Darkest Heart

by Juliette Cross

  “Mercy,” I breathed on a whisper.

  He still wore his patch, and I wished that he had both his eyes, for I selfishly wanted to feel the weight of them both on me. Even so, the intensity of his attention blazed a trail of fire over my skin, skimming down into lower, deeper places.

  “You see anything you like?”

  His burning gaze was unwaveringly fixed on me. His voice resonated on an ocean-deep level, growling out of his vocal cords as if with great pain, not like his typically playful tone. His fists balled tight, his shoulders bunched, his body rigid with strained control.

  Catching a glimpse of his growing arousal—to a size I’d not known was possible—I gasped and ran out of the bathroom like a frightened sheep. By heaven, never had a wolf looked so savagely seductive. That look in his eye had warned me I’d not forget his bite. And that I’d most definitely like it.

  Pacing to the small rectangular window near the ceiling on one wall, a basement view of the street outside, I wrapped my hands around myself, wondering why I didn’t feel endangered or filthy or like a traitor for the feelings fluttering inside of me for this demon lord. I felt his presence as he padded out of the bathroom. I opened my wings to give him privacy and kept my eyes trained on the window and the fog-laden darkness beyond. The sound of his towel dropping and the slide of pants being pulled on should have given me a sense of relief. But no. I was more on edge than ever. A jittery need to do something skittering over my skin.

  “You can turn around now.”

  A flicker of flame erupted in the fireplace. Tucking my wings close, I stepped toward the hearth, glancing over to find him draining the entire glass of drakuls potion. The muscles in his neck worked as he gulped the last swallow down. His eye was that same dark ruby red, almost purple, not the same blood color as other demons.

  Striding behind me, the heat of his shirtless body scalding me hotter than the fire at my front, he said, “Come get in bed with me.”

  “What?”

  I whipped around to catch that feral grin he so often gave me. He fell stomach first onto the velvet coverlet with a heavy sigh.

  “I need you to bandage my back till the wound heals.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh.” He peered over his shoulder. “Unless you had something else in mind?”

  Pretending that didn’t conjure all kinds of ideas, I stepped carefully toward him and sat on the bedside at his hip.

  “There’s gauze and tape there on the table,” he muttered sideways into the pillow.

  That’s when I got a close-up look at his wound and realized how much pain he was in. Though clean of blood, the gash was deep from Maximus’s blade.

  “Do you need something for the pain?”

  “I’m used to pain. Just want to keep it covered while my body heals.”

  “The drakuls potion helps with healing?”

  I tore a piece of gauze and started at the top. He lifted up onto his forearms, curling his fists inward and setting his forehead there. The action bulged his biceps, drawing my attention to his exquisite form yet again. Of course he was exquisite. He was an angel once. But not anymore. I needed to keep reminding myself of that.

  “No. Drakuls just replenishes power. My body does the healing on its own.”

  “I don’t understand why someone would give up their own power to create drakuls.”

  I tore another strip, examining the details of the battle scene inked from his shoulder blades down to the middle of his back. It was the battle of the Great Fall, angels battling angels in the heavens, swords clashing, the defeated falling into starry darkness, their beautiful wings shredding and singeing with fire in their wake.

  “What is it?”

  I’d paused from setting the gauze.

  “Nothing.” I placed another strip, then took the medical tape and pressed it in a line on either side of the mark. The heat of his skin made me want to touch more, to roam my fingertips down his spine, to follow the other swirling Celtic knots and symbols woven across the small of his back bordering the battle.

  I pressed one piece down with pressure, absorbing some of the dark blood through the gauze. Wait. Not black blood. Definitely dark, but muted to a deep purple hue. I paused again, staring at the anomaly. What did this mean?

  He lifted his head, peering over his shoulder at me. “What is it?”

  “Your blood.” I’d noticed before, but somehow didn’t recognize the significance. “It isn’t black.”

  His brow furrowed in angry confusion. I lifted the soiled gauze to show him.

  “See?”

  He stared at it all of three seconds, then leaned his forehead back on top of his fists. “Just patch me up.”

