Demon's Kiss (6 page)

Gabriel stared him down, waited patiently. She had all the
time in the world—it wasn’t as if they were going anywhere.

It’s too soon
, Asmodeus said almost desperately.

It was too soon and in more than one way. Asmodeus would
have given her more time to get used to him, to the idea of what they were to
each other. Each time he took from her…

There was no choice. There was too much she needed to know
if he continued to feed from her. It wrenched his heart but choice had been
left behind the moment Templeton had summoned him from the other plane.

Asmodeus took a long, slow breath.

My angel, Gabriel.
His throat tightened.
There is
something you should know if you would do this. Each time I feed on you, what I
give you in the venom…it changes you. It helps your body give me the sustenance
I need, yes, but it also binds us more closely. It takes what is there between
us and it binds you to me. It is no sacrifice on my part.
Not ever. Not
knowing what he now knew. His heart wrenched as he laid a hand on her belly.
It
also prepares you in other ways.

An odd emotion slipped through Gabriel at the implications
of that gesture, a sweet yearning she had thought past.

Once she had thought she could have it all but then one day
she realized time had slipped by her. She had begun to realize that, though she
hadn’t been looking, time for a husband, a home, a family, had finally run out.

The pain of that knowledge whispered through her, old and
familiar, but she put it aside, there was no time for it now. Or for the soft
glimmer of hope that it seemed he suddenly offered.

But not now?
she asked.
Not right this moment?

For Gabriel there had never been any question, not after
what she had just guessed, and certainly not after what she had just watched.
Not after seeing his courage, his strength. How he had to suffer it. For her
sake. And for his.

How could she do any less? It had always been her way to do
what needed to be done. It was who she was.

And, to be honest, she craved it.

She wanted it, wanted to feel him feed from her. She ached
for the delicious pleasure of his mouth on her throat, of his teeth as they
sank once more into her skin, with a desire that was very nearly sexual. The
very thought had her going hot. He took, yes, and she gave. Willingly. She
loved the feel of his strong arms around her, the feel of his long, hard body
against hers.

Asmodeus watched as her lips curved, as her chin lifted.
There was challenge in those brilliant blue eyes. Challenge, and, with that
tilt of her head, acceptance and an offer he could not deny. Nor, in truth, did
he want to.

With a sigh and a grudging smile, Asmodeus drew her against
him once more, both reluctant and eager. In that last it seemed he wasn’t alone
as her lush body molded against his, the feel of it immensely satisfying as her
arms went around him, held him close. It was a deep and abiding pleasure to
wrap his arms around her, to cradle her against him while her legs tangled with
his. She curled one arm around his neck, laid the other hand lightly on his
chest. Warmth moved through him as she drew him closer as well.

Rolling so she was beneath him, he lowered his head to her
throat and breathed in the sweet scent of her. He grazed his fangs over her
delicate skin with growing anticipation. He let her feel them pressed against
her throbbing pulse. She shivered a little with pleasure and a rush of heat
went through him.

He bit down slowly to savor the moment and the sensation of
his fangs as they broke through her tender skin. Deep pleasure coursed through
him. As his venom pumped into her and her warm, thick blood filled his mouth,
pleasure of a different kind rushed through him.

His mouth was hot as it closed over Gabriel’s throat. He
cradled her head gently in one big hand while the other closed around her waist
to pull her even more tightly against him. Warmth moved through her, a sense of
being held safe.

As his venom pumped into her, her blood seemed to catch fire
as he began to feed in earnest—his mouth closing over her throat tightly to
draw on her, suckle at her, as he took that first deep mouthful.

Ecstasy rushed through her in an immense wave, obliterating
thought.

More.

She slid one hand up into his silky hair to draw his mouth
more tightly against her, while the other caressed the strong muscles of his
back, mindful of his wings and of the wounds there as she drew him closer. He
settled in to feed, drank her slowly. Her pussy tightened with each motion of
his mouth on her. Sheer delight swallowed her up, engulfed her.

