent (Ubiquity #1) (13 page)

This was different from being with Gabe. More sensual. All of her sank into it, not just her body. Warmth danced along her skin and coiled with her thoughts before it wrapped her fractured nerves in salve. Gabe was mystery and lust and guilt. Michael was safety.

He pressed against her back. It would be so easy to fall into more than training right now. It was so tempting.

“Concentrate on what belongs to you, what’s brushing your skin—the electricity in the air, not the physical.” The steady rhythm of his breathing soothed her. “Do you feel what I mean?”

“Yes.” She did, intensely and vividly. She was in a trance. But not an externally induced one like last night. This was all hers, evoked by Michael’s attention and patience. She couldn’t remember a time when her thoughts were so calm. She concentrated on his words and followed each instruction. She didn’t know how she was going to fight like this, but the experience was pleasant enough that she didn’t care.

It was too quiet. When did he stop talking? The air shifted around her. It was so subtle, she doubted she’d recognize it under other circumstances. Like a light breeze caressing her skin. Being in tune with her surroundings, she noticed it as easily as she would a strong gale. Even as she opened her eyes, she shifted her right arm to chest level, and raised her left to cover her gut. She reacted before she could process her own movements, deflecting Michael’s blow with the larger blade, twisting under his arm, and coming to a stop with the wooden dagger resting at his stomach, dull blade nudging his skin.

I did it.
Giddiness flowed through her. And then the rest of her world came into focus. One of his arms was still held captive above her head, blocked by her sword, and his free hand gripped her other wrist.

He locked his gaze on hers. The softness from earlier was gone, replaced with fire, lighting her up. “Just like that.” His voice dropped an octave.

She wanted to show she understood but didn’t want to move. Every inch of her begged to close the distance between them, to rest her hands on his still-heaving chest, to see what it would be like to kiss him. Was she even allowed to do that? He was one of the holiest of holy. Was he above that kind of thing?

Gabe wasn’t. This was different. More subtle, but at the same time, more alive.

Something clattered behind her. Michael dropped his practice weapon. His breathing mingled with hers. Intensity smoldered in his eyes. She wanted to fall into that sharp combination of light and dark.

He glided his palms along her arms until he reached her hands. His touch drew desire down her skin. He loosened each of her fingers, and the wooden blades fell to the ground. The rest of the world faded into the background until she and Michael were the only things in existence.

“I don’t know what it is about you.” Gravel lined his words. “But you’re temptation wrapped in wonder. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

He dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers. This was safe and gentle and all consuming. Every bit of her wanted it.

She kissed back, nipping at his bottom lip, sliding her hands along his chest as she memorized every inch of definition through his shirt. He groaned and tangled his fingers in her hair. That single, primal sound dug into her chest and squeezed.
God, this is incredible.

He parted his lips, and she darted her tongue into his mouth. Her skin burned with need, and her heart clenched with something achingly familiar she couldn’t quite grasp. She shifted her weight against him, sighing at the friction. He rested his free hand at the small of her back and grazed her spine with his fingertips.

She wanted more. To strip off everything between them. To trail her tongue along his skin and taste sweat and desire. Want ached between her legs. If lust was always this intense, no wonder cherubs got addicted. She cruised her hands down his chest and tugged the bottom of his shirt.

He nudged her back with a soft
no
.

Disappointment and hurt crashed around her as the cool air rushed in to replace his heat. “What?” She couldn’t keep the pang from her question.

He raked his fingers through his hair. “At the risk of sounding cliché… It’s not you; it’s me. And believe me, you’re definitely a temptation.”

Bloody fucking hell.
He was kidding, wasn’t he? He really was too good for something as simple as base lust. She crossed her arms, trying to force anger in to cover her hurt. It didn’t block the throb behind her ribs, but it made her feel more in control. She should have known. But the gaping hole inside wouldn’t go away. “You felt fine to me.”

“Physical and intimate distractions… I kind of try and stay away from them.”

