The Fallen 03 - Warrior (34 page)

I looked at the table sternly. “Stay warm,” I told it, in the same tone of voice I’d use on a well-trained pet, and disappeared into the shower.

I took my time—even cold, that food would be delicious—and dumped my torn rags into the trash with only the slightest pang. I remembered Michael’s hands unfastening the buttons of my blouse, sliding
beneath my waistband as the euphoria made him say things he would never say, never believe in this lifetime. It had been glorious while it lasted, but everyone had to wake up eventually. Just as well I only had a short time to deal with the fallout.

The food was still hot and utterly delicious, but for some reason I wasn’t in the mood for the impressive pig-out I’d planned. I had some of everything, a few mouthfuls of wine, two bites of chocolate cake with fresh whipped cream dolloped over it. And then I covered the trays and stood, restless.

The wind had picked up, stirring the already turbulent waves, blowing in the open doors. I stretched out on the sofa, letting the breeze blow over me, feeling the emotions rise and the smell and the feel of the ocean reaching into my bones. Looking out, I saw that the moon was almost full, sitting high overhead in the ink-dark sky.

He wasn’t coming. Of course he wasn’t. He was under no compulsion, no euphoria-induced affection, no orders from the Fallen. The only reason he would come to me was if he wanted to. Needed to.

The only way he’d ever come close had been at my urging. Each time we’d had sex, it had been at my instigation.

I could do it again. Go to him, and he would treat me tenderly, because he felt guilty. He would give me blindingly wonderful sex, because he could. He would pleasure my body, but my heart would feel emptier than ever.

It was the last night of my life, and I wanted to spend it with him.

Just not enough to beg.

I moved through my rooms, turning off the lights. The moon shone in from the beach, filling the place with a silvery light. I went into the bathroom to change, and when I came out the dishes were gone. Magic or miracle? It didn’t matter.

The silk nightgown flowed around my body. It had always been there, purportedly for my wedding night. For my valedictory night it would do just fine—I wore it to please myself. It was made of soft, twisted panels of white fabric, and it hugged my body like a caress. I looked in the mirror, and all I needed was a laurel wreath to complete the picture. I looked like the goddess I was. A goddess who could send lightning bolts and destroy angels, but a mortal one, without the power to make one man love her. If I had to be an ancient Roman goddess, why the hell couldn’t I have been Venus? I bet she never had trouble with her love life.

No self-pity,
I reminded myself, turning off the bathroom light. I pushed back the covers and stretched out on the bed.

I could see the moonlit water from my bed if I put my head at the foot and lay on my stomach. I shifted, staring out into the night, and a curious peace settled over me as I listened to the sound of the surf.

I jerked awake to see him standing in my open
doors with the water rough and wild behind him. He just stood there, watching me out of his dark, fathomless eyes.

“I need to make a confession,” he said, his rich, warm voice still able to make my blood dance beneath my skin.

I raised my head, but I didn’t move from my hopefully provocative position. “I don’t want to hear your confession,” I said. “I don’t need it.”

“What do you need?”

In the end men, even archangels, were simple creatures. They were no good at inferring, guessing, coming to conclusions. They needed to be told. “You,” I said.

In the moonlight I could see the slash of white as he smiled. “Good,” he said, and came into the room.

I rolled over on my back, looking up at him.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his fingers catching the folds of the silk nightgown. “Where did this come from?”

“It’s always been here,” I said, suddenly nervous. “I think it was supposed to be for my wedding night.”

“It looks like something Rachel thought of.”

“Don’t you like it?”

“I like you better out of it.”

So should I sit up and struggle out of the complicated bands of the nightdress? Maybe this was a bad idea—

“You know what I think, Victoria Bellona?”

“I have no idea, Your Impeccable Angelic Magnificence.”

He choked with laughter. “That’s the best so far, but a little unwieldy for sex talk. I was thinking”—his hand slid up my leg, taking the filmy nightgown with it—“that you haven’t been properly seduced.”

I swallowed. The touch of his hand on my skin was having its usual effect on me. “What are you going to do, bring me flowers and chocolates?”

“I think we’re a little past that, don’t you? But I’m not sure we’re past me convincing you to go to bed with me. You have so many reasons to say no.”

I couldn’t think of one at that particular moment—but I took his word for it.

“I think,” he continued, and his hand reached my thigh, “that I need to work very hard to make sure you don’t regret this. I need to show you a very good time.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want tonight to be about me.”

He looked at me for a long moment. “You want it to be about us,” he said.

It didn’t matter if he’d cheated by reading my mind. Just the fact that he knew without my telling him was enough. “Yes,” I whispered.

He cupped my chin, leaning down to kiss me. “You’re going to break my heart,” he said finally.

I wanted to lessen the tension with a snappy “Are you sure you have one?” but something stopped me. The time for banter was past.

So I said nothing at all, and neither did he, as he slid his other hand behind my head, bringing me to him, his long fingers kneading my scalp, holding me still for his soft, seductive kiss.

It started slow, a soft nibble on my lips, just a taste, almost curious, and when I tried to deepen the kiss he pulled away. “Uh-uh, Victoria Bellona,” he said. “You’re not rushing this. We’re taking our time, and I’m going to savor every square inch of your skin.”

I felt my heart stop and then start again, faster. He kissed me again, and I followed his lead, the leisurely discovery of taste and tongue and teeth, and I ran my hands over his close-cropped head, loving the feel of him. He lifted me higher, pulling me into his arms, as the kiss deepened naturally, the slow embers of desire building, building.

He was wearing a shirt, and I wanted it off him. I slid my hands beneath the collar, reveling in the feel of his hot skin, and tried to unfasten the buttons; but my fingers were clumsy, and he laughed. “Wrong shirt?” he said.

