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Authors: Heather Killough-Walden

Avenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels (47 page)

BOOK: Avenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels
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“Okay . . .
and
?” Eleanore hedged him for his point.
“In that case, his plan might be to stop the bonding of at least one of the archangels. I’m not sure why, but I get the feeling he doesn’t want all four of them to find and claim their archesses. A part of me dearly hopes that this is the case, because it would mean that once you are fully bonded with Uriel, Samael will let you go in favor of hunting down another archess.”
Eleanore considered his words, her stomach turning somersaults. She didn’t know what to do. How was she supposed to bond herself to Uriel? “What do you need me to do?” she finally asked.
“I want you to search your true feelings, Eleanore,” Max said, cupping her cheek gently with his palm as his eyes peered deeply into hers. “Because when the time comes, you are going to have to make a choice—and you’re going to have to make that choice very clear. It isn’t as easy as proclaiming your love in three little words. I hope you didn’t think it would be.”
Eleanore frowned. “Well . . . yeah. I guess I sort of did.”
Max smiled and shook his head. “Do you have any idea how many lies have been told using those words? Countless. It’s number one on the top five million lies list and has been since time immemorial.” He chuckled softly and Eleanore found that she couldn’t help but smile as well, even though her heart was sinking into her stomach.
“But that’s what Uriel did,” she said softly. “He told me he loved me.”
Max nodded. “Uriel truly loves you. He has from the moment he set eyes upon you, Eleanore. His devotion to you was never in question. But
you
are a being of free will and you haven’t been searching for your angelic mate for the duration of your life, as he has.”
Eleanore swallowed hard and shook her head, shrugging once more. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Just remember, Ellie,” Max said as he let his hand drop to his side. “Actions speak louder than words. They always have and they always will. You will know what to do when the time comes.” He offered her one last tender smile, winked at her, and then waved his hand over the door. It rippled once, clicked open, and Max left the room.
Eleanore watched him make his way down the hall toward the family room until he disappeared around the corner. Then she turned toward the large French windows against one wall and gazed out at the wet, waiting night. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled, echoing the tempest of emotions wreaking havoc with her heart and soul.
“Max Gillihan is a wise man,” came a cool, deep voice behind her.
Eleanore spun to see Samael standing just inside the room, tall and strong and impossibly handsome in his sable suit. His charcoal eyes met hers and darkened. With a casual flick of his wrist, he waved the door shut. For the second time that night, Eleanore watched it ripple under a silencing effect.
“Now that he’s had his say, it’s time that I have mine.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
 
