by A. J. Norris
“Are you all right?” Virgil asked. He stared at her with his blue freckled eyes.
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. If you have questions—”
“Yeah, I…well. I’ve missed so much time in Netherworld and now you tell me that we were mated for four thousand years and I don’t remember a damn thing about it.”
“I didn’t know Aba was that—”
“Powerful. I know.” Evita finished his sentence for him. Virgil smiled at her. “I don’t think it means anything that I finished your thought.”
“I didn’t say it did.”
“May I try something?” She stepped closer to him with a palm raised. “Your tattoo…may I touch it?” Without waiting for a response from him, Evita placed her hand over the center of his chest. He sucked in a breath and quivered slightly. A Warrior’s mark on her mate had a deeper meaning than merely a symbol of their union. Arcadian legend said the memories of a mated couple were captured within the lines of his mark. However, nothing happened when she touched it, nor when she traced the lines with a fingertip. She pressed her palm harder against his skin, hoping it would glow like the myth dictated. Still nothing. How silly. Why did she think that stuff was true? Evita slumped her shoulders and sagged against the wall again.
“What’s wrong?” Virgil searched her face with concerned eyes. “Why did you touch my mark?”
Oh Deus, he was beautiful. “It was an experiment.”
“And?”
“It failed.”
I failed.
He closed his eyes for a second. “Evie, what were you hoping would happen?”
“It’s—forget it…doesn’t matter. It didn’t work anyway.”
“No. What?”
She stared at him for a few moments. The Warrior class protected their secrets and folklore; telling Virgil violated the covenant. A Warrior only shared the information with the most trusted individuals. Surely she could trust her own mate? Yes. She could, even though she didn’t know him.
“Your mark should’ve glowed when I touched you.”
He looked at her strangely. “It never has before.”
“It wouldn’t unless I had a reason to want it to.”
“I’m not understanding your meaning.”
“This is why I shouldn’t stay here.”
He inhaled sharply. “Why? Because my mark didn’t glow? What is the significance?”
“There’s this legend among the Warriors…never mind.” She waved him off. Turned out she didn’t have as much faith in him as she thought.
“Fine. But if you don’t stay here, where will you go?” He stepped closer, invading her space.
Evita licked her lips and pressed her back further into the wall. “Netherworld.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded while her eyes traveled down his chest to his muscular abdomen. Veins ran up his biceps, which for her was the single most sexy thing on a male. That, and the flat plane just south of the bellybutton before…oh Deus. Despite the dried grime on his body, he was perfect. The arch of his wings rose gracefully behind his head. New feathers had started growing at the bottoms where they had been lopped off. In Netherworld, Evita hadn’t taken the time to fully appreciate him or his wings. She stretched her hand out then snatched it back to her side. One thing was for sure, she was attracted to him. And there weren’t any others like him in any realm.
“I think I should go.” Evita’s words held no conviction. She nibbled on her bottom lip.
Virgil moved within a breath’s distance of her face.
“What are you doing?” Her hands went to his chest. Pushing him off was her plan. However, the more she gaped at his handsome face the more she caved. He didn’t lean in for a kiss though. She stared at his mouth. She even liked his neat and trim beard. It hadn’t grown in Netherworld. More and more Evita realized that everything about the place was a lie. She didn’t want to return there. It wasn’t her home. Yeah, she got all that from staring at Virgil. He had been the reason for her sadness. A part of her soul missed him. His eyes captivated her, keeping her from doing anything in this moment except breathing.
“Can you do me a favor?”
Anything.
“Maybe.”
“Just give yourself some time before you decide if you want to go back to Netherworld. You might like it here or…”
“Or remember you,” she whispered. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was beautiful even though his wings were still dingy from the Void and he needed a bath. The stream hadn’t washed everything away. Her own appearance couldn’t be better. There was dirt under her fingernails and her dress was tattered.
“Can you at least give it a try?”
She nodded. “I will try. Is there someplace I can clean up?”
