Repent in Love (6 page)

She saw her own eyes lit with desire, her body covered with
a sheen of sweat, and she felt what he felt as he moved deep inside her. He
began to rhythmically pump in her with long, hard strokes grinding into her
pelvis. Never had she been so thoroughly loved. Looping his arms under her
knees, he lifted Morta’s butt high each time he lunged inside her. Arching
back, he melded his hips to hers and went so deep his sac bounced at the
crevice of her ass. Mort couldn’t take any more. Her orgasm broke free and swept
from her in a never-ending river of cream.

Uri didn’t stop. He glided faster and harder into her pussy
over and over. He stayed in her mind, making her see it all. Feel everything.
I’m
coming, honey. I’m coming.

Cum shot from him in heated spurts. She pushed and ground
her hips against him, drowning in the wet sounds of their sex. More liquid slid
from her body and covered his cock as he continued to come.

Uri, I lo—

Shh, let me make you feel good.
The friction of his
thick penis rubbing the sides of her canal felt wonderful. Uri gulped air as he
rode her to the end and until his balls were empty.
See,
feel
what
you do to me? This is mine and I’ll never let you go. Never.
He rolled onto
his side and pulled her so close her swollen nipples stabbed at his chest.

Could he be whole without her anymore? The plan Uri had
devised in his mind was dangerous. If it went right, he’d have Mort for as long
as he wanted her. That was starting to feel like forever. If it didn’t work he
wouldn’t have to worry about anything—he’d be dead. The earth rumbled around
them. The sound disturbed Uri but he ignored it.

Heaven wasn’t happy he lay between the Fate’s thighs.

His hands smoothed over her silken skin. He touched every
spot as though it might be the last time. She’d opened to him like a flower and
he wanted her again. Her smell filled his lungs, causing his dick to rise and
nudge against her belly.

“I want you again.”

She laughed, her face snuggled against his neck. “I can
tell.” The heavy sigh following her words bothered him more than the thunder
that rolled through his domain. The broad, wet head of his hard-on had no
conscience, but how could he selfishly force his urge on her when she sounded
so sad?

“What bothers you?”

“You heard it. They will never allow us to be together.” Her
wistful voice ate at him.

“I don’t care what they want. Today, only your happiness
matters.” She jerked from his arms, stood and dressed herself before he budged.

“I need to leave.” The harshness of her words surprised him.

What had he said wrong?

“Stay with me.” She vanished into thin air, leaving a bone-deep
chill. “God damn it, Morta.”

Just
today
, Uri, is that all you want?

Aww hell, he hadn’t meant it like that.

Mort sensed Samael before she reached her domain. Death left
a trail smelling dawn-fresh. She didn’t need his crap, but there was no
escaping it.

The time had come.

“Hey, babe, how ya doing?” His facade of friendliness didn’t
fool her.

“I know why you’re here and I still don’t have it.”

“Well, that poses a little problem now doesn’t it?”

“Play your games somewhere else, Sam. Uri couldn’t have
gotten to Yael without help. He had an accomplice.” She glared at him.

“Doesn’t much matter, you lost the kid and it’s time to
finish this.”

He had a point. How had she let this happen? Just because
her panties got wet every time Uri breathed, that shouldn’t have stopped her
from performing her duty as the cutter of life. Shit, if she had Uriel’s thread
right now,
he
would be gone. Good riddance. That wouldn’t solve anything
either. Even now, facing Samael, she couldn’t erase him from her mind.

Today!
How dare he? She opened her heart up and all
he wanted was today. Screw him. Her body grew heated at the thought, and as if
on cue, moisture gathered in the seat of her fabricated underwear. “Yael will
not release the boy until Uri and I work out our differences.” She had no
choice. Death must have the information. Sam had been patient long enough and
Morta understood the rules. He had to finish what she started.

“You fucked up and somebody’s gotta pay. Death’s come a
knocking. What do you want me to do?”

“Why don’t you go get him?”

Laughter rang out in such a joyous way it almost fooled her.
But she knew better. That was the Grim Reaper’s signature cackle.

“I’ll not do your job for you, Mort. I understand your
problem but you can’t lay it at my door. I can give you a little more time.
Work some Fate magic, do what you need to do, but get it done quickly.” The
scythe in his hand clanged and cut at her floor, the rhythmic noise was scary
as hell. There could only be one response to his demand and leniency.

