by V L Moon
Laughter from the common area drew his gaze to the door. A few Elders mingled with the guards and the residents of the royal enclave. Synta and his demure wife circulated freely. Darklon and his cronies were noticeably absent while Roman had elected to stay in Brazil with Tobias. Christmas carols rang in the background as everyone tried to talk over each other and the music. A shadow fell across the door followed by a soft knock.
“Might I enter, Sire? I bring greetings from the Pope.” Though he had no desire for company, Malachi waved the young Nephilim into his office. He’d seen Clariel on several occasions, hurrying through the Vatican. Gregori had even dropped by to sing the young male’s praises.
“How are you Clariel?” he asked. “Life in the human world treating you well?” A slow smile spread over Clariel’s face.
“Indeed. Gregori is most understanding and has given me many duties that keep me busy. I enjoy working with the less fortunate who come to our doors seeking assistance,” Clariel gushed, his voice full of excitement.
“And you have no regrets for the decision you made?” If he hadn’t been watching so closely, Malachi might have missed the sadness that flashed into the Nephilim’s eyes. A sadness all to familiar to his own aching heart. The meeting with Celix reared its head giving him pause. Was there more there, something he’d overlooked?
“I met someone shortly after I brought you here,” he said, and wasn’t surprised by the swift inhalation of expectancy. “He didn’t ask me to deliver a message, but he seemed very concerned about you.” Malachi waited.
“You didn’t kill him?” The quiet question told Malachi a lot. Where Celix had managed to hide the depth of his feelings, Clariel was transparent. Strong emotions connected the two Nephilim.
“Funny. He asked me the same thing.” Malachi leaned forward to trace a finger over the characters on the scroll. He lifted his gaze to stare at the one he’d rescued and found violet eyes drilling into him. Desperation shone in the depths.
“No. I didn’t kill him.” Thin shoulders slumped forward in relief. Clariel shuffled closer to the desk. “He can never come here to see you,” Malachi said. The curved shoulders straightened and the gaze that met his remained steady.
“I know. I will not betray you,” Clariel vowed.
“No. you won’t,” Malachi agreed. “Now, come have a seat and tell me what news you bring from Gregori. He is well?” Clariel closed the small gap between them, but whatever he’d been about to say was swallowed in his gasp of awe. Trembling fingers lowered to lightly brush over the scroll. Tears formed and wavered in his exotic purple eyes. Malachi stilled in his chair. “You know this language?”
Clariel nodded. “It is the language of the Heavens. The Creator’s tongue.”
“Can you read it?” Malachi asked far more calmly than he felt.
“No. Only an angel can read the script. It is forbidden to teach it to anyone save a pure soul. The ability to read it is ripped from any angel who becomes Fallen.” Clariel reverently stroked the characters.
“Then how is it that you recognize it?” Malachi queried.
Lost in wonder, Clariel answered almost by rote. “The Queen exposed us to the writings. Though she didn’t teach us to read it, she wanted us to recognize it. She told us that if we came across it we must deliver the missives to her.”
Malachi growled and drew Clariel’s startled gaze. “You have nothing to fear from me, Your Highness. I am well glad to be away from the Nephilim Queen.” The young male gave a last wistful glance to the scroll and then gathered his thoughts. “The Pope sends his wishes for a good Christmas and invites you to Mass if you are so inclined.”
Malachi forced a smile for the Nephilim. “While I appreciate the invitation, the Creator and I are not on the best of terms. The lovely structure above us would likely explode into flames were I to set foot in those hallowed halls. Please extend my apologies to Gregori. I’m sure he’ll understand.” Clariel bowed at the waist.
“I will convey your regrets. I wish you a blessed Christmas, Sire,” Clariel spoke low.
“Don’t waste your breath, kid. The wish falls on deaf ears,” Malachi said. “If you have time, enjoy the party. Ms. Stroner worked hard to organize everything.”
When the male left the room, Malachi’s gaze swept the enclosed space. Across the room in all its resplendent glory, a Christmas tree twinkled against the dark leather and wood interior. Malachi didn't know what fidiot had set up the tree in his office, but he held no doubt Ms. Stroner ordered the placement. Most nights, she tiptoed around him always wary of his swiftly changing moods. He knew he worried her. But, the ache of Laziel’s defection ate away at his civility; being sociable wasn't on his to do list.
