by Jenn Stark
4:55 p.m., Dec. 24
Finn drew his tongue along the sensitive folds of Dana’s clit, then dipped into her, his brain damn near short-circuiting. To become a Fallen who toyed with a human female was supposed to be a crime, yet the thought of leaving Dana without bringing her to satiation, the thought of leaving her body before he himself had reached fulfillment, was completely impossible to him.
He suckled at her wet heat, and Dana arched off the bed, her mouth making unintelligible sounds of urgency, of passion, of need.
Yes. This was what he’d ached for, Finn thought, never realizing it had lain so close. This was what he’d forgotten.
This was what had caused the best of his kind to crave the fall, to endure a life of ostracism from heaven for the touch of a mortal who brought his entire being alive, whose blood burned for his touch, and whose body craved his hands as if it had been made especially for him.
He tasted her more deeply, bringing his hands around her to cup her against him, the movement again making her legs fall wide and causing his shaft to stiffen. He groaned, shifting in the tangle of sheets wrapped around them both. She was so hesitant, for all her strength—so unsure of what he would do to her.
And he himself had no real idea of what he could do.
He drew his hand into a fist and grazed Dana at the point where the folds disappeared into smooth, nearly hairless skin, then, as she gasped, he applied more pressure, his tongue returning to taste her as she writhed in the sheets beneath him, trembling and calling his name.
He paced himself with the ebb and flow of her movements, winding her tighter as the minutes slid by, then easing her back, then repeating the cycle over and over again, with only the shuddering of her breath to guide him. Her soft whimpers turned to panting, then to unintelligible words, and then suddenly she convulsed, her arms flinging out as if she’d been exposed to an electric shock. She nearly shot off the bed and into his arms, throwing him back into the sheets, her body scrambling over his, her breath coming hard and fast.
“Finn,” she panted, and she leaned into him, straddling his hips, the full weight of her lean, muscular frame pressing him down. Her eyes were hazed with satisfaction, and she glided along his cock, stopping when it was snugged up against the vee of her thighs. The opening there was warm and wet, impossibly inviting, and she leaned down close to his face, her gaze heavy on his lips, her mouth open. He could think of nothing else, suddenly, than the image of lifting her up and onto his shaft, pressing deeply into her and making her his.
All at once, she seemed to recall herself, like a door being opened onto a forbidden room. “I want—” she began, her eyes clearing as she seemed to realize where she was and what she was doing. “I just want—”
“Kiss me,” Finn whispered to her, and her face grew flushed with heat. She dropped her mouth to his slowly, as he had to hers, tasting him, touching him, drawing her tongue along his lips before dipping it hesitantly into his mouth, then pushing in with more force, her mouth and hips moving in a cadence that explained to Finn how the mortal body was made to move, and to move together with another.
She dragged herself down him and as the pressure of her left his cock, he nearly cursed in frustration. But she was pure, liquid heat, moving along his chest to his abs, nuzzling his hipbones, her hands squeezing on his hips and kneading the muscles of his thighs as she slowly, inexorably worked her way down, her mouth widening into a smile as she moved the tangled sheets from between them and his heavy cock sprang free.
“You have to tell me what you like,” she said softly. “I want you to feel all this, everywhere.” As she spoke, she moved her lips gently over the tip of his shaft, her mouth soft and pliant against the silken head, her tongue darting out to graze it with exquisite roughness, and Finn shook as Dana had done, unable to control his convulsions. Slowly, she drew her tongue up his length and took just the tip of him in her mouth, for only a second, before shifting again and letting her tongue drift down all the way, until she teased at the heavy sac beneath.
“You’re so…good,” Dana said in husky, soft tones, her cool fingers slipping under him to cradle his sac in her palm. With her other hand, she circled his cock, her grip becoming hard as her mouth came down again, this time taking him deep into her wet mouth as she moved in a rhythmic cadence, her mouth a combination of heat and wetness and firm grip and the softest touch on his balls.
