Ordinarily, the barrier against entering was a null sensation, a feeling of blankness. The holy symbol actively resisted the supernatural with its brightness. Valerie turned her face away, trying to adjust her eyes.
Lance rubbed his body against hers as he crossed the threshold. Such a wicked tease. She ground her hips against him as he passed, reveling in the way his eyes turned hot and dreamy and half lidded.
He kissed his fingers and touched them to the center of the cross. “Come into my parlor,” he whispered. “Stay the night.”
The ward disappeared.
Valerie edged her way past the cross. Some mischievous spirit from her youth made her grope his behind.
His aura was constantly in motion, warming her and touching her even under her clothes. Every time she moved, hot sparks of excitement prickled her skin.
Her vagina fluttered. “You're asleep on your feet.”
“Aren't vampires supposed to watch people sleep?” he countered, locking the door behind them.
Valerie snorted before she could stop herself. “Only vampires with no self-respect.”
He kissed her, soft and sweet. “Stay.”
“Oh, yes,” she whispered against his cheek. His golden stubble brushed against her lips, a pleasant rasp.
Lance yawned against her neck. “Sleep with me.”
She stepped back and shook her head. “I'll patrol.”
“Betty and Veronica are on it. But if you insist. You'll want something to read.” Crossing to a walnut bookshelf, he handed down a thick, red leather-bound book with the words
The Treaty of Prague: the Anatomy of an Insurrection
embossed in gold on the spine. “You might like this.”
She held the tome as he shuffled down the hallway, stripping off his shirt and dropping it on the floor behind him. Shoes, socks, and jeans landed like a trail of bread crumbs in the forest leading toward his bedroom.
She watched him go, an eyebrow winging up to her hairline. Like she was going to pick up after anyone but herself.
“Wake me before you sleep,” he mumbled. “I want to kiss you good morning.” With that, he fell asleep.
What a sweet boy. Not every vampire lost it under the sun. She could last nearly a week without sleep. Speaking of which.
Frowning, she prowled around his single-story cottage. Every window was already locked, every door to the outside had double dead bolts. This mortal took his security seriously. She nodded with approval. Poor security led to disaster.
Beyond his everyday measures, he had superior paranormal defenses. The hags were obviously protective and more than capable. The cross would be a difficult, though not impossible, obstacle for any supernatural being to overcome.
The legends of how consecrated ground and religious relics stopped the so-called Unnatural creatures in their tracks held a kernel of truth, but not in the way humans expected.
Valerie reached through the pulsing barrier. Her fingers hovered just above the center of the cross. She and her kind were not forbidden the comfort of faith. Had she not spent her entire mortal life fighting for the Catholic Church? She shook her head. The irony of that had not been lost on her.
Rather, the unity, harmony, and loss of ego represented by religion painfully countered the inherent chaos that sustained a PNC's existence. Vampires and the others were created during Lucifer's rebellion. They had been created by The Maker to keep the wayward Fallen Angels company, not made in tender contemplation like mortals.
If a supernatural were willing to bear the pain of every cell crying out in confusion, they could cross any threshold they wanted. Take what you want from life and pay the price, she thought, and turned away from the foyer and its dangerous contents.
Duty fulfilled, she noticed his décor. In the living spaces, he liked color. Original paintings lived in real frames over a crimson leather sofa. Throw rugs softened the scuffed wooden floors. Handmade oak bookcases cradled a messy assortment of books stacked any which way. One butter-yellow wall sported a locked gun rack with gleaming rifles and handguns. A pole arm and a sword leaned against it. Her warrior came with his own armory.
Some framed documents caught her attention. An honorable discharge of one Lance Soleil from the Army Rangers brought a smile to her face. They could compare war stories. His chaplaincy and seminary credentials completed the story of his education.
