Repent in Love

by J. Hali Steele

  He bent over again and grasped a painfully throbbing nipple in his hot mouth. One of her hands was laced into his hair at the back of his neck and drew him harder against her breast. Uri sucked one bud and then the other, rolling each one in turn with his tongue. Her free hand stroked his back, the curve of his butt, and then moving it between their legs, Mort struggled to reach his shaft. Raising his hips, he gave her the room she needed to grip his cock. Mort pushed and pulled at the satiny skin covering his penis until he moaned.

  “Stop, baby, you’ll make me come before I taste you.”

  Ignoring him, she continued to run cool fingers across the wet slit at the tip of his erection. Her fingers slipped down to squeeze his balls. He groaned his pleasure against the nipple trapped in his mouth and it echoed through her. Knotting her hand in his hair, she nudged him down her body. She wanted his tongue buried inside her.

  “Now. I beg you. Now!” Her head thrashed from side to side.

  He slid further down ending with his mouth right at her pussy. His tongue lashed her folds in between kissing and sucking her clit. He stabbed inside her and Mort bucked high in the air. In and out, he thrust at her until she was weak and on the verge of erupting. Just when she was ready to come, he stopped. Uri lifted over her body and grabbed his cock. He worked its thickness through the wet folds of flesh leading to her core. Mort whimpered helplessly when the slick head prodded at her clit.

  He shoved into her canal, and at the same time, he invaded her mind. See me, baby. See and feel how much I love your body. He filled her thoughts with the vision of his cock pumping in and out of her channel. He let her feel what it was like when she tightened around his hardness. Your pussy feels so good.

  She saw her own eyes lit with desire, her body covered with a sheen of sweat, and she felt what he felt as he moved deep inside her. He began to rhythmically pump in her with long, hard strokes grinding into her pelvis. Never had she been so thoroughly loved. Looping his arms under her knees, he lifted Morta’s butt high each time he lunged inside her. Arching back, he melded his hips to hers and went so deep his sac bounced at the crevice of her ass. Mort couldn’t take any more. Her orgasm broke free and swept from her in a never-ending river of cream.

  Uri didn’t stop. He glided faster and harder into her pussy over and over. He stayed in her mind, making her see it all. Feel everything. I’m coming, honey. I’m coming.

  Cum shot from him in heated spurts. She pushed and ground her hips against him, drowning in the wet sounds of their sex. More liquid slid from her body and covered his cock as he continued to come.

  Uri, I lo—

  Shh, let me make you feel good. The friction of his thick penis rubbing the sides of her canal felt wonderful. Uri gulped air as he rode her to the end and until his balls were empty. See, feel what you do to me? This is mine and I’ll never let you go. Never. He rolled onto his side and pulled her so close her swollen nipples stabbed at his chest.

  Could he be whole without her anymore? The plan Uri had devised in his mind was dangerous. If it went right, he’d have Mort for as long as he wanted her. That was starting to feel like forever. If it didn’t work he wouldn’t have to worry about anything—he’d be dead. The earth rumbled around them. The sound disturbed Uri but he ignored it.

  Heaven wasn’t happy he lay between the Fate’s thighs.

  His hands smoothed over her silken skin. He touched every spot as though it might be the last time. She’d opened to him like a flower and he wanted her again. Her smell filled his lungs, causing his dick to rise and nudge against her belly.

  “I want you again.”

  She laughed, her face snuggled against his neck. “I can tell.” The heavy sigh following her words bothered him more than the thunder that rolled through his domain. The broad, wet head of his hard-on had no conscience, but how could he selfishly force his urge on her when she sounded so sad?

  “What bothers you?”

  “You heard it. They will never allow us to be together.” Her wistful voice ate at him.

  “I don’t care what they want. Today, only your happiness matters.” She jerked from his arms, stood and dressed herself before he budged.

  “I need to leave.” The harshness of her words surprised him.

  What had he said wrong?

  “Stay with me.” She vanished into thin air, leaving a bone-deep chill. “God damn it, Morta.”

  Just today, Uri, is that all you want?