Finn fisted his hands into the sheets. He couldn’t think; he could barely breathe.
“You like this, yes?” she asked, again her lips dancing over the tip of his shaft, then moving to the sensitive skin deep inside his thighs, playing there. “You want me to keep going?”
He gasped out a response that seemed to please her, because she bent to him again,
sliding down the bed until her face was level with his rigid cock. She took it into her mouth, stretching her lips over its length as he went absolutely still beneath her. She plunged down once, twice, and he groaned. He could feel his temperature soar beneath her hands, the tremors thrumming through his legs.
Finn endured the sweet slide of Dana’s mouth over him one more time as his brain threatened to jump out of his skull.
She moved up again, her mouth opening over the tip, laving him with terrifying tenderness. Her tongue slid sweet and silky around, over, down, and again. He felt himself begin to shake.
“Dana,” he gritted out, and she looked up at him. He had been shoved all the way to the back of the bed, devastated by the effect of her mouth, her hands, even the long soft caress of her hair as it draped over his quivering thighs. The pressure began to build up within him anew, demanding release, and he felt an unbearably intense need to complete what he had begun with her and claim her for his own.
Thousands of years of training, of knowledge pounded through him, his heart thundering powerfully, his mind racing, his blood surging. But his truth no longer lay in doctrines and oaths and ancient edicts. It lay within his need to serve and be with Dana. Not humanity. Not even the Dawn Children. Not a cause greater than himself or less than it should be. But the simple need to reach out and gather a woman close to himself, to claim her as his own and to dedicate his every waking breath to her safety.
Dana clearly felt the shift within him, and her own body shook with uncontrolled need before she looked up to meet his gaze.
“Is there, ah, something else I can do for you?” she asked in a husky voice, her shy stab at humor affecting him even more. She was off-balance, unsure, and it was one of the most intimate and open expressions he had ever seen. And he had done this to her. With his body, with his touch.
With his heart.
“Dana,” he breathed and clasped her to him, pulling her up onto him more fully as he covered her mouth with his. Dana sank against him, sinuous and warm beneath him as his hands moved down her body, marking every curve and ridge, cataloguing every indentation and rise. “I want more,” he said, his words a plea as much as a command.
“How?” she asked, and he looked at her with confusion.
“There are many ways of making love, Finn,” she said throatily, and her eyes were heavy and hot. She reached out, her hand stroking his quivering cock, and he felt the urge to explode immediately, without waiting to join with her.
“As long as it’s soon, Dana, I don’t think it’ll matter so much.”
“Then let me watch,” she said softly. She kissed him long and hard, then nipped at his lower lip, bringing him back into focus. He opened his eyes, not aware he’d closed them, but when he reached for her, she placed heavy hands on his shoulders.
“No,” she whispered. “Let me this time.”
This time. Under her hands, he moved easily, pressing deeply into the sheets. She stretched him out and straddled him, the shape of her neatly fitting against his, causing new sparks of awe and delight to shoot through his bloodstream. His heavy cock bucked up against her, and she ground against his groin, slick and hot, her hands moving to steady herself on his sh
oulders.
“Just lie there for a second, okay?” she asked, and she pressed against him, her perfect breasts heavy against his chest and her face dropping to score a row of hot kisses against his neck. She touched her teeth to his skin, dragging her mouth along his collarbone and up the column of his neck. She kissed along his jawline as he lay there, trembling, and her eyes flashed with pride and triumph as she felt him shaking beneath her. “You want inside me?” she whispered. “Because I want that. I want to feel you deep inside me, all of you. Would you like that?”
Finn groaned, unable to stand it anymore. With a movement that felt as natural to him as breathing, he reached for Dana, lifting her high, settling her down on his erection in one smooth thrust, sheathing her tightly over him. They both gasped at the impact, and Dana reared up, forcing her hips down as her legs bent to keep her steady.
“Oh,” Dana breathed in sharply.
He stilled for a moment, staring at her as her lips parted and her eyelids drooped.
