“I’m sorry.”
It was not her whispered apology that called to him. He heard the suffering of a kindred spirit. Someone who understood pain. Setting his teeth, he eased his grasp on her arms, keeping her against the tree with the weight of his body. “What are you?” he whispered.
“I’m Lady Alyssa of --”
“Your nature is neither angelic nor demonic, yet you are certainly not human.”
She touched his face, her fingertips cool against his flushed cheek. “I know not what I am.” Pushing her fingers into his hair, she leaned forward and brushed his lips with hers. “I’m alone in a world gone awry and you have become an outcast among angels. Is it wrong for us to comfort each other?”
“Wrong?” His short, sharp laugh was filled with hopelessness. “Never look to me for comfort. I will destroy you! I can do nothing else. It’s my nature to consume.”
“Then consume me.”
With a feral growl, the beast took over. He claimed her mouth in a brutal kiss, hoping to shock and dissuade her. Instead, she parted her lips, her tongue ready to play. Groaning deep in his throat, he accepted her surrender, helpless to resist the sweetness of her taste. She should fight him, shove him away, but she clung to him, her hands tangling in his hair.
The Grigori feasted on passion, thrived on pleasures of the flesh. Their carnal appetites grew more demanding each time they were indulged. If he gave in now and took her, he would devour her, stimulate her need to the point of obsession. He would enslave her body with his touch. It would only be a matter of time. He was Prince Grigori, the worst of the decadent lot.
Dragging his mouth from hers, he pressed their foreheads together. “We can’t do this. You don’t know what you’re --”
She wrapped her legs around his hips as well as her clothing would allow. “I do know. I burn for you. I want this.”
Alyssa was no fragile mortal. Could her passion rival his? Shaken by the possibility, he stared into her face. He had endured centuries of agony as he conquered these impulses. He could not go through that again.
“I can’t.” Propelled by frustration, his words sounded hoarse and harsh.
“Then let me down.”
He heard the loneliness in her tone, the desolation. “I don’t want to.”
“If you don’t want me, then --”
His frantic flurry of activity interrupted her words. Tugging her skirts to her waist, he shifted her legs to circle him completely and pressed his aching shaft against her feminine mound. She gasped. He groaned. “Do you feel how desperately I want you? This is not a matter of what I want.”
His hand found her knee, sliding up her thigh to her hip. Ribbons held her stockings just above her knee, but the rest of her leg was bare, warm, waiting for his exploration.
“I can’t indulge my carnal nature.” He sent his hair out of his face with a savage toss. “It costs me too much to bring it under control.”
“Then release me,” she snapped, pushing against his chest. “If you will not fill this void, then get your hands off me.”
He willed himself back. He visualized his hands releasing her legs and easing away, depriving himself of her heat. His body refused to obey. “I ...” He dragged in a ragged breath. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
She rested her head against the tree and slipped her fingers from his hair. “You’re hurting me now. I ache, Sariel. Oh, how I ache.”
His hand curved inward, his fingers brushing her feminine curls. “Relax your legs. I’ll ease the ache.”
Her hands moved to his shoulders and she squeezed her eyes shut. He wanted to undress her, to spread all that glorious hair around her like a crimson mantle. They would have to be satisfied with this. He was willing to compromise no further.
She jerked as his middle finger sank into her slick folds. Hot, wet, ready, her body begged to be filled. Without his weight pressed against her, she started sliding down the tree. He cupped her bottom with one hand, maintaining her position.
“I want to strip you naked and lick every inch of your flesh.”
She whimpered at his words, her fingers squeezed. “Do as you like. You’re the one resisting.”
Like a silken temptation, her words echoed through his mind. He sealed his mouth over hers, preparing to take her in the only way he would allow. He pushed two fingers into her throbbing core as his tongue took possession of her mouth.
The kiss muffled her cries, but nothing could conceal her body’s reaction to his touch. Liquid heat coated his fingers, spilling into his palm. Her mouth was sweet, but he craved the nectar flowing so generously from her body. Like honey to the bee, he relished the taste of passion. It sustained him, made him strong.
