by Nalini Singh
By the time he stopped, the sweet musk of her was in his every breath. "Jess." It came out raw.
"Yes." She parted her thighs wider as he kissed his way across her navel and to the tart sweetness hidden by fine chestnut curls. He'd feasted on her before, loved the little sounds she made when she quickened on his tongue, but tonight, he found his control frayed to a ragged edge by the wild sensuality of her invitation. His strokes were rougher, his grip on her hips tighter.
Instead of shying, she lifted toward him.
He was a man. A man who craved her. It had the effect of snapping the leash. Licking, sucking, and even nipping with his teeth, he pushed her to a hard, fast peak. She shuddered, the taste of her pleasure erotic on his tongue. Aware how sensitive she was after a climax, he backed off to suckle a hot, wet kiss on the inside of her thigh. "The water's not that cold," he cajoled, wanting her in with him so he could push his cock--rock-hard in spite of the chill--into the molten tightness of her core.
Her eyes glinted. "Liar." Hands massaging his shoulders, she leaned forward with wings spread to claim his mouth, her sexuality unashamed and intoxicating. "I want something else."
Intrigued, he pushed up with his arms on either side of her, nuzzling and kissing the graceful line of her neck. "Anything."
Fingers weaving into his hair as he slid back down, she lifted her eyes to the night sky, lit only by the delicate sliver of a sickle moon and the ice-cold fire of innumerable stars. "I want to dance, Galen."
His hands clenched on her thighs. "Jess."
Jessamy kissed him again, soft and lush and seductive. "I never thought, never dared dream I'd have that, but you promised me, Galen." Teeth on his lower lip, the soothing warmth of her tongue, heated suckling. "You said you'd fly me wherever I wanted to go."
Those tiny kisses driving him a step closer to insanity, he moved his hands up to close over her breasts, forcing himself not to be too rough with her. If he hurt Jessamy, he'd cut off his own hands, cauterize the wounds with heated metal so they wouldn't heal for a season. Then he'd do it over again.
"Harder." A husky whisper against his mouth. "Please."
He gritted his teeth to keep from spilling in the water right then and there. Jessamy continued to kiss and pet him as he fought the need, and then his hands were moving, squeezing and tugging harder than he'd ever before done, her creamy skin reddened by the coarse demand of his touch.
Shivering in a way he knew had nothing to do with the cold, she ran her hand over the arch of his wing, long fingers rubbing the sensitive edge where it grew out of his back. It felt as if she was fisting his cock. He wrenched away, pushed himself to the middle of the pond and dived. She was sitting where he'd left her when he surfaced, her chest heaving, her hair tumbling around her shoulders to hide her breasts--but for the plump points of her nipples.
A wood nymph come to life. To torment him.
"The cold isn't helping," he muttered, shoving forward to grip her hips and suck the taut pink tip of one breast into his mouth without warning. Her cry was the sweetest music. Shoving aside her hair, he molded her other breast with his hand, using the pressure she'd just taught him she liked, his cock thick and ready between his legs.
Then she whispered, "Dance with me, Galen."
Letting her nipple pop from his mouth, he met her gaze. "I won't be able to control myself." The dance was the most primal of matings.
"Did I ask for control?" With that arch reminder, she rose to her feet and held out a hand. "Now come."
He could deny her nothing. Rising from the water, he didn't scoop her up in his arms as he usually did. Instead, he held her to him with one arm around her waist beneath her wings, the other around her upper back. His cock throbbed between them. Rubbing gently against it, Jessamy wrapped her arms around his neck.
Glaring at her--to a sinful smile--he said, "Tighten your wings."
She brought in her right wing, her left already smaller and flatter to her back, the light dimming from her eyes without warning. "Will my weight be dangero--"
"You weigh less than a feather." So fragile, she was so very, very fragile. His hunger, by contrast, was such a vast thing--he was terrified it might crush her. And he couldn't bear to imagine Jessamy turning from him, scared and disappointed. Especially when he could almost believe the emotion he saw in her eyes was that rare gift no one had ever before given him.
