“It is to be expected. The first bonding is a powerful experience for both partners. I’m sorry if I frightened you.”
There it was again, another apology. But never for the right thing, for the real betrayal. “You didn’t frighten me.”
He gave me a disbelieving glance, but then, he’d felt my panic when he’d pushed inside me, face-to-face. I could deny it all I wanted, but my fear had been real. It was gone now, another part of my curse broken. A part I hadn’t even known remained.
But he’d known, and been prepared for my reaction. He knew too much about me.
He was still watching me, and I was suddenly unwilling to meet his gaze. I slid down in the bed once more, turning my back to him. I was unwilling to get up and go in search of clothing, but his steady gaze made me desperately uncomfortable. “I’m going to sleep some more,” I mumbled.
I hoped he’d take the hint and leave the bed, leave me; for a minute he didn’t move. And then he did, sliding down, turning and curving his body around mine in a gesture I might have thought was protective if it weren’t for the hard ridge of flesh at my back.
His arms went around me, pulling me back against him, his hands sliding up to cover my breasts. I made a hissing noise, only squirming for an instant, and then settling back against his protective warmth. I don’t know why I felt I needed protection—he had proven to be my greatest danger. But for some reason he felt like my greatest safety, and I closed my eyes and slept.
LYING IN BED WITH RACHEL wrapped in his arms was pure hell, and it was only the beginning of his penance. If he could bring her at least a small portion of peace, then he would, no matter what the price. A raging hard-on was minor torment, right?
How had he come to such a place in his limitless existence? He’d prided himself on being cold and controlled with everyone but Sarah, and her loss had scoured away the last bit of gentleness he owned. It had taken too long to realize he’d become a monster, what he despised most. He might not have been Uriel’s bitch, but he’d come close enough, and it had taken Rachel’s near death to make him realize it.
He could still taste her—the sweetness of her desire, the richness of her blood—and he wanted to groan. He didn’t dare fall asleep; he’d probably end up with a wet dream, thoroughly horrifying her.
He couldn’t stop thinking about it: how she’d finally accepted him, wrapping her legs around him and drawing him in tighter; the soft sounds of need that came from her throat when he thrust; the way she’d thrown her head back and arched her neck into the pulling of his mouth as he’d sucked the nourishing, strengthening blood from her.
Hell, who was he kidding? The taking of blood was ritual, deliberate, a holy act and one of healing and strength. It was also the most erotic thing the Fallen were capable of doing, and it had sealed him to her.
God, he thought, shaken. And yet he’d known. Known that it would come to this, that they were bound together whether she hated him or not. She knew it too, even if she refused to admit it. He expected she’d keep fighting it. And he would let her, up to a point. He would have given her more time if he’d had the option, but Uriel was getting too close. Azazel had had no choice but to throw his own doubts and hesitation to the wind. He’d allow her to keep hers for as long as feasible. One more thing he owed her.
His face was in her hair, and it should have tickled. Instead it felt like silk against his skin. He remembered what it was like to feel this way about a woman, the physical connection that never left. And he knew the guilt that had ridden him hard. Guilt that had nothing to do with Sarah and everything to do with him and his own anger. Sarah had let him go, long ago. Now it was time for him to finish releasing her.
Rachel settled deeper into sleep, clearly exhausted. He hadn’t taken enough of her blood to make a difference—in fact, he’d deliberately denied himself as much as he wanted, all that would have been acceptable, in his urgency to protect her. But the power of the first real mating was bone-shattering, and she might sleep all day.
It didn’t matter. They had a war to plan. She could sleep, and he would come back to her.
She could sleep.
IT LOOKED LIKE LATE AFTERNOON when I finally woke, alone in the big bed. I was suffused with the strangest feelings: delight and dread, luxurious lassitude and the certainty that I needed to be rushing around, intense physical satisfaction and deep sexual longing. I wanted him again. I wanted him between my legs, leaning over me, sweating, pushing. I wanted his mouth on my neck, drinking what only I could give him.
I forced myself out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. I was in such a fog I could barely appreciate its elegance; but after a few minutes under a shower that felt like a gentle rainfall, I felt much more alive.
I found my discarded clothes neatly folded on a chair, and I wondered who had done it. The thought of Azazel tending to me was too bizarre to contemplate, yet I thought I would have known if someone else had come into the room. It had to have been him.
I dressed quickly, trying not to think about how those clothes had come off me. The one thing I couldn’t find was the camisole, and I remembered his disapproval and found a brief smile curving my mouth.
I went through the living room, not even bothering to look for something as civilized as a note, and opened the door to the hall. I could hear the arguments from there. Men’s voices, furious and demanding, behind the closed door of the council room. Immediately I turned around and went back in, closing the door behind me. I wasn’t interested in their curious eyes. They would know exactly what Azazel and I had done, and how we had done it, and right then it felt agonizingly personal. I didn’t want anyone else intruding.
So I was starving to death. Big deal—I’d survive.
The sun was already beginning to set. I opened the French doors and stepped out onto the secluded patio, letting the soft breeze dance around me. The smell of the ocean on the air was soothing, which was odd, considering that the sight of it terrified me. And thank the gods and goddesses, there was a tray on the low table, with fresh fruit and croissants and iced tea, the ice still fresh.
I glanced around for another entrance to the patio, but I could see none. Whoever had brought the food was a magician, and I didn’t care. I sank down into one of the wicker chairs and began to eat.
I could still hear the angry voices, but at a distance, and I closed my eyes, letting myself drift back into the memory of last night. I was immediately wet, and disgusted with myself.
I wasn’t going to worry about it. That’s what I felt like; and when he finally returned to these rooms, he’d sense my arousal and—
What if he didn’t return to these rooms? What if the initial bonding was all that was needed? He’d made it clear he didn’t want to have feelings about me. I didn’t doubt that he did—I wasn’t that insecure—but I knew he was more than willing to fight them. Just as I was.
Except that I wasn’t. I needed him, I needed him now. I leaned back and closed my eyes, letting my fingers drift to my mouth, down to my breasts, then up to the invisible brand on my neck, and I wondered if I could will him to come to me. If I called to him, would he hear me?
A shadow passed between me and the sun, and I opened my eyes in instant, unguarded delight. And then froze, looking up into the cloaked face of a stranger.
“Who are you?” I croaked. By now I knew every inhabitant of Sheol, by face if not by name, and this was no man I had ever seen before. I looked into his eyes and they were empty, as if there were no one there, and I had seen eyes like that before. When I’d been strapped to a table in a dark room in a dark city, out of my mind with pain.
I tried to scream, but no noise came out. They’d already taken my voice, and this time they would finish me. I scrambled to my feet, knocking over the chair in my hurry, but the creature didn’t move, simply following me with those empty eyes.