by Alisa Woods
Tears came to her eyes and leaked out before she could even think to stop them. She ducked her head into the pillow, embarrassed.
“Sleep.” His voice was soft, but it was so pretty, it was almost like a song.
At this point, she didn’t need convincing… her eyes were already closing.
“I’ll try not to wake you with the repairs of the door. Make sure you eat when you wake.”
She felt him move away from the bed. “Wait,” she said, eyes still closed. So hard to open them. “How will I reach you?”
There was a pause—too long. She struggled to open her eyes. He stood at the foot of her bed with an anguished look on his face.
Finally, he said, “Two doors down. Just knock. I’m always there.”
She frowned, her mind fuzzy. “No phone?”
A tiny smile took hold of him. “No phone. They’re not secure.”
She couldn’t decide if that made sense or not, but she nodded anyway, and her head sank back into the pillow. She didn’t hear him leave because sleep was too busy rushing up and dragging her down…
When she awoke again, the light in her room was out, but the one from the bathroom in the hall threw a slice of yellow across her bed. Her body hurt—like every single muscle had been bruised. She decided it must be the tight ball she had curled into in her sleep as if she could ward off all the trauma that way. No nightmares, though. The clock said a couple hours had passed.
She gingerly climbed out of bed, her bare foot cool on the carpet. When she reached the front of the apartment, she just stared. The front door was fixed. Not just fixed… but perfect. As if it had never been damaged. With an extra lock on it that hadn’t been there before, one that could be locked from the inside only. She shuffled over and latched it closed. Was her private-security neighbor an expert carpenter as well? Or did he call someone in? Even so, how in the world did he get it done so fast?
She really needed to find a way to repay him. Not that she truly could, but she had to do something to acknowledge this. Then she turned to the kitchen, and stopped and stared again. A meal was laid out on the small kitchenette glass table. A steaming bowl of creamy soup accompanied by a tiny loaf of crusty bread. Chicken in an elaborate sauce, plus asparagus on the side. It looked grilled. What in the…
Tears sprang to her eyes again as she stumbled to the table. How did he do this? There was no note, no sign of him, only a door that was restored and a meal that was making her mouth ache simply looking at it. She couldn’t do anything but sit with her hands over her mouth and collect herself for a moment. No one had taken care of her like this since… not since her mom died. And she was only ten when that happened. After that, it had always been her taking care of everyone else, including her dad. Being careful. Making sure everyone was happy so no one got angry and lost their patience and did things they would later apologize for.
But this? No one had ever done this. Not for her.
She pulled her hands away from her face and brushed away the tears.
And then she dug in and ate every last bite.
Chapter Five
It had only been a week, but Tajael was aching for the Penance room.
He needed some blessed release and discipline for the Sinful thoughts he was having by the bucketload. Or simply a break from the constant enticement of Charlotte.
Especially at the moment. He sat on her couch, hands covering his ears, but try as he might, he couldn’t block out the sounds from her bedroom. The moans and the gasps and the breathiness. He’d fully witnessed orgies in the shadow realm, and none of those had afflicted him as much as Charlotte and her vibrating device behind a closed door.
The thing had arrived only a day after the attack. At first, he had no idea its purpose, only that it was elongated in shape and produced an interesting range of buzzing sounds and motions. Charlotte was curious about it as well. Then that night, when she went to bed… well, he quickly realized its similarity, at least in shape, to the male organ used for sex. The one he possessed and which seemed to have a keen empathetic response to her use of the device, rising and falling with her cries. Every night. Each session seeming to last longer and result in more fevered moans from the bedroom.
It would drive him mad.
She was there now, and he could tell she was near the end with how loud the cries had become. Sweet angels of light, he’d nearly fled four times since she started, but duty kept him rooted in her apartment. Although, he’d vowed that as soon as she was finished, he would summon his friend Oriel. There was only so much an angeling could take, and Tajael was at his breaking point.