Vowing to hold her safe even from himself, he rose into the night sky, Jessamy's body aligned to his. He flew high, higher than he'd ever before taken her, until they could've touched the stars, the air cold and thin. No playful flying today, just a brutally straight line--he had no patience for making this anything beyond hard and fast, but for Jessamy, he'd try.
"Don't fight it, Galen," she said when they halted, so high up that frost formed on their lashes. "Surrender."
"I don't want to hurt you." She was the most precious thing in his life.
"I'm an angel, too. An immortal. Treat me as one."
The haunting plea beneath the demand broke him. He'd lay the world at her feet if she so asked. "Promise me you'll stop me if I'm too rough."
Huge dark eyes looked into his, raw with desire and a need that rivaled his own. "I promise."
Taking her at her word, this woman who understood pain on a level most would never comprehend, he tightened his grip to steel and ravaged her mouth as he held them in position with faint movements of his wings. When she slid up just enough that she could cradle him between her thighs, he angled them until they faced earthward, bit down on the curve of her shoulder . . . and shut his wings.
They plummeted.
Jessamy's scream held wild delight, no terror. Teeth bared in fierce joy, he snapped out his wings again right before they would've crashed into the mountains, dipped left and took them on a heart-stopping flight into and through a large cavern, barely avoiding the razor-sharp edges of rock that would have cut and bruised, before shooting out a jagged hole caused by some long-ago event, and spiraling up into the night sky once more.
"That was wonderful!" Jessamy's grin was as feral as his.
Laughing in primal happiness, he stole a kiss before breaking it off to concentrate on beating his wings ever harder as he pushed them high, high up into the sky. When his mate rubbed with feminine impatience against him, he was so deep into the dance that he hooked her leg around his waist and slid into her in a hard, almost brutal thrust. Too late, the mists parted. "Jessamy, did I--"
She squeezed her inner muscles, cutting off his words. "Let's fall again."
Perfect, she was perfect. The most primitive pleasure in every drop of his blood, Galen didn't do a straight vertical drop this time. Controlling their descent with the brute power of his wing muscles, he dropped for a heartbeat before jerking to a sudden stop, his body rocking deep into her with the jolt.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Until Jessamy attacked his mouth, her hunger voracious. Any control he might have retained was lost, the thread snapping with an almost audible sound. Keeping her locked to him with one arm, he fisted his free hand in her hair, and took her down in an almost impossibly fast spiral that seemed destined to end with their bodies broken on the unforgiving mountains.
Pulling up at the last possible instant, he winged his way back to the skies without giving Jessamy time to catch her breath. No warning, no gentleness, he fell again, her body tight and hot and silken around him. Feeling her muscles start to spasm, pleasure rocking her body, he ran his lips down to the pulse in her neck as they rose, sucked hard as they fell.
*
Jessamy's muscles felt like they'd turned to liquid, her thighs in danger of sliding off Galen's body when he took them high into the starry night again, each beat of his powerful wings pushing the hard length of him inside her in a sensation so deep, she felt branded. Tiny inner muscles continued to clench and unclench with the aftershocks of the most violent pleasure she'd ever experienced.
&n
bsp; Right when she thought she could bear no more, she glanced up, saw the naked passion of him, and felt her body quicken to shocking readiness. "Strong, gorgeous man," she said, giving him words because her Galen needed words. "Just so you know--you're mine. Always and forever. So don't even think about changing your mind."
Shuddering, he dropped his head, pressed his cheek to her own, and murmured words in a language both beautiful and ancient. Tears burned in her eyes, passion torn through with wild tenderness.
I'm yours.
So simple. So powerful. His heart laid at her feet.
He locked his mouth to her own before she could find her voice, and they plummeted in a passionate kind of insanity. Lost in the magnificent power of him, she hardly felt the spray of water on her back when he jerked them up above the pond, rising a bare wing-length before bringing them to a gentle landing on the snowy verge.
His clothing was soft beneath her back, the ground hard. And Galen . . . he was an inferno.
