Conquer the Dark (26 page)

Soon the air filled with gargoyles taking flight trying to escape the cavern. But a huge conventional-weapon blast made Azrael look up as an RPG shell hit the upper cave opening causing a boulder avalanche. Spiraling upward, he was in the air just as the next round connected below him. Two seconds before he threw a death ax, he heard Isda’s voice.

“Friend not foe!”

Azrael released his battle-axes in an angry whirl, and they passed Isda by inches and with boomerang accuracy beheaded two gargoyles behind him. Whatever had
surfaced in the cave was frying, but Isda went to the opening and sent one more shell down into the abyss for good measure. Anything on the wing was retreating, and Isda held Azrael’s biceps before he could throw an ax again.

“You made your point, mon,” Isda said, hovering beside Azrael. “You left her back at the boat alone. Blind fury will get you and her fucked up—let’s go back.”

Azrael nodded, his eyes slowly normalizing.

“You come challenging Asmodeus in his lair … alone—here—at the Majlis al Jinn … the actual meeting place of the jinn, with no backup?”

Azrael spit into the burning cave opening. “For every one they send after her, they will lose ten thousand. My word as my bond.”

When Azrael came into
the room through the cabin door like a normal person, Celeste sprang up from the chair by the sliding-glass door. He was covered from head to toe with reeking gook and filth. He stopped at the threshold and removed his sneakers, holding them on two fingers. Not sure what to do, she rushed over to him and put a wastebasket in front of him. He took it from her, deposited his soiled footwear, then hurled it at the glass.

She covered her face with a forearm, expecting glass to shatter everywhere, but it didn’t. The wastebasket and demon-splattered shoes burned right through it, lighting up the glass in a brilliant blue, then were gone. As she turned back to him, he held up a hand.

“Now I am unclean. Let me wash, then we will talk.”

“Okay,” she replied quietly, worried out of her mind.

He stripped and purged his clothing the same way he had his sneakers—just balled them up and jettisoned them with a forceful hurl toward the glass and let them burn.

Transfixed, she watched him lope into the bathroom, then heard the water turn on. His back had dried blood on it—his. Against her better judgment she followed him, wanting to help but just not sure how.

“You’re injured,” she whispered, then sat down on the closed toilet seat as he entered the spray.

He looked so weary that it frightened her. For a moment he didn’t answer, just placed both hands on either side of the showerhead and lowered his entire head into the spray. The water crackled over his skin, becoming a blue-white energy wash that made him visibly wince. As his skin smoldered, she bit her lip and stood. But he held up a hand.

“Normally I’d be flying back into the Light, and this filth would strip. On the earth plane, holy water will have to suffice, but it is somewhat less efficient,” he said, panting as he turned around and let it hit his back. “You don’t need to see this, Celeste.”

“Tell me how to help you,” she said, tears rising in her eyes as she witnessed his pain.

“You can’t,” he said, panting. “Go in the other room and turn on the television or some music. I’ll have this off of me soon.”

“I am here for you,” she said, holding her ground. “Who cares for you? Who takes care of you, Az?”

“The Source,” he said, hanging on to the top of the glass door and pressing a flat palm against the tiles, and
then crying out when he opened his back slits where his wings would normally emerge.

His bluish-red blood fused with demon-black blood as the slit hissed and sizzled and oozed sulfuric stench. Finally the site ran pure red blood, and he slowly opened shaky wings that gleamed pure white again under the spray.

Azrael fell forward and held on to the wall, breathing hard. “Can you hand me the soap.”

Anxious for anything she could do to help him, she rushed over and opened the door and, without even thinking about it, stepped in behind him fully dressed. With the gentlest of touches, she lathered her hands and then soaped the tender spot between his wings, then allowed her hands to capture his torso and slide soap down his hips and over the swell of his buttocks. Sending love into her hands, she soaped his thighs and calves, the spray of the shower blinding her as water hit the center of his back and cascaded off his wings in heavy runnels.

Rising, she kissed the small of his back, gently parting his wings, then stood to kiss the center of his back and thoroughly lather his wings and shoulders and arms, hugging him from behind.

“I know the Source of All That Is takes care of you guys, and us, but I can help because I love you so, can’t I?”

She put shampoo into his locks and kissed his neck as he sighed and relaxed. “Turn,” she ordered softly, and put his soapy back into the spray, then gently washed his face with the tips of her fingers, holding his hair under the water and kissing the bridge of his nose.

“I was so worried,” she murmured, lathering his
chest and slowly sliding her hands down his body, washing it in increments and gently kissing his stomach until it trembled. “If I ever lost you, I don’t know how I would survive. Please don’t frighten me like that again,” she murmured in a warm rush against his groin, delicately soaping the area and watching his body answer her despite his fatigue.

Catching clean runoff water from behind him, she rinsed away the suds and kissed along his thickening shaft as she washed the front of his thighs and calves and feet, then abandoned the soap to a corner in the tile and rinsed her hands to capture him.

Every part of him had been embattled, but what was truly injured was his pride. An adversary had caused dissension between them using an unclean thing, had made him taste jealousy, envy, confusion, domestic discord—and in front of his team. Feminine intuition let her know that this also needed to be purged.

