She had often wondered about it, but it was a well-kept secret. Would Luke divulge this information to her? “No, tell me.”
“Babe, I’m not that stupid. But you should ask him.”
Downing the last of her drink, Mort prepared to leave. She had gotten what she came for. Uri hadn’t hurt anyone whose life wasn’t slated to end. Thank God. If anything happened to him now, she’d be unable to go on.
Last night some part of him had slipped into her heart and it wouldn’t budge.
Morta wasn’t sure she wanted it to.
* * * * *
He’d listened to Michael drone on and on about rules and shit. He knew Morta had left his domain and by now she knew the whole sordid story.
Uri had had it.
“Did you read this same riot act to your favorite son?” His eyes cut to Ramiel, who had sat quietly through the speech about angels and goodness and just plain bullshit. Uri glared at him. It pissed him off to no end that Ram got what he wanted. Fucking angel of hope always got what he wanted. Before Michael responded, a tremor ran the length of Uri’s scar. God damn it. Nephilim. “Can we pick this up later?”
Both archangels read the telltale warning signs of his scar and knew what he must do. He turned down Ram’s offer of assistance.
“I can handle it. It’s Marcan. Again. His thread of life should be cut. But nobody’s asking me.”
Ironically the Nephilim he was summoned to was the half-human, half-angel child of Marmaroth—the angel who could thwart Fate.
Uri had sat at God’s right hand in the beginning and might be the only one of his kind aware Marmaroth was not a fallen angel. He had chosen to give up his angelic powers for the love of a woman and his wish had been granted simply because Marmaroth asked before he consummated his relationship. Unlike the other randy bastards who just took what they wanted. Marcan, an only child, proved to be damn near as strong as his father, thanks to his having acquired knowledge on how to steal power from other Nephilim. He’d destroyed many of his brethren by usurping their souls.
And the giant was a royal pain in Uri’s ass.
Settling on the Marriott Hotel rooftop in Detroit, Uri watched movement below the Renaissance Center. People didn’t appear minute to him as they must have to diners in the swanky restaurant that slowly turned through the night sky. Marcan wouldn’t be small anyway. He was a few inches shy of seven feet with a gladiator’s body. He wore his dirty blond hair close to his scalp and had aquamarine eyes.
“Help!” At the shrill scream, Uri unfurled his wings and glided down to the alley where the sound emanated from.
“Shit, what are you doing here?” Marcan bellowed.
“Let her go.” Horror etched on the woman’s face never quite reached her eyes. She saw Uri’s outstretched wings and passed out, landing with a plop in a puddle of filthy water.
“Don’t you have anything else to do, fly-boy?”
“Marcan, I’m not in the mood.” Uri was tired and wanted to go home. He hadn’t counted on a real fight. When he saw the weak bolt of light come his way, he barely dodged it in time. These half-ass angels were a serious problem and one he would love to put an end to. The Father would never allow that. He considered them His children too. Uri sent his own lightning bolt and struck Marcan above his heart. The stench of burned flesh reached his nostrils. He’d hit home. The giant smashed to the pavement with a loud smack. Blood seeped from a crack in his skull. Too damn bad you won’t die.
“I think you need a time-out,” Uri grumbled.
He dematerialized with Marcan in tow. He intended to lock him in the bowels of Earth for as long as he could get away with. Osce’s old spot was empty and Uri didn’t feel like the usual I-wasn’t-going-to-hurt-her speech he’d get from Marcan.
Tonight he’d pass out no absolution.
The last person he expected to see when he arrived in his domain was Morta. Could his night get worse? Now he’d have to explain about putting her to sleep.
“Like I told this one,” he said and dumped Marcan’s bloody body on the floor, “I’m not in the mood. Why are you here?”
“To thank you for what you tried to do for me last night.”
He turned to look at her and could find no sign of insincerity. What was she up to? The Morta he knew would never just give in to him. Two nights in a row of her compliance told him something was not right. The large body on the floor coughed and thrashed about. Uri glanced back at the creature. Marcan’s hand went to his wounded chest and then his head. Both healed almost immediately. He’d evidently taken a few more souls to heal so quickly.
