by Larissa Ione
In thousands of years, no one had done that, and his heart fluttered with a foreign sensation that made him feel like he’d guzzled a dozen bottles of the best French champagne.
Shit. He had genuine feelings for her, didn’t he? And wasn’t that some damned inconvenient timing? Even if he didn’t have both Heaven and Sheoul breathing down his neck, he didn’t want the kind of complications emotional attachments brought. No, those strings got knotted real fast, as his relationship with Reaver proved.
Retracting his fangs, he licked the punctures in Blaspheme’s throat, lingering a little longer than was necessary as he lapped up every drop of her sweet blood. She shuddered as he pulled out and carefully released her so she wouldn’t fall.
She immediately gripped the desk to support her shaky legs. He knew the feeling. His own legs were liquid with spent passion. Sure, he’d fucked harder and longer in the past, but somehow, in this brief, intense encounter with Blaspheme, his mind and body had given over more than they ever had.
Stepping back, he mentally cleaned himself up, tucked his semihard cock back in his pants, and zipped. With another mental tweak, he tidied Blaspheme as well, and then bent to gather her clothes.
“We should go see Gethel now,” he said, fully engaging business mode in an effort to leave the emotional shit behind.
He tossed her scrubs, lab coat, and stethoscope onto the desk… and casually slipped her destroyed underwear into his pocket. He’d never been a sicko who kept souvenirs of his conquests, but for some reason, he hadn’t been able to let go of Blaspheme, and he thought that maybe keeping something of hers would help.
Yeah, that’s some loaded rationale. Keep something that belongs to the female you need to let go. That’ll help you forget.
Irritation at his own stupidity made his voice harsher than he intended as he barked, “Come on. Gethel’s not getting any less pregnant.”
Blaspheme’s shoulders heaved, and she made a sound that froze him in place.
“Blaspheme?” She made the sound again, and alarm shot through him. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she croaked. And then, “No.”
Suddenly, sobs racked her body and she slid to the floor in a crouch, her face buried in her hands as she cried.
Raw emotion seized him, scrambling his insides and setting him on the edge of hyperventilation. He couldn’t handle seeing a female cry. Memories of his mother huddled in the back of her cell as she rocked back and forth and wept brought him to his knees in front of Blaspheme.
Very gently, he pulled her against him and used his body to buffer her violent sobs. He didn’t say anything; what was there to say? He wasn’t even entirely sure what was wrong. All he knew was that she was in pain, and he was fucking helpless to do anything about it.
After what seemed like hours, her crying let up enough for him to reach onto her desk and fumble around for the tissue box. He found a slip of paper with some sort of cryptic writing on it, and then his fingers found what he was looking for.
He pressed a tissue into her hand. “Hold on for a second, okay?”
She nodded, turning away to blow her nose as he stood and gathered her clothes. He tucked the piece of paper and her cell phone inside her purse, and then he lifted her into his arms and flashed them both to his bedroom.
He expected her to argue as he carefully tucked her into bed, but she went as limp as a cooked noodle, which was a measure of her exhaustion.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was a muffled whisper into the pillow. “I don’t usually have breakdowns like this.”
“It’s okay.” He climbed into bed and drew her against him as her sobs became sniffles, and finally, she didn’t make any noise except soft snores.
Closing his eyes, he relaxed. Truly relaxed for the first time in… he couldn’t remember. But what he did know was that this felt right, no matter how hard he tried to tell himself that it didn’t. And when the wing anchors on his back began to itch, he once again had the most bizarre desire —
That’s when it happened. His wings sprouted from the slits near his shoulder blades. The left one, blocked by the mattress, lay useless against his back. But the right one spread out in ebony, gold, and silver glory, and he didn’t fight instinct as it lowered over Blaspheme’s body, covering her in a protective cocoon of feathers.
He’d given her the Angel’s Embrace, an act of affection, promise… or love.
Gods, he was a fool.
Blaspheme woke to the mouthwatering aroma of grilled meat. She opened her swollen eyes, wincing at the dry, gritty aftermath of a crying jag. It had always seemed strange that an excess of tears could produce such a parched sensation.
Wait… she’d been crying in her office. In front of Revenant. She groaned and covered her head with the blankets.
Blankets that smelled like Revenant.
God, how could she have fallen apart like that? She wasn’t even sure what, exactly, had caused her to break down, but what she did know was that it couldn’t happen again. She was stronger than that. She’d had to be, to survive this long.
“Hey.” His voice, smoky and resonant, broke into her thoughts, but she wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. “I have food.”
She poked her head out of the covers and peeked at him as he entered the bedroom with a brown paper sack. “Food?”
He held up the grease-stained bag. “Fresh delivered from my favorite underworld pub.”
Hunger beat out embarrassment, and she sat up, realizing at the last second that she was naked. Hastily, she tucked the blankets between her arms and ribs to keep herself covered.
Not that Revenant hadn’t seen every inch of her by now. Still, naked during sex was different than naked and emotionally exposed. She felt like he’d seen not only her body uncovered, but her mind as well.
