Ashes of Angels (15 page)

The world was meant to be seen through the eyes of wonder.

He'd followed Cassandra to ensure she safely made it wherever she'd planned to go. He wished she hadn't returned to her home. The Sinistari knew where it was, though she should be safe from the demons. But if they were aligning themselves with the vampires now, he trusted no one.

The vampires knew where she lived, as well. The place must
be a mess with the remnants of the vampires they'd slain earlier. How could she stand to be in there?

“That lady is watching you,” the boy said in thick German.

“The one in the window?” He didn't turn around. He'd broken his promise to let her be alone.

“She's pretty.”

“How do you know she's watching me, eh?” He shaped another snowball in his bare palms and tossed it to the boy, who again caught it, smashed it and let out a gleeful chuckle.

“She's looking right at you!”

“Maybe she's watching you?”

“Ouff, no! How come you don't wear a coat and gloves? My mommy would yell at me if I went out without them.”

“I forgot them.”

“I suppose it's because you're an angel.”

Sam gaped, but then realized he was being seen by a child. And there was nothing wrong with that. “What about you? Your cheeks are turning red.”

“I am the a-bob-i-dable snowman!” he declared proudly.

Sam felt inclined to raise his arms in triumph to match the boy's gesture. “You are!”

The boy squatted to pack together some snow. He wasn't so successful in forming a ball with the heavy wool mittens, but he managed a chunk that dispersed before it made it to Sam.

“Try again,” he said. “Is she still watching?”

“
Ja
. Does she love you?”

“Why would you ask that?”

He shrugged.

“Do you know what love is…?” He mined for the boy's name. “Peter?”

“Sure, it's when Mommy and Daddy get all kissy face.”

Sam laughed this time. That was an essential part of the human relationship, but kissing didn't necessarily imply love. Or did it? When Cassandra kissed him did she feel love? He
felt something, but how to know if it was love or merely his innate lust?

“The lady is gone now.” Peter formed another snowball.

Sam twisted to sight the window on the third floor. Then he remembered he wasn't going to do that, and quickly shifted his shoulder. He hadn't a chance to see her.

He admired Cassandra's beauty, strength and determination. She was an amazing woman who could take care of herself. She had family, and had been taught by a doting grandmother how to protect herself and survive in the world. She didn't need protection, but he liked protecting her.

And she was an amazing artist who had seen him before she'd known him. When he'd touched the sculpture, formed by her hands, Sam had felt the emotion imbued within the silver. It veined in deeply, as if blood, and possessed a pulse, which, he guessed, must match her pulse.

Had that creation been love? When he worked with silver it was the embodiment of love. His means to the emotion. It was remarkable Cassandra had taken up the craft, but he sensed her destiny had been marked since birth.

Was his admiration for her love? He wanted love, but he needed a soul for that to happen.

A figure appeared in the window and made a gesture that looked as though she wanted him to come inside.

“Go!” the boy said.

“You think so?”

“She wants you to go to her, don't you see?”

“Thanks, buddy.”

“See if she will give you a shirt. But don't bend your wings when you put it on!”

Putting a finger to his lips to signal the boy keep that bit of information silent, Sam nodded. “Our secret, yes?”

“My mommy would never believe me anyway.” Smiling with new confidence, Sam strode inside and up to Cassandra's broken door.

S
am knocked on the door frame and stepped inside to fit the door back into place. It was cracked down the edge, and she needed a new one, but he was able to fit a hinge into the iron rings and turn the knob to secure the door.

He stepped back to admire his makeshift handiwork. One push and the whole thing would go down. They certainly didn't make them as sturdy as they did in the time when he first Fell. Although, now he thought on it, doors hadn't been popular back then.

Then he realized he'd invited himself inside, and turned abruptly to the woman standing right behind him.

A genuine smile curled beneath sparkling brown eyes. That was a good sign. He hoped. The faint shimmery trail slipping over her cheek indicated she'd been crying.

“Forgive me,” he said, not daring to touch her for he'd barged in as if it were his right. “I cannot apologize for the compulsion when in half form. But I can apologize for frightening you. I
swore I would not harm you, Cassandra. I will take my own life, should you ever stand threatened by me again.”

“Don't be so dramatic. Sam, please, come in. You need a shirt.”

Head bowed, he entered her flat. The lights were out and twilight burnished the high-gloss cement floors glamorously. He saw no signs of vampire ash or blood.

He stepped to a very specific place and sought Cassandra's eyes, but she strode into the living room, not noticing. Her hair fell freely down her back, the white ribbons standing out while the red ones were tucked. If he could twine himself amongst her hair like those ribbons, he would be endlessly happy.

The silence felt like a gift, an exquisite offering she allowed him to experience. He fancied he could hear her heartbeat, and perhaps he did. He wondered if his own could beat, if it would sound like hers.

Sliding a hand over the halo at his hip, he gave a moment's thought to how easy it would be to claim his earthbound soul. Easy, but he'd sacrifice Above to do so. No angel could do that. Not for long.

“I did some cleaning,” she said. “It wasn't difficult sucking up the ash, but my vacuum cleaner is groaning for it. You know what I suspect about the broken door? It was faked.”