S
amael looked down at the floor as the door’s lock slid telekinetically into place. He casually slipped his hands into his pockets and seemed to be contemplating something deeply as he began a slow pace toward Eleanore.
A sharp, intoxicating mixture of fear and anticipation shot through Eleanore and she found herself taking a step back.
Sam’s stormy gaze lifted instantly, cutting to her with hard precision and holding her in place. His expression was more determined than she had ever seen it.
“Ellie,” he began softly, “I’ll be honest with you. Gillihan is right. I do want an archess of my own,” he told her, still coming ever closer in slow, deliberate steps across the carpeted floor. “And I do have my reasons.”
She could no longer retreat; he was holding her in some sort of thrall.
“He’s also correct in assuming that I possess . . .” He stopped a foot away from her, looked her up and down, and recaptured her indigo gaze. “Formidable power,” he finished.
Then he cocked his head to one side, his charcoal eyes glittering as he studied her features. “I am a king among angels, Ellie. And I could use a queen. What do you say?”
Eleanore swallowed hard and did not even try to hide the fact that her breathing had become ragged and her body trembled.
Samael closed the final distance between them and Eleanore gasped at his sudden nearness. He smelled divine; it was the scent of expensive cologne, and something else, something seductive and heady—
power
. His tall, broad form, so expertly draped in fine, tailored material, was overwhelming. He was so intense, so vividly potent. She could feel his power all around him, and it was surrounding her as well.
He raised his hand and slowly captured a lock of her raven hair to rub it admiringly between his thumb and forefinger. “You know in your heart that I can give you anything you desire.” He dropped her hair and Ellie felt his hand snake around her waist to press gently against her lower back. She could barely breathe now.
“I want Uriel,” she said.
Samael was not fazed. He chuckled softly, using his hand to pull her body against his. “And you can have him.” He grinned. “Be mine, Eleanore, and Uriel will become my servant. If you join me, he will serve you as well. You can have him whenever you like.” His white smile was devastating. She couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not, but she was lost in that smile and the pure predatory nature of it.
Eleanore closed her eyes. She was not sure it was the safest thing to do while she was in the Fallen One’s arms, but it at least allowed her an escape from his hypnotic gaze. It gave her the slightest bit of room to think.
“You were going to let him die,” she accused softly.
“Marry me and I will make certain he lives.”
Eleanore’s eyes flew open and were immediately caught once more in his. She peered long and hard into that stormy gaze, as if searching for some sign that what he said was true. “You can save him?” How could he be so sure? The Adarians were a small army of intensely powerful archangels. Could Samael truly promise such a thing?
His smile and the lightning that flashed so resolutely in his gaze were all the answer she needed. He could do it. He could do anything. He was Samael.
“Consider something, Ellie,” he continued. His free hand rose toward her neck and she tried to pull away, but his arm at her back prevented her escape. Deftly and gently, he encircled her throat and caressed the curve of her chin with his thumb. “I know what you like. I know what turns you on.” Using tender, but persistent strength, he tilted her head to one side, exposing the column of her neck to his gaze. Ellie once more closed her eyes. “And in a week’s time, your precious Uriel will no longer be a vampire. A deal is a deal, after all.”
He bent over her, lowering his lips to her ear. “Tell me, Ellie, will you still enjoy his company so much when he doesn’t bite?”
Fight him, Eleanore. Get away from him!
Her mind screamed at her, but her body remained captured in his thrall, her legs weakening, her head spinning end over end. He drew her against him with more persistence. Her breasts pressed against the hardness of his chest and she felt his breath on the taut flesh of her neck.
His teeth grazed her there.
Eleanore’s breath caught in her throat and her hands flew up, her fingers gripping the hard muscles in his arms beneath the fine material of his suit.
Stop,
she thought, because she couldn’t say it out loud.
Please stop
.
“Do you really want me to?”
His hand slid beneath her hoodie and T-shirt at her back to meet smooth skin. His teeth trailed a threatening path up her throat to the curve of her ear, where he nipped gently. A wave of piercing pleasure rode through her, making her wet and drawing a moan from somewhere deep in her throat.
No . . . yes!
She wanted him to stop—she really did. But he was confusing her, tying her in knots inside, befuddling even her mental responses to his damning questions. He was far too good at this. No one was better at seduction than Samael.
And yet there was a part of her, somewhere in the vicinity of her chest, that was hurting in a way that was not at all pleasurable. Even as Samael sent bliss coursing through her body, an aching emptiness yawned open in her heart. It felt wrong.
Uriel.
She thought of him giving his jacket to his fan in the elevator. She saw him wink at her from the other side of a door. She remembered the way he’d first felt, so close to her, as he’d trapped her against that customer service desk in the bookstore less than a week ago. And her emptiness grew.
You have feelings for him
. Samael spoke in her mind, his voice echoing in the chambers of her consciousness.
This much is clear
.
So save his life, Ellie. Surrender to me.
No,
she answered. She had no idea where the strength to deny him had come from, but there it was. She could not give in to Samael. She knew deep down that Uriel would rather die than have her sacrifice herself in order to save him. And though it tore viciously at some part of her to act on such knowledge, it gave her the will to withstand the Fallen One once more.
No,
she repeated, this time truly meaning it.
Sam stilled over her, his mouth at her throat, a menace unmoving. His grip on her did not lessen, however, and he was still in her head.
You would make such a rash decision on his behalf?
he asked softly. There was a darker rumble to his words now, one laced with peril.
You would doom him to death for the sake of your uncertain romance?
He will not die,
Eleanore told him.
I won’t let him,
she thought. This time, the thought was meant for her alone. It was an affirmation, a promise to herself.
He heard it all the same.
Samael drew back and looked into her eyes. She straightened as he released her from whatever spell he’d had her under, but his hand remained around her neck, an ever-present reminder of his dominance.
“Such determination,” he whispered, his thumb caressing the side of her throat. “You truly are a fascinating woman, Eleanore.”
Ellie swallowed and forced herself not to give in. Not to back down. A little more of his influence slipped away from her, but she knew it was his doing, not hers. He was going easy on her, letting her go.
“What a waste,” he said then, removing his hand and taking a full step back. His retreat produced a dichotomy of regret and relief so strong, it nearly buckled her knees.
Eleanore wrapped her arms around her stomach and implored him with her eyes. “Will you let Uriel die?” she asked, not caring that she sounded desperate. She
was
desperate. And he knew it.
“What happens to your archangel is not my doing,” he told her, his tone soft, even as it was hard.
“But you just said you could save him!” Eleanore insisted.
“Be careful, Ellie,” he warned then. The lights in the bedroom flickered. The air around them felt heavy and hot. “Do not test me,” he said. His charcoal-gray eyes lightened into a platinum so stark that they seemed to glow. She watched as he took a step backward, and then another, his eyes never leaving hers.
“So that’s it? I won’t be your whore so you’re going to pout and let Uriel die?”
Oh my God,
she thought suddenly as realization piggybacked on her words.
Did I seriously just say that?
Eyes wide, breath quickening, she found herself stepping back as well.
I am so dead.
But instead of the wrath she fully expected from the formidable archangel, she was greeted with a long, stone-cold silence. Samael pulled his gaze from hers and looked at the floor as he once more put his hands in his pockets.
“I could never kill you, Ellie,” he almost whispered. “Not ever. But hear me well,” he said as he looked back up and captured her gaze a final time. “I’m not known for my kindness.” He waved his hand at the door and it rippled and then settled back down. “I’m a determined man and accustomed to getting my way.”
With that, he opened the door and left the room.
Eleanore stood still and quiet for several long minutes. Then she ran a shaky hand through her hair, took an equally shaky breath, and lowered herself to her knees on the carpet. She felt weak and emotionally exhausted.
And she couldn’t stop thinking about Uriel. And what the Adarians were doing to him.
Ellie closed her eyes and lowered her face into her hands. She remembered the teenage boy from the street corner all those years ago. He had been so handsome, so tall, with eyes of piercing blue.
Kevin. The first archangel ever created. And now he was probably torturing Uriel and she was about to go up against him and his men in a strange, bloody battle with no determinable outcome.
He loves me,
she thought suddenly.
Uriel loves me
. She was a woman so fortunate that she had the unconditional devotion of one of the four legendary archangels. How often did something like that happen?
BOOK: Avenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels
9.97Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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