Asmodeus sensed her heart lightening as her hand skimmed
down his back and she felt the wounds there knit while he fed, his pain easing
as the pleasure of his feeding claimed her. Her hands loosened, went lax. His
heart was lost to her as they fell away, as she went limp and surrendered to
him. She sighed, blissfully, as he fed.

Asmodeus hid his deep and intense contentment as the taste
of her filled him.

If what she said was true and Templeton watched, Asmodeus
had to have a care here. He curled a wing over them in lieu of a blanket. There
was no smoke to conceal them now. He could not, dared not, show what she meant
to him in a way that Templeton or his minions might understand or her life
would be forfeited to them and his freedom with it. Still, he cradled her close
as he withdrew his fangs but kept his mouth pressed to her slender white
throat, to the reassuring beat of her pulse. Let them think he still fed, as
long as that pulse continued to throb steadily beneath his lips.

Gabriel sighed. A kind of languorous lassitude filled her, a
deep contentment.

There was no pain, no headache. She was weak and a little
shaky. No surprise there. She was always a little dizzy for a few moments after
donating blood. It had taken Asmodeus two feedings to make her head spin…but
only one glance. She smiled and looked up into his eyes, the little gold sparks
within them spinning slowly, reflecting his mood.

Lightly, she ran her fingers over his strong shoulder,
seeing a scar where there had been the mark of the lash. There was an
incredible amount of satisfaction at seeing him healed and knowing he was no
longer suffering.

And seeing the evidence of magic.

It stunned her. She had done that.

In wonder, she stroked her fingers over the mark, concealed
somewhat by his wing, mindful of the cameras that might be watching.

“Magic,” she said softly, awestruck, her voice little more
than a whisper.

Asmodeus watched her face, wishing he could touch it. His
heart ached for the lack, but he had to hold back. He contented himself with
running his hand down her arm beneath his wing, stroking and playing with one
full breast, fascinated with the satiny texture of her skin.

Smiling just a little, Asmodeus said, “It is a simple magic
and not just mine, but ours.”

Her gaze shot to meet his.

With an effort, Asmodeus kept his smile from broadening at
her surprise. “There is still magic in your world and you have probably known
and seen it, just not so strong as it once was. Do you not feel it,
mishea
,
here?” He tapped her chest lightly, the dark ebony of his claw stark against
her white skin, and then his own chest.

“It is there in that bond between those who love, in the
moment when it seems your heart swells in tune with that other, and you know,
just know, they feel the same. A simple magic but it is magic all the same.
Nothing else heals so completely as that.”

“So,” Gabriel said, “you feel it too?”

There was a flash of something, a deep sorrow and a yearning
in her eyes, that made his heart twist a little.

“I feel it too, my angel,” Asmodeus said, and nodded as he
traced the curve of her breast with one finger, his eyes on hers.

Gabriel saw the truth of it there. Something within her
eased.

She looked around them at the firepots that still ringed
them and then at Asmodeus himself. Taking a breath, she nodded. “Magic all
right.”

Gabriel was intensely aware of their legs entwined,
conscious of the feel of his tail as it stroked from her calf up her thigh to
caress her hip and then slid back down again, his fingers as they traced the
curve of her breast. Her body warmed.

“I don’t understand. If you can do that, why can’t you get
out of here? How does all this work?”

The memory of passing between those outer rings suddenly
came back to her with unanticipated force, a wrenching of her stomach and an
atavistic horror so intense she shivered.

Asmodeus drew her closer and nodded, keeping his voice low
as he brushed a soothing hand down her arm, the gesture hidden by his wing.

“The explanation is at once simple and complex,” he said.
“Magic is all about intention and will, my angel. Some magic remains in your
world, in greater or lesser quantity. It is only whether some of those who
possess it know how to wield it. You no doubt see some of these lesser magics,
for example the man or woman who draws other people to them, consciously or
unconsciously, for good or ill. In our day we called such magics enchantments,
glamours or charismas.”