“Crap, man, that was uncalled for.”
“You’ve been quite greedy. How many Nephilim souls have you consumed?”
“None of your damn business. I’m going home.” He wobbled to his feet and an invisible hand slammed Marcan against the wall.
“Shit, Uriel.”
“You’re staying right here.” He turned back to Morta. “What. Do. You. Want?” Uri bit out each word. She continued to stare at him. “Well?”
Uri didn’t hear anything behind him and when Mort threw an ice bolt, he thought it was aimed at him. He shot an electric blue band of heat in her direction and sent her skittering across the floor on her ass. Behind him the loud hiss sounded along with a bone-crunching crash. He looked back to see Marcan spread-eagled on the floor only inches from him. A shard of ice pierced his chest and glistened in the light.
He rushed to Mort’s side to be greeted by a glare of pure hatred.
“Don’t touch me.”
“I didn’t hear him, I thought—”
“What? That I’d try to kill you? Is that what you think of me, Uri?”
“I’m sorry.” Christ, what a mess. He’d been wrong as hell, what else could he say? Marcan groaned behind him as he slid his body across the floor. Facing him, Uri waved his hand, banishing him to Osce’s old room. He wouldn’t escape from that dark hole anytime soon. Glancing back, he found Mort gone.
Searching with his mind, Uri found her.
Please, come back.
Go to hell, Uri.
“I’m already there.”
Chapter Five
Mort was addicted to human baths.
A sunken hot tub riddled with jets sat in her master bathroom. She enjoyed the room decorated in her favorite colors. Purple to rival her violet eyes and silver. She often enjoyed a warm whirlpool of water rushing around her. This one she needed.
Pain riddled her side with each breath where Uri’s blazing bolt had slammed into her rib cage. Bastard. Her mind could not wrap around his thinking she’d harm him in any way. She only maintained distance from Uri to prevent Michael or the Father from hurting him. Mort ached to have him and it ate at her. No better than Uri, in years past she had sated her needs with many. A predilection for dark-haired vampyres and their lust for blood ran hot in her veins. That’s why she enjoyed Uri’s bites.
He’d had many trysts and she was aware of each and every one. She could recite shape and size. Not all were human or angel—his taste varied greatly—but they all possessed pale hair. She had hoped Uri would find a being to mesh with so she could be free from the constant desire that even now pulsed through her.
But it wasn’t just sex anymore and that frightened the hell out of Morta.
So close on the heels of Ramiel meshing with an exulted, the powers that be would seek retribution if anyone else broke their strict set of rules.
With a blink of her eyes, water heated to a temperature she wished could burn away thoughts of Uri. Mort’s hand strayed to the painful tear in her side which had begun to fade. Soon it would be invisible.
She needed to find the boy’s soul and end this.
“Do you truly believe finding him will end this?” Her sister Fate, Nona, entered her bath. “You will shrivel if you make your water any hotter.”
“Go to hell, Nona.”
“Snippy today aren’t we?” Morta glanced up to see Nona look at her bruised side. “What ha
ppened?”
“It was an accident.”
“Michael will be unhappy.”
“He won’t ever know. Leave it be.”
“This cannot continue…the babe—”
Morta flew from the water, gaze glued to Nona. “What do you know? You must tell me.”
“I cannot, but his soul is well looked after.” She watched the Fate who gave life pluck at her diaphanous dress. She still insisted on wearing garb of the old days. “He is in good hands until you work out your problem with Uriel.”
“Yael! She’s the only one who could protect him so well. What will I do now? She’ll never give him up.”
Clothing covered Mort instantly and she slipped into the atmosphere, landing loudly on the patio outside the angel of hope’s home.
“Welcome, Morta,” Yael said as she flung the French doors open. “You look well.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“I’m surprised it took you so long.”
At a sound behind Yael, Morta watched Patricia step onto the patio. She was followed closely by Osce.
This is not good.
Without struggling Morta could no longer keep Uri out of her mind so he’d know instantly where she was. Who she was with.
