by S. A. Ravel
“She will learn,” he said and turned away again, hands fisting at his side. The connection to Abella became taut, stretching thin. His jaw locked and he forced his knees to remain still rather than surge into a takeoff to streak after the disobedient woman and haul her back.
“Everyone learns,” Seri said, voice casual. “One merely hopes the learning leaves no scars.”
Dakota happened to be at the wharf at the same time Abella approached. Driven by a need to escape for a few hours, she knew what Ishaiq had said, but now his presence in her mind was muted. She’d learned this meant he was otherwise occupied and not paying attention to her for once. She’d begun to think he could monitor her and do whatever it was he did all day simultaneously, but as she attended to him, she learned the ebbs and flows of his presence in her head.
Much of it happened to coincide with the times she knew Seri sought his company.
Abella didn’t blame the female. She was here to seduce the Archan. Even though she really had no right or reason to be jealous, Abella didn’t like it. She may serve a purpose in his life—for now—and he may have even hinted in the way men always did that she meant a little more to him than a temporary convenience… but she would be a fool to put any real weight in his hints.
A fool.
And he didn’t own her anyway. She had a legal work permit and nothing in the paperwork said the Archan was allowed to cage her to his island. For any reason. She needed time and space in her own head, and a few hours of just being a normal young woman.
So… a night on the town. Exploring, playing the tourist. And since Dakota was here with her…
“There’s this great little place I go to,” he said. “Fantastic cocktails, the fruity stuff women like, and they’ll use the top-shelf liquor if you’re hot.” He grinned. “You’re hot, so you’ll get the good stuff.”
Abella looked down at herself. She’d dressed in a ubiquitous night-on-the-town but not-interested-in-hook-up type of outfit. Black leggings with a nice sheen, heeled sandals, and a blouse with a deep scoop neckline in a deep blue. Some chunky earrings and a slick of gloss over her lips. Cute, but not trying-to-snag-a-man cute.
“I look all right.”
“I love how you look,” he said. “You’re not trying too hard. A lot of the human women really do it up, you know? Trying to catch a pair of wings.”
Abella grimaced. She had quite enough attention from ‘wings,’ thank you very much. It was good Dakota had decided to join her, too. It meant she wouldn’t be spending her time fending off hook-ups.
“Well, I look forward to a few non-work hours,” she said. “So, lead on.”
Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea.
Abella supposed those hazy thoughts were the last words that ran through many a foolish woman’s head.
“Are you all right?” Dakota shouted over the din of music.
Multi-colored lights flashed, casting a brief, sinister shadow on his face before swirling away. The crowd of bodies, the old-fashioned curtain of colored smoke to enhance the lighting—the sheer noise of the music. It all began to crowd into her mind and settle into her stomach.
“I think I feel sick,” she said, knowing he couldn’t hear her. She didn’t have the energy to shout. But he must have seen her face.
“This place takes getting used to,” he yelled in her ear, taking her arm and leading her off the dance floor. “I’ll take you somewhere quiet.”
She wondered what had happened to the drink she’d been carrying—she hadn’t noticed putting it down or having it taken from her. Dizziness assailed, and she inhaled abruptly, then began coughing.
Dakota led her out of the building, chatting in a bright, unaffected voice. And she knew for a fact he’d downed at least three drinks to her one.
Abella stumbled, glancing around to register they were in an alley.
“Not far now, “Dakota said. “I have a transport parked nearby.” He led her into a garage and up an elevator. The top floor would be reserved for the aerial conveyances.
Confusion. Why would he have a transport? They’d come over on a very plebeian boat.
“Why do you have a transport?” she asked, framing the words carefully. They felt fuzzy in her mouth. “I don’t feel good.”
“No, dear, I don’t imagine you do.” The casual beach voice was gone and in its place a brisk, cool man spoke to her. “Your sister isn’t very pleased with you.”
They paused once the elevator door opened and alarm bells rang in Abella’s mind, jolting some of her growing lethargy. But not enough. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, the part of her mind that was fully aware panicked, trying to wrest control over her numbing limbs. Dakota took her by the arm and led her, unresisting, to the two-person flight pod.
“We’ll meet with a shuttle to take us to your ship. Don’t worry—the team has orders to ensure you’re treated very well. You won’t be starved or molested.”
He continued to chat and she ignored him.
Ishaiq.
Abella? His attention was immediate, with a nearly vicious edge to it. As if he’d been waiting on her.
I… think I’m being kidnapped.
Let me see.
She didn’t quite know what that meant, but Ishaiq’s presence—albeit lessened—was in her head, flowing within her as a sharpening jolt of clarity. Without warning—of its own volition, Abella’s head turned, eyes locking on Dakota. He tensed immediately, whipping around to meet her, sunny sky eyes narrowed. The beach bum facade seemed like an ill-fitted suit now. He even stood differently.
“What—“
Abella screamed. Power ripped through her skull, shattering the globes of her eyes and flinging Dakota into the air. He landed with a thud, head crunching against the cement. She sank to her knees, clutching her temples. Her eyes burned.