  Aww hell, he hadn’t meant it like that.

  Mort sensed Samael before she reached her domain. Death left a trail smelling dawn-fresh. She didn’t need his crap, but there was no escaping it.

  The time had come.

  “Hey, babe, how ya doing?” His facade of friendliness didn’t fool her.

  “I know why you’re here and I still don’t have it.”

  “Well, that poses a little problem now doesn’t it?”

  “Play your games somewhere else, Sam. Uri couldn’t have gotten to Yael without help. He had an accomplice.” She glared at him.

  “Doesn’t much matter, you lost the kid and it’s time to finish this.”

  He had a point. How had she let this happen? Just because her panties got wet every time Uri breathed, that shouldn’t have stopped her from performing her duty as the cutter of life. Shit, if she had Uriel’s thread right now, he would be gone. Good riddance. That wouldn’t solve anything either. Even now, facing Samael, she couldn’t erase him from her mind.

  Today! How dare he? She opened her heart up and all he wanted was today. Screw him. Her body grew heated at the thought, and as if on cue, moisture gathered in the seat of her fabricated underwear. “Yael will not release the boy until Uri and I work out our differences.” She had no choice. Death must have the information. Sam had been patient long enough and Morta understood the rules. He had to finish what she started.

  “You fucked up and somebody’s gotta pay. Death’s come a knocking. What do you want me to do?”

  “Why don’t you go get him?”

  Laughter rang out in such a joyous way it almost fooled her. But she knew better. That was the Grim Reaper’s signature cackle.

  “I’ll not do your job for you, Mort. I understand your problem but you can’t lay it at my door. I can give you a little more time. Work some Fate magic, do what you need to do, but get it done quickly.” The scythe in his hand clanged and cut at her floor, the rhythmic noise was scary as hell. There could only be one response to his demand and leniency.

  “Thank you, Sam. I’ll do the best I can.”

  A chuckle escaped his lips and his silver eyes swirled at her. “Babe, your best ain’t good enough. Not with Ram and Yael. Better ask your boyfriend for help.” He slipped back into the atmosphere. And I don’t cackle.

  Bastard.

  I heard that. The sound of his scythe slicing through the air was accompanied by another eerie burst of laughter. A scorching wind blew back into the room and Mort’s hands shook as she hugged her body. Best get your ass in gear.

  His words hung in the air like a curtain of fire.

  Chapter Six

  Shit happened in Death’s life every day—the same old shit.

  He needed a vacation but things had suddenly become exciting again. Aside from his love of football, in particular the Dallas Cowboys, Heaven had been dull until lately. Part of it was because of his job. Being the Grim Reaper didn’t change much from day to day.

  Sam entered Michael’s office with a racket. His scythe clattered along beside him, gouging anything in its path. Sometimes his weapon got on his nerves, yet it would be like losing a limb if it went missing.

  The general had summoned him but Sam didn’t expect to see Ramiel.

  His silver eyes twitched. These two together were unbeatable but if he had to take them on, Sam would give it his best shot. He prided himself on bringing death quickly to any who deserved it. Unless it called for hurt.

  He’d deliver a world of it to the recipient.

&nb
sp; He eased into a big soft chair in front of the desk. Samael used to wonder why Michael held the position he did at the Father’s right hand. A few trips out with him in the old days had answered his question immediately. Sometimes known as the good angel of death, Michael could be one scary son of a bitch to deal with. Lucifer had nothing on the general.

  “I feel honored you deigned to join us,” Michael said.

  Letting his mirrored gaze settle on the angel behind the desk he said, “Got tied up. How you two doing?”

  Michael’s lips curled. “Don’t try that with me. I might just let you see your own reflection of horrors. Any good news?” Steely silver eyes glinted at Samael.

  “You’re sitting here with Ram so I know you know exactly what’s happening. You summoned me. Why?”

  Michael had an infectious laugh. Today, Sam wasn’t buying it.

  “What is Morta doing about her problem?”

  “Ram, are you going to sit there and say nothing?” Sam didn’t like this one bit.