I simply yanked it apart. The buttons went flying and he laughed again, shrugging out of it before putting his hands back on me, sliding up my arms to the straps of the gown.

I don’t know how he managed to deal with it, but a moment later he’d pushed it down to my waist. “Only fair,” he whispered, and lay down beside me, pulling me against him, my bare breasts pressed
against his chest, and the feeling was glorious. I moved, rubbing against him, and the arousal was overwhelming. I wanted more, and I didn’t know what to do.

“Tory,” he whispered in my ear. “You don’t have to be frightened. It’s just me. Just this body you’ve already had a time or two. Do what feels good.”

My eyes met his, and the last of my uncertainty fell away. He wasn’t going to leave me. He wasn’t going to betray me. We were past all that. We were going to make love, and I was going to do everything I’d ever dreamed about, and then do it all over again.

I gently pushed him onto his back, and he went easily, his eyes hooded. I slid my hands up his chest, over the muscles that banded his ribs, covering the flat nipples, then moving down over his stomach. He lifted his hand to catch mine, to guide me, and then dropped it. Waiting for me.

I slid my hand down and covered him, and I almost pulled back in blind panic. He was
that
big? He’d already unfastened his jeans, probably not wanting to risk permanent damage from my nervous hands, and I shoved them down his narrow hips. I had never thought a penis was beautiful. I didn’t even like the word. But he was gorgeous. Big and hard, pale with blue veins, and I circled him with my hand, loving the feel of him, silken skin over iron.

He was watching me, breathing heavily, but he made no move to push me. And I did what I’d been
dreaming about. I put my mouth on him, drawing him in deep.

He arched off the bed, his hands gripping the sheet, and I felt his cock jerk in my mouth. And then I stopped thinking, loving the feel of him in my mouth, the taste of him, the scent of his skin, the pounding of his heart, the absolute fierceness of his arousal that was for me and me alone. I tried to take more, and more, but he was too big, and I started to shake with need, when he finally reached down and lifted me off him. “Next time,” he whispered. “I want to come inside you tonight.”

I started to lie down on the mattress, but he moved, turning me so that I was on my knees on the bed, and he stripped the nightgown off me entirely, kicking off his jeans. He held me in place, coming up behind me, his hands on my hips.

“Put your hands on the bed,” he whispered.

I did it immediately and felt him against me, against my sex, sliding against the wetness between my legs. “Do you want this?” he whispered.

I nodded, unable to speak, and he pushed forward, into me, sliding into the soft folds of my sex, and the angle was exquisite, shocking, wonderful. He was slow, inexorable, even bigger from this position, filling me inch by inch until I wanted to cry out. I put my face down in the sheets to stifle the noise I wanted to make, and the angle made his invasion easier, so that he slid the last bit, up against my womb.

He began to move, and I sobbed with need, shivering beneath him. I wanted this to go on forever, I wanted my sex to grip him and never let go. He moved one hand down over my stomach, between my legs, and touched me as he surged inside, and I shrieked as the first powerful climax hit me like a lightning bolt.

I felt my entire body ignite. He continued to thrust, slow and steady, as he caressed me, and no sooner did I start to come down than I shot to the stars again with that same driving force. I buried my face in the sheets, clutching them, sobbing, thrashing. I could hear my voice from a distance, begging him, begging him not to stop.

And then it became too much. It frightened me, the darkness he was drawing me into; it was the death I was facing, and I wanted to tell him no, but he kept moving, and my mouth was filled with nothing but needy sobs as we went deeper and deeper into a place I hadn’t imagined existed, and the fear mixed with an incredulous joy as the last inhibition shattered, and there was nothing left but Michael and me.

He thrust, so hard he was shaking the bed, pounding into me, and I reveled in it, in the pleasure-pain of it. He froze, and I felt his climax inside me as a final paroxysm shook me, and I lifted my face and screamed.

We fell together, his body wrapped around mine, holding me tightly as a blanket of feathers enclosed
us, and I reveled in Michael’s black wings, impossibly, feathery soft, wrapping us in the aftermath of our lovemaking, and then I stopped thinking anything at all.

We didn’t talk for a long time. He stroked me, brushing the tears off my cheeks, and I turned my head for his long, sweet kiss before settling back against him. I had never felt so safe, so loved, in my entire life. This was Michael, my bonded mate, my lover. He was mine, for as long as I lived.

I reached up sleepily, pushing my hair away from my neck, exposing my vein to him. I wanted him to drink from me, to take from me, but I didn’t know if he would. A moment later I felt the slight sting as he broke the skin, and then the slow, seductive suck of his mouth against me, and I drifted off in blissful arousal.

If I had known, I would still choose this. Choose him. The world I had wanted to discover lay within him and me, and even if there wasn’t enough time, there was more than enough love.

I was content.

A
LLIE LAY IN BED, AFRAID TO MOVE.
She would throw up again, she was certain of it. No one seemed to have the vaguest idea what to do about her stomach bug. She’d been sick for weeks now, barely able to keep anything down, and yet, despite Sarah’s promises that no one ever changed in Sheol, she seemed to be gaining weight.

She needed to get up. Today was the day they had dreaded, the day they knew would come. Uriel would send the Armies of Heaven against them, and the Fallen would prevail. After disappearing for weeks, Michael had returned in time, bringing the goddess of war with him.

And she would die.

Michael was in love with the girl. Allie had needed only one look at him, as he watched Tory run from him on the beach, to know that the impossible
had happened. The Archangel Michael, always so determined to keep aloof from life, had fallen for good, embracing the humanity he’d always avoided so assiduously.

He’d taken her blood as well, when he’d sworn never to drink any more than the little the Source offered. In the end it would make no difference, Martha said. Whether he’d taken Tory or not, her death on the bloody sands was assured. At least this way there was some joy before the inevitable parting.