She screamed as he gave her his surrender, hard and hot and without restraint.
15
The exhilaration of their dance continued to hum through her veins days later, as she completed her notes about Raphael's territory that she would enter into the histories when she returned to the Refuge.
Outside the library window, she could see the archangel drilling with a mixed unit of angels and vampires, the snow a seamless white blanket in every direction. Children's laughter drifted up from the mortal city, carried by a whimsical wind, and she felt a poignant tug in her soul, an awareness of the forces and duties that pulled her to her home in the mountains . . . while her barbarian must wing his way back to Raphael's territory, his task not yet complete.
But she would not think of it now. This was her time to love Galen.
That winter day, and the ones that followed were beyond beautiful, the skies a crystalline hue in the day, studded with gemstones at night. Jessamy spent the season in the arms of a warrior who told her she was his everything, even as his wounded heart struggled to accept that her love for him was no flickering candle flame but a light as constant as the sun.
Spring came as a blush, delicate and budding. Jessamy's heart sighed at seeing the world awaken again, though it was a difficult time, too, for she had to say good-bye to the friends she'd made at the Tower. Difficult, but not painful, because she was no longer trapped in the Refuge. And so it had become home, rather than a cage.
Trace kissed her on the hand out of sight of everyone the morning of her departure. "If you ever tire of him, you know you have but to turn those lovely eyes my way." Impudent words, true warmth.
"Thank you for being my friend." He'd been a part of her journey, and she would never forget him. "You will come see me when you next visit the Refuge."
"Only if you strip your barbarian of his weapons and tie him up for good measure."
The memory made her smile as she stood on tiptoe not long afterward, and brushed her lips against Raphael's cheek. "I'll visit your land again. It has a claim on my heart now."
"Do not wait so long this time." Relentless blue eyes dark with an edge of sorrow, and she knew he was sorry to see her go, this ruthless archangel who had once been a boy she'd held when he bumped his knee. "The city will grow, but the skies and the lands around the Tower will be yours to explore so long as I rule." He allowed her to step back, and into the arms of the man who would fly her home. "Take care with her, Galen."
Galen didn't reply, his expression making it clear the instruction deserved no response. Raphael laughed, the sound rare, a fading echo of that tiny blue-eyed boy who was the beloved son of two archangels. Beside him, Dmitri stood silent and watchful, but for the smile curving his lips. For once, it reached the vampire's eyes. "Safe journey."
They swept off the Tower roof on the heels of Dmitri's words, escorted to the border by two wings of angels in perfect formation. She was the ostensible reason for the display, but she knew it was respect for Galen that drove the squadron. Pride filled her heart for the man who was hers, a man who'd forged his own place regardless of those who sought to stifle and crush him.
His mother had written again, urging him to return to Titus's land, take up the lesser position and "improve his skills." The subtle attack on Galen's self-confidence had enraged Jessamy, but he'd simply shaken his head and said, "She's afraid, Jess," a depth of understanding in his eyes that would surprise those who saw only the hard, blunt surface.
Squelching her own anger, Jessamy had cupped his cheek. "Do you want to see her?" Tanae was his mother--as a child who loved her parents regardless of the oft painful quiet between them, she could understand the emotional need.
"Yes." He'd put the letter aside, a calm strength to him. "But I will not chase her approval any longer. She can battle her pride and come to me."
As they flew, Jessamy hoped Tanae did swallow her pride, because while Galen no longer needed her approval, he loved her still.
"Jess." Warm breath, familiar voice. "Look."
She glanced down, saw a snowy mountain range come alive with the sun's rays, the snow seeming to ripple with waves of molten gold. "Oh . . ."
It was the first of the wonders they shared with each other, the journey home far different from the one to Raphael's territory. Playful as children, they danced over isolated islands and primeval forests with sprawling canopies. Galen laughed with her as he never laughed with anyone else, teased her with sinful words, and listened in shock as she whispered of scandalous truths she'd learned over the ages.
"And to think I believed you sheltered and innocent."
"My poor darling. Can your fragile sensibilities take the rest of the tale?"
