“If you don’t let me go, I’ll scream.”
Gabriel shrugged. “My servants are accustomed to feminine screeches, although they usually occur when the lady is in the throes of her pleasure.” He locked the door. “No one enters this room when I’m inside unless summoned. Please have a seat, your protests are becoming irksome. Would you care for a drink?”
Anne’s eyes followed his languid walk over to a side table. She’d just have to brazen this moment out, although she really wanted to slice his cock and his arrogance down a notch. “Whatever you’re drinking.”
He turned his head to peer at her. “Brandy, Mistress Holland? Not the usual fare for a female.” His dark blue eyes slowly raked her. “But then, you are an unusual woman.”
He poured a small amount in one glass and filled another half way. Taking both, he returned to where she stood. Offering her the glass with the least amount of brandy, he smiled. “It is ill-mannered for a gentleman to sit while a lady stands. Today has been rather exhausting, so out of kindness for my weary body won’t you please sit?”
His hand waved in the direction of a cushioned settee. Ignoring him, she went to one of the two chairs facing the settee and sat. He didn’t bother to mute his laughter as he retraced his steps, grabbed the bottle of brandy, and returned to sprawl on the settee.
“Thank you.” He drained his glass. “Much better. Now, I’m ready to listen to the terms of your proposal.”
Anne took a rather large gulp of brandy. The liquid seared her throat as it went down and she began to cough.
“First time? Surprising, since Holland’s League has a reputation for the excellence of its cellar.”
She glared at him through watery eyes. “Brandy is not a drink I favor, my lord.”
“It was your decision, Mistress Holland. If you prefer, I do have something more suitable for ladies.”
Anne shuttered her eyelids and mentally began to count. One, two, three, four, five. When she lifted her lashes, she plastered a smile on her face. “This is fine, my lord.”
“Gabriel,” he said.
His eyes, dark as midnight, were on her and a heated shiver raced through her. His seductive mouth curved into a delectable smirk, she couldn’t deny the effect he had on her. The rapid heartbeat, the quick inhalations of air, and the faint tingling that wouldn’t go away. He was definitely going to be a problem.
She raised the glass to her lips and sipped, the slight burn of the brandy at the back of her throat gave way to a surprising warmth. Her courage bolstered, she lowered her glass.
“Gabriel,” she repeated. “Shall we get this conversation over with so I can leave?”
“I’m waiting with bated breath, Mistress Holland.”
“Anne.” She caught the arching of his eyebrow and sighed. “I intended to pay you five hundred pounds to take my virginity.”
She watched as he drained the entire contents of his drink and refilled the glass halfway. He was incapable of masking the amazement her words produced. He stared at her as if she had suddenly sprouted wings. Gabriel’s lips parted and abruptly closed. Setting the glass on a table next to the arm of the settee, he leaned back.
“Did I hear correctly? You are a virgin?”
Deviltry flared inside Anne, although her features remained composed. “You did and I am, my . . . Gabriel. My hymen serves no useful purpose, and initially I thought you would do. However, I no longer wish to employ your services.”
“For what reason?” he demanded. “Do you intend to auction off yourself on a permanent basis? Become one Holland’s League’s whores?”
“I will not sit here and let you insult the women of Holland’s League, especially since your reputation would earn you the same epitaph,” she said angrily, pushing up from her chair. “You know nothing about the women who live there. The reasons they chose the path they did. The danger they face. We are finished, my lord.”
Anne abruptly turned to leave and felt lightheaded. Her fingers grasped the back of the chair to steady herself.
“Sit down.”
She bristled at the voice that shoved the words at her. “Who the hell are you to order me about? I’m leaving.”
Gabriel pushed up from the settee and blocked her path to the door. “If you are half as intelligent as I believe you are you will plant your arse back on that chair.”