* * * * *
“What’s up?” Sam fiddled behind a cabinet housing his speakers.
“Don’t tell me you’ve bought more speakers.”
The angel of death was consumed with football and his gadgets. Uri’s chest flattened as he expelled a silent breath of air. He wouldn’t be required to sit through another boring game. He remembered the days he would have garnered joy in watching men romp with each other. Hell, he would have joined them. No more. Morta had even stolen that pleasure from him.
“There is a game in about one hour. I need to make sure my sound’s just right.”
“How do you creep into our minds without us knowing?”
Samael’s head tilted and he glared at Uri. “Daddy liked me better than you. I don’t know, man. What do you want ’cause I’m busy?” The Reaper’s scythe rattled against the wall where it stood, a daunting sound Uri should not ignore but he was preoccupied with something else.
“I have Marmaroth’s son locked in my domain.”
Sam spun on him so quickly, Uriel stumbled back, their noses inches apart. “You bastards are going to keep messing with me and I’ll wipe you all out.”
His breath hot on Uri’s face smelled unbelievably fresh for one full of death. It gave him pause, but he didn’t stop. “I’m not giving Mort up.”
“Don’t give her up. String her along, screw her senseless, whatever. Soon I’ll be asked to deliver the child’s soul.” His mercury eyes swirled. “I. Will. Do. It. Do you understand?” Sam’s weapon rattled, kicked and banged, gouging chunks of floor and plaster that sprayed around the room. “See what you’re doing to me? Go get Mort’s ass, take her below and use her until you’re tired of her. Stop bringing this shit to my door, man.”
“She’s in Ram’s domain visiting with Yael. She won’t get the child, but time is short. Have you considered Ram and Yael might not let either of us have him?”
“You see, that’s what I’m talking about. You fuckers screw around, get all caught up in pussy and drag me into your messes. Heaven will rock and roll if they don’t.”
“You let me do it. You helped me.” Concerned about the outcome of this debacle, Uri pushed his hair back nervously.
“You came to my house with your crap at half time. I wasn’t thinking straight, but I am now. Go handle your business before Dad sends me down on you.” Sam disappeared back behind his cabinet. “You still here?”
May as well get this over with. Uri traveled to the angel of hope’s domain. Ram and Yael never bothered with shields anymore. That should have scared shitless any angel who dared to enter. What he found when he arrived made his blood boil. Osce sat between Morta and Patricia at the table on Ram’s patio. Yael was nowhere to be seen. How dare the bastard be near what was his. Heads spun in his direction when glasses rattled and the table tilted. Suddenly his chest felt constricted and burned with pain.
Yael stepped onto the patio. “Uriel, how wonderful of you to visit us. Ram will be home shortly. Have a seat.” Pressure on his body eased. An icy chill blew across the patio.
Yael turned to Morta. “I dare you.” Her amber glare glittered like glass at the Fate. “Not in my home. Do you all understand?” Yael’s eyes leveled on each of them before she turned back to Uri. “Would you like some refreshment?” A glass appeared in front of him holding two fingers of what he knew would be bourbon.
Air vibrated and snapped around the property.
Fuck me. What now?
A slight rumble of thunder preceded Ramiel. Not bothering to hide his wings or nakedness, he glided to his woman. He enfolded Yael in his embrace and held her for a moment. “We have company, I see.” He chuckled.
“Yes, we’re popular all of a sudden.” She kissed Ram and wiggled from beneath his feathers. He swatted her on the ass before he hid his wings and donned clothing.
Uri took this all in, grinding his teeth at the anguish that gripped his heart. Envy raged inside him. Not anger or jealousy, he was envious of what these two shared. His eyes locked on Morta and moisture shined in hers. Pain still resided there at what he’d done to her, but it was mixed with something else. Her need to protect him wrapped around him like a warm cloak.
She still wanted him.
It hit Uri like a ton of bricks—Morta was no passing fancy.
He wanted no one but her, nothing but her happiness. Clenching his fists beneath the table, he sighed loudly. He glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. Uriel could never have what the angel of hope had unless… His decision made, he cleared his throat and stood.
