Revelation (12 page)

A fucking junkie, that’s what he was. Just another helpless addict, like Michael’s fawning little pets. Terrified of that black day when his source would dry up, and there’d be no more.

Once, he’d vowed never to ask again. But something always kept him coming back.

Luniel’s fists clenched. Something like Morgan. Letting her die wasn’t an option. That didn’t make begging for the scraps of heaven’s deliverance any less humiliating.

He stalked to the kitchen sink and doused his head, shaking it so the water streamed through his hair and over his body. Sweat and blood sloughed away. He rinsed his mouth and ruffled his feathers, spraying angry droplets onto the floor. The glory filled him with lust for demon slaughter, his muscles throbbing, all that righteous anger he’d been so long denied.

He breathed deep, fighting to relax.
Calm the fuck down, Lune. This is no way to fight.
But the thrill was irresistible. Glory was hashish for heaven’s warriors. They killed on a holy high, their blood pumping hot and relentless with divine wrath. That was heaven’s way, how angels were absolved from the slaughter they wrought. Cold calculation was for murderers, a slippery slide to hell.

Whatever. Lune had already called Dash, told him about the demon sigil and Quuzaat. Soon, the Host would be here. He needed to arm himself, make ready…

Through the moonlit heat of his own raging pulse, he heard the faint rasp of sobbing.

Morgan.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn’t go away.

She was crying. Up until now, she’d taken everything on board with a quip and a thoughtful nod.

His muscles jerked tight. Had she watched what he’d just done? Seen him drink his own blood and get struck by divine lightning? Enough to freak any unbelieving human out. Hell, it freaked
him
out.

His brittle nerves itched, and he alighted and wafted on warm air towards the bathroom. Peered silently over the screen, quivering.

She curled beside the bathtub, hugging her knees. Her wet dark hair lay tangled over her shoulder. She’d peeled off her white doctor’s coat, and she looked so vulnerable without her armor. So feminine in her dark skirt and plum red blouse. Her smoky stockings were torn, a tantalizing glimpse of smooth skin. Her lips shone, so delicate and soft.

His pulse quickened. So beautiful. So desirable. And her tears tore his heart, even as his spell-rich blood pounded harder, drowning out his reason.

Don’t go in there, Lune. Don’t comfort her. Don’t touch her, for heaven’s sake.
Not in this state, hard, aching, thirsty for action and sensation. He’d hurt her. Fuck her. Worse. Both.

But he couldn’t let this proud woman cry. Not on his bathroom floor. Not when he was the cause.

As calmly as he could, he laid his spelled knife on the sink and settled on his knees at her side. “Morgan?”

Luniel’s voice vibrated through her chest, and she blinked rapidly on stupid tears. He was on his knees beside her, wrapping her in his warm shadow. She didn’t want him to see her cry. He’d only think her weak and vulnerable. “Go away,” she muttered.

“Please, don’t cry. You’re okay.” He brushed her hair back with shaky fingers.

She jerked away, her pulse racing. The bathtub clanged warm against her back. She couldn’t retreat any further. “Don’t touch me. I watched you. I saw you drink your own blood!”

“Yes.” No denial. No hesitation. “It’s a blood sacrifice. The cost of healing. I wasn’t supposed to take your injury. I couldn’t fix it.” He shrugged, edgy, his dark wings jerking. “Being Tainted…well, it’s not all fun. I have to ask for stuff I used to do on my own. But it’s not devil worship or any shit like that. In case you were wondering.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you?” Her throat ached. He looked so beautiful. His skin glowed, still afire with that warm
white light. His black feathers gleamed. She wanted to touch them.

“Tell me I’ve lied to you so far.” He stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “Everything I’ve said is true. Trust me.”

Her heart clenched. His hot blue gaze unsettled her. Too close. Too strong. Too honest.

She wanted to trust him. Wanted to let him make everything okay. His face held no deceit. His gaze didn’t falter. His handsome mouth didn’t twitch. Her every instinct screamed at her that he was telling the truth. Not just about the blood spell. About everything.

And that made it all the more imperative that she got away from him, right now.

She scrambled to her feet, her pulse aflame, and dived for the exit.

But he got there first on a flash of black wings, and held her. “No. Stop running from me.”

“Let me go!” She struggled, but it only made him hold her tighter.