Fear race down Anne’s spine and she hesitated. It wasn’t so much his words or the unspoken or else that arrested her departure. Not even his physical presence frightened her. Her dagger was in easy reach. So why did she hesitate? Why was she suddenly afraid of the man standing between her and the door? The answer lodged in the eyes peering back at her. Her decision was wrested from her hands once she saw the incendiary light flaring in eyes the color of dark sapphire. She had seen that look only once before.
“You should be afraid,” Gabriel said icily. “Now sit down.”
She kept her eyes on his face as she sat. Her fingers slid into a slit in her gown and gripped the hilt of the dagger strapped to her left thigh. Her eyes followed him as he retrieved his brandy glass. Her body shook when he grabbed a chair and slammed it opposite her before lowering his large body onto the cushioned seat.
Energy crackled between them, dark and menacing but, to Anne’s surprise, not threatening. For the first time since she left Barbados, she felt alive. Demon Gabriel triggered a reaction in her unlike any she’d ever experienced. The man was infuriating and took pleasure in the act. Yet, just thinking about him had her melting like heated wax beneath a seal. Even now she wanted to run her hand along his angular jaw, drag his lips to her mouth, and taste the brandy on his tongue. She fought the urge to undo the buttons of his breeches and see for herself the promise hidden by silk.
Her eyes searched his face, hoping to find an emotion akin to what she was feeling. Instead, her gaze met ice. Gabriel would take her to bed, strip her of her innocence, and walk away without a backward glance.
With a silent prayer for Lilith to guard her back, Anne found her courage. “Just so there is clarity between us, what you see isn’t fear but concern for your safety. What I am should worry you more than why I’m in your house.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” Gabriel said curtly. “So, what are you if not the owner of a brothel and a notorious bawd?”
Anne masked the hurt his words caused. She knew the feeling shouldn’t exist. Why should he believe she was more than a purveyor of pleasure? Wasn’t that the life she had made for herself in London? So why did the words sting? Why did his opinion matter? Gabriel told no lies; the woman sitting opposite him was exactly what he called her, a notorious bawd.
“Your cheeks are pale. Another brandy?”
“I’m fine.” Her clenched fingers released her knife. She placed her hands on her lap and interlaced her fingers. It was a nervous gesture yet surprisingly a calming one as well. Her lashes swept up and she stared at the man who demanded her secrets. “My name is not Anne Holland.”
“Stop, don’t say another word,” he interrupted.
Confused, Anne didn’t resist when he grabbed her wrist and pulled her from the chair. Nearly dragging her behind him, he went to the door, unlocked it, and hurried upstairs. He led her down a dimly lit corridor, coming to an abrupt stop before a door. When he opened it, she saw they’d reached a sitting room.
He released her and shut the door behind them. “Continue.”
She frowned at him before she spoke. “My name is Anne, though my surname isn’t Holland,” she said. “My parents were Sebastian and Elizabeth Willoughby. My father was Baron Woodbridge, although his cousin now holds the title instead of my brother because our parents married when we were ten years old. Until two years ago, I lived on the island of Barbados.”
Gabriel moved past her to stand near the fireplace. “How the hell does the daughter of an English lord become the owner of a brothel? Does your brother know what you do?”
“If you exercise patience, any questions you have wi
ll be answered.” Her fingers pressed against her stomach and she stared unblinkingly into his eyes. “I’ve answered the who, my lord. This is the what.”
Astonishment silenced his tongue when her skin slowly shed its whiteness and became brown as desert sand. His body stiffened when her straight blond hair changed into thick strands of loose dark curls. Her body became taller and thinner as Anne Holland’s plumpness disappeared into slender curves beneath the silk gown she wore. With each alteration, Anne saw the slight flinch, Gabriel’s cautious withdrawal from her as her body assumed its natural state. She was no longer the white Englishwoman he had planned to take to his bed.
Her resentment flared. He was no different from the men who sought Bella’s bed for the novelty and insulted her for her blackness. Her curtsy was insolent as she dipped her head and said, “Anne Willoughby at your service.”
“You were the sixth courtesan. I didn’t lose the bid to another man?”