Off to one corner, nearly hidden on top of a bookcase, a framed picture lurked in the shadows. Gently, she lifted it, careful not to disturb the dust. A very young Lance and another boy posed in front of a rocky river. She peered at the dark-haired teenager. Intelligence and keen awareness showed in his eyes and his cocky grin. He was shorter than Lance, but no less potent in his sexual appeal.
She touched the glass over that dark-haired tempter's mouth and put the photo back in its corner. One final glance at the picture, then she sat down with the book Lance had handed her.
In two minutes, she tossed it on the wooden table and went in search of a different read. She'd lived through all that. What did he have that she hadn't experienced?
A cracked book at the very bottom of the bookshelf finally drew her fingers.
Fallen Angels: A Literature Review,
written by Josephine O'Neill, the most famous hunter of Dracula's Paranormal Corps.
Josephine had been a powerful woman. Valerie hadn't known that her honorable enemy had written a book.
A variety of sources (Appendix Four) document the story of Lucifer's pride. All these sources have only one point of agreement: God cast Lucifer and his allies out of Heaven for daring to challenge the Divine Order.
None of them comment on the Divine's capacity for forgiveness. Are the Fallen damned forever? If so, what does that say about the belief in an all-merciful, all-powerful, loving Higher Power?
Early myths (Cone, Smith, et al, Appendix Five) tell the story of a loophole in the banishment from Heaven. If those who rebelled were willing to ride the Wheel of Life and to serve the lowly beings that God had created, they could learn the humility necessary to offset their sin of Pride.
The earliest known version of the Fall (Papyrus 1079, informally called the Eviction Notice, Appendix 1) gives tantalizing hints that some members of that Host have attempted the redemption. One intriguing passage hints that the nascent angel is sent a guide to encourage the Fallen toward right action (Eviction Notice, plate 2).
The Eviction Notice implies that penitents are stripped of their memories from their previous existences until they survive a cathartic event (Appendix 3), usually around eighteen years of age. At that time, they learn of their previous choices.
If they survive the revelation, they come into semi-angelic powers; health, speed, heightened strength. They can be identified by a glowing aura and a weakness for desire.
The Eviction Notice also hints that the Angel's Rebellion created Paranormal Citizens (historically called the Shadow Races in older texts).
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... As The Creator made the angels for harmony, the creatures of fear were made for times of chaos and transition.
(translation Cone, Smith)
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It is not mentioned if any Fallen have succeeded in their tasks, or if they preferred to Reign in Hell rather than Serve on Earth.
She closed the cover, suspicious. The aura, the powers. Could he be? Had Mother Teresa or that boy in Rwanda been Fallen Angels on the wheel? Valerie drummed her fingers. This could be very bad. Or very good. She had pleasant memories of angels.
Bucharest
December 1476
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Vlad splashed through the shallows of the Dambovita River. The Angel of Death followed. Enormous black feathered wings opened wide and stirred the air. Tattered gray robes never touched the ground.
“Come, Vlad Dracula. Time for your judgment.”
“I will not leave this earth until my revenge is complete.” Vlad bared his teeth even as he his legs trembled with the strain of remaining upright. “Salih still lives. I will not yield.”
Death hovered. “Your revenge comes with a price. A very high one.”
“I will pay it.”
Death floated above the water. The wind from its wings rippled the river.
“You will know nothing but darkness. You will eat nothing but the most precious of fluids. You are cast out from Divine consolation. And know this: your revenge will not be complete until you face what you fear the most.”
“I fear nothing,” Vlad scoffed.
Icy cold glittering hands held Vlad's face. “Then be damned.”
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A guttural moan drew her down the dark hallway.
Curiosity alone had her following him into the bedroom. She had to know. Was he a Fallen?
If so, his bedroom would tell her. Did anything more reveal a person's innermost self as their bedroom, their most vulnerable place?
She glided to the doorway, looking in, but refusing to let herself enter and touch. It certainly wasn't desire that made her look. He wouldn't be worth anything sexually until he got some sleep.