As much torment as it caused him, he was glad for her and the pleasure she was experiencing. She seemed to have recovered from the attack quickly, perhaps with the aid of the device. She had also sought him out twice in the last week, walking to the door where he pretended to live and knocking on it.
The first time, he was in luck, as the occupants weren’t home. The second time, the fates frowned upon him, and he’d been forced to induce a sudden sleep in the man who legitimately lived there. Each time, Charlotte had brought him a token of affection that had touched him deeply. The first was cookies she had made herself. He had little need for food, which meant most would go to waste. He hid them under Hank’s blanket to be discovered later. The second was a small paper dragon she had folded. She had noticed his tattoo—the one meant to remind him of his inner shadow—and she thought he must be fond of dragons. He was, in a way—his best friend had mated with a dragon from the House of Smoke—but he couldn’t tell Charlotte any of the Truth. Still, he accepted the gift and kept it with him at all times.
Mostly they merely talked. Which was its own version of torment.
She tempted him. So very much. And the tiny dragon gift, each time he felt it tucked in a special fold in his toga, reminded him of what he couldn’t have with her.
That, and the rising moans from the other room.
Sweet magic… he leaped up from the couch and paced the living room.
He had learned much about Charlotte Brennan in the last week, his second of Guarding duty with her. She went by Charlotte Netherman now, thanks to a visit with a very official-looking woman in a downtown office who signed and stamped several pieces of paper. He observed the whole accord from behind his cloak, but much of what he knew about Charlotte came from their two sessions of engaging in conversation, each lasting over an hour. He’d had to invent a life of his own to share, for her to share hers more freely. His life of lies was of no consequence, but it loosened the truth about hers. He learned of her divorce, and how her husband drove her away with mistreatment. She didn’t say what exactly, but judging by her response to Jerry, he could guess. That wasn’t the first time she had a man force himself on her. He witnessed such things in the shadow realm, although there, all present were already damaged in ways beyond counting—a solid reminder to avoid his own Fall. But for Charlotte, the damage, while great, seemed repairable. Which was the reason he indulged their talks. She needed healing, and while he had healed many humans with a life kiss—powered by his angel side—he obviously couldn’t reveal himself that way. This relief she sought with the vibrating device was another healing he could not provide. But talk? The comfort of words and small gestures and a simple friendship? That he was perfectly positioned to give.
Not least because Charlotte Netherman didn’t have friends, not that he observed, with the exception of Hank, who was beset by his own limitations. He charmed her, but he couldn’t give the care she needed. And she needed a lot, so Tajael gave the only thing he could—words. Confidence. A faith in her that he truly believed. It was just as her employer, Daxon, had said—she could be the one to truly change the world. And Tajael’s mission was not merely to protect her life, but to ensure she could proceed with her work. Which was going well, with equipment and supplies and progress being made every day. His efforts were helping.
These were the stories he told himself, and they had th
e near ring of Truth.
Which didn’t mean his desire for more wasn’t breaking him.
“Tajael!” Hearing his name yanked him out of his thoughts and surged his heart. But there was no one in the living room with him, and he sensed no one in the bedroom but Charlotte. A moment later, also from the bedroom… “Yes! Oh, God, yes, yes, yes…” He covered his ears, but he still heard her final exclamations over the hammering of his own heart. Sweet angels of light, why was she calling his name? He knew she was in the throes of pleasure, not distress, which only meant…
His throat was dry. His mouth parched. A hunger welled up that would consume him. Roughly, he drew his blade and held it in both hands, and with anger and no small amount of fear, he summoned his friend.
Oriel appeared almost instantly. “Tajael, what’s the matter—” He stopped, eyes wide at the haggard look that must be on Tajael’s face.
“I am afeared, Oriel,” he gasped out. Then he flexed his wings just to check—they were still snowy white. He was still in the light.
