Avenged by an Angel

by Heaton, Felicity

  There was only her, Wolf, and this incredible pleasure that was building inside her.

  And a burning need that wouldn’t be denied.

  She moved faster, longer strokes that had her moaning breathlessly, muttering whispered pleas as she took him. He shifted his left foot, pressed it into the lounger, and angled his hips, using the leverage to give her what she needed. His long length filled her over and over, pushing her right to the edge, until she was sagging against him, rocked by the force of each thrust, hazy and lost as she reached for her climax.

  It exploded inside her in a blinding flash. She cried out against his chest, shuddering from head to toe as she quivered around his cock, heat and light flooding her. She shook as she collapsed against him, moaning as he continued to thrust, drawing out her climax as he sought his own.

  He tensed beneath her, grunted as he drove deep into her and stilled there, his cock kicking and throbbing, seed scalding her and tearing another moan from her lips as her body responded, clenched and pulsed in time with him as another wave of bliss rolled over her to carry her away.

  He was still for a long time, his big body tensed and trembling, and then he sagged against the lounger, relaxing beneath her, his breaths stirring the drying strands of her hair.

  Emelia nestled into his chest, listening to his heart drumming against her cheek as she drifted in a daze, warmed from head to toe, sated and savouring the feel of him beneath her.

  She didn’t fight him when he curled his arms around her.

  She sank into his embrace.

  Feeling safe and protected for the first time in a long time.

  Trusting Wolf would take care of her.

  Because she knew she wasn’t the only one falling in love now.

  CHAPTER 23

  Wolf had carried Emelia to her bed when he had felt how chilled her skin was and had spent the night beside her, tucked beneath the covers and holding her, awake and aware that at any moment, she could stir and panic at the feel of his arms around her. He had savoured every second he had been able to hold her, every minute she had slept soundly in his arms, her breaths skating across his bare chest, heat warming his side.

  Just before dawn, she had begun twisting and turning, making noises in her sleep that had torn at his heart, panicked and scared sounds. She had pushed at him and clawed at his chest, leaving long red marks on his skin, and he had released her, had rolled onto his side to face her and whispered to her, hoping the sound of his voice would soothe her and chase away whatever nightmare had her in its grasp.

  When she had settled, he had stayed with her until he had felt the sun break the horizon and the birds had begun to sing.

  Until the burning need inside him had driven him from the bed and the comfort of her.

  He paced the length of the pool, his wings furled against his white armour as dual needs warred inside him. The hunger to hunt the dragon was back, blazing stronger than ever in his blood, roused by the nightmare Emelia had suffered and the time he had spent staring at the vicious scars on her shoulder and chest in the aftermath of it when he had been soothing her.

  Scars he knew that bastard had given her.

  He wanted to teleport to Hell right now and locate Rey, was wound tight and restless with the need to find the dragon and make him suffer as Emelia had.

  Still did.

  But he wanted to stay too, needed to remain near Emelia while she slumbered, vulnerable to all the evil in this world. He wanted to wait until she woke and he could speak with her, didn’t want to leave her without a word after what had happened between them, because he was sure it would be the wrong move. He had limited experience of females, but he wasn’t an idiot. If he left before she woke, she would take it badly, would read into it and convince herself of things that weren’t true.

  He wanted to be with her, had loved every second of last night, and ached to do it all over again a thousand times and then some.

  “Wolf?” Her sleepy voice came from behind him and he slowly pivoted to face her, the sight of her hitting him hard in the region of his heart.

  She was beautiful.

  Rumpled from sleep with her rich brown hair tangled and wild, and a cream robe cinched at her waist.

  She rubbed her green eyes, stifled a yawn with her hand and then offered him a sweet smile that held a hint of shyness.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” She slowly approached him, narrowing the world down to only her.

  He shook his head and drifted towards her, unable to fight the pull of her, and tilted his head to keep his eyes on her when she stopped close to him.

  A thousand things danced on the tip of his tongue, clamouring to be the one he said. Mentioning her nightmare. Confessing he needed to go to Hell. Detailing the way he was going to make the bastard suffer for what he had done to her. Telling her how incredible last night had been for him.

  Admitting he was in love with her.

  In the end, he settled for saying, “You are beautiful.”

  He lifted his hand and tucked a rogue strand of hair behind her ear as she averted her gaze, rose staining her cheeks.

  “I look like hell.” She looked herself over, felt her hair and pulled a face. “I should have brushed it before coming to find you.”

  But he had panicked her.

  He could see it in her eyes and feel it in her. She had woken alone and had panicked, had thought he had left her without saying a word.

  “I needed air.” When she looked as if she needed a better explanation than that, he added, “You had a nightmare.”

  The brightness in her green gaze faded. “Oh. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  He shook his head. “Do not apologise. You have nothing to apologise for.”

  She had that look again, the one he had come to know well during the time he had known her. She hated that he had seen her suffering, that he knew the things that had happened to her still haunted her.

  Still had power over her.

  He opened his gauntleted hand and cupped her cheek, grazed his thumb over it, and gently lifted her head so her eyes met his.