Stark
was the only word that came to mind. Ignoring the almost expected surge of moisture between her legs at his rich clove scent, she studied the room. A simple wooden dresser held his keys, wallet, and holster. The queen bed, a plain platform of blond wood, boasted a low shelf with tissues, lip balm, and a glass of water, but nothing else. No lubricant, no girly magazines, not even a book. Even the bedspread was plain white linen.
No photographs or artwork on the white walls. She'd seen monks' cells with more sensuality than this bedroom. Penance rode Lance Soleil like a crazed jockey.
Valerie watched his aura swirl as he slept. The black at the pit of his soul pulsed and hissed with the pride and wrath of the original sinners.
She pressed her fist to her chest.
Lance Soleil
was
a reincarnated Fallen Angel. Lance Soleil understood everything there was to know about redemption and temptation.
Valerie Tate, formerly Vlad Dracula, had finally found a true mate.
Chapter 21
November 1
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The invigorating aroma of rosemary teased Lance awake. A buzz of low-grade arousal tingled his nipples and cock. Valerie must be here. He rolled over and opened his eyes.
There she was, standing in his doorway. She had changed her clothes during the night. Faded blue jeans clung to her gently curved hips. A gray sleeveless T-shirt concealed her breasts, but it hugged her lean frame like jasmine on the fence between two lovers. Her black hair shone like a raven's chest. She wore no makeup, no shoes, no jewelry. She looked like a virginal eighteen-year-old Italian girl about to buy her papa a cappuccino.
Until he looked into those dreamless hazel eyes.
Lance was no fool. He knew that she had not changed her mind about killing Radu. At best, she was humoring him until she got within staking distance of the other vampire.
Best to keep her busy, then.
“Sunrise?” It couldn't be. The light against the wall was too bright, too high for a late-fall dawn.
“Been and gone. It's noon.” The woman leaned her shoulder against the plaster wall and tucked her fingers in the front pocket of her jeans. The gesture drew his sleepy gaze to her flat belly and the V at the top of her legs.
He stretched. Her eyes glazed as the sheet draped down his body. It caught on his pubic hair, both hiding and revealing the shape of his hardening penis.
Her words finally penetrated his brain.
“Shit!” He scrambled with the blanket. “The shelterâ”
“All taken care of. Glenath is there, running things more competently than any general. She's got everyone and everything eating out of her hand. I've sent her a bottle of bourbon. No sign of the tiger.”
She tilted her hip in a blatant erotic challenge.
James Dean had never been Lance's type before, but her attitude lit a growl in his throat.
“We have a problem,” he finally said.
“Other than you're being hounded by the press, your shelter is being swarmed by every homeless being in a three-county radius, and a crazy vampire wants to kill you?” The husky note in her voice made all his problems sound like a seduction.
“Nope.” He threw the pillow back to reveal his pulsing erection. “This is the problem.”
Finally, he was ready to party. Valerie had been waiting all night to claim him as her own.
Lance ran his hand up his thigh to his balls, rolling and displaying them, and she suddenly couldn't care less how long he had slept. His blue eyes shone with green tints, like the center of afire. As Lance beckoned her, his gaze holding hers as surely as if he had a knife to her face, she knew that what was about to happen would change her in ways she could not predict.
Valerie knelt on the bed, consenting to everything.
She refused to close her eyes. She would fully embrace her destiny. And as his lips touched hers, she opened her mouth and let that angelic fire sweep through her.
Lance's mouth was warm and sweet, coaxing and demanding.
If I had a soul left, I'd sell it for a lifetime of this.
Her hands came around his shoulders and held on. He tipped his head and stroked her tongue, turning the kiss hot and lewd. Valerie shivered and felt her long-buried sexual aggressiveness erupting from its own grave. She clasped him to her.
Lance held her face in his hands, careful of the soft skin of her cheeks. Her bones had a curious delicacy to them, as if death lightened her. If she had been any more serious in life than she was now in death, Lance didn't want to know. The wet, enthusiastic point of her tongue flicking his brought him back to the present. The clutch of her hands on his shoulders signaled desperation. He nipped at her lower lip.