He came into the office because the race depended on him. Otherwise, he'd be holed up in the chapel, emerging only to hunt Laziel. His eyes drifted up the tree and came to rest on the softly glowing angel. He growled, a response that occurred every time he laid eyes on the silver wings. The decorators couldn't have used a fucking star? A fat ass red bow? Hell no, they crowned the monstrosity with a fucking angel. Probably because no one but Arial knew Laziel refused to return. The guard believed him on a mission for his Creator and Malachi had no inclination to dissuade them of the belief.
Adrenaline coursed through his system, fueled by the rage that was never far from the surface. Thank fuck it was Christmas. The God damned tree would be gone the next time he entered the office. He'd demanded it be removed immediately, but had finally conceded to leaving it alone until an hour after midnight on Christmas night. Sitting forward, he tried to focus again on the scroll, but his eyes, pulled like magnets, returned time and again to the angel. An emotion stronger than the rage lanced his heart. The silver wings transformed and darkened to black. The face wavered and then became…
“FUCK this!” Surging to his feet, Malachi stormed across the room. His ebony gaze locked on the offending decoration. He'd never promised to leave the fucking tree intact. His fist closed around the fragile ornament, and he snatched it from the tree, sending other ornaments and tinsel raining down onto the floor. He crossed to the fireplace, intending to fling the bastard into the flames. On the forward arc, the delicate feathers brushed against his palm; a familiar and heartbreaking touch. The doors to his office slammed close at his will.
Sinking to his knees, he cradled his closed fist with the other hand before slowly uncurling his fingers. The angel rested there safe in the haven of his grasp. Shoulders sagging, Malachi lifted a trembling finger to trace the smooth wings. "Why Laz? Why have you left me?" he whispered brokenly. A bloody tear splashed onto the pristine whiteness of the angel's garb. Only then did he realize tears tracked slow paths down his lean cheeks. Using the back of his forearm, he wiped his face and pushed to his feet.
Fucking holidays. Yeah, he'd blame his weakness on the season, but in his frozen heart, he knew his weakness was the angel. His undying and carefully guarded love for the male who'd forsaken him. He’d never spoken of his love, never acknowledged it even to himself and still, Darklon managed to steal his very reason for taking breath. With the small angel in hand, he returned to his desk and sat down in his oversized chair.
Malachi tugged open the bottom drawer and emptied it of everything except the bag of Jolly Ranchers. Tenderly, he placed the bloodstained angel in the vacant space. He sighed deeply before closing the drawer and locking it. With a strength of will he'd cultivated over the centuries, he erected a wall around his aching heart. While Laziel refused to return home, Malachi’s grasp on his savagery slipped with every night that passed. He desperately needed a feeding. He feared where his hunger would take him if not appeased. Even more so, he feared a severe loss of control when the beast was finally allowed freedom and given a taste of blood.
Shifting forward, he braced his elbows on the edge of the desk and contemplated the scroll. Angelic language. He only knew one other angel besides Laziel, the male he’d basically tossed out on his ass when he refused to divulge
Laziel’s whereabouts. Before he could change his mind, he dug his cell from his pocket and shot out a text to Arial. He needed to know what the scroll said more than he needed to protect his pride. Finding the angel was a vital necessity if Rome—hell, if humankind expected to survive the unleashing of his true nature in all of its evil, sadistic glory.
~*~*~*~
Pain, brutal in its assault, seared Laziel’s heart. Yet, it wasn’t his own. He watched with crystal clarity as a single tear rolled down Lachi’s pale, somber face and fell upon and stained the pristine robe of the angel he’d so bitterly snatched from the top of the tree. His male was in pain. He looked gaunt. A depth of ferocity unlike anything Laziel had felt before tainted the air around him with its bitter, almost acrid stench. What had he done? Laziel berated himself as his essence crossed the room and literally poured over Lachi’s stiffly held frame.
Laziel couldn’t remember a time when the male felt so highly strung, or so distant. As for the darkness Laziel instinctively felt rising inside of his vampire, Laziel would rather lose his wings than allow the threat of the beast to consume the purity of Lachi’s beautiful soul. Knowing his presence would most definitely be felt, Laziel refused to hold back.
