Death's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels

by Heather Killough-Walden

  She wanted more.

  Chapter Thirty

  He could sense the change coming over her. As the darkness lifted from around her it simultaneously grew within him. He had been made an archangel eons ago, a winged warrior of immense power. But here and now, in this telling moment, Azrael was the vampire king. The need inside him shoved all else aside and left no room for subtle kindnesses.

  He was all monster, his sole saving grace the absolute love he felt for the woman in his dangerous embrace. Had it not been for this tempering compassion, Azrael would have turned her. No hesitation, no remorse. He had never created a female vampire. Sophie would have been his first. All it would have taken was a thought: Turn and join me. And Sophie would never again walk in the sun.

  But his love for her left him settled somewhere in her warm and welcoming mind, simultaneously experiencing the hope and loss, the ebbing anger, and the growing peace. Her sweet, heartfelt emotions collared the beast within him just enough.

  In his peripheral awareness, Azrael noticed Uro pulling away. The vampire released Sophie’s wrists and stepped back. His job was done; their combined attack had diminished Gregori’s influence on the archess and obliterated Sophie’s defenses, and Uro knew when to call it good. He would leave now and rejoin the others. Az had to commend him for being able to stop. It was something Az himself could not do. Not with her. They were too tightly bound. She hadn’t been made for Uro, after all. She’d been made for Azrael.

  Az stayed put, his grip ever tight, his teeth firmly planted in her throat. He drank slowly, sparingly, and Sophie’s sweet, sweet blood drifted slowly over his tongue. It set off a flickering of delicious fire that burned down his throat and spread throughout his tall, strong body. Divine.

  That was the only word for it.

  Azrael was held prisoner by his desire, trapped between his yearning to go further and his need to avoid bringing Sophie any further harm. But his hunger was undeniable. He needed more. If he didn’t get it soon, he would lose his already tentative grasp on control.

  Sophie . . . his mind whispered. He knew she heard him when she exhaled softly, her breath caressing the curve of his shoulder. My sweet Sunshine . . .

  The ground released its hold on them as Azrael took them to the sky. They rose gradually through the mist and clouds of Sophie’s waning tempest. Moisture licked at their hair, dampening their locks and pressing them to their cheeks.

  Az . . . Her mind called to him. She did it without realizing she did so.

  He felt her arms slide around him, warm and tight and welcome, and the vampire king’s heart cracked a little, a genuine ache that was both the most wonderful and the most horrible thing he had ever felt.

  Lightning sizzled around them, somehow changed now. It was no longer an angry energy that arced from the earth to the sky. It was hot and languid and crackling, and it bounced off of the dense walls of the low-lying clouds.

  Gently, Azrael released Sophie’s now damp hair and brushed his fingers down the back of her neck. She shivered beneath the caress. He wanted to touch more of her. He used his control of the air to help him hold her aloft, and with a simple thought and flux of will, he did away with their clothing. It was there one second, gone the next. The clouds swirled in to dress them, leaving droplets of moisture on their skin.

  Instinctively, Sophie pressed herself against him, a soft moan escaping her lips. Az felt his chest shudder, his body clench tight. He was hard as steel, pulsing hot, and they were skin on skin, her warmth taunting him. His fingers moved lower, grazing the smooth, perfect plane of her back to the tight curve of her bottom. Rivulets of rainwater built and trickled, running over his hand.

  Sophie gasped and involuntarily arched her back as he cupped her cheek and continued farther, his fingers taking her in, absorbing her heat. When he reached the valley between her legs, her fists curled into his back, her nails threatening his skin.

  In response, he sucked harder, his teeth claiming her throat, taking her blood now with a renewed sense of urgency. More—he wanted more.

  Humidity blanketed them, leaving them drenched. Azrael’s cock throbbed against her taut stomach, now so painfully engorged that he could no longer ignore it. His hand slid over the slick, honeyed entrance to her core, the scent of her arousal wafted toward him, and her nails broke through, drawing his blood. Her body arched desperately against his as he growled against her throat and pressed farther, dipping into her heated wetness.