Something glittery caught her eye, and she reached across the pale blue comforter, her fingers finding the most exquisite feather. Roughly the size of a bald eagle’s tail feather, it was a luxurious blue-black satin shot through with gold and tipped with silver.
“Wow,” she said. “Yours?”
Revenant turned about ten shades of red. Why, she had no idea. If her feathers looked like this, she’d be showing them off all the time. Sadly, hers were the translucent with a pinkish shimmer that all False Angels had, and while they looked exotic from a distance, up close they were crepe paper–thin and meant only for show.
Not that she was complaining. She had no idea what her real wings looked like, and she didn’t want to know. Knowing meant her False Angel enchantment was gone, and she’d likely be dead before she could get intimate with her feathers.
“Ah… yeah. It’s mine.” Revenant sank down on the bed and pulled four foam boxes out of the bag, plus napkins and plastic utensils. “There’s smoked ribs, saucy meatballs, and chops.”
“Not one for vegetables, huh?”
He opened the last box to reveal crisp, golden fries. “Voilà. Vegetables.”
“As a physician, I’m going to throw down a bullshit flag on that one.” Carefully setting aside the feather, she reached for the box full of charred ribs, but pulled her hand back at the last second. “Dare I ask what kind of meat this is?”
He rolled one broad shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Dunno. How strong is your stomach?”
She had a feeling he was teasing, but she wasn’t going to test that theory. She poked a meatball with a plastic fork and gobbled the thing down in two bites. Next, she put a hurting on the ribs, not caring that Revenant was watching her with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
“What?” she mumbled through a mouthful of fries. “Never seen anyone eat before?”
“I like watching you eat. I’d have liked to cook the food myself, but I didn’t want to leave you alone while I went hunting.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you,” she said, even as she wondered how often he cooked for females. “But I’m definitely not going to ask what you would have gone hunting for.”
>
“That’s probably wise.”
They finished eating in surprisingly comfortable silence, and when she was done, Revenant disappeared into the bathroom. He returned with a wet washcloth and stunned her into silence when he very tenderly wiped her face, dabbing beneath her eyes with the greatest of care. Then he moved on to her mouth and hands, catching every bit of sticky sauce and fry grease.
She had a feeling he’d tended to someone like this before. It was hard to imagine that this big, bad Shadow Angel could be so gentle and caring.
As he finished up, she covered his hand in hers. “Who was she?”
He knew what she meant, and shadows flitted in his eyes. “My mother,” he said quietly.
And then, as if he’d gotten a shock stick rammed up his ass, he shoved to his feet and tossed the washcloth in a corner pile of clothes. He yanked a black Guns N’ Roses T-shirt out of his drawer and handed it to her.
“I don’t have any underwear that’ll fit you, but I think I have a pair of sweats that’ll work if you cinch up the waist. You know, a lot.”
“It’s okay. I can wear my scrubs. I should be going anyway.”
“Where? Back to the hospital where you just got suspended?”
His words stung… because he was right. Her life was spiraling out of control, and the suspension had been the last straw. Angels were after her, her False Angel enchantment was wearing off, her mother was missing, and she’d lost her job. Then she’d had amazing sex with Revenant that had felt anything but casual.
Her emotions were frayed, but for some reason, here in Revenant’s lair, it was easy to let all of that go.
“Revenant? Why did you bring me here?”
“You were upset.” He gathered up the boxes and trash and shoved it all into the bag it had come in. “You needed to be safe. This is the safest place for you to be.”
“But why? I was safe at the hospital, too.”
“It’s a… rule.”
She climbed out of bed and started to dress. “A rule?”
He nodded. “When a female is in distress, you tend to her.” He appeared to consider what he’d just said. “Unless she tries to kill you. At that point, she’s fair game.”
Blaspheme slipped into her scrub pants. What was it with him and rules? He’d gotten himself worked up about her no-touching directive the first time they’d had sex. At the time, she’d thought it was weird, but she’d written it off as Revenant not wanting to give up control. But it seemed that this was something very, very different.
“So… you follow every rule?”
“Rules exist for a reason,” he said gruffly, as if she shouldn’t question it.
“What if they’re stupid?”
“It doesn’t matter. If it’s a law, it’s law.”
She rolled her eyes as she shrugged into her scrub top. “I read once that there’s a law somewhere in California that says you can’t dust furniture with dirty underwear. Are you telling me that you think people should be arrested for dusting their furniture with worn skivvies?”
“No. That’s a moronic law, and people shouldn’t go to jail for that.” At her triumphant grin, he held up his hand. “But if it is, in fact, a law, people shouldn’t get pissed for being arrested because they broke it. Stupid or not, it’s the law.” He pressed on the wall, and a hidden panel slid out of the way, opening up his bedroom to an outdoor forest of gnarled trees and funky bushes with thorns as large as her hand. “But straight up, I’d kill anyone who rubbed their skanky underwear on my furniture. Fucking nasty.”
He tossed the bag of garbage and leftovers outside, and almost instantly, a dozen furry things she could only describe as raccoon-spiders scurried over and demolished the bag and its contents. The panel slid closed again, and she could just shake her head at the weirdness that was so normal to him.