Abella, get up, run. I don’t know if there are others with him, and I can’t do more without damaging your brain. I’ll find you.
Her body was hauled upright as if a giant invisible hand reached out and grabbed her, but Dakota snatched the back of her shirt. She stumbled, then righted herself, realizing her eyes had not actually burst. And ran.
Stumbling through the streets, she ignored the exclamations as she bumped into people, and as her coordination deteriorated, her stomach threatened to display its contents on the sidewalk in front of any one of the fancy restaurants and clubs she passed. It seemed that Ishaiq’s strike had cleared enough of whatever drug someone slipped into her drink. Now Abella’s anger returned and her thoughts were not as blurred.
She turned down a less-crowded street, passing a club with a group of men lolling outside.
“Hey—you need help?” a man called out.
She ignored him until she heard the patter of steps rapidly approaching. “Hey, girl, you look like you’ve had a good time tonight. You need to sit down.”
A growl rose from her throat when several laughing males this time, grabbed her arm, and dragged her into an alley.
“Get away from me!” she exclaimed, trying to push.
“She’s wasted,” Abella heard. “Can’t understand a word she said.”
“Perfect,” the one closest to her replied.
Shoved against a rough stone wall, she blinked, the non-descript face of a man swimming into focus in front of her. His fingers delved into her waistband. Abella’s inner self revolted.
Concentrating to form the words, she said, “You’re going to die, human.”
Not her intended words, but another’s, projected through her voice. A rush of air, the low swoop of wings and wrenched the man away from her. She blinked rapidly, clearing her head from the streaks of blue and white in the air. The cries and thuds of human bodies, tossed like driftwood. Feathers brushed her cheek, scoring her face. Abella reached up, her fingertips coming away damp with blood.
And then Ishaiq’s arms were around her, wings extended to full length and he pumped, lifting off the ground. She buried her head on his ne
ck and held on, knowing he wouldn’t drop her.
Knowing that when they returned to the Skyhall, his anger might overtake them both.
9
The adrenaline and fury that kept her upright in the aftermath of the kidnapping attempt disappeared on the flight. Abella shivered in Ishaiq’s arms as he flew to the Skyhall. Despite the anger that burned along the tight, vibrating rope of their mental connection, when he landed, her feet were set as if there were pillows beneath.
“I should go downstairs…” she whispered
“I don’t think so.” He tilted her head back and brushed her hair away from her face. The thin line of his mouth was cruel. “Look at me.”
She shook her head and tried to push him away, but her arms were too heavy, his hold inescapable. “I’m fine.”
“You would have been taken, or dead. Or worse. Because you disobeyed me.”
“Because I need to get away from you.” She was too exhausted to worry about saving herself from his wrath. She couldn’t have stood and gone to her bedroom if she tried. Every muscle in her body was exhausted. She needed Ishaiq’s help, and she could see in his eyes that he knew it.
His hand made its way into the wild mass of her hair. Tightened as if he wished it was her neck, his fingers wrapped around. “You lie. You don’t want to run from me. You want to run from your desires.”
Her own anger flared, matching his. “You’re trying to control me, trying to take away every freedom I’ve known. And for what?” Her hands painted on his chest, her emotions making her reckless. “So I can watch you flirt with Seri?”
He laughed, pulling her flush against his body. Hard, looking down at her with masculine glee. “Finally, you admit your jealousy. Admit that you belong to me.”
His mouth crashed over hers, giving no warning, accepting no plea for gentleness, for mercy. He kissed her as if to sate the anger and lust broiling in his mind. As if a single kiss could bind her to him irrevocably. Even so, her body lurched to wakefulness, breasts tightening, knees trembling in need.
Tearing her head away, she held his narrow-eyed gaze in silence, letting the weight of his words settle on her. The connection between them was stronger now. She could feel the emotional turmoil in him without reaching toward him.
“I’m not something you can play with,” she said. “A convenience for you to use until you no longer need me, and then—“
“Be silent.” Ishaiq lifted her into his arms, voice mild. Abella frowned, the sudden softening of his anger confusing. “Your words are insulting, but I’ll take into consideration the tumultuous nature of your evening.”
She was silent as he walked the halls of his tower. When they arrived at a glass-walled suite, a simple word from him opening the translucent door, Abella realized she could no longer pretend he wasn’t prepared to act on his desire.
There was no other reason Ishaiq would take her to his private rooms. Would set her gently on the massive white-covered bed, arms folded, face impassive as he stood over her.
“Did you kill those men?” she asked, stalling for time.
His brow rose, arrogance in every inch of his body. He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Abella sighed, and closed her eyes.
“You regret their deaths?” he asked. “They would have raped you. Probably killed you as well, thinking they could get away with it. It seems the Red Wings aren’t as effective a deterrent for savage behavior as they once were.” He paused. “Why are you still fighting me?”
Abella sighed, and settled onto the bed. She was tired, and if he was going to put her there, she might as well make use of it.
“Because I want something permanent. I don’t want to fall in love with a being that can’t love me back.”
She heard the rustle of cloth, the dip of the bed. She opened her eyes and he was above her, wings spread out to create a canopy.