Even if he hadn’t spent most their time together swapping touches with her, gazing at her, telling her how fucking tempting she was, his explanation didn’t make any sense. They shared a kiss, not a marriage proposal. Also, angels didn’t actually do things like stay celibate. He obviously held himself to different standards. She just wished she knew what those were. “I get it.”

“I don’t think you do. Let me explain.”

As he spoke and moved, an image flashed into her mind. It was him, but the setting was different. In her thoughts, sand and rolling dunes superimposed themselves over the dojo. Michael still stood in the middle of it all, but instead of workout clothes, he wore robes. The man standing in front of her spoke, and his words overlapped those in her memory. “If we do this, everything changes. It’s not as simple as sex.”

“What if that’s the point?” The words passed Ronnie’s lips, but they weren’t hers. “We’re not supposed to stay stagnant. Imagine what we get in return.”

Here-and-now Michael’s eyes grew wide. “What?”

The single question was enough to wash away the foreign memory. She blinked and shook her head, and her vision returned to normal. “Nothing. I… Thanks for trying with the fighting and all. I think I’m better off not knowing.”

“Met— Ronnie.”

The slip in names sent a dagger through her, and she tried not to fumble while she pulled her shoes on.

“Told you this wasn’t meant to be your life.”

This shouldn’t hurt. Ronnie shouldn’t care. Sure it was one hell of a kiss, and Michael was kind, but something told her he was good to everyone. So why did her insides feel like an imploded mess? He didn’t want anything to do with her. He was only interested in the voice in her head. Even thinking the words made her feel as if she was being forced through a paper shredder.

“Ronnie. Don’t leave things like this. Talk to me.”

She wanted to believe the pleading was directed at her. That the sincerity in his voice was because he wanted her to stick around, not Metatron.

But Ronnie couldn’t buy into that delusion. Was he, even for a moment, spending time with her? Or was today all about reliving things with Metatron? Was yesterday? How had Ronnie not seen that? For as strongly as Metatron reacted to him, of course he felt the same way.
God.
The entire thing dug a vast hole in her chest. She couldn’t look at him. They’d pretend this never happened—as long as she could make the ache inside go away—and then life would go on. “I’ll see you around.”

Michael sank to the mats and scrubbed his face in frustration. Why didn’t she let him explain? Besides the obvious reason: he made a terrible slip. He didn’t have any difficulty noticing Ronnie was her own demon. She radiated a uniqueness. She even picked different weapons from the ones Metatron used—a sword and dagger instead of two blades of the same length.

But in his head, for so long, he associated
Ronnie
with an affectionate nickname for Metatron. It was careless, even so.

That kiss… It still hummed on his skin and flooded his thoughts. He hadn’t been celibate over the centuries. Staying in a physical form as much as he did, he wasn’t sure he would have survived without getting laid.

He didn’t have a better way to phrase his hesitation, though. Telling her this was more emotional. That he didn’t want to fall in love. It felt a bit severe given they just met. He didn’t mean anything immediate, but people always took things wrong.

Not being able to get her out of his head told him it was the right decision. He just didn’t know how long he could stick to his resolve. In a few seconds more, he would have pinned her to the wall, stripped off her shirt and shorts, and explored every inch of her. Another kiss like that, the right smile from her, and he wouldn’t push her away next time.

If he couldn’t exercise control where Ronnie was concerned, he needed to back off.

Someone knocked on the dojo door, jarring him from his rambling thoughts, and he frowned. Technically, he was in heaven right now, and he doubted Ronnie was back in his condo, so someone with enough power to see the door wanted to talk to him.

Grateful whoever it was used the existing door instead of creating a new one in the middle of his practice mats. He hopped to his feet and crossed the room to open the door, expecting to see Gabriel or Lucifer on the other side.

He stepped back in surprise. His guest was almost as tall as he was and thin with blonde hair reaching halfway down her back. “Abaddon.”

She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, posture casual. “Do you have time for an old friend?”

“I do.” That’d be a nice change of pace. He stepped aside. “Do you want to come in?”

“I was hoping we could walk. I need an excuse to stretch my legs.”