“What is it, my friend?” Oriel stepped forward, drawing his own blade, looking around for the source of his distress. But Charlotte’s moans had subsided, and even the small buzzing sound of the device had abated.
“I fear my Fall is at hand,” Tajael said in a rush. “Please spell me in my duty. Just for the night. I’ll return before my charge awakes, I promise. I just need…” He didn’t know what he needed. But he knew it was away from the well-pleasured woman in the next room.
“You are merely tired,” Oriel said, sheathing his blade and resting a hand on Tajael’s shoulder. “All the Guardians are showing their fatigue. I’ve argued for rotation, but Markos won’t hear of it. He’s overseeing all of them.”
The surge of Wrath that comment aroused was no match for the Lust still charging Tajael’s body… but it distracted him somewhat. “You needn’t tell him about this. I will not.”
Oriel nodded. He was in a Chastity faction just like Tajael but under a different angel named Raeph. So his allegiance to Markos was lessened, even if he rescued both Tajael and Oriel from a life in the shadow realm.
“Go,” Oriel said. “Spend some time in the Dominion. Choose a Penance and spend the night in it. Or simply rest, my friend. Whatever soothes you and brings you back to the light.” Oriel was strong in the Virtues, and a good friend. Kindness shone on his face, and it strengthened Tajael.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll return as promised.”
“And if you are delayed, fear not,” Oriel said. “Your charge will be Guarded.”
Somehow that last part tugged him with a small bit of Envy—which made no sense, given his torment—but Tajael wasted no more time. He twisted to open an interdimensional door and stepped through into Markos’s Dominion.
The shining crystal walls of his cell were almost too bright. He’d forgotten the heavenly power that thrummed everywhere, the brilliance of the energy that permeated the Dominion. But he soaked in it for a long stretch of minutes, reveling in its restorative powers. Once the silence and solitude and searing light had brought a sense of calm to his body—a body inflamed by the nearness of Charlotte in her throes—he considered his next step.
He could, by rights, spend the night in one of the Penance rooms. The flogging wall called to him. A few lashings, the sweet release of pain, a lifting of the burden of his longings… the only problem would be requiring someone to administer it, and there were no secrets in the Dominion. Markos would know or soon find out. And while Tajael needed to inform him of the potential of Charlotte’s experiments, he knew Markos would send him immediately back to her apartment, once he had given his report.
Plus he suspected Markos was keeping vital information from him—Oriel said all the Guardians were struggling, but Markos had mentioned no such thing. Was it simple strain, as Tajael was experiencing? Why not spell the Guardians? Was Markos so bent on trying to mate angelings and humans—to test the potential of this new way to build his army of the light—that he would risk the human scientists they were supposed to Guard? Why not simply send angelings out to try the pleasures of the flesh and see if they could avoid a Fall? Or was the war going so badly that they were stretched for every angeling for the battle?
Tajael was woefully out of touch with the larger events—and he needed to know what was happening. What he was up against. Not least because he was deep in the middle of it with Charlotte and her experiments.
Better to go to someone he knew would tell him the Truth.
Erelah. An angeling from his cohort, his best of friends, and at one point, he had pledged his life to protect her and her child—the very angeling baby that had ushered in a new day for angelkind. At least, that’s what Markos seemed bent upon.
Erelah would tell him the Truth of what was happening in the immortal realm. And Markos’s part in it. And she, of all angelings, would understand his struggle with temptation.
Tajael twisted away from Markos’s Dominion, directly to the weigh station for immortals outside the House of Smoke. He was perched on a slender, rocky ledge among the mountains outside Seattle, where the dragon shifters’ keep was shielded from view, hidden from the mortal world. Wards guarded against immortals like himself, erected to protect those within—including Erelah, now a princess, since she had mated with a prince of the House—but there was an angeling contingent circling the keep as well. Last he heard, Markos had arranged to have a legion of angelings both inside and out, all to protect Erelah’s angeling child from the shadow realm, should Elyon and his dark angelings take their vengeance upon them.
