The Fallen 03 - Warrior (25 page)

“Drink, you stupid jerk,” I hissed, stroking the bruised skin on his face. I let my fingers push through
his short brown curls tenderly, like a mother, as I slowly began to feel the suck of his mouth against my skin.

I could feel the slow beat of his heart growing stronger, and he caught me, holding me still as he drank from me, drank life. He didn’t need to know I was giving him everything I could give. How long had I known him? It didn’t matter. The last few days had held an eternity, and they were all that mattered.

I was dreamy, only half-aware, as we slowly shifted; I was no longer cradling him, he was holding me in his arms, sucking at me with a slow intensity that was . . . arousing. I knew I was growing weaker, but it didn’t matter. I was in his arms, I loved him, and feeding him, saving him, was an even closer bond than the sex we had shared so far. I closed my eyes and dreamed, welcoming death.

S
TUPID GIRL
! T
HE
stupid, foolish creature! Michael slowly released his grip on her, easing her down in the grass as he licked the last of her blood off his mouth. She had done this for him, and he was furious. Her chance of survival, always tenuous, had now vanished completely.

He’d been dead, and she’d given him her blood, brought him back. And she would pay for that with her own life when they faced the Armies of Heaven. Unless he’d already killed her.

Under any other circumstances she’d be dead
or dying, past saving. But he had marked her with his wards to ensure she made it through the Portal, and those marks had kept her alive. Even now she was recovering her color, that horrifying ashen white returning to the soft blush he’d gotten used to. She was healing, thank God.

He glanced down at his body. Most of his wards were back, transferred by her blood. And they were fading from her skin, almost invisible now.

He hadn’t even known if it would work. There’d been no time to think—he’d acted on instinct, and only now could he sit back and berate himself.

His death would have jeopardized the survival of the Fallen. And now she would die anyway.

He looked up at the bright, deceptive sun that shone down so fiercely, so oddly in the Darkness. Night would come soon, and the Wraiths would be out. He needed to find shelter.

He scooped her up in his arms, holding her tightly against his chest, and rose. He couldn’t afford to wait.

F
IRST THINGS FIRST:
I wasn’t dead. That was as good a way to start the day as any I could think of, and I lay still in the darkness, drinking it in.

I had absolutely no idea where I was. I seemed to be lying on a narrow bed pressed up against a wall, and the air was cold and damp. Light filtered in from a small window. Sudden panic filled me. Had I somehow ended up back in the cell in the Dark City? I
managed to move my head, and relief flooded me. This was a different place, though I had yet to find out if it was safer.

If I didn’t know better, I’d have said I was in the basement of an American house. I’d seen them in the movies, usually filled with washing machines and furnaces and monsters. None of those were visible, including the monsters, thank God. Unless you counted the one I’d married.

Memory was coming back along with my strength, slowly, and I reached up to touch the upper swell of my breast. I’d slashed myself to save his life, and he had taken my blood, had cradled me in his arms and put his hungry mouth against the gash. I’d felt my life slipping away, and I had been happy. I had been loved.

Ha! Almost killed was more like it. I’d managed to survive after all, probably no thanks to him.

A horrible thought struck me. After he’d almost drained me, had he returned the favor? Poured blood down my throat? Eww.

I licked my teeth, searching for the taste of copper, but there was nothing but a distant tang that took me a moment to recognize. Orange juice. Where the hell had he found orange juice? Just like the Red Cross, had he given me a cookie too as a reward for my donation?

My lip curled, but the thought of cookies made me suddenly ravenous. Wherever the hell we were, I needed food.

The Darkness. That was where we were supposed to be. Apparently this legendary place of terror was a suburban basement. Who knew?

I moved my head lazily, and then I saw him. He was sitting on the cement floor, back against the wall, hidden in shadows, and I wondered if he was asleep.

“How are you feeling?”

Apparently not. His voice was its usual cool, musical enticement, though there was a thread of something beneath it that I didn’t recognize.

“Like I got hit by a truck. You didn’t feed me blood, did you?” I needed to get my primal fear out of the way.

“No. If I gave you my blood, you would die.”

“Well, technically, it would have been my blood. Why would I die?”

“It is forbidden for mates to drink blood. It can cause . . . problems.”

“What sorts of problems? Do people grow two heads or something?”

“Why are you so interested, Victoria Bellona? Do you have a craving for my blood?”

Damn, he just loved to annoy me. We were back on track. “No, Your Angelic Idiocy, I don’t. I want real food like eggs, ham, maybe a croissant or two.”

“This isn’t Sheol. Food doesn’t arrive simply because you desire it.”

“Sometime you’re going to have to explain to me how that works,” I said, momentarily distracted. “And I know very well we’re not in Sheol. Do you
want to tell me why the so-scary Darkness looks like a suburban basement?”

He glanced around him. “The Darkness is composed of many different worlds, all seemingly harmless, all of them dangerous. Don’t be deceived by it.” He rose, moving toward the light that was now pouring in from the window, and I could see him clearly. He was shirtless, having lost the tattered rag that had made it through the maelstrom, and his beautiful chest was once again swirled with those gorgeous, slow-moving tattoos. The cuts and bruises had disappeared, leaving him beautiful and untouched. Perfect, as an angel should be.

I lifted my own arm to look at it. The marks were gone, leaving my pale skin unmarred. “Where are my tattoos?”

“You gave them back to me when you gave me your blood. There was just enough power in them to save you from my rapacious appetite.” His tone was wry, mocking, but I knew he was mocking himself. “So tell me, why the hell did you do such a stupid thing after I’d gone to all that trouble to keep you alive? Did you have no idea what all that fresh blood would do to me?”

“Pardon me, but I’ve never met a vampire before. I’m unaware of the protocol.” My voice was cool. I’d saved his life, damn it. Why was he mad at me?