Curious how so many pieces of Michael’s past were converging now. In his experience, coincidence only went so far. “Just let me grab my shoes. I have to admit…” He tugged his sneakers and socks on. “…you aren’t at the top of my people-I-expect-to-come-knocking list. How long has it been?”

“I lose track.” Her tone was casual. She fell into step next to him when he joined her. They were really in heaven.

He hadn’t been here in ages. Work didn’t call for it. The atmosphere of the place collided and coursed around him like highly-charged air. It was almost foreign, but at the same time, comforting. It was nice to be home. “Two, three hundred years?”

“Something like that. Great Northern War I think.”

The visit was starting to feel less casual and friendly and more contrived. He didn’t like second-guessing his associates. Did dealing with Lucifer so closely have that impact on him or was there more to it? “What brings you to my neck of the world?” he asked.

As they strolled, flowers and green bloomed, changed, and shifted around them, lining the stone path. Heaven rearranging itself to their mixed ideas of beauty. Michael wanted to appreciate it, but it was ethereal—not tangible—so the vibrant colors, the potent floral scents, were all in his head. Literally.

Abaddon fiddled with a snap on her denim jacket. “Are the rumors true?”

An open-ended question, given how often life turned on its head over the past few days. “You know I’m not one for gossip.”

She was loyal to Gabriel, something that bothered Michael since hosts were supposed to serve Him, not other angels. If she wanted information, other sources offered more than he did, making him wonder what he knew that she couldn’t get elsewhere.

“I heard you sold your soul.” She glanced sideways at him, a smile playing on her face.

He raised his brows. “I don’t think the devil’s buying what I have to offer.”

She laughed, and it sounded forced and hollow in the ever-shifting environment. “Rumor is you’ve gone corporate. Upper management at Ubiquity.”

“That’s hardly a secret.”

“What happened to individual reformation?” she asked.

He missed it terribly. Already. “I’d like to get back to it, but this is a priority right now.” He left out mention of Ronnie and wasn’t sure why. She didn’t seem to be much of a secret either. However, he doubted many people knew she hosted Metatron, or was anything more than a demon getting special treatment.

“I want in.”

“To Ubiquity?” Michael stared at her for several seconds. Did he misunderstand? She was old and powerful. A warrior and assassin. Not a paper pusher.

She didn’t meet his gaze, but moved to the next button on her jacket and twisted it in circles. “I want to make a difference.”

“Why wait until I’m there? Why not go to Gabriel?”

“I’m asking you, as an old friend.”

The hosts of heaven may not be as gifted at double-talk and deception as Lucifer’s students, but when an angel wanted to keep a secret, they could go to a lot of lengths to pretend it didn’t exist. “I’m more of a figurehead than anything. Even if I did have that kind of sway, I can’t push you to the front of line. You’d start at the bottom like everyone else. The world’s got better uses for your talent.”

“I want to help.” She was starting to repeat herself. “This is big stuff, right? Getting worse? Maybe there’s an opening in security.”

“Ubiquity doesn’t really do security. If they did, you’d be stuck behind a desk a lot of the time anyway.” He tried one more time. “Why do you want the job?”

She jammed her hands in her pockets, and kept her gaze on her sandaled feet. “I was just thinking… If there was some newbie angel or demon out there doing captures, and they didn’t know how to fight, they might need an escort.”

That was oddly specific.

“I hear rumors,” She added before he could decide if he wanted to prod for more, or shut down the conversation. “That, you know, maybe training methods are shifting…? Some recruits are starting work without the proper physical training?”

Michael had never been good at interrogation or dragging the truth from someone. He could tell when people were lying, and that was where he spent most of his time.

He could peck at Abaddon’s story all day, and probably not get anything more than awkward answers. He might uncover her intention after enough slips, but he wasn’t in the mood for that. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Really?” She grinned—the most genuine expression he’d seen on her since she arrived.

“Sure. I’ll let you know.” It would be interesting to get her in the door there, if for no other reason than to keep an eye on her and see what she was up to.