  “But what does that mean?”

  “Fuck if I know.”

  “Don’t you want to know?”

  He chuckled, cynicism ringing in his tone. “What does it matter? Maybe it’s from the drakuls potion. Maybe it’s from your boyfriend’s blade. Maybe I’m slowly becoming mortal, in which case I won’t be much use to you for very long.” He rolled his head sideways, staring intently at me. “Patch me up.”

  Still in disbelief, I did as he asked—or rather commanded—and covered the rest of the wound in the gauze, taping it on both sides. He might act flippant about such a thing but all demons’ blood was black as pitch. Dommiel’s was not. And his eye, also a different shade than the others.

  Finishing, I set the medical tape on the side table. “I just don’t—”

  He rolled to his back, cupping his hands behind his head, displaying his fit, masculine physique to perfection, putting that startling inked artwork on perfect display. My brain stalled.

  His knowing smile sent a flush of heat up my neck into my cheeks.

  “Maximus. You and him ever have sex?” He arched a brow casually, yet there was something dark in the question.

  “Maximus?” I gaped at the thought. “No!”

  “Just wondering.” He stared for a second. “Plenty of angels play around down here. As you saw in Venice.”

  “Well.” I cleared my throat, pinching a piece of gauze from the velvet cover and brushing it off. “I don’t play.”

  Devil in his smile. “Bet you’d play with me.”

  Ruffling my wings, I glared daggers at him, which only made him smile wider. “Why do you say such things?”

  “Because it’s true.”

  “You don’t know what I feel.”

  An arrogant chuckle. “Yes. I do.”

  Flustered, I couldn’t seem to stop my emotional outburst. “And why did you kiss me?”

  “Because you let me.” He bit his bottom lip, releasing it with a slow shake of his head. “Because I want to. And you want me to.”

  Exasperated beyond reason, I stood with a swift jolt. Then I was on my back, flattened beneath him, my wings spread wide on the bed. With unbelievable strength, he had my wrists manacled in his metal hand and pinned above my head, his other wrapping my nape, his thumb brushing my pulse. He gave me his full weight, pressing me into the mattress, a heavy thigh between my legs.

  “What are you doing?” I grated on a huff of breath.

  “Showing you something.”

  “Showing me what?”

  “How much you want me.”

  Dipping his head to where his thumb pressed, he licked along my pulse. A slow, languorous, and thorough tasting with tongue and lips and teeth. It was wicked and disturbing and wonderful, stirring that fluttering low in my belly into a storm of violent proportions. How he could hold me with such force and yet caress me with such gentle brushes of his mouth, I didn’t know.

  What was happening to me? This was surely a sign I was crossing over, yearning for the damned to touch my body, to make me feel the kind of pleasure only a demon could give, leaving a hollow shell behind. Wasn’t it?

  “So sweet,” he growled.

  I didn’t feel hollow. The emptiness wasn’t one of a dark void but of a yearning for something more. A well only Domm
iel could fill inside me.

  Wrenching my wrists and not budging from his hold, I bit back a moan when he angled his head and scraped his elongated fangs down the slope of my neck to my shoulder, pressing his thigh higher between my legs, the friction a delicious welcome.

  “What I wouldn’t give to have you tied up in this bed right now.”

  “You like to control and dominate,” I panted.

  “Like’s got nothing to do with it.” He lifted up, capturing me in his midnight-and-mayhem gaze, our breaths mingling. “I need it.”

  Confused and terrified, I flipped in a flash of movement, my dagger unsheathed and poised beneath his chin. It was entirely too easy. When he chuckled, clutching my hips, I knew he’d let me do it.

  “Go ahead and cut me, beautiful.”

  Holding my hips in place, he ground his hard bulge against my sex with a languid roll of his hips, even as the tip of my blade nicked his chin. Barely biting back a moan, my eyes slid closed on the wave of unexpected pleasure that rocketed between my thighs. One hand holding the dagger, the other squeezing his bare shoulder for balance, I couldn’t seem to force myself to get off him.