  “What do you want me to say? You’re the one who put Yael and Uri together.”

  It dawned on Sam something was afoot. He leaned forward in his chair. “Shit, man, he caught me off guard.”

  “Must have been a good game, huh?” Ram grinned. “You’ll give him some more time, right?”

  “What?” Hell, no need to argue. He’d get the soul soon. “Okay, okay. I sort of blew it maybe, but my guess is you two have a plan to speed things up. So stop fucking with me already.”

  Ram became serious. “He has Marcan.”

  “So? Who is he?”

  Michael answered him. “The Nephilim son of Marmaroth.”

  If he hadn’t been sitting, Sam would have fallen over.

  “Shit.”

  * * * * *

  “Don’t be stupid, Marcan. Sit. If you try to leave, I’ll tear you limb from limb.”

  “Christ, Uri. I only wanted to get something to drink.” A frosted glass half-full materialized in his hands. They shook, sloshing beverage over the sides. “Hey, thanks, fly-boy.” He took a huge swallow and his face turned red. Only a thin line of clear liquid escaped from the corner of his mouth. Uri had disguised the smell but he had to give the kid credit for not spewing it out.

  Unlike full angels, Nephilim weren’t impervious to the effects of alcohol. “Gin’s your beverage of choice, right?” And it would loosen his tongue.

  “Look, dude, I’m not going back into that hole you locked me in.”

  “Come now, your rooms have every convenience.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Be careful, Marcan. You have something I need. If we can work together, you’ll be able to live.”

  “You can’t kill me; Gramps won’t allow you.”

  “I can make you wish you were dead.” Uri’s glare made the gangly half-breed sit back. “I meant live outside of the space you currently occupy below.” Uri let his words sink in.

  The Father wouldn’t allow harm to come to a single Nephilim. That’s why Uri had been assigned to watch over them with two objectives—keep them alive and don’t let them harm innocents. The magical giant children of angels and humans were a serious pain in his ass and a responsibility he could do without. Their friendliness with Luke crossed the line and he’d have to deal with that eventually. Uri’s only concern right now was garnering information from the one in front of him.

  The son of Marmaroth.

  “I get it. What do you need me for?”

  “How well did you know your father?”

  “What?”

  “I won’t ask again.”

  “I don’t know, man. We didn’t fish together if that’s what you mean.” The shocking blue bolt of light that pierced Marcan’s body carried a warning. He flinched and pushed deeper into the cushions of the chair. “Damn it! What do you want from me?” Marcan screamed.

  Marcan had consumed souls of other Nephilim. To do that, he had to have some of his father’s knowledge. Those he took would also have had abilities bestowed on them by their angelic fathers. Those powers now belonged to Marcan.

  “How did you steal the others’ souls?” He twisted the blazing bolt a little harder.

  “I— Oww, shit, stop, okay. I’ll tell you.”

  “Do not lie. I can make you very sorry.”

  “It was easy. They were weak and stupid like their fathers.” This Nephilim would be a force to be reckoned with. His lips curved into a sneer when he should have still been in pain. “They believed too much in goodness. They weren’t like us.”

  Uri clasped his hands together to keep from wrapping them around the kid’s neck. “I’m glad you recognize I’m not one of the good guys. Talk.”

  Time was running out.

  “It’s simple, fly-boy. The blood. I ingest it, and the feeling of power as their soul joins mine is absolutely delicious.”

  Marcan showed no remorse. He actually licked his lips. If he didn’t need him so badly, Uri would have put him to sleep for centuries right then and there. He ran a finger down the jagged line on his face. It reminded him of the last time he took things into his own hands. It hadn’t worked so well.

  Uri wasn’t surprised. It always came down to the blood. God’s gift of life ran bright red through every living being’s veins. Without it—there wouldn’t be life. “You’re worst then a damned vampyre.”

  “Don’t hate, do I rag you about whizzing around like a bird?”