“Are you in a hurry?” He landed a soft kiss on the side of her mouth before she could overtake him again.
Lance had escaped death last night. He wanted his lovemaking to linger.
“Do you have to catch a train?” He licked her ear.
At his words, her shoulders softened. When their teeth met in another deep kiss, she moaned. He moaned back. The sounds vibrated between them until his penis throbbed in time to their beat.
She clutched at his back, her hands running up and down his spine until she reached his backside.
The man owned a perfect ass, muscular and round, fitting her hands, filling her palms with fire. She took that hot butt and squeezed hard, forcing him against her. Using her hold as leverage, she twisted and shifted until he completely covered her, his crotch riding against hers.
He looked like an avenging angel above her, his hair haloed in the light.
Lance shook his head and thrust hard, shoving. The seam on her pants rode against her clitoris, sending silver-hot bolts of sensation up her body.
“Ahhh!” She threw her head back and bared her teeth, the muscles in her neck twitching.
He eased back as she tried to force him against her. Valerie's eyes popped open and she frowned.
“Come on,” she protested.
Lance shifted against her center and pulled back, a playful tease. “This isn't a race. Sex is a dance, a story, music even. We have all day.” He lowered himself back on top of her. “So, give me your lips.”
A hot blush rose up her cheeks at his rebuke, gentle as it was. She obeyed and flicked her tongue at him. He smiled and kissed her.
Even after his admonishment, she still wiggled and squirmed under him, trying to get him to speed up. Poor girl. Just couldn't give up control for anything. One would think she hadn't had sex in years.
He ran a finger down her neck, enjoying the way she whipped her head around. Her body wasn't cold, more room temperature. Her skin shivered at the simplest caress as he experimented with touching her exposed skin. He finally slid his hand down to her breast and bit his own lip at her uninhibited howl. His erection tried to burrow through her clothes.
Instead, he yanked her shirt up to her collarbone and swallowed at the sight of her small bare breasts. Perfect mouthfuls, he barely had time to think before action took over. Her pink nipples fit against his palate like they were made for him to suck.
“So warm,” she hissed between gritted teeth. “So damned warm.”
Her face twisted up like she was in pain. Lance nearly faltered, but the way she pulled him against her crotch told him that she was in the throes of something she didn't expect.
She pulled her shirt all the way off. Before it cleared the bed, she dragged her nails down his back. Slowly, slowly, he dragged the tip of his tongue from nipple to nipple, tracing figure eights across her breastbone, licking hot stripes over and over her breasts. Her fingers clawed at his back as he teased and flicked her left nipple over and over.
How could a man of God be such a tormenting devil? Every attempt to wrest control ended up with her still on her back. Every grappling move she made, he countered, while he kept touching her, licking her, stroking every millimeter of her skin.
Slivers of panic shoved into her brain, fighting the sensual fog. No human should have been able to do that.
“I can keep up with you. Imagine what we could do if you stopped fighting and played with me,” he murmured in her ear before he caught her lobe between his teeth. Goose pimples chased down her neck at his breath and touch. His golden aura rolled around her.
His voice felt like silk against her sensitive nerve endings. The promise in his words froze the panic, had her opening her eyes.
Slowly, deliberately, her gaze trained on his face, she reached down between their bodies and undid the snap on her pants. He shifted aside as she dragged the zipper, tooth by rasping tooth down to its base. Her knuckles grazed his impressive erection, hot against her center.
Somewhere deep inside, she knew how a woman would do this. Feminine power, unfamiliar but delightful, filled her as she lifted her hands over her head and braced them against the wall above the bed frame.
Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes as he leaned back on his heels. She puckered her lips ever so slightly at him as his warm fingers tugged her naked. He eased them down her hips, kissing his way past her black boy-cut panties.