“You’re good,” she said, color coming back into her cheeks. “It just—it’s all good,” she murmured, her eyes closing in concentration. She bit her lip, then slowly, excruciatingly slowly, began to move on top of him.
Finn felt her close around him, constricting against his shaft, and he groaned low in his throat. His eyes were filled with the perfection of her. Her long neck, her rounded breasts that swung with each thrust of her hips. The curve of her waist as she moved and bucked on top of him. The long rush of hair that tumbled over her shoulders. She was beautiful. Mortal.
His.
Dana reached up and ran her hands along her waist, then brought them up, curving her fingers to touch her breasts, teasing out the nipples as if to put them on display for him, and Finn felt the release build within him, knew that this would be the final time.
“Dana,” he gritted out, and she laughed with pure abandon, feeling it too.
“I want to see your eyes, Finn,” she said, and he tensed, unable to deny her, but unable to keep what he knew would happen to his eyes from her if she kept looking at him like that. He ground up into her, his hands suddenly on her waist, her hips, pulling her down upon him even as the blood rushed into his ears and his chest expanded, his heart surging against his rib cage and his body building toward a crescendo he could neither avoid nor fully understand. He shifted his hands inward, his hands arching Dana outward again, his thumbs applying pressure that caused her to gasp even as he refused to let go, forcing her to ride the storm with him, bringing her up on the same gust of sensation that was threatening to utterly consume him.
A shift, a movement, a moment later, and Finn felt the explosion deep within. Dana gasped on top of him, clearly shocked as she watched his irises change inexorably, the reflection of the bright and brilliant blue orbs clear in her own eyes.
“Finn!” she whispered, but she was too lost in the maelstrom of sensation to fully get the words out, and he pulled her close, enveloping her in an embrace that would last for far less than a lifetime. She was his. For as long as he could have her.
Finn closed his eyes as the primal forces of their bodies took over.
Time was now his enemy, but he could no longer fight the pull of extreme exhaustion that was weighing him down. Exhaustion and—something else. Peace. An abiding sense of rightness. A flood of emotions that coursed over his defenses and pulled him toward a world he had never wanted, never known, never imagined.
For the first time in his immortal life, Finn the Far-Seer fell asleep in the arms of a woman he loved.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cathedral of St. John the Evangelist
Cleveland, Ohio
6:00 p.m., Dec. 24
“Why did you tell Lester to meet you here?” Dana asked, and Finn slid her a look. She was too keyed up, too anxious, scanning the front of the church as they waited for Lester to join them. “I thought you didn’t like this place.”
“I knew it would make him feel safe.”
“Yeah, well that’s one of us.” She glanced up, peering toward the rafters as she shoved her fists into her pockets. “I’ve always hated the angels in this church.” Her harsh black coat matched her darkening mood, but there was nothing for it. They’d been awakened far too quickly by Lester’s text, telling them he was ready to meet for what he termed “the first delivery.” They’d had time only to shower—a long shower, admittedly, tangled in each other’s arms—and then come to the church. There’d been no time to talk about anything but the barest of logistics.
Dana sighed. “I mean, I’ve been in here hundreds of times, and I know the story. They’re the angels of St. John’s vision of the Revelations. You know that, right? Death, destruction, carnage, oblivion. Not a happy group.”
He glanced up as well. “They were here to usher in the end of the world. That wasn’t a happy job.”
“Still, they’re angels. It wasn’t like their heads’ll be on the chopping block.”
Finn didn’t comment. Instead he allowed his eyes to drift to the myriad pinpoint white Christmas lights fusing into a shimmering canopy over the broad open space in front of the altar, which was filled with Christmas trees and white poinsettias. The shrine to the Bethlehem scene was set off in the distance, also surrounded by poinsettias and tiny white lights, giving the whole display a fairy-tale appearance. The church was gleaming with brilliance, the darkened stained glass windows appearing to be the only shadow in the building. He glanced over to the pictures of Jesus, surrounded on all sides by his apostles and yet more angels.