“I don't understand.”

“Well, vampires need permission to enter, right?”

He nodded.

“So I suspect they had a mortal break in—because they certainly could not. Mortal enters my apartment, turns and offers an invite inside, and vampires can enter. Maybe? Can someone who doesn't own the home offer the invite?”

“Seems the only possible way they could have entered. Clever deduction.”

“Yeah, well, too bad it's possible. I could raid the laundry
room for a shirt again. Or you could pull on one of my old T-shirts. I have a big one that might fit.”

“I'm fine.”

Her eyes strolled up his abdomen and to his face. “Yes, you are.” She strode toward the long gray velvet couch. Glancing at him, she asked, “You'll join me?”

He spread his arms. “I thought to give you opportunity to capture me in your angel trap. I stand in the right spot, yes?”

Blinking, her sightline then flashed to each of the three positions where the trap must originate. “Yes.” She leaned forward, thinking. Or considering? “You're not trapped unless I speak the spell.”

“Go ahead. I am worthy of such punishment for ignoring your request to stay away.”

“You are, but it doesn't make for easy conversation with you standing trapped way over there. Come over here.”

Released from the self-imposed prison, Sam exhaled and joined her on the sofa. He didn't sit close enough to touch her, though his bare skin screamed for connection, for a contact he hadn't known he needed until desire coursed through his being. This was not like the compulsion he felt in half form. It was subtle, softer, yet insistent.

“Did you contact your sister?” he asked. “How does she fare?”

“The muses have been sent home on separate flights. They haven't sighted the nephilim yet. And I've had the news on until you came up. The local stations have dropped the story about the monster sighting, dismissing it as a costumed prank.”

“If only.”

“I forgive you, Sam.” She stroked her hand aside his cheek, forcing him to look at her. He breathed in the fresh winter scent still dusting her skin and the underlying musk of woman. “You scared the crap out of me after you slew the jade angel, but I
know what I've gotten into. I am a smart, rational woman. And I fully intend to take the good with the bad.”

“You can't mean that.” He palmed her hand, still cupping his cheek. “Mortals will, time and again, choose goodness and safety over what may be wrong or harmful. It isn't in their nature—”

“I'm not like every other mortal, Sam. I'm attracted to danger.”

“Danger is—”

The kiss was a surprise, and Sam could but accept that she wanted to give it to him. Even after he'd gone after her so viciously? He could have— No, he would not think it. It was over. Truly, she was not like other mortal women. Cassandra was strong. Fierce.

His.

Dropping his apprehensions, he slid closer to her, deepening the kiss to taste her want, and give her a taste of his. Doubts and worries would not distract him. She was worth his full attention.

The kiss stirred his body and ignited a flame that coiled deep in his loins. Desire and passion rose to the surface. She was the key to his pleasure. His only means to pleasure, if truth be told. The Fallen could have a mortal woman, any mortal woman, but to truly know pleasure, they must seek it from their muse.

Didn't mean he had to whip out the wings to enjoy that pleasure. And he thanked his creator for that. Now, if the compulsion would hold off he'd be golden.

Gliding his palm down her neck, he savored the smooth texture of her, and noticed a subtle rise in temperature as his skin brushed hers.

“It doesn't itch anymore,” she noted.

“Itch?” Hell, he recalled licking up her neck when he'd been
in half form. The angelkiss was not one of his finer habits. “Sorry.”

“It's okay. Just don't do it again.”

No, he mustn't purposefully lick her, even if out of desire. Though he'd mouthed her nipple in the hotel room, so obviously that was okay. Maybe he had to be in half form for the angelkiss to be effective? He stroked his fingertips along her neck, a little tentatively. “How does my touch feel to you?”

Tilting her head, her hair swished over her shoulders. She clasped his hand at her throat and drew it along her jaw and bowed forward, cupping his fingers over her cheek.

“Like being touched by something unimaginable. It's a hard, yet soft touch, if you can understand that. Your skin is initially cold—like a silver sculpture—but as soon as we connect, we melt together.”

“Like silver melting into a new form under the careful flame.”

“Yes. But I don't want to be careful anymore.” She bent to his mouth and kissed it, gently tugging his bottom lip with her teeth. “Together we become something unique. I want to take it as far as the silver will allow us to go, Sam. I want to sculpt something new with you. Kiss me. Touch me. Take me against your body and learn love with me.”

“Teach me everything, Cassandra. How to please you, how to become a part of you. I want the act of sex to be real love between us. Do you trust me?”

“That you won't shift?” She nodded. “I do. I know it only comes on you when you're angry or in the heat of battle.”

So far as he knew. “I promise not to lick you, either. Though, it will be difficult. Your skin was made to be tasted.”

“It's weird how your kisses, when our tongues touch, don't make me itch.”

“The angelkiss is made with intent.”

“So maybe if your intention is to please instead of harm, a few licks won't hurt?”

He shook his head, unsure of the answer.

“We'll take things slowly.” Standing, she extended a hand to him. “Will you take it?”