Nodding, Gabriel said, “We still do.”

She thought of the charismatic preacher she had investigated
who had conned thousands out of their life savings with promises of a better
world in the next life. Conversely, she also thought of the old woman in one of
the apartments below hers in D.C. who just seemed to draw people to her, giving
a kind word here, bestowing a warm smile there.

Then there was Templeton, who somehow managed to convince
people to trust him even though, by all evidence, he was patently
untrustworthy.

Catching the thoughts, the images, Asmodeus nodded. “Just
so. So Templeton cast this circle or had it cast and when he brought it into
being he did so with the intention that it be a trap.”

His own sense was that it was likely that whoever had helped
to cast it hadn’t done it willingly, and had paid for it with his life. There
was dark magic at work here, such a sacrifice would have been necessary to
create magic this strong.

“Like most such traps, it was designed to allow prey to
enter but not to escape. So, as with the firepots, I can conjure them here but
I can’t conjure them, myself, or you out. As with my brothers. If they come in
answer to my summons, they, too, would be trapped.”

Puzzled, Gabriel asked, “Why doesn’t he just summon them
himself, as he did with you?”

“It takes energy to summon and to hold them,” Asmodeus
explained. “There are some laws even magic must follow, as for example when I
summoned the firepots. First, they must exist in reality, I cannot call them up
out of clear air, it is not possible. I could perhaps summon the materials to
make them, but for the firepots themselves to be as they are, they must first
exist. So, these came from my own quarters on the other plane. There are other
laws as well.”

He hesitated, took a breath. “I said when they brought you
to me that I was starved, and so I was, for the energy to do magic. Each of us
only has so much energy within us, we can only do so much in a given day without
rest and sustenance and so it is true of magic. However, give us a dire need
and we will find more energy to do what must be done but there will be a price
to be paid for that later. And so another source of energy must be found.
Templeton has magic enough to secure his minions, to secure those with weaker
wills, such as the one at the podium. He hasn’t got the energy to summon
another.”

Whereas Asmodeus grew stronger with each feeding.

Gently, reassuringly, he tightened his fingers on her waist.
“So, they brought me you to feed from, not knowing the value of who they
brought. Food can only give so much. It is life that gives so much more than
sustenance, like striking flint against steel to make a spark that gives birth
to flame, which also gives light and heat in its turn. So does magic work,” he
said. “If for good, then it adds, like flour, water and yeast make bread. If
for ill, then it’s like the leak in a dam, draining away energy and life.”

Asmodeus looked into the shadows around them and the men hidden
within and said, “I doubt they know Templeton feeds off them in his own way,
although not as I do you. He feeds off all of them nonetheless, diminishing
them. He would need many more men to be able to do more than he has. I suspect
it takes the energy of all these to simply hold me.”

“You’ve tried to escape,” she said, a simple statement of
fact.

“Many times, my angel,” Asmodeus said grimly. “If nothing
else, to drain their energy as much as possible and to keep it drained so he
cannot achieve that aim of bringing my brothers here, and in hopes of my own
escape.”

Bitterly, he held up an arm, shook it, as if to free his
wrist from the iron bracelet. “So long as I wear these though, I cannot get
far. They are as much chains as the one on my ankle. Cold iron, which grounds
me and holds me here bespelled by Templeton to bind me to him.”

The chafing of the iron had faded as he grew accustomed to
it, although so long as it touched his skin it would continue to pain him. But
it had grown easier to bear.

He looked at her.

“So,” he said, “in your own way, my angel, you have magic
too. Your magic is healing, but it is all of society that you heal, using your
magic whether you know it or not to follow the path that is yours, of righting
wrongs, of bringing those who would do ill to justice. And, on a smaller scale,
to heal the pain of those who have been wounded, by being their warrior,
fighting for them where they cannot. That is the path that is truest to your
heart.”