“No, I do not participate in the auction, my lord. Again, you surprise me. That wasn’t the question I expected.”
He turned and stared at the flames burning in the hearth. Silence stretched between them like a taut rope. “This is a moment that reeks of irony. Do you have any idea what I am, shape-changer?”
“I know that you’re a man, Gabriel Elstone, Marquis of Alenesby, heir to the Duke of Seveham, also known as Demon Gabriel. You’re twenty-six years of age and attended Eton and Cambridge. You have served the King in a variety of ways, most frequently as a spy. In fact, you are one of his two best agents. You love women’s company but refuse to wed and, to my knowledge, keep no mistress. Until last night, you have never purchased the services of a woman from one of London’s brothels. I’m honored that you chose mine as your first.”
“Well informed I see,” he stated. “Your spies are quite good.”
“He is one of the king’s best.”
“Am I permitted to inquire his name? Just in case I have to end his life for giving you the information.”
For the first time since she entered Gabriel’s house, Anne laughed openly. “Of course, since you know him quite well. Cadan Mortaine, Lord Ashborne and husband to Asiya Willoughby, my cousin.”
Gabriel whirled and peered at her. “Siya is your cousin?” He paused and stared at Anne. “If you’ve been in London for two years why didn’t I see you at your cousin’s nuptials?”
“I witnessed Siya’s marriage but you wouldn’t have noticed me, my lord. Not in the form I had taken.”
A cat suddenly appeared in his arms, rubbing its cheek against his linen-covered chest, throaty feline purrs echoing in the room. Startled, Gabriel was about to fling the animal from him when the cat suddenly became Anne. She chuckled and slithered from his hold.
“I’m also a healer and I can know a human’s thoughts. While I can’t control humans, I can influence ones with weak minds. Like demons and the Fallen, I am able to create illusions.”
Folding his arms across his chest, he asked, “What do you know about the demon lord?”
His question surprised her. She started to speak and he cut her off. “Don’t bother fabricating a lie. I’m aware the women in your brothel are witches and the men who guard the women are the offspring of witches. Just answer my question.”
“I am familiar with Mephistopheles and all the Fallen. And you, Demon, what do you know about the demon king?”
“Quite a bit since he sired me,” he replied. “I am undead.”
Gabriel watched Anne’s body become rigid before she backed away from him, terror etched in her hazel eyes. For some reason, her reaction troubled him more than her ability. Curiosity slowly replaced the fear on her face. She stepped closer, her hand trembling as she raised it. “May I touch you?”
He nodded. She ran her fingers along his jawline before her other hand grabbed his wrist and held tight. Her eyes closed and her fingers caressed his face the way an artist without sight would study a sculpted head. Her touch was gentle, gliding over the ridge of his nose and the shape of his mouth.
When she traced his chin, he couldn’t silence the faint moan rising from his throat. The effect she was having on his body alarmed Gabriel, especially when her fingers performed an innocently erotic dance on his cheek. Desire surged in his veins and his cock became painfully tight. He started to jerk from her touch when her caress ended. She lifted her dark eyelashes and stared at him. “You are the one.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Anne’s hand slid inside his shirt and rested against his chest. His heartbeat stuttered then became smooth. Gabriel’s breath locked in his lungs and his heart seemed to once again lose its rhythm as her voice surfaced in his mind. All his senses were attuned to her fingers and the sound of her whispered voice inside his head.
You are the one, Gabriel Elstone. You are my life mate. I don’t understand why but Fate requires our union. You are my life as I am yours.
Her fingertips pressed against his chest and an explosion of light burst inside his head. Silver, green and blue threads snaked out from Anne’s left breast to latch onto the black strands leaping from his chest. The thin filaments of her power enveloped his and drew them into her body. Perspiration beaded on her forehead as the black strands fought to break her hold. Her body jerked as if struck by lightning, her flesh spotted with burn marks.