But all seemed peaceful, at least at the moment.
It was night, but Tajael’s mere presence at the weigh station alerted them. After he was vouched for by one of the angeling guards—she had helped protect Erelah during her pregnancy—Tajael was ushered in through a series of ward levels until at last, he was at the lair of Leksander Smoke, prince of the House of Smoke, and Erelah’s mate. It had only been a few weeks since Tajael had fought side-by-side with Leksander to protect his mate and his child—Tajael hoped he would still be welcome.
When the door opened, it was Erelah who greeted him, a smile wide on her face, radiant with angelic beauty as always. “Tajael! What a joy to see you!”
Leksander stood behind her looking more haggard, dark circles under his eyes. “Well, don’t stand there. Come on in.”
Tajael stepped inside. “I don’t want to bother you and the child, but I seek a word with Erelah.”
Tajael worried about the fatigue on Leksander’s face, but the joy was clear as he nestled his infant child in his arms. Aurora was half angeling, half dragonling, but she appeared pure angel in the innocence of her sleep.
“You’ll never be a bother,” Leksander said. “But I’m totally taking this baby for a nap. You angelings party on without me.” He yawned and turned away, heading toward the long hallway to the child’s nursery.
“Is he unwell?” Tajael asked quietly, bending his head to Erelah.
“Just tired. The baby’s a true angeling.”
“Ah.” Tajael could see it. “So she rarely sleeps? Yet her father still needs rest.”
Erelah beckoned him into the great room of their lair. “Which wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t insist on making love whenever someone takes the child for a spell. And then he insists on playing with Aurora whenever she’s here. So really, the only time he rests is when she happens to nap while she’s with us. So you came at a good time.”
“I see.” His surge of Envy was unmistakable… and unexpected. All the time he had been Guarding Erelah and her unborn child or helping Leksander do the same, he’d never had to fight off Envy of their love or their very exuberant sexual activity. While it was imperative that Erelah bear the child and renew the treaty, Tajael knew well no such fate lay before him. And Erelah was a direct descendant of an angel of light, not born in Sin like him. She was stronger from the outset in all the Virtues. But his Envy now wasn’
t of her… it was of the dragon father. In love with his mate. Free to partake of the pleasures of the flesh. And cherishing his child.
All the things Tajael, by birth, would never have. But also things he never thought he might desire… until he spent two weeks with Charlotte Netherman.
“Tajael, you look as though a demon has possessed you and stolen your soul.” Erelah scowled at him. “I said nothing when Markos sent you on Guardian duty, but I fear I will not be able to keep my tongue if he has pushed you too far. You do not deserve this!”
Tajael’s smile pained him. His friend misunderstood—or perhaps understood all too well. “I haven’t spent this long Guarding a single human since... well, since I came back from walkabout.”
“Ask him for relief,” she demanded, her scowl etching deeper.
“Asked; and refused. Oriel is watching her in secret at the moment.” He shook his head. “And Charlotte is… I’m not like you, Erelah. If I succumb, I am lost.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You are as strong as any angeling I know.”
“That is not Truth,” he chided her. Then he pulled aside his toga, baring his shadow tattoo. “And I bear the marks of my weakness.”
She scowled. “That is not weakness, Tajael. I would not say this to just any angeling—I fear most would have no idea how to handle the complex feelings that come with having love of a mortal—but you… Tajael, you are different. And you, above all, might claim Love without being lost to Lust.”
He stepped back and squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t say such things. I have temptation enough.” She didn’t respond, so he opened his eyes again
Her expression was pained. “I’m sorry. I thought…”
“It’s all right,” he said with a small smile. “I’ll bear the temptation as long as I need to. What I must have, and which I hope you can help with, is information. Markos is keeping me in the dark, I am sure of it. What news do you have of the fae Courts? Of the shadow realm? Has Elyon returned? Have other angelings taken the path of temptation? Are they Falling?”