“Is that what you think?” he asked softly. “If I couldn’t love you, do you think I would have tolerated your presence in my mind for one second? I could have obliterated you—but I took you inside me.” His knuckles brushed along her cheekbone. “You know what I want in return.”
Clear, clear eyes bored into her own. She nodded, swallowing.
Ishaiq shook his head. “Say the words.”
“You want me to take you inside me.”
“Say the words.”
There were worse ways to spend a life than in paradise with an angel. “I want you to come inside me.”
And there was nothing left to say. But wait—
“No!” She held out her arms, resisting as he leaned toward her. The Archan’s eyes flared, nostrils wide, the expression across his face dangerous.
Abella spoke nervously, “I didn’t mean no. But—where is this going? What happens when you don’t want me anymore?”
He smiled, and it was shocking. Shocking for the mockery, both at her and himself. Shocking for the depth into the abyss of his mind and the burn of possessive passion he revealed in a simple expression. And, because his smile said more than words, even as he allowed the intenseness of his feelings to sink into her mind, that…
“I will never let you go. The only fear you should have is what I will do if you ever try to leave me again.”
She began to protest. She wasn’t trying to leave him, but this time he tolerated no interruptions.
The connection between them was still open; it nearly overwhelmed her. Triumph, an unexpected niggle of fear, and a quiet almost reverent sorrow that she was tying her life to him and he might not have anything to offer her.
Abella reared back from the thought, hands rising to tangle in his hair. She had permission—the permission of any lover. Gone was the barrier between them, by mutual choice. As he kissed her, she broke through his walls, making her final, irrevocable choice.
If she was trapped forever, then so was he. He was a true shulawan—a warrior. He wouldn’t ask Abella to bind her future to his from a position of weakness, no matter how much he wanted her. He wanted to peel her clothes off her body, exposing chocolate skin to his gaze, wanting to ravish her, body and soul.
Abella gasped as she realized that those weren’t her thoughts, they were Ishaiq’s.
“See what you do to me,” he said without even a hint of shame in his voice. “You feel things you should not. See things you should not. Are you strong enough to handle me?”
Handle a warrior angel? Was he insane?
“You bet,” she said. “Can you handle me?”
Ishaiq buried his nose in her hair, laughing silently. “What do you think?”
She couldn’t think, not with his hands playing with her body. Somehow, her clothing was removed, limbs on display for his perusal. And he took his time exploring her. All she knew was even through all the doubt and need, the fear and fire, she felt more alive when with him than she ever had.
Ishaiq ran his fingers along her lips. With each touch, each passing second, the cloud of arousal that surrounded them grew more intense. Invisible tendrils of electricity tied their bodies together. As amazing as it felt to be so close to him, she knew the languid pace wouldn’t last long—he was going slow for her, monitoring her response, giving her time to get used to reclining in bed with a being who could crush her with the power in his pinkie finger. For a moment, fear shut down her body, but then he was there, a warmth in her mind, lips on her neck and closing over the peak of her breast. Fear evaporated; the point of no return was coming, and it wouldn’t take much to tip them both over the edge.
Abella kept control of herself just long enough to ask the question she’d held back that afternoon. “Why me?”
Why an accountant turned caretaker from Earth? Why the girl next door when a flying goddess waited for him two floors below?
Ishaiq looked into her eyes. He would know every unspoken word behind her question, every insecurity, every doubt. Just as she had known his.
“Why not you, Abella?” He dragged his fingers up the curve of her leg, stopping peri
lously close to the juncture of her thighs.
Why not? Why not indeed? He saw her, saw into her. And if he judged her to be worthy, who was she to say she wasn’t? Maybe she needed to have some more pride, some more confidence in her abilities.
Maybe she needed to finally believe in herself, and not just because someone else told her she should.
Ishaiq smiled. “You begin to see.”
It had been so long since any man had touched her, and by the time his exploring fingers reached the junction of her thighs, every muscle in her body vibrated with anticipation.
He kissed and lapped at her neck as he stroked her stiff nub. She melted under his touch, every wall of doubt she had laid in place shattered in the wake of his attention. Abella wanted more. So much more of his touch and the pleasure it gave her.
With any other man, the attention might have embarrassed Abella, but the fire in his eyes and the weight of his presence around her were intoxicating.
Ishaiq licked a path across her breasts then down the space between them. Slowly, he moved along the length of her body, spreading her thighs apart as he went. He continued his path over her stiff nub, stroking and sucking gently as she moaned and writhed.
Call my name, Abella. Acknowledge me.
She reached down, gripping his hair with her fingers. But damned if she could think of anything but his tongue or the fingers that snaked inside of her again, stroking her to the edge.
Call my name.
“Ishaiq,” she cried.
Her back arched, every muscle in her body tightened on its own, clenching rhythmically as she tumbled over the edge. Her mind melted and expanded, letting him feel the cresting wave of her orgasm even as his eyes watched her.
Ishaiq settled her across his chest as the waves of her climax subsided. She was confused. He wasn’t going to—