  Uri fought to hold the glee from his eyes and the smile from his lips. This half man, half angel was absolutely something else. He had no inborn fear. Could be good or bad depending on who Marcan ran into, but Uriel liked him. Young by heavenly standards, the boy had a lot of years to go before he was considered grown. He made a mental note to keep him away from Luke.

  “What else did you learn from your father? Think hard, I want to know everything.”

  “I didn’t lear—” Uri’s bolt lifted Marcan from the chair flinging him into the far corner of the room. Another bolt pushed him into the air where he banged into the cavern’s ceiling with a thud before landing back in the chair.

  “I asked you politely not to lie. The next time I won’t be so nice.”

  “I watched my father closely, some things you just pick up, okay?”

  “Did he ever mention the Fates?”

  Uri looked at Marcan and could see his intelligent wheels spinning. Pray God the little shit did not try anything.

  “Ahh, this has to do with the pretty thing you blazed with a fiery knife earlier. Nice ass on her. If I got my hands on that pussy—”

  Uri blasted him with twice the power he had earlier. Marcan tumbled over and over through the room and slammed into a wall, leaving the print of his body in the crystal structure. Blood poured profusely from his nose and his arm was bent at an odd angle. “If a single thought of her ever crosses your mind again, I’ll tear it from your addled head. Do. You. Understand?”

  “Holy shit.” Marcan rolled over and gurgled through his bruised lips, “Yeah, I got it.” Tossed high into the air, he disappeared.

  “Little fucker,” Uri cursed loudly. Now what? He’d have to leave his questioning until another time.

  He decided to visit Luke.

  “Uri, good to see you. I’m on my way out. Want to come?”

  “Not in the mood.”

  “You’re never in the mood for fun anymore. What’s going on with you?”

  “You’re close to the Nephilim.” He raised his hands. “I’ve been aware of it for years, don’t bother lying.”

  “Who was going to lie? No reason to. I’m friends with them. What do you want to know?”

  Most of the halflings’ parents resided in Heaven, but some didn’t. Uri needed information about one in particular who did not. “Marmaroth?”

  “Go to hell, Uri. Don’t even think about it. Have you lost what little mind you had left? Michael will take you down. Hell, the Father will do more than scar you for life. And why do all of you think I want to g
et involved in your bullshit?”

  “Luke, I need some help here.” They used to get along well. No angel hated Luke. The Devil held a special place in all their lives. Without him, they wouldn’t be necessary.

  “Chrissakes. Couldn’t you just sleep with her? Nothing but trouble is going to come of this.” Luke paced back and forth across the floor a few times. “I’ll give you one thing and that’s it. Ask the right question because it’ll be your only one.”

  A game the Fates themselves played. They would answer one question. Uri searched deep in his mind, scouring every corner for the right thing to ask. Luke meant what he said. Not saying a word, he walked the floor. What would help him most? Knowing if Marmaroth lived? Because he wasn’t absolutely sure. Marcan could answer that because of their familial connection. What else? Though the angel in question had chosen to leave Heaven and give up being an angel, he’d been one of the Father’s favorites. Might he still have a few powers? Had he ever used the power Uri wanted to exploit? Shit. Everything had become too hard. He still reeled from the way Morta had left him earlier. Would she come back and stay if he could find them a way around this? A fickle woman, she wanted him one minute and pushed him away the next. But she held a place in his heart now and he could no longer ignore the fact that without her, his life was meaningless.

  “What the fuck?” He blurted out. Uri was tired of going over and over everything plus he felt like crap.

  “You have lost your mind.” Lucifer grinned widely. “Morta is the answer to that question. Now, you going with me or not?”

  “Son of a bitch.” He’d forgotten and spoken out loud in the form of a question. “Luke, aww hell.” No point in arguing. He’d asked and been answered.

  This was not his day.

  * * * * *

  Morta sat beside her sister and watched the care she used in weaving the threads of life together. How did she keep them all separate? They appeared to be a jumble of string. Yet Nona knew each one. Colors wound together belonged to couples. Listening to the Fate’s wheel turn and swoosh, Morta glanced through the mess. Sadness crept over her as she realized Uri’s and hers would never be bound together.