  “I will make the dragon pay, Emelia. For you.” He searched her eyes, seeking out whether that vow pleased her.

  Would she argue against it today, or would she reluctantly accept it? He was never sure which Emelia he would get whenever he promised her vengeance—the one who didn’t want someone fighting her battles for her, or the one who was willing to lean on him and let him be the strong one.

  She surprised him by tiptoeing, pressing her hands against the breastplate of his white-and-gold armour, and kissing him softly. He fought the urge to claim her lips, keeping the kiss light and gentle rather than passionate and hard as he wanted it. That urge slowly faded as heat spread through him, and he felt as if he was floating with every tender sweep of her mouth over his.

  She eased back, and her eyes met his, holding him immobile as his lips tingled from their kiss, warmth suffusing every inch of him to chase away the darkness that had been plaguing him.

  There was magic in her kiss.

  She tamed the darkest part of him with it.

  Enslaved him with it.

  “Be careful,” she whispered as her eyebrows furrowed and she lifted her right hand to place it against his cheek, mirroring him. “Come back.”

  He nodded, stepped away from her, and focused on his destination, a point close to the most dangerous kingdom in Hell.

  A place he felt strong enough to set foot in now because he knew what she was really asking of him and it touched him.

  She wanted him to return to her.

  He took one last, lingering look at her and teleported.

  When Hell materialised around him, the effect the grim bleak lands had on him was instantaneous. All the strength Emelia had inspired in him dissipated, and a weight pressed down on him, making his limbs heavy as he struggled to breathe.

  He kept still, giving himself time to adjust to the realm again. It always took a few minutes
to acclimatise to the curse and regain enough strength to move without falling on his face.

  His gaze roamed over the mountains surrounding him, a valley he had only seen from a distance during his travels. He hadn’t dared to venture this close to the Devil’s lands before. The drain on his powers was intense, had his legs wobbling beneath him as he focused on his breathing, making a vain attempt to keep it even and level.

  How long would it take to grow used to the devastating effects of the curse enough that he could move?

  He kept scanning his surroundings, his senses slowly sharpening as his body adjusted. His heart hammered a staccato rhythm against his ribs, blood thundering as awareness of the danger he was in, how vulnerable he was standing in the middle of the valley, drummed inside him.

  Demons no doubt roamed these lands and he was a sitting duck, and a very obvious target in his white armour. Even if he concealed his wings, he would still stand out at a distance, a bright streak against the black of Hell. It was dark, the sky a strange shade of amber and the valley lit only by the distant volcanoes that lined the horizon to his right, but he could see perfectly well.

  Which meant demons could see him too.

  He had to move.

  He shuffled one foot forwards, scuffing it through the loose black basalt, and then the other, following his instincts. The mark on the inside of his right wrist itched and burned, irritating him, warning there was a demon nearby.

  He was banking on it being the demon he had come here to see.

  If it wasn’t, he was in serious trouble.

  The intelligence he had uncovered on hearing of the Fifth Commander falling had pointed to this valley, though, rumours that a fallen angel lived here and a demoness killed any who attempted to get near him.

  His left boot snagged on a stubborn rock, and he stumbled a few steps, struggling to keep himself upright as his legs weakened beneath him. He spread his aching wings, a vain attempt to regain his balance that had the opposite effect. Pain ripped through him, blinded him, and sent him to his knees.

  His Echelon mark blazed.

  Fire shot down his spine, an order to return. It stole his breath, the pain of it so intense as it combined with his foolish attempt to use his wings that his vision tunnelled.

  He leaned over and clutched the dirt, clawing it with his gauntlets.

  He couldn’t return. He had to be close if his superiors were demanding he leave Hell. Rey had to be here, somewhere, and for some reason, they didn’t want him talking to the fallen angel.

  Or was it because they knew he was in danger?

  Warning bells jangled in his mind, his senses stretching far and wide around him to chart everything as his instincts warned he wasn’t alone. Someone was here. Stalking him. Hunting him.

  The instinct to survive so he could return to Emelia drove him to his feet and had him focusing on her as it flooded him with the urge to teleport.

  He barely suppressed it and called his sword instead. It was heavy in his grip as it materialised, threatened to send him back to his knees as it drained him, the power it contained desperately feeding off his limited strength as it sought to overcome the curse that affected it too.

  He couldn’t leave, though. He needed to speak with Rey. If there was a chance the male could help him, he needed to take it, even if there was a risk that male might no longer recognise him as a friend.

  If the fallen angel attacked him, he wouldn’t be strong enough to defend himself.

  He wouldn’t be quick enough to teleport.

  His life would end here.

  The sensation of danger grew stronger, the pain from the command to return to Heaven intensifying with it, pushing him into obeying.

  He gritted his teeth against it, refusing to do as they wanted, part of him hoping that if he resisted them enough, they might send someone to retrieve him and might pluck him from the maws of death if Rey attacked him.

  “Shit on a stick. What the fuck are you doing here?” The female voice lashed at him, her crude words ringing in his buzzing, blurry mind.

  Not Rey.

  A demoness.