The church, in fact, was filled with angels. They watched over the nave and sacristy, were carved into the wooden screen and pieced together in stained glass that was currently dull as lead, but in the middle of the day would enflame the church with brilliant fiery color. Where there weren’t angels, there were admonitions detailed in beautiful vignettes and symbols, all just out of view of the casual observer. Tucked into the eaves were pictures dire enough to make an angel frown too, images pulled from the pages of Revelations, meant to press a flock into service in whatever way possible. Fear apparently was a popular choice.
“The mortal quest for understanding its origins created a great deal of art,” he murmured.
“And a great deal of death.”
They stopped, as Lester entered the building, walking up the long corridor with Father Franks. Finn could feel Morrow’s energy, excitement. The man had something for him, without question. Good.
But…not everything, he sensed. No more than the short list, as Lester had promised. He reached out and touched Lester’s thoughts, skimming them lightly, which was all he could manage with whatever ward Lester still carried on him. A hundred names alone. That wasn’t going to be enough.
Lester walked up to Finn and handed over the envelope with a flourish. He was a strong, proud, and driven man, filled with passion for his purpose. And he was jerking Finn around.
“The rest?” Finn asked, his voice hard.
“There remain others to convince,” Lester said, his smile placating. “I need one…maybe two hours. I didn’t want you to wait any longer while we got the others onboard. It is, after all, Christmas Eve.”
Finn scowled, but another flick through Lester’s thoughts revealed his truth, his heart. “Where are the rest of the people on the list?”
“Safer than they ever have been,” Lester beamed. As he did, Finn came up against a new block in his thoughts as unexpected as it was strong. The block of a zealot, he realized—something against which even an angel had no sway.
What was the man hiding?
“We should meet at Exeter,” Lester said, unaware of Finn’s attempt to rifle through his thoughts. “It’s safer, and I’ll be finished with my last call at eight o’clock. I can see you there at eight fifteen.”
Finn nodded, though the idea of waiting any longer ground against his nerves. Lester, however, was looking at Dana, and his eyes traveled between the two of them, noting Dana’s clothing, her sta
nce, and perhaps even the energy that wound within her.
“You’ve told her,” he said to Finn. “About who she is. What she is.”
“Some,” he said. “But she needs to hear the rest from you. All of it.”
“Hello, I’m standing right here,” Dana said testily, her scowl for both of them. “But Finn’s right. It’s time. I need to know.”
“It is time,” Lester agreed, sighing. “It’s well past time, perhaps.”
He lifted his gaze to stare at the wall above Dana, where a saint’s image watched them with dubious concern. And he began in a ponderous, preacher-like tone.
“Before God created man, He created angels,” he said. “The angels were made in the image of God, true stars of heaven. Some of this order believed themselves to be equal to Him, above Him even, and these were cast out of heaven.”
Dana glanced at Finn. “Um, I’m aware of grade school catechism—”
Lester held up a hand. “But some who were cast out had sinned in no way, not at first. These were the Fallen, the Nephilim, whose role was to watch over humanity. They were better, brighter, stronger…the heroes of the ancient world. And though many sinned and found themselves among the demon horde, some did not. Some of those angels fell in love with the daughters of Men and begat children. In turn, some of those children were like their forebears—and they walked the earth like gods. They were called the Dawn Children.”
Dana tensed, but Lester continued on. “Much of the change wrought by the Nephilim was good. They directed mortals to create some of the ancient wonders of the world—the Egyptian pyramids. The temples of the Mayans. The gardens of Babylon. They imparted their wisdom and their skills—which they retained from their divine state. Some Nephilim, in truth, were considered gods themselves—Zeus, Osiris, Quetzalcoatl—and their feminine equivalents. Some of their children became the rulers of men. Taller, stronger, possessing great powers. The stories of Hercules and Achilles came from these legendary men and women. The rulers of Egypt and the Mayans. The warriors of the Celts.”
