And the little girl she’d been would always be grateful to Richard North for the sweet prophecy that had meant the world to her at the time.
“Hi, Richard,” she said.
He nodded a greeting, buttering a scone and walking back to the kitchen as he bit into it. A few bites later, he returned with a pair of mugs of hot cocoa spiced with cinnamon and a dash of chili powder over the whipped cream.
They ate and drank in companionable silence.
She glanced out the window, and the darkness revealed that it was still the middle of the night. She needed to arrange a way home. She wouldn’t risk having Merrick drive her to the gates. He’d already fought enough battles for the night. Besides, he was too much of a target himself.
She’d wait to leave until it was close to dawn so the ventala would be retreating in preparation for sunrise. They were nocturnal and wouldn’t try to fight their battles after first light.
She’d have to reach out to someone with a helicopter who had clearance to land in the Etherlin. That list of people was limited, and she also needed to be able to count on the discretion of whomever she called. She didn’t want it getting out that she’d been joyriding through the Varden. Too many young women looked up to her and copied her every move. She’d taken a calculated risk that had nearly gotten her killed. The last thing she wanted was for young girls to follow her lead in exploring ventala territory and get hurt.
Richard offered her another scone.
She shook her head and said, “You’re up early.”
“Haven’t been to bed yet.”
“Were you working?” she asked. She knew he’d recently gone back to writing after many years of writer’s block.
“Not working, but I will soon. I was playing cards. When he wins, he can play all night. If he loses, he says he’s tired and needs sleep.” Richard smiled, clearly not fooled by the strategy.
“Who?”
“Lysander.”
She raised her brows. Alissa had said that Lysander lived in a house carved into the side of a mountain, only reachable by air. Alissa and Cerise had thought Lysander must have gone there after leaving the roof.
“Where is Lysander now?”
“In the apartment downstairs.”
“What apartment?”
“Right below this one. He never used to sleep there, but he’ll stay close now. He’s seen the start of the prophecy, and Merrick is part of the key.”
“What prophecy?”
“‘Evil comes at leisure like the disease. Good comes in a hurry like the doctor,’ G.K. Chesterton said. Lysander understands that. Twice, he’s lost someone. He won’t wander this time.”
“What do you mean, Richard?”
He put a hand on her forearm, giving it a squeeze. “Do you want peace? Or do you want knowledge?”
She frowned. “I haven’t found ignorance to be peaceful. There’s a night full of missing memories that haunts me like a ghost. Ignoring the missing pieces has never allowed me to rest. Answers might help or they might not, but at this point, I prefer to know whatever there is to know about things.”
Richard nodded as if sympathizing, but he didn’t reveal anything more about Lysander.
She leaned forward, deciding to focus on what she was most interested in. “Does Lysander have a black duffel bag in the room with him? One with the club’s logo on it?”
Richard glanced down, thinking. Then he nodded.
“Do you have a key to the apartment downstairs?”
“There’s no key. Only a code. Double-oh-four.”
“Zero zero four?”
Richard nodded. “Tread carefully. That one—I think his control is a façade. The pain sometimes turns him wild, and despite your strength of body—and will—you’re no match for him. Nothing human is.”
A tremor tickled Cerise’s spine, but she tightened her muscles against it. “I only want what’s mine, Richard.”
“No. You don’t.”
She flushed at his certainty. Richard had never seen her with Lysander, so how could he know what she wanted from the archangel? Lysander was right about him; Richard seemed to know things that he shouldn’t have.
Cerise swallowed and cleared her throat. “It doesn’t matter what I want. Lysander’s made it clear that he doesn’t want to get involved with me. And I’m not exactly starved for company, Richard. Once I take what doesn’t belong to him, I’ll leave him be.”
Richard’s full smile warmed her until he spoke. “When women go wrong, men go right after them. At least you’ll have lived, possibly shorter than you would have, but nonetheless a little more richly.”
Cryptic and laced with foreboding…lovely, she thought and shivered.
“I’ll be back soon,” she said, rising.
“You haven’t the right shoes, but he’ll see to you.”
I don’t want him to “see to me.” I don’t want him to notice me at all, she thought, glancing down. She wore only socks at the moment. If she put on her boots, would they make too much noise? Would she wake the angel as she snuck into his apartment? Possibly.
She left without putting them on.
The hall was cooler than the penthouse, and she hugged her arms to her chest as she entered the steel elevator. Down a floor, the doors slid open with a whisper of sound.
Butterscotch-colored walls and polished wood floors greeted her. She passed a couple of doors of what seemed to be polished copper. There were small plates of the same metal next to the doors with engraved numbers to herald the addresses.
Then she arrived at a much larger door than the others. Instead of metal, it was made of weathered wood that looked centuries old and hand carved. Next to the door the word Allegro was painted in gold script above the keypad.