  “Is that it, right there?” he crooned soft and rough.

  He rolled his hips again, hitting the perfect spot where the pressure was building, where I needed something I couldn’t explain. My eyes still closed, I was washed away in sensation, his firm, large hands keeping a hold of me. Unable to stop myself, I rocked my hips with him, moving to the rhythm he set, rubbing my core harder against him, chasing some inexplicable end.

  “Yeah. That’s right. Take what you want.”

  His hand slid up under my shirt to my waist, the skin-on-skin contact ripping a heady gasp from my throat. He feathered his fingers higher, scooping down my athletic bra. His large hand engulfed my breast, mounding once before he pinched my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling the bud between. My mouth fell open on a long moan. I rocked faster, heat pooling between my legs. Rubbing against his growing erection, I could no longer think of anything, but chasing and finding the release just out of reach.

  “Fucking hell,” he growled, mounding and pinching with his glorious hand as he quickened his grinding thrusts beneath me. “Just like that, angel.”

  A rush of ecstasy swept me up, ripping a long, keening moan from my throat. My eyes shot open, my mouth ajar as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me, pulsing from my sex with a ripple of heat up my body. In its wake came a surge of heavy, thick, crushing emotions—bliss, sorrow, ecstasy, regret, fear, and worse, even more longing. More emptiness not yet filled. A deeper well and need for Dommiel to fill me up till I was bursting.

  All of it surged from me in a sob, hot tears spilling down my cheeks. Dommiel’s expression shifted to surprise. Still holding the dagger—his chin bleeding where I’d nicked him—I dropped it and scrambled off of him. I didn’t get far. He grabbed hold of me, both of us falling sideways onto the bed, my wings fluttering helplessly. I pressed my hands to his chest to push away, but he only crushed me closer against his chest, one hand binding around my waist. Rather than make one of his vulgar or arrogant remarks, he whispered soft hushes, cradling the back of my head, keeping me still in his iron grip.

  “Shhh,” he whispered into my hair. “Christ. I forget how innocent you really are,” he murmured softly, smoothing his hand over my hair in comfort. “That was a first for you, wasn’t it?”

  Still unable to form coherent thoughts, much less speak, I nodded, panting heavily against his bare chest. I knew what an orgasm was. I’d been around for centuries. But it wasn’t a sensation I knew personally, never exploring my flesh in that way. Never needing pleasure. But now, it seemed to be taking hold in a brutal fashion, forcing me to take note of what Dommiel could offer me.

  “Sorry, baby.” And his voice truly held a note of regret, something I’d not yet heard from him. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” He smoothed his large hand over my head and hair again. “Didn’t know you’d react that way.”

  “I don’t understand what I’m feeling.”

  I’d always been honest to the core. My role in this immortal life had been simple—straight and true. Now I was on a path I didn’t recognize, and I couldn’t fathom what was happening. What this burning, yearning sensation meant about me.

  “Shhh. Go to sleep, Anya. It’ll be better in the morning.”

  What was he talking about? I couldn’t possibly sleep after that, my blood humming like a freight train through my veins.

  His hands soothed, then a cool sensation, like a hypnotic breeze whispered around me. Looking up, I caught the distinct plume of his demon essence streaming from his mouth as he descended on me.

  I gripped his shoulders to push away, but it was too late. His mouth met mine, gentle but firm, sealing me, a stroke of tongue, a soft moan. He pulled back, breathing his essence, his lips brushing mine, a cool balm that eased my fractured nerves.

  “Sleep, Anya,” he coaxed. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”

  My grip loosened, body relaxing into the mattress, into his arms, his warmth, where he kept me close, my wings sagging against the velvet covers. I tried to say something, though I know not what, as my eyes slipped closed, and I gave in to the sweet oblivion of Dommiel’s essence that felt like moonlight in the dark, a shadowy pool of clear water, or some other strange and wondrous thing that you couldn’t describe but could only feel. I was able to slip under, into the cool shadows, knowing he was there. Knowing that with him, I was safe…and no longer alone.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dommiel

  Once again, I found myself sitting in the dark, smoking brimstone, and staring at the sleeping angel. I flicked a tip of ash into the skull tray—the last remains of a demon who gave me up to the prince Damas. A phantom sting made my eye twitch at the memory of that prick.