  He inched his eyes up until they hit pointed boots and black plates of armour moulded over a pair of long legs. He forced his gaze higher, beyond the exposed vee of creamy skin where her leg armour dipped from her hips to a point below her navel, and up to the matching tiny breastplate that hardly concealed her breasts.

  “Ew, are you ogling me?” She kicked him in the face, sending him flying across the rough black ground.

  A bellow ripped from him as his wings twisted beneath him and he rolled, tumbling across the dirt to come to a halt at her feet. The bitch had teleported. He pushed his hands into the dirt and shook off the blow, struggling to get his senses back online before she could attack again.

  Too late.

  She caught him in the stomach this time and swept her leg upwards, hurling him high into the air.

  He stared down at the enormous drop to the ground, a strange sense of emptiness filling him as he looked at it and knew there was nothing he could do to prevent what was coming when his wings were useless and he was too weak to teleport.

  It was going to hurt like hell.

  Someone grabbed him around the waist, stopping him from falling.

  The demoness?

  No, she was glaring up at him and whoever had ruined her fun by stopping him from hitting the ground.

  “Asteria.” The familiar baritone held a chiding note, one that had the demoness’s expression souring into a pout.

  Wolf had never been more glad to hear that voice.

  Relief poured through him as all his fears flooded out of him. Rey sounded no different to when he had been an angel, and Wolf could sense the light that remained inside him. How had he fallen and retained some of his goodness?

  “I was only having some fun,” Asteria said in a sweet, sing-song voice as she twirled the gold-to-crimson stripe down the right of her onyx hair around her fingers. Her lips pursed further, and she blinked her blue eyes up at him. “The stupid big black bear wasn’t hurt. Much.”

  Rey huffed and beat his black wings, their feathers appearing in the corners of Wolf’s vision as the male lowered him towards the ground. Wolf reached for it with his toes when he was close, eager to touch it again and not enjoying the way Rey’s arms around him were a constant reminder he had needed to be saved from a tiny demoness.

  The fallen angel released him as they touched down.

  Wolf’s legs were surprisingly steady beneath him.

  Was he acclimatising?

  Rey stepped aside.

  Wolf collapsed to his knees, the impact with the ground sending pain shooting up his spine. “Dammit.”

  “Sorry.” Rey stooped, grabbed his arm, and hauled him back to his feet. “I thought you had it there.”

  Had the male been holding him until the moment he had moved aside? He cursed again, aiming it at the damned weakness infesting him this time.

  He aimed one at the demoness too as she approached them, a swagger in her step that had her hips swaying side to side. He had been doing just fine until she had attempted to kick him out of Hell.

  She hit Rey with another sultry pout. “Forgiven?”

  Rey heaved a sigh. “Not everyone who comes near me is out to kill me, Asteria.”

  “But… but he’s a bloody angel!” She flung her hand to her right, pointing at Wolf. “He wasn’t exactly friendly with me either. Don’t think I’ve forgotten how he looked at me back in that fae town. He wanted to incinerate me.”

  “I still want to incinerate you,” Wolf grumbled and rubbed the armour above his Echelon mark.

  It was going crazy now that she was close to him again, burning so hot, he was finding it hard to breathe.

  “See!” She turned wide, horrified eyes on Rey.

  The fallen angel just rolled his crimson eyes. “Sometimes, Asteria, I want to do that too.”

  She glared at him and planted her hands against he
r hips. “No sex for you.”

  Rey’s gaze narrowed on her, his blond eyebrows dipping low. “You will be begging for it within a couple of days.”

  She shrugged, lifting her black breastplate. “Probably.”

  A slow grin spread across Rey’s face and his red irises blazed like hot coals, his elliptical pupils dilating as he stared at her.

  She loosed a wistful sigh and fluttered her long black eyelashes as she murmured, “Definitely.”

  Wolf rolled his eyes and shrugged off Rey’s grip, staggered a little but managed to remain upright this time. Definitely making progress.

  “Why are you here, Fourth Commander?” Rey finally stopped looking at the demoness as if he was about to rip off her armour and take her right there in the middle of the valley in front of Wolf.

  Some things about Rey had changed. The male seemed more confident now, far surer of himself. A positive effect of being a fallen angel? Or did this newfound confidence stem from his love for Asteria?

  He looked at the fallen angel and noted that, while the demoness wore her armour, Rey wore a pair of tight black jeans and heavy leather boots paired with a charcoal-grey T-shirt. Fallen angels possessed armour similar to that which Wolf wore, only it was as black as sin. Why hadn’t Rey come dressed for war like his demoness?

  He took it as a sign that the male had known it was him and that he had no interest in fighting him.

  He would have changed his own armour to show the male he wasn’t here to fight either, but the drain of Hell was too strong and he could barely stand, let alone muster the strength to call fresh clothes to him.

  “Put your wings away.” Rey jerked his chin towards them. “And the sword should go too. It makes it easier.”

  Wolf focused, forcing his wings away first and then dematerialising his weapon. At first, he didn’t notice much difference, but as he stood there with Rey staring at him and Asteria giving him killing looks, he began to feel stronger. Calmer. He could breathe more easily. Was no longer in danger of collapsing, his legs steadier beneath him.