His chest heaved. It sustained the beast within him, strengthened the dark nature he had battled for so long. This was a dangerous game he played. He couldn’t afford to lose control, but he longed for her, hungered for just one taste.
Alyssa whimpered as Sariel tore his mouth from hers. He sank to his knees and lifted her legs to his shoulders, keeping her back against the tree. A startled cry escaped her. What was he doing? He buried his face between her thighs. His hands clasped her bare bottom, anchoring her in place as his mouth settled against her feminine flesh.
Shocked and overwhelmed by their unconventional position, she squirmed, clutching his forearms for balance. He traced her slit slowly, delving deeper, separating her folds until his tongue found its target. She arched into the caress, sensation coiling tighter with each, firm circular motion.
Oh, this was decadent! The faintest echo of memory told her she’d been pleasured like this before, but the utter carnality of the situation thrilled her as much as his skillful touch.
He didn’t seem to care if they were seen. He feasted from her body as if he would die without her essence. Her legs trembled and her pulse raced. Even in the grip of this raging passion his touch was tender, reverent.
On and on he licked and nibbled. She felt devoured. Consumed! Just as he’d said. His hands squeezed her bottom, his thumbs sneaking between her thighs, holding her open for his torrid kiss. Stroke after heated stroke, his mouth drove her higher, wound the passion tighter.
Shifting her weight, he slowly pushed two fingers into her aching core. Alyssa released a long, keening cry. Her body accepted the penetration with grateful flutters, but she needed so much more. She needed his hard, thick shaft filling her, stretching her, claiming her.
He moved, sliding his fingers in and out as his tongue settled over her swollen nub. Pleasure built and intensified.
Then the sensations exploded.
She covered her face with her hands, muffling her screams as intense pulsations ricocheted through her body. He continued the slow slide of his fingers and the tender stroking of his tongue until the last tingle faded from her body.
He raised his gaze but kept his fingers inside her, grinning with salacious pleasure.
“Oh, my,” she whispered, her voice shaking.
He chuckled deep in his throat, licking his lips with obvious relish.
“You should ... probably let me down. I can no longer feel my legs,” she admitted with a dreamy smile.
Reluctantly, he eased her legs to the ground. Her wobbly knees collapsed and he swept her into his arms.
She snuggled against his chest, enjoying the shelter of his strong embrace. If her body were capable of the sound, she would have been purring. “What about your pleasure? I may be slightly addled, but I know you didn’t ... that is ...”
“I can give you nothing more. I will not become what I once was. I can’t live like that again.”
Resting her head on his shoulder, Alyssa threaded her fingers through his hair and fought back tears. His selflessness left her in awe. He’d just given her incredible pleasure, yet he demanded nothing in return.
He strode along the path, Alyssa cradled in his arms. She was not dainty like Rosalind or willowy like Lailah, but her tall, curvaceous body seemed not to burden h
im at all.
“How long ago was this other Grigori assigned to Rosalind?”
“Time passes differently in Heaven than it does on earth. I cannot answer that.”
“Do you know this angel well?” A certain intensity had entered his tone when he spoke of the other Grigori. If she were to protect Rosalind, Alyssa needed to know as much about the situation as Sariel was willing to share.
“I know all of my angels well.” He shifted her higher against his chest.
“But this one is special to you?”
“I must know what happened to him. If he Fell there is nothing I can do, but the uncertainty is worse than not knowing. So many of my order have Fallen. Each loss is felt mightily.”
“What becomes of Rosalind if you determine she is a Nephilim?”
His arms tightened, but when he spoke his tone was calm, neutral. “My determination will be made in stages. If her nature is corrupt, she must be destroyed.”
Gasping, Alyssa squirmed out of his arms and blocked the path. “What did you say? If you decide Rosalind is corrupt you will kill her?”