“Absolutely! We have indoor plumbing.” He led her into another tiny room off the bedroom.
“I’ve seen this—oh, a shower.”
Virgil leaned into the basin, twisted two knobs, and placed his hand in the spray. “After you,” he said.
“No, you’re dirtier than me. Please, you go first. I need to manifest some other clothes anyway.”
He smiled tightly then shrugged. Without warning her, he tugged at the waistband of his drawers and pulled them down his legs in one motion, exposing his privates. Although nakedness wasn’t frowned upon in their culture, she hadn’t prepared herself for the longing she would experience. Evita kept her gaze focused on him as he stepped over the lip and into the shower. He slid the clear curtain over on the rod above. She edged closer to the sink for an unobstructed view from the side.
The water ran down Virgil’s body, filling the bottom of the tub with dirty water. He pushed his foot toward the drain, encouraging the water down. After a few minutes, he turned around. He splayed his wings a bit and shook the feathers out. The muscles all down his entire backside tightened and undulated. The feathers were clipped short; he wouldn’t be flying for at least a couple of days. He turned again and rubbed his hands down his chest. Over his sculpted abdominals. When she looked up, he was watching her.
Evita blushed and spun on the ball of her foot. “Sorry. I don’t know why I was—”
“I don’t mind.” His feet squeaked on the porcelain. There was some flapping. “Excuse me,” he said, brushing past her on his way out the door, a towel around his hips.
“Was your hair ever long?” she blurted.
He stopped though didn’t turn around, and brought his hand up to his chest. “No.”
Well, there went that theory. She remembered a friend of Elliott’s, a long-haired angel with two loose braids with similar hair color to Virgil. For a second she’d considered he may have been that male.
“Why do you ask?”
“I thought I remembered something. An angel with long braids, friends with Elliott. His eyes were speckled like yours only—”
“You speak of Joelle. His eyes are green.”
“Well, I only saw him the one time.” Yeah, as he carted Elliott’s ass away from the cracked Earth beneath her. Lying in a broken heap on the ground, she’d been too weak to fight off Aba.
“I understand.” Virgil left her in the bathroom alone and shut the door.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Berus
Jeremiah. Jeremiah. Jeremiah.
Berus couldn’t get the former goat-demon out of his head. His eyes, wings, his everything were branded on the back of Berus’s eyelids. Lilyana had taken him to her home so he could recuperate for the night. His leg had been badly bruised when he’d been struck. Instead of sleeping he hobbled around a chamber she called a bedroom unable to sit still. He scented another human female when he and his Earth guide entered her living quarters. Lilyana had stopped him from killing her.
“How long are you going to pace around like that? You’re going to wake my roommate.” Lilyana was sitting on a chair in the corner.
“I-I c-c-could k-kill her.”
“Haven’t you done eno
ugh murdering for the night? And please try not to speak. You’re bad at it.”
Glaring at her, he parked his ass on the bed, shrugged out of the leather jacket, and tossed it onto the floor with a thwap.
Lilyana stood, walked across the fuzzy floor, and disappeared behind a door. “Stay in the bedroom!” she yelled through the closed door.
Now who was going to wake her roommate?
Berus grumbled under his breath. The boots and socks came off, then his pants. Clothing irritated him. Supple leather didn’t bother his skin, rather he felt constricted by it. He was glad she’d shut herself off from him. This gave him time to truly check out his transformed body, something he hadn’t been able to do until now. His hands weren’t all that different except for the blunt-cut fingernails. The biggest changes occurred to his lower body and head. He couldn’t wait to get back the Netherworld, where he enjoyed his high status, only answering to Abaddon, even if the Ruler treated him like an idiot.
Berus laid on the bed, his head on the softer pad near the wall. Visions of Jeremiah’s gray-yellow eyes penetrated his thoughts. His fingertips grazed the hair surrounding his genitalia. He inched closer to his hardened shaft. As he gripped himself, his head tilted back and he gasped. He worked the length, picturing the dark-haired angel with golden skin.