He’d never been one to shy away from aggression, and after centuries of dealing with Lachi’s inner beast, he’ learned to tame it and devour its virulent want with the use of carnal empowerment. He took it all, every ounce of Lachi’s pent up strength, his anger and his doubts and drank them down until he was drunk on the male’s touch and addicted to the knowledge that Lachi needed him as much as Laziel wanted and craved Lachi.
Unseen hands drifted over Lachi’s cheek to sweep away the remnants of bloody tears from red feral eyes. The ghostly touch heightened Laziel’s senses as he pushed his ethereal form against the solid wall of Lachi’s chest and inhaled his aura. He drew in the seductive aroma of his vampire’s flesh and moaned when the flavor of him threatened to burst the dam of sexual desire that had built up inside of Laziel. Long lonely months without Lachi’s touch became an aching throb. Laziel was sure he’d go insane from the want of it—of him.
He wanted to taste Lachi, brush his lips across Lachi’s mouth, bite his bottom lip and suckle on the delectable softness before grazing over the hard angular contours of Lachi’s jaw. He yearned to trail his tongue down the hollow of his throat before he worked his way across the amazing span of his collarbone and down, lower toward that devilish trail of hair paving the way toward euphoria.
“I need you. Hear me, Lachi. Love me, please. It hurts to breathe without you near.” Laziel pushed the thoughts at his vampire, hoping Lachi could hear his pleading and feel his ghostly touch. He longed for a return touch, even if it was rough. He’d take whatever he could get; take all of it just to have something, anything of Malachi Azarian Denali to keep with him.
The anger blistering the air softened, and for a heartbeat, Laziel was sure Lachi felt his essence as a low moan rolled up from the male’s broad muscular chest. It reminded Laziel of the beautiful sound the vampire made when the tremors of release receded and their bodies lay limp and sated, wrapped around each other too tired to move. But, move he did; right through Laziel.
Lachi snatching at the threads of anger Laziel had attempted to diminish and fed on the raw residues. He used his hunger to stoke the glowing embers of his fiery nature. Helpless, Laziel watched as Lachi slammed shut the drawer on the stained angel, locking it away along with Laziel’s heart.
As the massive office doors crashed closed behind Lachi, something in Laziel died. They both knew the angel signified Laziel; yet, Lachi had locked it away, pushed it out of sight like an ugly reminder. Laziel felt sullied. After centuries of offering Lachi the purity of his love, his loyalty and his very life, the vampire had shut him away like a bad memory, possibly a regret. Even the loss of his own kind didn’t fathom the depth of hurt he felt at watching Lachi walk away from what they shared together.
A surge of grief threatened to overwhelm Laziel’s senses. He wouldn’t allow it. Laziel fought to restrain the power of his anger so as not to render Lachi’s enclave a useless pile of rubble. He all but threw his celestial essence out into the night and didn’t look back as the Earth quaked beneath him.
Fervently, he prayed the Creator would accept him back into Heaven once Lachi’s young was born. Without Lachi, he was done with Earth. He was a warrior of the true God, not some pissant fairy to be locked away. Summoning his strength, Laziel forced down the hurt, swallowed the pain and drifted down into Loz’s prone swollen body. Eyes that were once full of life blinked once, twice before the shadows that danced there faded away to leave behind an empty lifeless void.
~*~*~*~
Chapter Thirty
~*~*~*~
Brazil
The scent registered as soon as his brain came online. Musk, earth and man. Roman groaned when his hips instinctively flexed driving his throbbing erection into the mattress. “Damn you, Tobias,” he groaned. The sweet friction heightened the painful ache. Without opening his eyes, he flipped over onto his back. Unerringly, his right hand found the pulsing organ and squeezed. It had been four long weeks since the treaty was signed; twenty eight nights spent alone on a bed that oozed his wolf’s essence.
He’d deliberately delayed his return from Rome, terrified Darklon would make good on his threat and harm Tobias. By the time he made his appearance, the wolves, including Tobias, had departed for the States. But, his mischievous male had left him a surprise; a bed coated with his scent and his seed. Although the sheets had been sent for cleaning, the intoxicating aroma lingered in Roman’s chambers etched into the very molecules of his possessions.