“Thank you, Sam. I’ll do the best I can.”

A chuckle escaped his lips and his silver eyes swirled at
her. “Babe, your best ain’t good enough. Not with Ram and Yael. Better ask your
boyfriend for help.” He slipped back into the atmosphere.
And I don’t
cackle.

Bastard.

I heard that.
The sound of his scythe slicing through
the air was accompanied by another eerie burst of laughter. A scorching wind
blew back into the room and Mort’s hands shook as she hugged her body.
Best
get your ass in gear.

His words hung in the air like a curtain of fire.

Shit happened in Death’s life every day—the same old shit.

He needed a vacation but things had suddenly become exciting
again. Aside from his love of football, in particular the Dallas Cowboys, Heaven
had been dull until lately. Part of it was because of his job. Being the Grim
Reaper didn’t change much from day to day.

Sam entered Michael’s office with a racket. His scythe clattered
along beside him, gouging anything in its path. Sometimes his weapon got on his
nerves, yet it would be like losing a limb if it went missing.

The general had summoned him but Sam didn’t expect to see
Ramiel.

His silver eyes twitched. These two together were unbeatable
but if he had to take them on, Sam would give it his best shot. He prided
himself on bringing death quickly to any who deserved it. Unless it called for
hurt.

He’d deliver a world of it to the recipient.

He eased into a big soft chair in front of the desk. Samael
used to wonder why Michael held the position he did at the Father’s right hand.
A few trips out with him in the old days had answered his question immediately.
Sometimes known as the
good
angel of death, Michael could be one scary
son of a bitch to deal with. Lucifer had nothing on the general.

“I feel honored you deigned to join us,” Michael said.

Letting his mirrored gaze settle on the angel behind the
desk he said, “Got tied up. How you two doing?”

Michael’s lips curled. “Don’t try that with me. I might just
let you see your own reflection of horrors. Any good news?” Steely silver eyes glinted
at Samael.

“You’re sitting here with Ram so I know you know exactly
what’s happening.
You
summoned
me.
Why?”

Michael had an infectious laugh. Today, Sam wasn’t buying
it.

“What is Morta doing about her problem?”

“Ram, are you going to sit there and say nothing?” Sam
didn’t like this one bit.

“What do you want me to say? You’re the one who put Yael and
Uri together.”

It dawned on Sam something was afoot. He leaned forward in
his chair. “Shit, man, he caught me off guard.”

“Must have been a good game, huh?” Ram grinned. “You’ll give
him some more time, right?”

“What?” Hell, no need to argue. He’d get the soul soon. “Okay,
okay. I sort of blew it maybe, but my guess is you two have a plan to speed
things up. So stop fucking with me already.”

Ram became serious. “He has Marcan.”

“So? Who is he?”

Michael answered him. “The Nephilim son of Marmaroth.”

If he hadn’t been sitting, Sam would have fallen over.

“Shit.”

* * * * *

“Don’t be stupid, Marcan. Sit. If you try to leave, I’ll
tear you limb from limb.”

“Christ, Uri. I only wanted to get something to drink.” A frosted
glass half-full materialized in his hands. They shook, sloshing beverage over
the sides. “Hey, thanks, fly-boy.” He took a huge swallow and his face turned
red. Only a thin line of clear liquid escaped from the corner of his mouth. Uri
had disguised the smell but he had to give the kid credit for not spewing it
out.

Unlike full angels, Nephilim weren’t impervious to the
effects of alcohol. “Gin’s your beverage of choice, right?” And it would loosen
his tongue.

“Look, dude, I’m not going back into that hole you locked me
in.”

“Come now, your rooms have every convenience.”

“Fuck you.”

“Be careful, Marcan. You have something I need. If we can
work together, you’ll be able to live.”

“You can’t kill me; Gramps won’t allow you.”

“I can make you
wish
you were dead.” Uri’s glare made
the gangly half-breed sit back. “I meant live outside of the space you
currently occupy below.” Uri let his words sink in.

The Father wouldn’t allow harm to come to a single Nephilim.
That’s why Uri had been assigned to watch over them with two objectives—keep
them alive and don’t let them harm innocents. The magical giant children of
angels and humans were a serious pain in his ass and a responsibility he could
do without. Their friendliness with Luke crossed the line and he’d have to deal
with that eventually. Uri’s only concern right now was garnering information
from the one in front of him.