“We will leave you ladies to talk,” Ram said. “Osce and I have some business to attend to.” He turned toward Uri. “You leaving?”
“Yes and I’m sorry, Yael, if I troubled you. It wasn’t my intention.” Spinning away from her, Uri left in a blaze of white heat. He hadn’t gotten far when he heard Yael’s words to Morta.
“You didn’t realize the power I wield now, did you? The child will remain with me until you and Uri settle your differences. That’s final.”
“I understand.”
* * * * *
Morta followed him into his domain.
“What?” Uriel asked. “I’m not arguing with you. I’m done with it.”
Her eyes darted around the room watching him bring candles to life. Each one sputtered into a halo of light, sending prisms of color dancing from the crystalline walls. “Uri—”
In a blur of movement, he stood in front of her. “I can’t keep playing these games. I want you, damn it.” He folded her into his arms and smothered her neck with kisses. He yanked her head back and laved her neck with his tongue. “Damn you for making me want you.” His mouth went to the spot where her shoulder met the column of her throat. His teeth nibbled until he bit hard drawing blood. He licked and healed the wound immediately.
“And I want you inside me, Uri. Don’t make me beg. I will if I have too.”
“You don’t have to beg for anything here. Everything I have is yours.” They were naked in an instant and his hands trailed lovingly down her back. He stroked her spine and cupped her bare ass bringing Morta tight to his crotch. “Feel that, honey? I want to fuck you so bad.” His gaze burned into her soul. “I don’t even know any more if I can live without you.”
He brought the fingers of one hand to her lips and her thighs tightened together at their soft, velvet touch. It was impossible to stem the flood of desire that contracted her vagina. Morta slowly wet each fingertip with her tongue until her knees buckled against him. Pulling his thumb into the warm recess, she sucked it as she would his cock.
Uri took his hand from her and went back to massaging her butt. He separated her cheeks and inserted a moistened finger in her anus. She bucked against his erecti
on and moaned. Continuing to thrust inside her ass, he moved his other hand to the apex of her thighs and slipped through the moist heat of her pussy. Juices from her canal eased into his palm.
“Yes, baby, that’s it. I’m going to play in your ass and your pussy until you come for me.” His mouth covered a puckered nipple and sucked in time with his fingers hidden in her darkest places. Her peak grew harder as his tongue rasped over it. Taking the other between his lips, he pulled and nipped at it with his teeth until air hitched in her throat.
“Harder, Uri.”
He stabbed into her pussy and matched the rhythm in her behind. She loved it. His fingers twisting and pushing in and out brought her such joy. The thumb of his hand in front found her clit and he rubbed roughly over it. The pain was sweet. Morta lifted up and down on his hands and took what she needed to bring herself to orgasm. His thumb swirled over her bud and the fingers inside nudged and stroked against her walls. The orgasm built deep inside and she wasn’t prepared for the torrent of emotion and lust that ripped through her body.
Coming, she screamed, “Uri!” She bounced on his hands until she emptied every drop of cum into his waiting palm.
“That’s my baby. I’m going to lick your pussy until you come again.”
He whisked them to his bed and dropped her dead center. He climbed on his knees and pressed her legs so far apart she groaned in mild protest. “Ooh, please.” Her hands tangled in the bedclothes.
“Please what?” One hand drove her wild as he pinched her clit and rubbed across her swollen labia. He stroked her crease bringing more cream sliding from her body.
“Lick me. I want your tongue and your teeth all over me.” Uri leaned over and captured her lips in a bruising kiss. She dueled with his tongue and sucked on it. She nibbled on his lower lip and he bit back so softly she wanted to scream again. He swept his tongue down her chin to her neck where he nipped on the sensitive skin. She shuddered, glorying in the shivers that ran down her spine. Mort gasped and her chest heaved up when he pulled his mouth away. Uri gazed at her, his blue eyes brimming with desire. It wrenched at her soul and pulled a sob through bruised lips. “Uri?” She wanted to give the angel straddled above her everything, anything.
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