“I’m not a vampire,” he snapped.

“Well, you drink blood to live and you have retractable fangs just like your wings. I’d say that
makes you a vampire.” I thought for a moment. “Or a Venezuelan fruit bat.”

Michael was not amused. “If you need food, we will have to leave this place, but you aren’t looking very energetic. Why don’t you stop annoying me and concentrate on getting stronger? It shouldn’t be more than half an hour before you’re at full capacity again.”

I was momentarily distracted. “Cool. Will this happen every time I get hurt?”

There was an odd look on his face, one that on anyone else I would have said was stricken, and I had to say something. “Look, don’t feel so guilty about drinking my blood. It was my idea.”

“Why?”

Oh, damn. I should have known that question would come. “You were dying.”

“I was dead. Why did you decide to bring me back?”

“Why the hell did you give me your tattoos and go through the Portal without them? Why did you die for me?”

He moved toward me, and I struggled to sit up. This closeness made me uneasy, as always. To my shock he reached out and cupped my face with one hand, his thumb gently brushing against my parted lips.

“An error in judgment,” he said in a whisper.

I opened my mouth and took his thumb inside, sucking gently on it, the sensation rocketing to my
core. I grew wet immediately. I wanted him, all of him, and this was the only piece he had given me.

He looked down at me out of dark, unreadable eyes as he slowly, deliberately moved his thumb in and out of my mouth, and I wanted more, I wanted his entire beautiful body as my playground, and I sucked on him as he slid his thumb past my lips, and his eyes glittered.

He pulled away so abruptly that I couldn’t still my cry of loss, but he was already across the basement, out of my reach. As always.

“Let’s agree that we both did stupid things for incomprehensible reasons and leave it at that.” The cool, distant archangel was back in place. He glanced toward the bright pool of light, an unreadable expression on his face. “If this looks like a suburban basement to you, then there should be an upstairs complete with food and fresh clothes. Are you going to loll on that bed all day or are you going to get your pretty little ass up?”

I decided to concentrate on the fact that he thought my ass was pretty and little, which wasn’t strictly true, and not on the fact that two minutes ago he’d told me to stay in bed and rest. His Holiness was in a snit.

I pushed away from the cement wall, swinging my long legs over the side of the bed. My skirts were hiked midway up my thighs, and I caught him looking. He realized it and turned away abruptly, and I felt a sudden, erotic jolt.

So many contrasting emotions were flooding me that I felt dizzy. Lust and irritation went without saying. But . . . he’d come for me. He’d died for me. He had my blood inside him, making him strong. He had me inside him.

And in willingly giving him my blood, my life force, I was afraid I’d given him more than that. I had given him love.

I
WOULD HAVE LIKED TO BE THE ONE TO
follow him up the wooden stairs, more to keep him from looking too closely at my bedraggled self than for a chance to admire
his
pretty little ass. My hands felt sticky, and I looked down and shuddered. They were covered with dried blood. My blood.

So was the exposed part of my chest, though I didn’t seem to have any gaping wound. For all I knew, the red dress was soaked with my blood as well.

He pushed me ahead of him, his hands now impersonal, and I climbed the stairs, holding my skirts up.

I stopped dead when I opened the door at the top of the stairs and half-expected Michael to barrel into me, but he must have been suspecting something of the sort, because he paused, easily looking over my shoulder from one step below me.

It looked like a kitchen out of the 1950s, a perfect ranch house with orange counters and avocado appliances. And they were in color. Not just color—the hues were blindingly bright.

“What is this place?” I breathed.

“I told you. It’s the Darkness.”

“This doesn’t look like any dark I’ve seen.”

He gave me a little push, and I stumbled into the room. “There’s probably food here,” he said. “Why don’t you eat something while I see if I can find us some clothes.”

I held up my bloody hands. “Speaking of eating,” I replied with no tact at all, “I’d really like to wash before I do anything else. Unless you’d like to lick it off me?” Oh, God, where the hell had
that
come from?

Something flared in his eyes, and I couldn’t tell if it was hunger or irritation. Whichever it was, it was dangerous.

“I would suggest you tread carefully with me, Victoria Bellona,” he said in a deceptively mild voice.

I wasn’t about to let him see how he affected me. “Yes, Your Angelness.”

“That isn’t even a word.”

“I’m creative.”

He heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I’m sure you’ll find exactly what you need here.”

I went wandering, just as happy to get away from him as he was to be rid of me. There were
two bathrooms, both with pink tile and fixtures and fish murals on the walls. No freestanding shower, but I turned on the water in the tub and it not only worked, it was hot.

I washed my hands in the pink sink, thinking that the advent of color wasn’t necessarily a good thing. I had no idea why these hues were so bright—perhaps I was simply reacting to a couple of days of sepia and gray. Nevertheless, a little pink went a long way. And I would have been just as happy not to see the brownish-red stains on my hands, the colors swirling down the sink like the shower scene in
Psycho
. Though, come to think of it, that movie had been in black-and-white as well.

I checked what appeared to be the master bedroom. I knew instinctively that no one had ever lived here, ever
would
live here, so I felt no compunction about raiding the closet. There wasn’t much to raid. Several cheery dresses, the kind you wore with heels and pearls to do your vacuuming, and a fluffy pink evening gown.

I settled for a strange sort of skirt that wrapped around my waist and reached below my knees and a white T-shirt that clearly belonged to the man of the nonexistent family. I bypassed the girdle but resigned myself to the industrial-size panties. I was ignoring the pointy bras altogether. The archangel already spent too much time looking at my breasts, and at least my smaller ones could get lost in the white cotton, rather than poking in his face. Much
as I’d like to seduce him, for the moment I figured it was a lost cause.