The son of Marmaroth.

“I get it. What do you need me for?”

“How well did you know your father?”

“What?”

“I won’t ask again.”

“I don’t know, man. We didn’t fish together if that’s what
you mean.” The shocking blue bolt of light that pierced Marcan’s body carried a
warning. He flinched and pushed deeper into the cushions of the chair. “Damn
it! What do you want from me?” Marcan screamed.

Marcan had consumed souls of other Nephilim. To do that, he
had to have some of his father’s knowledge. Those he took would also have had
abilities bestowed on them by their angelic fathers. Those powers now belonged
to Marcan.

“How did you steal the others’ souls?” He twisted the
blazing bolt a little harder.

“I— Oww, shit, stop, okay. I’ll tell you.”

“Do not lie. I can make you very sorry.”

“It was easy. They were weak and stupid like their fathers.”
This Nephilim would be a force to be reckoned with. His lips curved into a
sneer when he should have still been in pain. “They believed too much in
goodness. They weren’t like us.”

Uri clasped his hands together to keep from wrapping them
around the kid’s neck. “I’m glad you recognize I’m not one of the good guys.
Talk.”

Time was running out.

“It’s simple, fly-boy. The blood. I ingest it, and the
feeling of power as their soul joins mine is absolutely delicious.”

Marcan showed no remorse. He actually licked his lips. If he
didn’t need him so badly, Uri would have put him to sleep for centuries right
then and there. He ran a finger down the jagged line on his face. It reminded
him of the last time he took things into his own hands. It hadn’t worked so
well.

Uri wasn’t surprised. It always came down to the blood.
God’s gift of life ran bright red through every living being’s veins. Without
it—there wouldn’t be life. “You’re worst then a damned vampyre.”

“Don’t hate, do I rag you about whizzing around like a bird?”

Uri fought to hold the glee from his eyes and the smile from
his lips. This half man, half angel was absolutely something else. He had no
inborn fear. Could be good or bad depending on who Marcan ran into, but Uriel
liked him. Young by heavenly standards, the boy had a lot of years to go before
he was considered grown. He made a mental note to keep him away from Luke.

“What else did you learn from your father? Think hard, I
want to know everything.”

“I didn’t lear—” Uri’s bolt lifted Marcan from the chair
flinging him into the far corner of the room. Another bolt pushed him into the
air where he banged into the cavern’s ceiling with a thud before landing back
in the chair.

“I asked you politely not to lie. The next time I won’t be
so nice.”

“I watched my father closely, some things you just pick up,
okay?”

“Did he ever mention the Fates?”

Uri looked at Marcan and could see his intelligent wheels
spinning. Pray God the little shit did not try anything.

“Ahh, this has to do with the pretty thing you blazed with a
fiery knife earlier. Nice ass on her. If I got my hands on that pussy—”

Uri blasted him with twice the power he had earlier. Marcan tumbled
over and over through the room and slammed into a wall, leaving the print of
his body in the crystal structure. Blood poured profusely from his nose and his
arm was bent at an odd angle. “If a single thought of her ever crosses your
mind again, I’ll tear it from your addled head. Do. You. Understand?”

“Holy shit.” Marcan rolled over and gurgled through his
bruised lips, “Yeah, I got it.” Tossed high into the air, he disappeared.

“Little fucker,” Uri cursed loudly. Now what? He’d have to
leave his questioning until another time.

He decided to visit Luke.

“Uri, good to see you. I’m on my way out. Want to come?”

“Not in the mood.”

“You’re never in the mood for fun anymore. What’s going on
with you?”

“You’re close to the Nephilim.” He raised his hands. “I’ve
been aware of it for years, don’t bother lying.”

“Who was going to lie? No reason to. I’m friends with them.
What do you want to know?”

Most of the halflings’ parents resided in Heaven, but some
didn’t. Uri needed information about one in particular who did not. “Marmaroth?”

“Go to hell, Uri. Don’t even think about it. Have you lost
what little mind you had left? Michael will take you down. Hell, the Father
will do more than scar you for life. And why do all of you think I want to get
involved in your bullshit?”

“Luke, I need some help here.” They used to get along well.
No angel hated Luke. The Devil held a special place in all their lives. Without
him, they wouldn’t be necessary.

“Chrissakes. Couldn’t you just sleep with her? Nothing but
trouble is going to come of this.” Luke paced back and forth across the floor a
few times. “I’ll give you one thing and that’s it. Ask the right question
because it’ll be your only one.”