A huge sigh, laughing eyes. "I'll persevere if I must."
It was only when they were almost to the Refuge that their joy whispered away to a quiet, solemn knowledge. "When do you leave for the return journey to Raphael's territory?" Even though she'd known the truth since winter, when he'd murmured it to her in the pleasure-drenched dark, her heart clenched in pain.
Galen brought them to a cliff overlooking the river that scythed through the Refuge, a final private moment. "Tomorrow morn." His hair flamed in the mountain sunlight as he held her face in the rough warmth of his hands, drinking her in with his eyes. "Raphael's troops are strong, but not yet at a stage where they could repel the forces of another archangel with a single decisive action."
Though Alexander Slept, might do so for millennia, Jessamy understood the world of the Cadre was never a peaceful place. "I know you'll make them ready."
Galen squeezed her hip. "I shouldn't ask you to," he said, devotion in every word, "but I'm going to. Wait for me, Jess. I'll come back to you." Naked emotion turned the sea green into hidden emeralds.
Pressing her fingers to his lips, she shook her head. "You never have to ask, Galen. Forever, that's how long I'd wait for you."
She loved him with passionate fury that night, speaking words of love over and over so he'd know she would wait for him. Morning broke too soon, and it was with a final kiss so tender it broke her heart that her barbarian flew back toward the lands of the man who was now his liege.
*
Galen was merciless in his training of Raphael's troops. He'd left his heart in the Refuge, bled with the missing of it. It had been selfish of him to ask Jessamy to wait for him when she'd found her wings at last, was a woman many would want to court.
"I love you, Galen. So much it hurts."
He held her words to his heart, polished them until they were faceted jewels, told himself no woman would say such sweet, passionate words to a man if she did not adore him. He hadn't chained her with his request--she had chosen him. And still he worried that she would not look at him the same when he returned, her love eroded by the limits on her freedom his promise demanded.
The first letter was carried by a returning messenger, Jessamy's flawless hand writing to him of her life, of the children she taught and the people she met, the histories
she kept, connecting them though he stood half a world away.
My dearest Galen . . .
He ran his finger over the words so many times the ink smudged, his eyes burning until he had to put the letter away to read late in the night, when no one would disturb him and he could read it as slowly as he liked.
He sent his response--far shorter, for he had no way with words like Jessamy--with Raphael, when the archangel returned to the Refuge with a small wing of angels who would now be based there. Jason was currently taking care of his interests at the angelic stronghold, with Illium and Aodhan's help, but the two angels were yet young.
Raphael carried Jessamy's letter back to him.
*
Jessamy touched the letter for the thousandth time, tracing the hard, angular lines of Galen's pen. She could almost feel his energy, his raw power in the terse words another woman might have taken as disinterest. Smiling because she understood that a warrior had no time or inclination to learn poetry and gentle wooing skills, she kissed the letter and put it on top of the book she was carrying as she headed home for the day.
"Daughter."
Jessamy turned at the sound of that familiar voice, sliding Galen's letter between the pages of the book as she did so--but her mother had already seen. "From your barbarian." It was said with a smile, affectionate rather than judgmental.
Jessamy laughed. "Yes." She didn't tell her mother that Galen wasn't as much the barbarian as he appeared--not only because the fact people constantly underestimated his intelligence gave him an advantage, but because he needed no such defense. She adored every part of him, the rough and the secret sweetness. Such as that which had led him to send her a daisy pressed in the leaves of his letter.
I flew past the field today, and I remembered how you talked to the flowers, he'd written, almost driving her to tears, the big beast.
"You love him." Her mother's words were followed by a deeper, yet somehow more tentative smile. "I can see it in your eyes."
Unable to bear that hesitancy, Jessamy walked into the arms her mother held out. The scent of her was intimately familiar, warm and loving, a sensory reminder of the childhood nights Jessamy had spent silent and stiff in Rhoswen's lap--after truly understanding that her wings weren't ever going to form like those of her friends, that she'd never be able to join them in their sky games.