She was so lucky her mother had chosen to raise her in the human world where, comparatively, very little was creepy.
“Revenant?”
He swung back around to her. “Yeah?”
“Why are you such a stickler for rules? I mean, I know you’re technically an angel, but you live and work in Sheoul. You were raised here. Sheoul is all about chaos and lawlessness. So why are rules so important to you?”
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and she suddenly knew this was related to his hellish childhood.
“It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“No.” He swallowed again. “I… want to. I don’t know why, but I do.” He made a beeline for the little portable bar in the corner, but before he reached it, he halted, head hung low, as if he couldn’t bear to take another step. “Is your False Angel magic acting on me? Is that why I suddenly have this burning desire to confide in you?”
“What? No. Of course not. This is me. Not some kind of enchantment.”
“But you are a False Angel. It’s in your nature to enchant and deceive.”
He had a point about a False Angel’s nature, but she had no idea how to convince him that she wasn’t using any False Angel abilities on him. Hell, she didn’t know if she even could anymore.
“As a False Angel,” she said, feeling strangely uncomfortable about saying that, “I can choose when to use my gifts and when not to. I swear to you, I’m not using them.”
He eyed her, and she found herself desperately wanting him to believe her. To trust her. And at the same time, shame was a weight in the center of her chest, because she wanted him to believe a lie.
How messed up was that?
And then the truth of the situation hit her so hard she almost took a step back. She was falling for him. Falling for a male who admitted to killing vyrm. And wasn’t that the perfect cap on this epically crappy day.
“I’ll take you at your word, Blaspheme,” Revenant said. “And I never do that, so don’t make me regret it.” Before her brain could process a response, he continued. “The rules,” he said, thankfully getting back to the topic at hand, “are important because breaking them always has serious consequences. My mother taught me that.”
“How well did you know her?” Blas had assumed he’d been raised alone in the cell he’d mentioned the other day.
“She… chose to stay behind with me after Reaver was taken,” he said. “She used to tell me that laws should be created sparingly, because the breaking of a law, even one that seems insignificant or stupid, has consequences. But I didn’t listen. I was a rebellious kid with Satan’s blood winging around inside me. My playground was a torture chamber, and my best friends were the same cell guards who tortured me.”
Blaspheme could only stare in horror. She’d thought her childhood on the run was bad, but she’d never complain again. Ever.
“Revenant, I’m so s —”
He cut her off with a please don’t gesture. She got it – she hated pity, too.
“So my mother tried to warn me. Pleaded with me to follow the demons’ orders and never disobey their laws. Of course I did everything I could to get into trouble. I didn’t give a shit that they beat me.” He jammed his hands into his pockets and looked down, his head hanging loosely from his hunched shoulders. “It didn’t occur to me that my mother had to watch it. And because it didn’t occur to me, I kept breaking rules. Then, one day, while I watched, they beat her instead. I didn’t mean to break rules after that, but sometimes… fuck.”
He scrubbed his hand over his face, and when he was done, he looked tired. Defeated.
Blaspheme’s heart bled for him. She couldn’t even begin to imagine the kind of terror he must have felt watching his mother be abused for something he’d done. His guilt must eat at him like acid. Dying to comfort him in any way she could, she moved forward, but he backed up, clearly not wanting to be touched right now.
“How long did you have to live like that?” Gods, her voice was as unsteady as her emotions were right now. She wanted to cry for him. To scream in outrage. To kill the bastards who had done that to him and hi
s mother.
“They took me away from her when I was ten,” he said. “Sent me to a mine to dig for magma crystals.”
Magma crystals, found only in Sheoul, were rare and precious, coveted by necromancers to use in powerful spells. By all accounts, the mining of them was so dangerous that no one volunteered to do it. Slave labor was the only way the things could be acquired.
“I tried to escape,” he continued in a raspy, tormented voice. “For ten years I tried to find a way to get back to my mother. What I didn’t know until later was that every time I made a break for it, she was hurt. Raped. All the usual stuff they do to females. So, yeah. You follow the fucking rules no matter what, because if you don’t, bad shit happens.”
Blaspheme’s throat felt raw, as if she were the one to have shared that horrible story. To have shared the screams that had no doubt been wrenched from him.
“Revenant,” she whispered.
His head came up with a snarl. “Don’t.”
Ignoring him, she moved forward, and again, he backed up. But this time, she didn’t stop until he hit the bedroom wall. He snarled again, baring his fangs. Like a wounded animal, his behavior was defensive, not aggressive, and she knew instinctively he wouldn’t hurt her.
“Easy.” Very slowly, she cupped his face between her hands and met his haunted gaze. “Thank you for telling me. You don’t have to say anything more. But if you want to, I’m here for you.”
His dark eyes roamed her face, searching, she assumed, for sincerity. Little by little, the last traces of resistance vanished, and he hauled her against him. His strong arms surrounded her, but she got the feeling it was she who was holding him up as he hugged her tight, burying his face in her hair, his body as stiff as a backboard.
They stood like that for a long time, until he finally murmured, “Are you for real, Blaspheme?”
She pulled back, found herself looking up into those fathomless black eyes. “What do you mean?”