  One finger . . . two . . .

  Sophie cried out; he drank deeper. More.

  He felt her clench around his fingers, mind-blowingly tight and so very wet. Another sizzling bolt of lightning crisscrossed the dense fog, charging the air with heat and static. It sliced through the spaces beside him, threateningly close. He ignored it, his attention focused solely on the sweet, responsive woman in his arms.

  Sophie, I need more, he thought, sending the words careening through her mind. It was the plea of a starving man—a dying man—who had been given a taste of salvation and would perish without another life-giving swallow.

  Sophie coated his fingers with the nectar of her desire, urging him on without another word. But she was so tight, so small.

  With tender care, Azrael pushed harder, subjugating her body to his demanding, expert touch. Then his vampire took over and he pulled his fangs from her throat.

  She cried out at the quick retreat and her fingernails drew more of his archangel blood. It ran down his back now, thin rivers of crimson pleasure.

  He leaned back, taking her in from head to toe. No woman on Earth should have looked as good as she did, from the tips of her toes to her long, slender legs and the triangle of golden curls between them. His gaze burned over her tapered waist to her perfect round breasts to the graceful lines of her collarbone. As he looked at her, she moaned in frustration. His eyes shot back to hers. Her straight white teeth were bared and she was writhing in his embrace, waiting to accept everything he wanted to give her.

  Slowly, almost menacingly, Azrael ran his tongue over his fangs and watched as Sophie’s glassy, lust-filled eyes widened. Her breathing became short and quick, her body moving desperately upon his fingers. She was trapped in his gaze, held captive by his influence, and nearly frantic for release.

  She was all his.

  He struck with vampire speed, lowering his head and sinking his still-glistening, razor-sharp fangs into the smooth flesh of her left breast. Sophie’s piercing cry split the night and lightning sizzled, an impossible tornado of electricity that coiled around their bodies like a spiral cocoon. At the same time, her hand shoved through his thick, dark hair, holding his head to her chest—as if he would consider letting go.

  But he was going to let go. Because there was another place on her body he wanted to sink his teeth into. Gently, he extracted his fangs once more and again brushed his thumb across her clitoris as his fingers moved inside her. Sophie’s head tossed to the side, her now fully wet hair flying around her like a glorious golden halo. Azrael took it in, never wanting to forget what she looked like.

  The air responded to his command once more, holding her aloft as he released his hold on her waist and slowly pulled his fingers from her molten core.

  “No . . . ,” she murmured, her forehead furrowing in disappointment.

  His smile broadened, becoming well and truly cruel. She took one ragged breath after another and floated, captive to his web of air as he slowly moved down the length of her body until the dark blue vein on the inside of her leg was in his sights.

  He ran his hands up the backs of her well-muscled legs, then curled his fingers around them to hold them open. Sophie resisted him, perhaps instinctively, for a fraction of a second. Her breath caught and he looked up. Her eyes met his—and he knew that she was fully aware of what he was about to do.

  She made a helpless sound, one he could never hear enough, as he pulled her legs apart and lowered his head to slowly, teasingly, run his tongue across the slick, smooth
lips of her womanhood.

  She bucked in his embrace, as he had known she would, but his grip was firm—and his mind was headed toward delirium. He tasted her a second time, wanting to drink her in every possible manner, wanting to absorb everything that was Sophie Bryce, body and soul.

  Divine.

  The word floated through his mind once more and he closed his eyes as his tongue continued to taste and Sophie continued to writhe in his fast grip. He was in heaven. But heaven was a pleasure so severe, it was painful. His body was so hard, sweat had broken out across his skin, joining the rainwater that coalesced on them and soaked them both. Azrael raised his hand and pressed gently on the swollen nub of Sophie’s clitoris. She cried out in both frustration and ecstasy and quivered under his hand, her movements more furious now. The clean, wanton scent of her was maddening. She was dripping for him.