He stared at the offering, and his heart warmed until he thought he felt it pulse. She offered her hand to him. A simple offering steeped with immense meaning. That was all he had wanted after his initial Fall, someone to hold his hand.

He placed his palm against hers, holding it, measuring the body heat that seemed to liquefy between the two of them.

“Sam?”

“Yes,” he whispered, giddy with the rush of having his desire fulfilled. “I will follow you anywhere.”

She led him into the bedroom where pale moonlight dashed across the purple fabrics covering the bed. Decorative pillows in deeper shades of violet and red glinted with sequins but resembled jewels, and a sheer purple canopy hung over the entire bed. It looked like a lush respite in a maharaja's kingdom. It even smelled of cinnamon and vanilla in here, exotic spices to rouse his senses.

Sam walked around to study the angel sculpture. He stroked his fingers along the wing and sucked in a breath. He could read her thoughts, the thoughts she'd been thinking at the moment she'd created this object.

He will come for me someday. I want him to come to me. He is mine
.

She had wanted him all along? Sam glanced to the bed.

Cassandra slid onto the bed and, with a kink of her finger, gestured he approach.

 

Stripped of a shirt, the moonlight jealously playing across his abs, the angel stalked toward her, his eyes shaded and pred
atory, yet curiosity lightened them. He was a man who wanted to learn, to experience all the world could offer him.

Cassandra intended to offer it all.

Pushing aside the purple chiffon curtain, he crawled onto the bed, moving slowly over her, up from her feet, where he stroked his thumb along the arch, and to her knees, where he kissed each one, and to her hips. He stopped over her breasts and the smile he flashed up at her spoke more than words.

Cassandra tugged off her shirt. Her bare breasts tightened with goose bumps and her nipples were ruched.

Moonlight flashed on the line of beads snaking around her neck. Sam studied the rosary but didn't touch it.

“They're certainly no Vegas showgirl's rhinestones.” She pulled it off and held it upon her palm. The peridot beads twinkled as if green ice. “I didn't think a cross would mean anything to you. It's a mortal creation.”

“It doesn't, but I respect it as a symbol of your faith. Obviously it has power, enough to startle me out of the compulsion.”

“Then maybe I'll keep it close.” She set it on the nightstand but an arm's reach away.

A symbol of her faith? Yes, she was beginning to realize perhaps her faith wasn't so absent after all. Thanks to Sam.

His breath hushed over her breasts. Her nipples tightened. Tenderly, he touched them, feeling their shape and texture. The experimental touches shivered through her being, and she sucked in her breath.

“Taste them,” she murmured. Sam let out a moan as his lips circled her nipple and his hot breath huffed over it. He didn't dash his tongue across it, and she ached to feel that pleasure, but his breath was equally tantalizing as it stroked indelibly, lazing over her skin with his heat.

He took his time, trying it this way, and then another way. A breath here, a long smoldering trail that circled her breast
there. The sensation roared over her flesh, blazing fire across her chest and stomach to her loins.

She slid her fingers through his hair, liking that he was never room temperature, always cool, a refreshing elixir to her heated skin. He kissed her palm and wrist over the sigil, which glowed softly beneath his mouth. It declared her his, and she didn't mind that at all.

His torso hugged hers, making her very aware of his erection, which strained for release. Cassandra slipped her fingers inside the waistband of his pants and tugged.

“You want them off?” he asked, nuzzling his closed lips over her nipple. “Take them off.”

“I thought I was teaching you?”

“You are. I'm learning that I like it when you undress me.”

She caught a finger behind the metal button on his borrowed jeans and popped it loose. The zipper she slid cautiously, and he shoved a hand down to help her do it carefully. No boxers, briefs or anything else between him and his pants. Mercy.

Gliding her hands over his muscular buttocks, she gave them a firm squeeze before shoving down the pants. Sam worked them to his ankles, and had to stop and twist onto a hip to kick off his boots.

Cassandra sat up on her elbows and caught a glimpse of his erection, springing heavily with his movement. He was uncut, yet the head of his penis emerged as if a ruby fruit that begged suckling. “Well, well.”

He turned and noticed her interest. “You like this?”

Tracing her tongue along her lip, she nodded enthusiastically.

Grasping her hand, he kissed the mound of her palm, then moved it to his penis, which she took firmly. He growled as she squeezed. “That feels better than anything I've felt here on earth.”

“I could say the same. So hard, and thick. Mmm…”

When she moved her fingers up and down, shrugging his skin along the rigid shaft, he groaned deeply. “Cassandra, you are making me even harder. Do you know what your touch does to me?”

“I have an idea.” She wrapped her legs about his hips and pulled him down, snuggling his penis against her stomach. Hers to command. “You make me so wet, angel boy. Feel. Touch me here.”

She guided his fingers into her folds. His eyes, fixed to hers, spoke surprise and elation, and captivating curiosity.

“I do know how this is supposed to work,” he said. “Yet I never imagined it would be quite so heady.”

“You still feel…like yourself?” She had to ask. Instinct wouldn't allow her to plunge blindly into this encounter.

“Not going to shift, Cassandra.” Yet their eyes both briefly glanced to the nightstand where the rosary lay. “Promise.”