“The only alternative is that she Fall. Would you rather she be damned for all eternity?”
“Who are you to pass judgment on anyone? What just transpired between us proves you are --”
“The dichotomy within my nature is precisely what makes me qualified to determine these cases. It is also what attracts you to me. We are the same. I don’t understand the specifics, but you are just as corrupt as I!”
“I am not Fallen!”
“Neither am I. But we are different from other angels.”
“Michael challenged us to ...” Panting harshly, Alyssa raised her fists to her temples. The pounding intensified, blinding her. It had been there. For just a moment her memory had been intact, the truth of her situation clear. Then it vanished, evaporated like the mist she despised.
“Truth.” She grasped the word like a lifeline. “I must find Lailah! This is not about memories. It’s about lies.”
Chapter Four
“What do you mean she’s departed? It’s the middle of the night.” Resisting the urge to ball up her mantle and toss it across the room as Rosalind had done earlier, Alyssa folded the garment and draped it over her arm. She needed to talk to Lailah.
“I only know what Imogene told me.” Rosalind didn’t bother looking up from her embroidery. Her wooden bench faced the hearth where a fire gently crackled. “You ordered me to remain in my room, so how would I know what transpired beyond these walls?”
Fits of temper suited Rosalind better than sulking, but Alyssa wasn’t about to encourage her along those lines. “What exactly did Imogene tell you?”
“That Lailah’s departure couldn’t be delayed until morning. Apparently the need for Lailah was more urgent than she realized.”
Accepting the information with a stiff nod, Alyssa chose her words carefully. “Do you know where I went tonight?”
Rosalind lowered the needlework to her lap and looked up. “You departed with Sir Sariel. If it’s not seemly for me to be alone with him then why is it permissible for you to be alone with him?”
Heat blossomed across Alyssa’s cheeks as images of Sariel’s embrace, his demanding kiss, his hands and mouth --
“Is he your lover? Is that why he came here, to see you, not Lailah?”
“Sir Sariel’s reason for joining us is complicated.” Unsure what she should reveal and what would needlessly frighten her ward, Alyssa guided the conversation in a different direction. “He escorted me to see Meg. I wanted to --”
“My word is no longer sufficient? Why would I lie?”
“I didn’t visit Meg to verify your story. I wanted to understand your hostility. We were friends once, not that long ago.”
“You doubt my word and treat me like a child.” Rosalind fidgeted on the bench, turning her face toward the fire. “It’s little wonder I’m hostile towards you!”
Pausing to gather her thoughts and calm her voice, Alyssa studied Rosalind’s delicate profile. She was so young, so innocent. How could Sariel imagine anything evil resided within Rosalind? “Meg told me what the people in the village are saying about me. Do you believe I’ve gone mad?”
Alyssa held her breath as she waited for Rosalind’s answer. The girl was angry. Would that make her brutally honest or would she seize the opportunity to inflict pain? This had to be resolved between them. She couldn’t go on fighting Rosalind at every turn.
“I don’t know what to think. I don’t know who you are anymore.”
The first sentence gave Alyssa hope, the second cut like a knife. Inclining her head to acknowledge the response, she let out her breath and debated what to say. “What specifically has changed and when did I start --”
“Don’t mock me!” Rosalind shot to her feet, her embroidery falling to the floor, forgotten. “When you first came here you claimed to be a distant relation, then some relation’s dear friend. You speak about past events as if you witnessed them, while you can’t remember yesterday. You have never been married, but several times you’ve claimed to be a widow. Your identity changes with the wind.”
“Who do you believe I am?”
Rosalind’s lips trembled and she glanced away. “It took me a long time to figure it out. You’ve been kind and protective. Father Myron told me --”
“You spoke to Father Myron about me?”
“Actually he questioned me.”
The image of flickering torches and angry villagers pounding on the castle gate flashed within her mind. What had triggered this hostility toward her? Rosalind’s attitude was obviously a symptom of a much larger malady. “What did Father Myron ask?”