  Without warning, he turned his head and sank his fangs into the vein on the inside of her thigh. As he did, he shoved his fingers into her once more and was rewarded with the tight, frantic clenching of her core around his hand. Her climax drew a harsh cry from her throat, but that cry was totally absorbed by the thunder that echoed off the clouds as a second spiral of lightning enveloped the airborne lovers.

  Azrael watched her through his glowing eyes as he pulled and swallowed. Pulled and swallowed. If he drank her dry, it wouldn’t be enough.

  Careful, he told himself. She was an archess and made of stronger stuff than a mortal, but she could still be killed, and he’d taken enough blood.

  And there was something else he wanted just a little bit more in that moment. He couldn’t wait any longer.

  In one swift movement, Azrael pulled his teeth from her vein and his fingers from between her legs. Then he rose on the wind and pressed the tip of his painfully swollen member to the slick opening between Sophie’s legs. He could feel her still clenching, still coming down from the tidal wave of pleasure she’d just experienced.

  He drew her against him, wrapped his arm around her waist, and cupped her face, leaning over her, demanding that her eyes meet his. He felt her hot little breaths across his lips as he brushed his thumb along her cheekbone and marveled at her perfect beauty.

  And then he drove into her, shoving into her slick, tight heat in one hard thrust. He swallowed her scream of pleasured pain with a kiss just as demanding, just as powerful. And lightning struck.

  This time it hit home. The heavens opened and the bolt of white-hot heat cascaded over Azrael and Sophie with direct aim. But they were completely drenched in rainwater and perspiration, and the electricity sizzled around them, moving over and off of them, kept at bay by the layer of moisture they wore.

  Az let it go without so much as a second thought. All he could feel was her heat wrapped around him, enveloping him with a succulent, velveteen rapture.

  For a moment, he rested there, lodged deep inside his archess, his entire world one of intense bliss. Her arms had come tightly around him, her fingers flexing against his strong back. He drank her in through his kiss, his tongue drawing forth her pleasure with thousands of years of practice as they both grew accustomed to his impressive size—and her incredible tightness.

  Long enough.

  Azrael drew back, pulling out of Sophie until his cock was nearly free. And then he drove into her again. Once more, she cried out against him. He took the sound and absorbed it, silencing her cry with his kiss. His teeth threatened her lips, poked at her tongue, dominant and fierce.

  And he pulled back . . . and drove into her again.

  And again.

  Sophie’s precious little sounds settled down into a rhythm along with his thrusts, each sigh and gasp and moan coming with euphoric perfection. Azrael ended the kiss and tilted her head to bare her already pierced throat to him one final time.

  He sank his teeth into the marks he’d already made, driving his fangs deep as he shoved more fiercely into her sex. His power broke free as Sophie’s second orgasm drew near and his own followed. The two of them began to rise through the fog once more.

  Fingers of mist swirled around them, eddied before them, and then pulled away as Azrael unknowingly broke through the cloud ceiling and brought them into the starry night above.

  It was quiet here. Sacred. This, up here, beneath the halo of the moon and the blinking, diamond stars was a soul expanse, pure and deep and dark.

  Azrael and his archess filled that sacrosanct dark with the combined sounds of their climaxes as Azrael took his final swallow of her precious life force and pulled his fangs from her throat. Sophie bucked violently in his fierce grip, her body convulsing around him as his molten seed filled her womb.

  Azrael threw back his head and howled into the night. The Masked One’s voice echoed off the stars, alerting the universe to his pleasure. The Angel of Death had found his archess, and after two thousand years, he had at last claimed his mate.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  He’d clothed them both again. The sea air was cold, and though he couldn’t feel it, Sophie certainly could. He also created a few extra blankets, and he snuggled beneath them on the beach with her now.