Every dusk, he awakened the same way; granite hard and desperate for relief. The fingers around his cock tightened. “Fuckin’ hell,” he hissed through gritted teeth when his hand started the slow up down that would bring some relief, but not the full satisfaction he needed. He kept the strokes slow at first, hoping the prolonged stimulation would lessen the powerful need coursing through his veins. On the upstroke, he flicked his thumb over the slit catching the leaking precum to slick his length. Hips arched off the bed, driving his cock into his fist.
The addictive scent seemed to grow stronger the faster his hand moved. Sweat broke out over his skin. He kicked until the sheet disappeared and cool air hit his flesh. His fist tightened, increasing the pressure on his dick. Thumb and forefinger pinched and rolled the head. Pleasure bowed his back off the bed. “Tobias,” he moaned, knowing none could hear the desperate plea in his voice. Fuck, he missed his wolf, his mate.
“I’m right here, baby.” The husky voice rang like bells in Roman’s ears. His hand froze, and his eyes flipped open to find Tobias seated in a chair beside the bed. Candlelight caught the blond shagginess of his hair and lit it from behind. Topaz eyes glowed in the darkness. “God, don’t stop, Rom. You are magnificent.”
With a roar boarding on feral, Roman catapulted himself from the bed into Tobias’s open arms. An answering growl sent riptides of desire skating down his spine. Mouths crashed together. Groans erupted when heated skin met warm palms. The chair toppled under their frantic efforts to get closer, spilling them onto the floor.
“Miss me?” Tobias gasped, but Roman wasn’t with the verbal response. His mouth was too busy tasting every bit of his wolf he could reach. His fangs lengthened and throbbed, wild for a taste of Tobias’s powerful blood. They scraped along the vein, drawing a gasp from the wolf.
“Do it,” he almost pleaded, rearing up to crush his throat against Roman’s mouth. The pure temptation of his male cracked the last remnants of his control. His fangs pierced the corded muscle and sank deep into the richness of the vein. Unadulterated power exploded on his tongue and streaked like lightening down his throat. Roman’s lips sealed against the skin as he drank in satisfying pulls. A continuous purr rumbled in his chest.
Tobias shuddered beneath him before locking arms and legs around him, crushing him closer. T
rapped between their writhing bodies, their cocks rubbed and ground together. Combined with the potency of Tobias’s blood, the friction lit the flames of his orgasm. He burned hotter and hotter, soaring higher with every swallow and thrust. Soft words fell from Tobias’s lips a contradiction to the fierceness of his grip on Roman’s ass.
“Fuck…me…Roman.” The words came on gasps of air and were the only three words that could have broken through the haze of lust and feeding. Roman’s head came up, eyes dark and pupils blown with passion. Blood trickled down his chin, and he caught it greedily with his tongue. He tried to move to grab the lube, but Tobias refused to let him go.
“Already prepared, vampire, while I was watching you. Now put those fangs back in my neck and fuck me hard. I need you.” A strong hand grasped the back of Roman’s head and tugged him back to the curve of Tobias’s throat. Fangs and cock penetrated at the same time and any coherent thought in Roman’s head evaporated.
~*~*~*~
Later that night as the moon sat at the apex of its route, Roman reclined in the same chair Tobias had occupied earlier. His male lay in the twisted sheets; his unruly blond curls splashed over the red satin. Bronzed skin glowed against the vivid color, but Roman’s keen eyesight picked out the sallowness of the color. Neither did he miss the more pronounced cheekbones, nor the too obvious weight loss. Worry carved lines in his forehead. Had he taken too much? Been too rough? Surely, his hunger wouldn’t have had that affect so quickly?
Their lovemaking had contained a desperate edge; one he attributed to the separation. But, studying his male, he feared there was something he was missing. The same mischievous smile he remembered had made an appearance though not quite as bright or as often as usual. Was something wrong in the pack? And, if so, why hadn’t Lance called him, or Denali? On a frustrated huff, he rose from the chair and paused to stroke light fingers down Tobias’s cheek before snagging his cell from the bedside table and striding into the sitting area of his living space.