A game the Fates themselves played. They would answer one
question. Uri searched deep in his mind, scouring every corner for the right
thing to ask. Luke meant what he said. Not saying a word, he walked the floor.
What would help him most? Knowing if Marmaroth lived? Because he wasn’t absolutely
sure. Marcan could answer that because of their familial connection. What else?
Though the angel in question had chosen to leave Heaven and give up being an
angel, he’d been one of the Father’s favorites. Might he still have a few
powers? Had he ever used the power Uri wanted to exploit? Shit. Everything had
become too hard. He still reeled from the way Morta had left him earlier. Would
she come back and stay if he could find them a way around this? A fickle woman,
she wanted him one minute and pushed him away the next. But she held a place in
his heart now and he could no longer ignore the fact that without her, his life
was meaningless.

“What the fuck?” He blurted out. Uri was tired of going over
and over everything plus he felt like crap.

“You have lost your mind.” Lucifer grinned widely. “Morta is
the answer to that question. Now, you going with me or not?”

“Son of a bitch.” He’d forgotten and spoken out loud in the
form of a question. “Luke, aww hell.” No point in arguing. He’d asked and been
answered.

This was not his day.

* * * * *

Morta sat beside her sister and watched the care she used in
weaving the threads of life together. How did she keep them all separate? They
appeared to be a jumble of string. Yet Nona knew each one. Colors wound together
belonged to couples. Listening to the Fate’s wheel turn and swoosh, Morta
glanced through the mess. Sadness crept over her as she realized Uri’s and hers
would never be bound together.

“Sister, what do you want?” Nona asked.

“Nothing,” said Morta. Nona laughed. “Don’t laugh at me,
this is a mess.”

“You are so transparent, Mort.”

“I’ve got to do something about this situation.” Breath
huffed from her lungs. She was tired. If only everything wasn’t so damn
difficult. Her heart ached to feel Uri’s arms around her and she wanted nothing
more than to lie beside him, feel the warmth of his body. Be enfolded in his
black-tipped wings. Love him.

Oh shit, the meshing!

Though Ramiel had pulled it off by sharing his angelic
powers with Yael, two heavenly bodies meshed together exuded such power that it
wasn’t allowed. She’d finally thought the words. What now? Once the idea ran
loose in her head, there was no way to pull it back. Yet all he wanted was
today. What about tomorrow, and the day after? Her hands rubbed together,
clenched and opened. All in time to the beat of Nona’s wheel. Crap.

“Ram and Osce have been here.” Careful to make it a
statement, she smelled their essence. They couldn’t have left too long ago, and
why were they here in the first place? Something was going on, and Mort needed
to know what.

“They left with Dec.” That wasn’t much to go on. Ramiel she
understood. He had carte blanche to Michael and the Fates. He even had the
Father’s ear. O shouldn’t have been here.

“Nona, are you going to make me drag it—” She stopped. No
questions yet.

“What is it you’d like to know?”

One question, the Fates lived by the rule themselves if it
involved their personal lives. Her mind whirred around and searched for the one
thing she really had to know. So many things were important, which more so? Osce
was often used as the angel’s hunter. Some trusted him with the welfare of
their exulted when they left their domains for extended periods. Damn.

“Who are they looking for?” Mort prayed she’d asked the
right question.

“Marmaroth.”

“What?” She had heard the Fate wrong. Impossible. Wait, Uri
had Marcan. Oh hell. The shit was aimed at the fan.

“You heard me.”

“It can’t be. Why?” The glare she received reminded her that
was a question. Nona would give her no more because this involved her and Uri.
That meant the others were here to pay a visit to the Father. Uri had signed
his own death warrant if he planned what she thought.

Her mind struggled with the information. Tales surfaced
often about the one angel allowed to live on Earth long before the present day
inhabitants. It was said Marmaroth had refrained from taking his one true love
in the greedy fashion of most angels, so he’d been granted permission to have
her because he asked.

Surely Uri wouldn’t dare try to control the Fates? Hell, yes
he would. That’s just what he’d do. Mort’s throat worked to swallow the bile rising
in her mouth. Her teeth ground together in anger. He’d bring harm to her
sisters to hold her to him for as long as
he
wanted. Not while she
breathed. She’d never allow harm or pain to come to her family.