Entering zero, zero, and four, Cerise held her breath. The light of the security pad winked green. She turned the old-fashioned brass doorknob and pushed the heavy door inward. Light from the hall entered the darkened apartment.
Entering, she felt a familiar give to the floor under her feet. It felt like a studio or stage floor.
A sprung floor? In an apartment? Can’t be.
As her eyes adjusted, the apartment’s unexpected décor temporarily distracted her from spotting him. Along an entire wall to her left there were built-in shelves framed with wood that someone had been in the process of hand carving. Tools and wood chips rested on a white tarp that protected the floor.
An occupied king-sized bed stood against the other wall where the headboard seemed to transition into another set of shelves with intricate woodworking. A tree-shaped lamp arched over the head of the bed where Lysander lay sprawled, possibly nude. She should have silently searched the remainder of the room rather than approaching him, but it was as though an invisible cord pulled her toward him.
The dim light shadowed the area’s details until she was nearly to him. He lay bare-chested with a mocha-colored sheet and forest green silk duvet haphazardly covering his waist and below. Her breath caught as she stood over him.
His gold hair fanned out in tangled waves, and he hardly seemed real. Rather, he looked so perfect, it was as if someone had painted him. He didn’t quite fit into the world he currently occupied. A creature so unaccountably beautiful belonged lying in the forest on a bed of moss or in some other wilderness that God had made.
In her stillness, she felt only the thud of her heart…and the compulsion of desperate attraction.
A voice that wasn’t her own seemed to whisper across her mind…
Touch him. No one will see.
Trace that scar where it crosses his collarbone.
With a fingertip.
With your lips.
He will never know.
Dreamlike, her hand stretched toward him. Just before it touched his skin, her breath caught again and the madness of her intent revealed itself. Going rigid, she jerked her hand back.
What the hell?
Her eyes darted across his face and exposed flesh. The lust tha
t tightened her lower body was nearly painful in its ache. She swallowed hard and tried to draw on her muse power for control.
Don’t.
She exhaled slowly.
Touching will only make it worse. He doesn’t belong to this world. He fell and was banished here, forced to walk among us against his will, maybe to serve as temptation. Haven’t you had enough of pretty boys who bring endless pain?
Yes, she answered emphatically.
She raised her gaze and spotted the duffel he’d carried out of the performing arts center.
Resolve washed over her, sharpening her senses.
That’s what I came for. I can grab it and go.
She watched him while she reached across his body; she didn’t want to accidentally brush his face or shoulder, but it was hard to look at him and not be pulled back into that vortex of wonder and lust. It was easier to resist him when he was awake and provoking her with his arrogance.
The shelf was low, and the angle would be an awkward one when she lifted the duffel bag.
Hurry the hell up!
Silently, she drew in a breath and looked down at his sleeping form. She bit the inside of her mouth, using the pain to keep her focused. The dark brown lashes twitched against his lower lids, and she bit down harder.
Stay asleep. Just a few moments longer.
When the girl reached across him, she woke all Lysander’s senses at once. Roused from dreams of her, it nonetheless did not take more than a second for him to know she was actually in the room with him. He’d lain down alone, regretting that they couldn’t share a bed, and now as if fate had answered temptation’s call, she’d arrived.
He kept his eyes closed, allowing his other senses to feast. Inhaling the scent of oranges alight over female skin, he felt his blood stir. The faint disturbance of air rustled the hair dusting his arms. The sound of the soft hitch in her breath tickled his ears. What made her breath catch? Was it temptation as strong and raw as he felt?
Not likely the same intensity, but intense enough.
Archangels in human form were more than human. Heightened senses revealed distant sounds and faint smells. They revealed the approach of an enemy, or in this case a potential lover. It was a blessing when it came to warring with demons. It was a curse when it came to being attracted to someone with whom he shouldn’t allow himself to become involved.
His lids rose, so his eyes could consume her, too. His gaze locked with hers, and her arm froze for a moment, then continued its path. He wanted to grab her hand, but was wary of actually touching her. He’d be inclined to do more, to touch more. He was already drowning in lust.
He waited until she had her hand on the duffel bag, then he caught the side of the bag and held it in place on the shelf. She yanked, and his gaze went immediately to her shoulders. She had strong muscles. He wished her shoulders were bare so he could enjoy their definition as they contracted with exertion, the way they did when she danced. Watching Cerise dance put him in mind of things he’d lost—things for which he longed.
Yes, drowning in lust.
Merrick supposed that Lysander had no experience with women, which wasn’t true. Lysander allowed the misconception to stand because he didn’t care to reveal the details of his past. It was true that Lysander had not had a lover in Merrick’s lifetime, nor for many hundreds of years, but he did know what it was to touch that softness, to feel smooth skin sliding against his. Lysander avoided the company of women because when faced with a woman that attracted him, impulse and instinct, which were often his greatest assets, became liabilities.