  The physical pain was nothing. It was the imprint of being branded a traitor by one of my kind, by a prince, forcing me to exist on the fringes that put the ice in my veins. Losing New Orleans didn’t pain me. Not even losing my lackeys. Losing power did. Losing my place in this malevolent world, reminding me that no one gave a good goddamn for anyone except themselves.

  Dominate. Kill. Conquer. That’s all anyone understood anymore. The demons. The angels. Even the humans, quickly learning how this game was played. It’s what I loved about this new world order, this constant truth that kept me company in the soulless dark where everything was nice and cold.

  And now if something hadn’t gotten my blood hot…someone.

  Slouching forward, I braced elbows on knees, taking a long drag. You’d think I’d be bored by now of watching her. But I so fucking wasn’t. I could watch her forever, while the world burned and faded away into nothing but shadows.

  I couldn’t quite place what was off about her until last night. She had the combat skill of an angel warrior but the soft heart of a caregiver. The way Maximus spoke to her in Berlin, he knew her. Knew her well. Not a lover, for she’d said so and she couldn’t lie if she wanted to. I grunted a laugh at that, inhaling deep of the brimstone, letting it light up my senses, the buzz settling my nerves. For the woman had certainly unsettled them.

  So, if not a lover, then perhaps a mentor. But she was no longer working for the angel legion. Or that asshole. She’d been allied with Uriel and his hunters. Even as their allies, she wasn’t a part of them. She was set apart. Alone. Like me.

  Her brow puckered in sleep, haloed in the gold firelight, tossing long shadows across her face. She made a low sound, like someone scared. She flinched. Someone in her nightmare had just hurt her.

  I stubbed out the cigarette, noting the new burn flaring in my chest. Bright and hot. Anger. She fought restless sleep back on San Maggiore as well. Something plagued her. Whoever had given her this nightmare haunted her still. I wanted to reach into her mind and rip him from her dreams.

  She jerked more violently. A soft and sleepy “no” passed her lips. A plea as she begg
ed her attacker not to do whatever he was going to do. My canines were long and sharp in an instant, wanting to erase the bastard from her dreams. Before I thought too long about the sudden, violent urge, I sat on the bed where she curled on her side and gave her shoulder a gentle shake.

  With a sudden jerk, she launched up into a sitting position and grabbed hold of my bare arms at the biceps to push me away, taking me for her enemy.

  “Hey, hey.”

  Gripping her wrists before she went for a dagger—since I’d resheathed the one she’d dropped in our tumble last night—I gave her a minute to realize she wasn’t in that nightmare fighting whoever that fucker was.

  “Just a dream, baby. You’re safe.”

  Blinking those blue-violet eyes, pupils dilated, she fell back to the pillow, staring where I had a hold of her wrists. I let her go. Reluctantly. The urge to pin her down and fuck her into the mattress hadn’t left me since she stood in my bathroom and took a long appreciative look of my naked body. If she had any idea what kind of effect that had on me, she would never had allowed herself that little peek.

  I knew that look all too well. The one where raw desire guided your every move. And to see it on her beautiful, innocent face had branded me with an equal measure of need. Now that I knew what stormed inside her, I’d not let go till I’d tasted every honey-sweet inch of her body.

  But her reaction to coming for the first time—how is that even fucking possible?—had me biding my time. She needed to get used to the idea before I buried my dick inside her. A true innocent. A novelty I never thought to experience.

  Too late for her to escape now. That one moment where she froze and gazed her fill had sealed her doom. She was mine. She just didn’t know it yet.

  Blinking those otherworldly eyes, resting them on the low flicker of a flame, her expression eased as she came back to the present, leaving the nightmare behind. With a heavy sigh and an unconscious lift of her right wing, she met my gaze.