Gabriel closed his eyes and his awareness witnessed the frenzied battle. The more the black threads resisted, the more vivid the silver, green, and blue threads became. The colors nearly blinded him.
You are my life as I am yours.
As if wearied by the fight, the black threads surrendered. Tiny sparks of light erupted in all directions and swept the dark strands into motion. What had been a battle was now a mating dance. Anne’s threads controlled the movement, the conjoined threads swaying together with the grace and elegance of the allemande.
It all came to an abrupt end. Silver-gray strands retreated from Anne’s body to disappear inside his. The weight of her hand eased. His breathing and heartbeat returned to their normal rhythm. Everything appeared in order.
Gabriel mentally examined himself from head to foot. Nothing about him was different. Physically, he was as he had been before Anne’s sorcery. Yet he was irrevocably changed.
He stared at her. “What have you done to me?”
“You are as you have always been,” she replied, flinching at the rage in his tone. “You remain undead, although if I had power to change that fact I would. I’d much prefer my life mate were human.”
He seized her wrists. “What did you do?”
“We are mated. Now release me before I cut your throat.”
“Mated,” Gabriel growled through clenched teeth. “I can never marry. The demon king is my sire and I will not give him descendants, especially not from a shape-changing witch.”
“Well, that is the least of your worries since I don’t intend to give you offspring.”
Anne jerked her wrists from his fingers and stepped away. She studied Gabriel, her forehead scrunched with confusion. “For us to mate, you must have an angelic guardian. Who is your guardian?”
Her expression become appalled as his silence lengthened. “You don’t know?” She shook her head. “What careless archangel would permit this?”
6
“There were reasons for my actions, Tamahaq,” a deep voice stated. “Greetings, namesake.”
Illumination flared near the door. Both Anne and Gabriel whipped their heads in that direction. Accustomed to the comings and goings of archangels, Anne watched Gabriel who stared in amazement as an archangel became a solid form in the brightness. The angel adjusted his body and wings and sauntered to where she stood. Gray eyes raked her and she returned his stare with an insolent one of her own. “What were you thinking to leave him in ignorance, Gabriel?” she demanded.
The archangel shrugged. “My namesake’s ignorance was necessary, especially because of the path you two must follow, daughter of Saria.”
She stepped toward him, her hands clenched in tight fists. “Necessary? You shirked your duties. He knows nothing about life mates. He’s undead, I’m a shape changer, and you think ignorance is a good thing? While at times I wished I were ignorant of my destiny, Raphael cared enough to instruct me.”
“Affection wasn’t the reason for my actions, Anne, although I do have affection for you and your twin,” Raphael declared as he entered the room. “You are Tamahaq and your instruction was necessary. Your life mate had to choose his path.”
Demon Gabriel watched with fascination as Anne berated two very powerful supernatural beings. He smothered his laughter when she called the archangel Gabriel an inexcusable buffoon. She earned his admiration when both archangels held up their hands in surrender.
He crossed over to a table and poured himself a glass of brandy. Draining half, he cleared his throat. “While this has all the makings of a hilarious drawing room comedy, I do insist that you refrain from discussing me as if I were an infant or mentally deficient.”
Three pairs of eyes whipped in his direction, only Anne’s gaze was clouded with remorse. He took another drink and wave his empty hand towards the settee and the chairs.
“Please be seated,” he said politely. “Would you care for drink or food while you discuss my future? Also, since we’ve not been properly introduced and it appears that one of you shares my name, please call me Demon so there’s no confusion.”
Anne rolled her eyes before she stomped over to the chair she’d vacated. The two angels exchanged a look before succumbing to laughter. Raphael was the first to sober.
“I did warn you, Gabriel.”
The archangel Gabriel went to stand before the fireplace. His back to the others, he stood motionless. “Your mother was an unusual human, namesake. Mirelle was the daughter of an Algerian witch and her father was a descendant of Lilith’s human mate. Prophecy revealed Mirelle’s bloodline was to become important in the battle with the Fallen.”
Fate's Kiss Page 6