“Not until you face the truth.” He grabbed her wrists, fighting her. “You’re a smart woman. Don’t make yourself stupid over this.”

“What do you mean?” His grip hurt a little. She twisted, trying to break free, trying not to notice how her heart raced when he touched her. It was all tricks. An attractive guy, a lonely woman. Oldest con in the book.

“You are,” he insisted. “The light’s glaring you in the face and you’re deliberately shutting your eyes. I call that pretty stupid, don’t you?”

“It’s not like that! I just—oh!”

Swiftly, he pinned her to the wall, thrusting his thigh against her hip to hold her. The contact tingled through her. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and sweet warmth flared there.

His blue gaze seared into hers, heated and dangerous. “You just what?” His whisper deepened to a growl that sparkled her skin hot. “Just don’t believe me? Then believe this.” And he leaned in and trapped her mouth with his.

So scorching hot. So delicious. His lips captured hers, shocking, alive. He took her mouth deeply, no waiting, just a commanding swipe of his tongue across her lips that demanded she open for him. And then he slanted his lips across hers to deepen the kiss further, tasting every corner of her mouth, until her eyes slid closed and all her objections and fears dissolved in a mess of hot longing.

No angels, no demons. No end of the world. Just this man, hard and delicious and hungry for her.

He growled, deep inside his chest, and pleasure tingled straight to her core. He felt so raw, so untamed. His fingers dug into her wrists as he kissed her harder, crushing her against the wall like he’d never let her go. His body felt strong, hot, hungry, his sheer size intimidating and exciting. His tongue tangled with hers, urgent, and when she moaned into the kiss, he sighed, deep. “Morgan,” he breathed into her mouth, his lips never quite leaving hers. “You taste so fucking good. Can you feel how hard I am for you?”

Oh, could she feel it. Hard and delicious, pressing hungrily into her belly. She flushed hotter. “Umm. Yeah.”

“Feels real enough, doesn’t it? Do you like it?”

“Mmm.” She struggled in his grip, wanting to slide her
palms over his chest, score his perfect skin with her nails, hear him gasp and groan as she worked his silky hot shaft in her hands. She hadn’t touched a man in so long—hadn’t been touched, hadn’t sighed in pleasure or elicited a sigh in return—and now she knew how much she’d missed it. Everything always about work, about data and analysis and being rational.

There was nothing rational about this. She wanted this creature inside her. She wanted to touch him, taste his beautiful skin, run her hands through that sooty-silk hair, drag him downwards and let him take her. Lie beneath him and rub her cheek against his soft angel feathers while he drove into her…

Angel.
Her wits fluttered, lost. She wanted to be touched…no. She wanted to be
fucked
by an angel. This angel. And nothing had ever seemed so right.

“Good.” A heated whisper, tender but full of force, demanding her surrender. “That’s progress. Now stroke my feathers.”

“But…”

“Touch them, Morgan.” Another kiss, deep and melting, and he curled his wing’s edge over his shoulder and pulled her fingers deep into the smooth blackness. “Do you feel that?”

Warmth tingled from her fingertips deep into her body, and she gasped. So sleek and silken, yet crisp. Strange, warm, alive.

He squeezed her hand, making her clench her fingers and pull. “How does it feel?”

The feathers crunched in her fist, springy. Hot golden sparks jumped in reaction, and he growled softly, yanking her tighter against him. He obviously enjoyed that. She wanted to do it again. She struggled to breathe, think, say anything coherent. “Umm…it sparkles…it’s hot, and…you like it…”

“You noticed. That’s another step forward. Now tell me you want me, too.”

His insistence made her quiver in delight, her breasts aching for his palms. “Mmm. Touch me.”

“Not good enough. Let go, Morgan. Believe.” More scorching kisses, and this time he pressed his hard thigh between hers, easing his throbbing cock against her with a feral groan of desire that made her shiver and fumble at the wall for safety. “Say it.”

He was too much for her. Too big, too strong, too demanding. Fear stroked between her legs, twinned with secret, delicious
desire. She was losing control, and it struck her afire. “I do,” she gasped in wonder. “I want you.”

“Then tell me I’m real.” He released one wrist, and brushed his knuckles along the line of her throat, down to caress the side of her breast. Daring, she grabbed his hair—at last, so crisp and silky rough, just like she’d imagined—and he spread hot kisses down her neck, nipping her collarbone with a soft snarl that made her weak. His knuckles brushed the thrumming tip of her breast through her blouse. “Tell me
this
is real.”

