creamy skin was smooth and delicate, and he stood and watched her, filled with the same love and desire he’d always felt.
Uriel had never been tempted as the others had been, one after the other, falling from grace. Uriel had loved no one but his God, whom he considered infallible except for the one stupid mistake of making humans.
Uriel despised people. He had no mercy for their frailties, no love for the music of their lives, the beauty of their voices, the sweetness of the love they could give. All he knew of them was hatred and despair, and he treated them accordingly.
Sarah looked at him over her brightly colored reading glasses, setting down her book. “You look exhausted.”
He began to strip off his clothes. “I am. Trouble is coming and I don’t know what to do about it. We can’t fight Uriel— we’re not ready.”
“We won’t know until it happens,” she said in her soothing voice. “Uriel has been looking for an excuse for centuries. If the girl is the catalyst, then so be it.”
Azazel rolled his shoulders, loosening the tightness there. “Raziel doesn’t want her, and she doesn’t belong here. I could get rid of her when he isn’t looking, take her back to where Uriel charged she should go. The problem would be solved, and we could wait until we’re better prepared. . . .”
Sarah took the glasses off her nose and set them beside the bed. “You’re wrong, love.”
“So you often tell me,” he said. “You think I shouldn’t get rid of her? I have the right to send her back.”
“Of course you do. You have a great many rights that you shouldn’t exert. Raziel is lying to himself. He wants her. That’s what frightens him.”
“You think Raziel is afraid? I dare you to say that to him.”
“Of course I would tell him, and you know it. He wouldn’t rage at me as he would at you. The Alpha can be challenged. The Source is just that, the source of wisdom, knowledge, and sustenance. If I tell him he wants her, he’ll believe it. But I think it’s better if he discovers it himself.”
“He doesn’t want to bond again,” Azazel argued. “Losing Rafaela was too hard for him. One loss too many.”
“Losing me will be hard for you, love, but you’ll mate again, and soon.”
“Don’t.” He couldn’t bear the idea of a time when Sarah wouldn’t be there. Sarah with the rich, luscious mouth, the wonderful, flexible body, the creamy skin. The women in Sheol lived long lives, but they were merely a blink of the eye compared to the endless lives of the Fallen. He would lose her, and the thought was excruciating.
She gave him her full, sweet smile. “Come to bed, love. We don’t need to think about that for a long time.”
He slid in beside her, pulling her against him, pushing one leg between hers, his long fingers stroking the side of her face, her neck, the elegant collarbone. “What are you wearing?” he whispered against her skin.
She laughed, a low, sexy sound. “A nightgown, of course.”
“Take it off.” He was naked—he wanted her naked too.
She sat up and obliged him, pulling it over her head and tossing it on the floor. She’d pick it up in the morning, before the maid came in. She didn’t like having anyone wait on her, but on this one matter he’d overruled her. She had enough demands on her, providing strength-sustaining blood for the unbonded.
She lay back down, a smile in her eyes, and slid her arms around him. She buried her face against his shoulder, and he could feel her teeth nipping lightly at his skin.
He kissed her, hard and deep, and she pulled at him, her hands restless. “Hurry,” she whispered. “No foreplay?” he teased.
“I’ve been thinking about you for the last two hours. That’s foreplay enough.”
He laughed, rolling her beneath him, pushing into her. Her back arched, and he could feel the first tremor of her orgasm tighten around him. She knew how to pull back, contain it so she wouldn’t make him lose control. Their rhythms were perfectly matched, an elegant dance that culminated in a shock of pleasure.
This was faintly different. He sensed her urgency, when they usually took all the time they wanted. “Why the hurry, love?” he whispered.
She didn’t answer for a moment, and he could see the shadow of an old pain in her beautiful eyes. “I’m afraid we’ll run out of time,” she said finally, her voice so low he could barely hear her.
“Never,” he said. “Stop thinking.”
Her smile was faint, lovely, one of the most erotic things about her. “Now,” she whispered.
He didn’t hesitate. His fangs slid down and sank into her neck, finding the sweet spot he knew so well. The blood was thick, rich in his mouth, and he felt the spasms begin to take over, felt her own helpless response as his wings unfurled. He rolled onto his side, taking her with him, his teeth never leaving the gently throbbing vein, his cock deep inside her as his wings clamped around them both, locking them together as he gave himself over to the only kind of death he’d ever know.