Cool air met her skin as he pulled her slacks all the way off her body and tossed them to the floor. Lance lifted his eyebrows at the sight of the fine dark hair on her legs.
Defiance had her lifting her eyebrow right back at him. The transitory fashion of body shaving held no sway over her.
“Is there a problem?” she challenged.
“Not at all.” He ran his palms up and down her legs. He smiled. “Just getting acquainted.”
Making good on his words, he leaned over and dragged his lower lip over the inside of her calf. She closed her eyes at the hot glide forcing the hair against the grain. It ever so slightly tickled. He drove her mad for what felt like hours as he introduced himself to every nook and cranny of her. Her fingers shredded the sheets as she fought with her dominant impulses to let him set the pace. As she spread her legs and let him in, the pleasure rewarded her a million times over.
Lance fitted the head of his penis inside of her, chewing on his lip at the clench and flutter of her tiny muscles against his swollen cock. A vampire should be cold everywhere, but she was hot inside, hotter than any human woman he'd ever known. He knew her now: cold on the outside, white-hot on the inside. Her nails clenched on his shoulders. Her legs wrapped around his hips before he could thrust. The muscles in her thighs trembled, but she stayed still, waiting for him.
Inch by fiery inch, they joined fully. He looked up from the enticing sight of their bodies and saw tears of blood leaking from the corners of her eyes. His elbows took his weight so he could wipe her tears with his thumbs. Red smeared over her forehead and temples.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Are you okay?”
“Don't stop,” she rasped back at him. She flexed her thighs and forced him into her even farther. “If you stop now, I will rip your ears off and string them up over my bed.”
Her tongue flickered around her fully extended fangs.
He pulled out and thrust back in. “Threats are so sexy,” he ground out.
She rippled and clutched him to her. Her strong arms held him fast as she looked him in the eyes and whispered, “Ride me.”
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Lance rolled onto the bed. Lying on his side, he wiped the pinkish glitter of Valerie's tears and sweat off of her face with his thumb. “How are you doing?”
She turned onto her side to face him. The look on her face told him everything he needed to know.
Lance couldn't keep the smug grin from his expression. Was there anything in the world like the face of a sexually satisfied woman?
Her hands wiggled free from between their bodies and she gave him a long slow stroke down his back. Her hand stopped.
“What's wrong?”
Valerie opened her eyes. “You have scars?” she asked, tracing the ridge of skin.
“What, you want to see them?” he asked, startled. His few lovers, the ones who hadn't been scared off by his calling or his knowledge of the supernatural, had been either disturbed or repulsed by his scars. Valerie nodded and pushed him over. She crawled, naked and sticky and smelling of sex and blood, on top of him. She started at his neck, touching and pushing the skin around.
“You've been bitten?” She poked at a knot above his collarbone.
He was surprised she had taken him so literally. But she was a literal sort of woman, after all. “No. My friend pushed me off a fence,” Lance answered.
She kissed the white skin. “I'm glad you've not been bitten.” She found the smooth lines that crossed his forearms. “You attempted suicide?” She frowned at the direction and pattern. “You attempted suicide badly?”
Lance snorted. “No. That was Afghanistan. Some night hags had taken up residence in the caves and objected to having to make room for us.”
She touched these scars with her soft cheek. “What happened?”
“They live outside.” He grinned at her.
She stared into his eyes. Whatever she saw satisfied her, for she nodded and moved on.
She found the tiny indent on his stomach. “And this?”
“Appendectomy.” Lance smiled inwardly at her frown. Scars for her must only mean conflict. Healing left scars, too.
She placed a kiss low on his belly, right above his pubic hair and continued down his body.
“These?” She placed her hand on his thigh.
“The tiger, last night,” Lance said.
Valerie nodded again. She looked down to his feet and traced the Alpha and Omega tattoo there. A slight wisp of steam came up from her fingertip. “So you are always walking on holy ground?” she asked, blowing on her finger.