She managed an incoherent sound. Her nipples were so hard they stung. He yanked her blouse aside and tongued her through her black lacy bra, and she cried out. Her breasts were so sensitive. Always had been. “Mmm. More. Please.”

His wings glittered like black ice with desire. He slid his big hand inside her bra and cupped her breast, uncovering it so it was bare. “Heaven, you’re beautiful.” He thumbed the nipple lightly, making her moan. “You like that? Then say it, Morgan. Tell me I’m real.”

“Confession under torture,” she managed with a panting smile. “Unreliable.”

He squeezed her gently, stroking openmouthed kisses around her nipple but not close enough, and with his other hand he released her wrist and teased up inside her thigh. His midnight hair brushed her chest, tempting. “Say it, witch.”

She crushed his hair, desperate. Her nipples swelled even harder. “You’re real. This is all real. Just touch me!”

He sucked her nipple deep into his hot mouth.

She cried out, the heat spearing all the way to her sex. Nothing had ever felt so good.

“Well done,” he murmured, wicked. “Didn’t hurt, did it? Wanna see how real it gets?” He suckled her, nipping softly.

Oh, God. Her thighs tingled, and he crept his fingers upwards, teasing the lacy edge of her stocking. She groaned, and parted her thighs for him. She was so close. If he pushed even one finger into her, she’d break apart…

No. She wanted him inside her. All of him. She reached between them, searching, gliding her fingers along his hot length over his jeans. Mmm. This would fill her nicely. He didn’t feel strange or wrong. He felt like a man, big and engorged and shuddering with need.

He ground against her, urgent, reaching for her panties. Her nipple slipped from his sucking mouth with a pop. “Do you want my cock, Morgan? Want me inside you?”

The simple, brutal passion in his words throbbed deep in some secret place inside. All her life, she’d fought for control, but tonight, with this man, she wanted…something else. Something dangerous. “Oh, yes.”

“Undo me, then. Go on.”

She fumbled, and his buttons popped open, his cock straining hot into her hands. Holy shit, he was huge. Go slow, can’t take it huge, so long and thick and hard…Beautiful. She wrapped hungry fingers around him, stroking, and he growled and dived for her other nipple, baring her breast and sucking the hard bud into his mouth.

Tension clenched hot and tight inside her. “Oh, God. Now. I’m going to…oh!” Frantic, she wrapped her thigh around his hips, straining to reach high enough.

He swore and pushed her skirt up, guiding himself. Her panties were soaked, and he tugged them aside. “You’re so wet,” he growled. “You smell delicious.”

When his hot flesh rubbed against her slickness, she moaned, another spasm wracking her. “Yes. Do it.”

He held back, breathing hard, his lips an inch from hers. “You going to come?”

“Uh-huh…”

He nipped her bottom lip, a possessive snarl. “You going to come when I fuck you, Morgan?”

“God, yes! Just do it!”

He groaned, and rolled his hips, and the head of his massive cock nudged her entrance. She panted, quivering on the brink.

And then he cursed, bitter, and pulled back.

She gasped, disbelieving. Swiftly, he covered her mouth with his, and thrust his hand between her legs. Her clit swelled under his clever fingers, so hard and sensitive, and in a few moments she exploded, shuddering, liquid fire searing her nerves, her cries stifled deep in his mouth.

She let her head fall back, dazed. Heat tingled inside her, still stroking her with delight. “What? Why did you…?”

“Shh.” He pressed his finger to her lips, his eyes glowing violet. His other hand still caressed her lightly, teasing out
aftershocks that made her gasp and whimper. His feathers sparked, electric with desire. “Hold that thought, Dr. Sterling. We’ve got company.”

And now she heard what his supernatural hearing had already detected.

Footsteps on the iron roof. The rush of wings.

Luniel kissed her, hard, stealing her breath, and with a night-dark flutter, he was gone.

Her legs went limp, and she braced herself against the wall on sweaty palms, panting.

So what the hell was that?

Her mind swirled, drugged with pleasure. So hot. So perfect. He’d played her like a familiar instrument, and she’d gone with him, every sigh and shiver and moan of the way. She hadn’t come like that in years. Or ever. And still her flesh twitched, longing to feel him inside her.