“He wanted to know if you had attempted to ... exploit me or Monthamn Castle in any manner.”
“And what did you tell him? I want you to be honest. This has gone on long enough.”
“I told him you have been kind and nurturing, that my only concern is your ...”
Rosalind hesitated. Alyssa picked up the girl’s embroidery and set it on the bench. “Go on. I need to understand what troubles you.”
“Father Myron said you likely lie about your past because you are trying to escape something unhappy. He told me to pose my questions to you directly, or accept you as you are and let it rest.”
Alyssa reassessed her initial frustration with the priest. She couldn’t have asked for wiser council. “You’ve been unable to let it rest, so what would you like to ask me? I will do my best to answer.”
“Were you my father’s mistress?”
It was a brilliantly simple explanation. Alyssa wished she’d thought of it. No! She must combat the lies, not compound them. “I never knew your father. What brought you to that conclusion?”
“If you had been Father’s ... leman, you would have had nowhere else to turn when your benefactor died.”
“You don’t believe I am capable of securing another benefactor?” Alyssa smiled, until she saw the pain in Rosalind’s gaze. “As God is my witness, I never knew your father.”
“Which god would that be, Alyssa? There are as many in the village who claim you practice the Dark Arts as those who believe you’ve lost your wits.”
She was back to torches and pitchforks, only cries of “burn the witch” now augmented the image. Troubled by this new complication, she pushed her hair out of her eyes and schooled her expression. It wouldn’t do to let Rosalind know how upsetting she found the conversation. “Who leads the gossipmongers? Is there one person in particular I should confront?”
Rosalind shook her head, firelight dancing in her dark hair. “Father Myron is doing everything possible to combat the rumors.”
“Has my behavior been so outlandish?”
“Nay.” A hint of regret sparkled in the girl’s blue eyes, but Alyssa wasn’t sure what caused the emotion. Was she ashamed of her own behavior or uncomfortable with Alyssa’s? “So many have lost so much. Everyone wants someone to blame. Your wild tales have
made you an easy target.”
Alyssa suspected the girl was quoting Father Myron. She would have to thank the priest for his assistance and see if she could allay his misgivings. “My life has been eventful, but I will endeavor to minimize my wild tales.” Silence descended. Rosalind stared into the fire. She had endured so much in her young life. Alyssa refused to do anything that would add to her burden. “I want peace between us. Is that possible?”
Rosalind nodded.
Alyssa had hoped for a more enthusiastic response, but this was a start. “If I say something you know to be untrue, will you tell me?”
With a soft chuckle, Rosalind faced Alyssa. “Your story has changed so often, how am I to know what’s true?”
Encouraged by Rosalind’s playful tone, Alyssa offered a helpless shrug. “I guess you should ask Lailah.”
* * * * *
Enos Diadem crossed his arms over his chest and took a deep breath. It would be many hours before he filled his lungs with fresh air again. Paimon should be pleased by his news, but she could be wildly unpredictable, so he suppressed his optimism.
Pausing at the mouth of the steep stairwell, Enos braced himself for the putrid stench about to assail his senses. He hated Paimon’s fortress. Why she chose to inhabit the moldering cavern was beyond him. He descended the stone steps, avoiding contact with the slimy walls.
A mangy brown rat scurried across his boot. Enos shuddered. Paimon loved the vile creatures. They responded faultlessly to her demonic compulsions and in turn she treated them like pets, keeping them sheltered and well fed.
Enos kicked an especially large rodent off the bottom stair. If Paimon wouldn’t have sensed its destruction he would have stomped its narrow head. He might be Fallen, but he chose a much higher standard than this filth.
A shrill shriek rent the fetid air and Enos shook his head. If he didn’t know better, he’d think someone was being tortured. But the familiar cry could only mean one thing. Paimon was being pleasured. The only thing the demon bitch liked better than rats was being tupped.
Rebel Angels 2: Echoes and Embers Page 4