  The night was in its winter hours and dawn would approach soon. He would have to take them to his resting place up the beach; a multi-roomed chamber he’d fashioned long ago from the very rock of the cliffs. But for now, they rested beneath the moon and stars, and Azrael was at peace. The only magic he had to use was the occasional burst of warning toward any sea or sand creature that threatened the edge of their blankets.

  They lay on their sides, he spooning her. In his arms, Sophie breathed a sigh, her hand moving atop the soft coverlet, and Azrael glanced up at the movement. When he did, he caught sight of the mark on Sophie’s palm. It had faded significantly, but was still there.

  Azrael couldn’t help the twinge of fear he felt at the sight of it. What more could he do to rescue his archess from the influence of the man in white? Trepidation wedged its way into his heart as he hugged Sophie close and closed his eyes, wanting only to make this moment last a little longer.

  But Sophie shifted uncomfortably, and Azrael loosened his hold, the fear in his chest growing. “Are you okay?” he asked, not knowing what else to say.

  “Yes,” she said quickly. “I think I just need to stand up and walk around.”

  She was feeling suddenly antsy. It wasn’t a good sign.

  Azrael felt a flash of heat go through his eyes, momentarily lighting them up. But he shut them tight again, pulled his power in around him, and forced himself to take it easy.

  He let her go and Sophie rolled over to rise from the blankets. He stood after her.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” he said, taking hold of her marked hand. She didn’t pull away, but he felt her stiffen a little in his grip.

  Azrael turned and began leading her down the beach as his blood heated in his veins. If he ever came face-to-face with the man in white, he was going to do everything within his power to kill the bastard.

  They were silent for several minutes. The tide was low and myriad seashells littered the wet sand. Azrael noticed a perfect white sand dollar beside a boulder and remembered something he wanted to share with Sophie, but she stopped beside him, pulling his attention back to her.

  “Az . . . ,” she started, and then paused. She licked her lips, pulled her hand from his, hugged herself, and looked away. “I feel so confused right now.”

  Warning bells went off in Azrael’s head. “I know,” he said, moving forward as her distress drew out the need in him to protect and comfort her.

  But she stepped back and immediately held up her hands. “No, you don’t,” she told him gently but firmly. “You’ve always been an archangel—and then a vampire, Az. You can’t really have any idea what it’s like to be powerless, to have your destiny picked for you while you stand there and have one load of crap after another dumped all over you.” She shook her head, turning her back to him in a show of hastily renewed frustration. “Az, you . . .” She
trailed off, as if afraid to finish.

  Azrael was no longer able to tell what she was thinking. Once again, she was closed off to him—just like that. Whether it was a side effect of Gregori’s influence over her or she was simply coming to be Azrael’s equal in her archess abilities, he found it impossible to read her mind in that moment. And he desperately wanted to hear what she’d been about to say.

  Even while he was terrified of her saying it.

  “I what, Sophie?” he asked softly. The night grew silent as the sea and sky and sand waited for her reply.

  Sophie shuddered and he saw her fingers go white where she hugged herself tightly. “You took my parents from me.”

  A wave crashed onto the shore. An arc of pain sliced through Azrael’s chest. No, he thought desperately. Sophie couldn’t be more wrong. Azrael had nothing to do with her parents’ deaths. He had no control over that aspect of existence. He hadn’t worn that particular uniform in two thousand years, and even when he had roamed the universe as the Angel of Death, he’d wielded an unexplainable power, immense yet severely limited.

  He’d taken souls from one place to another, but they came when they came and not a moment sooner or later. Sophie spoke of destiny. But destiny was something no being had ever escaped. It was as much a part of existence as was conscious awareness. Everything and everyone was a slave to some kind of fate. Fate moved through life and twisted it around and pushed it through to the other side.

  Azrael had never had any power over his own destiny. If he had, if he’d been given the choice—he would not be what he was . . . what he had once been. If he could change his past and present and future, he would no longer be hated by those who had passed—and by those they had left behind.

  That he had never had any more control over a being’s death than they had was something no mortal could comprehend, much less accept. There was too much pain involved with the phenomenon of death.