CHAPTER TEN
I OPENED MY EYES AND GROANED. I was lying sideways across a big, rumpled bed, still fully clothed— and I was alone.
I had a really annoying habit of waking up instantly, cheerfully, with no need for coffee or a hushed silence to prepare for the day. It was sheer luck that I’d survived my college years— more than one roommate had been ready to beat me to death over my tendency to prattle in the morning.
Today I could have used a little fogginess.
I had actually slept in that man’s bed, though I wasn’t quite sure how I’d got there. Last thing I remembered was falling asleep in the living room, and here I was stretched out on his sheets, feeling physically cozy and mentally freaked-out. I wasn’t used to men carting me off to bed and then doing nothing about it. Actually, I wasn’t used to men carting me off to bed at all.
Except he wasn’t a man, was he? He was some kind of monster, or mythical beast, or a bizarre mix of both, but he was definitely not human. And I held the firm belief that interspecies dating was never a good idea.
I checked my neck, just to make certain, but there were no mysterious puncture wounds; and far from feeling dizzy from blood loss, I was feeling positively energetic, more than my usual morning bounce. The unthinkable had happened, the worst thing imaginable. It had been no surreal nightmare. I was dead and living with a bunch of vampires who seemed to have emerged from Old Testament Apocrypha. It was little wonder I was feeling disoriented. What I couldn’t figure out was why I was cheerful.
The good thing about total disaster—at least there was nowhere to go but up. Maybe it was that simple.
Or maybe, just maybe, it had something to do with the man— damn, I couldn’t stop thinking of him that way—who’d brought me here. Not that he was any too pleased to be saddled with my unwanted presence. Tough shit—it was his fault I’d ended up in this cross between Valhalla and Anne Rice territory.
The good thing was, Raziel appeared to have no interest in my far- from-irresistible charms, sexual, social, or otherwise. For all I knew, Raziel’s people were impotent. After all, no one seemed able to procreate.
That seemed unlikely. The heat between Azazel and his wife had been palpable, despite the disparity in their ages. Maybe Raziel simply wasn’t interested in women. Or, more likely, not interested in me—he would hardly be the first who’d failed to appreciate my particular brand of charisma.
I’d fallen asleep on the living room floor and he must have been kind enough to carry me in to bed, though so far kindness hadn’t been a major part of his personality. He’d left me sexually and hematologically untouched, thank God. What more proof did I need of his lack of interest.
I had more important things to consider. I needed a bathroom; I needed a shower. Last night I hadn’t stopped to think about the dead or undead having actual bodily functions. All I knew was that I certainly did.
I rolled out of the huge bed, landing barefoot on the cool marble floor. The room was dim, the shades pulled against the bright sunlight. There was a door off to one side, and I headed for it. Eureka! A bathroom with a huge tub, a shower made for giants, thick towels, and even a toilet. If the afterlife contained a bathroom like this, it couldn’t be that awful.
I followed the coffee aroma to a small kitchen, bracing myself to confront Raziel, but the place was deserted. There was coffee in a white carafe, and I filled one of the mugs, looking around me with fresh curiosity. Things didn’t seem nearly so bizarre as they had yesterday—amazing what a good night’s sleep would do for you.
I moved to the row of windows in the living room, looking out over the sea. It was misty, cool, the rich salt scent thick in the air. Where had Raziel gone?
And did he really expect me to stay here like a good girl, awaiting my master’s return?
Fat chance.
I found some white shoes that looked sort of like a delicate pair of Crocs and slipped them on, then headed out the door. I paused, staring down the endless flights of stairs, and let out a heartfelt groan.
Going down would be easier than going up, but if I did descend those forty million treacherous flights of stairs, sooner or later I would have to go back up. Why didn’t they have elevators in the afterlife? Maybe most people just flew.
No, only the men could. “Sexist bastards,” I said with a sniff. Maybe I could hitch a ride with one of the friendlier ones.
The stairs were endless, deserted as I descended. It wasn’t until I reached the third floor that I began to run into . . . whatever they were. Fallen angels, vampires, blood-eaters, hell-transporters. Comic-book villains.
None of them looked particularly happy to see me. So it wasn’t just Raziel who resented my presence. I gave each of them my cheeriest smile and a friendly greeting, and for the most part was met with cool indifference. Great. No welcome wagon here.
No sight of the Stepford wives,