She allowed her mouth to slowly sheathe him until he groaned, her suckles intended to siphon away the injury to his pride or any residual doubt in his mind that she accepted his circumstances, accepted him as he was. She sent love into each deepening pull as he flat-palmed the wall and gripped the top of the glass door. He created a small enclosure for her as his passion built, blocking the water’s spray with his wings, curtaining her in their protection with his head tipped back and his breaths becoming shallow.

He murmured on a deep exhale, “Celeste …”

Yes, she knew how to heal with touch and give quiet reverence to a man who’d gone to hell and back for her
honor, a man who’d risked banishment and censure and ridicule just because he loved her. It was such a small thing to give him respite, sanctuary in her touch and her caress, without expecting anything from him but his own indulgence right now. He’d done enough, had given enough, and no one took care of him beyond his spirit, none attend to the very real needs of his flesh, of his heart, of his mind.

But as he heaved against her on an agonized wail and released all that conflicted him, she also knew that maybe he had been provided for in those areas, too, after all.

He sat on their
private deck in a pair of white linen pants, and an Egyptian-cotton shirt he’d pulled through the ether, handmade sandals from an open-air market on his feet. Celeste was in his arms, sitting on his lap, her white linen dress flowing over her legs and catching warm air currents, as did her hair, off the Nile. She had bathed him and brought him peace. He closed his eyes and allowed the wind to speak to him. There had been no answer yet to his request and there was no rushing such things, as he well knew. For now he was content to just be.

“Are you hungry?” she murmured, still resting her head on his shoulder.

He kissed the top of her head and smiled. “I am, now that you mention it, but I didn’t want to break this wondrous contentment.”

“We can come back here or sleep out under the stars on the top deck,” she murmured, kissing his chest.

He smiled. “Maybe we could rest up there until we got sleepy, but if we stayed all night, there is no guarantee I wouldn’t cause a scene.”

He laughed softly and lifted her head to look at her. Just seeing her face made him reach out to touch her cheek. “I have never known happiness in this way, or contentment like you have shown me.”

She kissed him slowly, then pulled back. “Come on, let’s eat. If you keep talking to me like that and looking at me like that, we will never get to dinner.”

Again she’d made him smile as she slid off his lap and pulled him up to stand. She gave him a sexy wink over her shoulder, a promise for later, and guided him by the hand back into the room and then out into the hall.

Every muscle in his body felt on the verge of being liquefied, but he just couldn’t tell her no or not indulge her desire to join the group for dinner.

Middle Eastern music added to the easy trance Celeste had caused as they descended the stairs to the main dining area. His brothers were there, each of them seeming sated and relaxed. Even Isda was calm with a beer in hand. Bath Kol looked as if he were about to slip into a mild coma.

Azrael stepped around the whirling-dervish floor show as the acrobat wowed ship passengers with fast spins and fabric manipulation at maddening speeds. Azrael’s brothers made room for them and greeted them with lazy smiles as they edged by.

“You look a hundred percent more chill, brother,” Isda said with a lopsided grin. “And as always the lady is beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Celeste said, taking a seat.

“It’s a buffet,” Maggie told her with a smile. “Everything is
so
good. Get some.”

Azrael stood, but she rubbed his back. “You don’t have to walk me. I’ll pick around and will bring you back something good, okay?”

“Are you sure?” He looked at her, confused. Angels were supposed to serve humans, not the other way around.

She kissed him on the cheek. “Positive. I know what you like.”

He smiled and sat down. She definitely did.

Bath Kol sat forward and grinned. “
So
… uh, how’re things?”

“Do not start, BK,” Azrael said, laughing.

“Heard you took a little tour of Majlis al Jinn and cleaned out a nest all by yourself. Where’s Oman? Like, uh, three countries away, on the other side of the Red Sea and on the other side of Saudi Arabia, dude? By Yemen.”

“What can I say? I was very annoyed.”

Bath Kol almost spit out his beer as he burst out laughing. “C’mon, son.
Annoyed
?”

“Extremely,” Isda said, chuckling. “I was dere. He got a little in for you, me, Gav, and Pasch.”

“Well, you look extremely relaxed now,” Gavreel said, stabbing into his seasoned rice.

“I believe the lady had everything to do with that,” Isda said with a wink as Celeste approached with two plates.

Azrael didn’t answer him, just hailed the server. “Two waters?” he asked, glancing at Celeste.

“Water is fine,” she said, and sat down beside him, setting his plate down in front of him first.

“Really, man?” Paschar said as Azrael looked toward the waiter that was coming to take his drink order. “Not a beer and some wine for Celeste, after going to
Oman
and back?”

“And almost creating an international incident on Oman,” Isda said.

“I was not the one with the rocket-propelled-grenade launcher, Isda. My methods were purely supernatural. You, on the other hand, could have made the humans think a neighboring country bombed one of their caves.”

“You took
an RPG
out there, dude? What
is wrong
with you?” Gavreel bent over laughing.

“Bring the man a beer and his lady a zinfandel,” Isda said to the server. He waited until the server had retreated to continue teasing Azrael. “See, dat kind of pharaoh-of-old-world-badass-crazy fearlessness will get your plate brought to you and set down
first
, brothers. Dat’s whot I’m talking about.” Smiling broadly, Isda leaned across the table and pounded Azrael’s fist.

Celeste laughed and winked at Isda. “It wasn’t just the battle—I assure you, brother.”