“You persist at your own peril,” he said, his voice low. Her breasts were only inches from his chest. He could pull her on top of him in an instant.
“You’re threatening me? That’s rich,” she said. “You took—”
“You intruded on my solitude and woke me. I’ve spared you the trouble you court until now—”
“Let me take—”
It was too dangerous to risk touching her while in bed, but he could get something he wanted. He could be transported for a little while. “I demand you make amends.”
That brought her up short. “Amends?” she sneered, shaking her head.
Her dark eyes narrowed, the anger making color rise in her cheeks. His heart thumped a little harder in his chest.
Go ahead. Challenge me.
“I don’t need to make amends. I’m not the one who took what doesn’t belong to her.”
Her skin’s heat warmed him, made him want to lose himself in it.
“You’ll oblige me,” he said, knowing it would make her angrier.
“No, I won’t.”
He smiled. “Your compliance is compulsory. That’s what makes it a demand rather than a request.” He had good reason for taking the book, and if he explained why he’d done so she’d likely become more agreeable, but he was enjoying this battle of wills. Also, he wasn’t bound to explain himself to anyone and normally didn’t. Sharing confidences implied friendship and intimacy, neither of which could he afford to have with this spirited young dancer.
She stared daggers at him. His smile widened. Yes, she was nitroglycerin made flesh. She’d go off with a spectacular explosion. In anger or in passion.
She gave the bag a jerk, but he didn’t let it budge. Recognizing that she couldn’t snatch it from his grip, she released the strap and straightened. She turned to leave.
No, Cerise, it’s too late for that. Pull once too often on a tiger’s tail, and you won’t escape being eaten.
Her stride toward the door was purposeful, but not rushed. She held her head high. He cocked his head slightly, watching her backside as she walked. She had the sort of full round bottom that was pure female perfection. Her beauty tied his insides into knots and made him ache between his legs.
When she was nearly to the door, he sprang silently from the bed. He reached the door and put a hand on it just as she turned the knob. She looked up sharply at his hand, then over her shoulder at his face.
“What are you doing?”
“Keeping you here until you’ve made amends.”
She glared at him, turning her body until her back leaned against the door. “And exactly how do you expect me to do that?”
I’d like you to invite me to thrust the hardest part of my body into the warmest part of yours. But I won’t seduce you into that. No matter how much I’m tempted—no, absolutely not. He knew better than to pursue what he would most enjoy. Such a deep connection with her could compromise his quest for redemption.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t satisfy him another way.
“You’re going to dance for me.”
Her brows shot up in surprise. “What kind of dancing?” she asked suspiciously. “You’re naked, and I don’t intend to join you that way.”
“Why not?” he asked with feigned innocence. When not in the company of men, angels spent most of their time nude. They weren’t like human beings, who associated their nakedness with sin, shame, and guilt. And since those associations had been born when humans fell victim to the trickery of a demon who’d tricked Lysander as well, it irked Lysander that humans were still tormented by their mistake.
Cerise pointed her right index finger at him. “You understand perfectly well why I wouldn’t strip for you or any other man I didn’t intend to sleep with. You weren’t born yesterday.”
He looked down at her body, which was only about a foot and a half from his. Shadow hid his face until he looked at her through his lashes, his intensity like the sting of a whip. Her pupils dilated and she shifted, her back arching and bringing her breasts closer, likely without her awareness.
“When were you born?” she asked.
“In the time before time was measured. I’d like to see you perform Swan Lake. Or Giselle.”
“Would you?” Cerise said, laughing softly. “And did you just happen to choose the most technically difficult ballets you could think of?”
“No, not by chance. I ch
ose them on purpose.”
She raised her brows.
“The harder you work, the more I’ll enjoy it.”
Anger lit her eyes again, and she looked defiant. “Maybe I don’t know them.”
“Of course you do.”
“How do you know?”
He shrugged, not prepared to admit that after they’d met, he hadn’t been able to resist watching her and that he’d come upon her practicing in the dance studio near her home. Unfortunately, because he’d had to conceal himself he’d never been able to watch with an unobstructed view. Also, those weren’t true performances. Her only focus had been on executing the moves with precision. Often that required halting the sequences to repeat them. He wanted to see her act the roles without interruption. He wanted to watch the music and the movement consume her. Angels had invented music and dancing. Sometimes while watching a great athlete perform, he could transcend the earth’s confines. For a few moments, his soul could soar toward unreachable heights. He lived for those rare brushes with the wonders of heaven.
She glanced around the room. “There’s not enough space.”
“There is. I’ll move the obstacles aside for you.”
“How very generous,” she said dryly. “And I can’t leave until I dance?”
“Or until you satisfy me some other way,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll entertain other propositions.” His muscles tightened. The game was dangerous, but to be so close, to feel her warmth, and to bask in a flirtation intoxicated him. She made him remember why women fascinated him.
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