Lilyana came back into the room. “What are you doing?” Berus only groaned. “Are all demons like you? Is this normal? Of course not, Lily, he’s from Hell.” He wished he’d interviewed her before killing her. She talked too much. Berus squeezed his eyes shut and sucked air in between his teeth.
“You’re just going to keep doing that?”
He wanted her to shut up so badly. It was ruining his concentration even though he tried blocking her out. Making a swooping motion with his free hand, he beckoned her over. She put her hand over her heart. “Moi?”
He nodded with a grunt.
“You want to have sex with me? Uh, you killed me earlier.” She paused and narrowed her stare on him.
He thought about asking what her point was but didn’t. His stuttering changed his mind. Too much effort. He glared back at her instead.
“Hmmm,” she said. “Demon sex. That’s different, sounds interesting.”
Berus’s mind control wasn’t controlling her. The compulsion was only to help him navigate the city until he found Evita, her mate, and the missing amulet. The next time the Shadow-demons caught up to them, he’d let them take her. Berus didn’t know what she’d done to deserve Netherworld and he honestly didn’t care. It made no difference to him.
Lilyana came closer to the bed. “All right, sex with a demon it is.” She laid next to him. Abruptly, he stopped what he’d been doing and kneeled between her legs for a moment. Her dress had ridden up her legs. He knew the names of clothing. He ripped at the crotch of her panties. They tore, exposing her sensitive pink flesh. She yelped in pleasure. “Oh, yes.”
He plunged into her. Her body surrounded him. The friction was so much more satisfying than using his hand. He shuddered and ceased thrusting for a couple of seconds then placed her legs on his shoulders, driving her hard against the bed. The springs squeaked and the bed frame banged the wall over and over.
She screamed, “Don’t stop!”
Berus pulled out and rolled her to her stomach. He angled his hips, entering her in a smooth, slippery stroke. Again, she cried out. Her skin glistened with sweat. He tried keeping his thoughts centered in the room, remembering who he was doing, yet the former goat-demon punched his way into his cerebral cortex. Things tightened below his waist. He was so close now. His breaths roared in and out of him. Pulling her back and up, he settled her on her knees, thinking that seeing more of her would help clear his head. It didn’t work. Three more powerful pumps and his orgasm broke through, crashing down on him like a tsunami.
“Jere…miah!”
Like a revelation he thought about him. He wanted to hold him, protect him. Feel his silky feathers between his fingers. He could count on one finger how many times he felt something soft. Caring about anything was foreign to him. There was an ache in the middle of his chest, radiating outward.
Lilyana sat up on her ass. “Did you just call me ‘Jeremy’?” she asked, yanking him from his thoughts.
Jeremiah.
“Are you gay?”
“D-don’t know w-what that is.”
“You’re kidding, right?” She threw a hand up and got off the bed. She took the rest of her clothes off. “It means you don’t like this.” She cupped her breasts. He looked at her, keeping his expression stony. “Well? Do you or don’t you?”
What difference did it make? He liked what he liked and in Netherworld demons weren’t labeled by their preferences. No one cared.
CHAPTER SEVETEEN
Evita
When the bathroom door shut, Evita gripped the counter with both hands. Without looking in the mirror she splashed cool water on her face. This was real. A golden feather was tattooed in the space over his heart. The last two hundred years of her life had been a lie. She was an angel meant to protect Earth’s realm from demons.
She broke out in a cold sweat. Her strength came from her wings. And she wanted them back. The once swooping appendages were now pieces of bones and keratin sticking out of her head. Twisted and black. Evita brought her shaky hands up to her horns, gripped them tightly, and with her eyes squeezed shut, she yanked. They didn’t budge. Not even a tiny crack. Her head throbbed though. She grasped them from underneath this time, yet only managed to cry out.
The bathroom door flew open as she tried again.
“Stop! No, let me get some help,” Virgil said.
“I hate these…things. I want my wings back.”
“I know. I know. I’ll call Max again.” His eyes were glassy with tears that hadn’t spilled over.
Evita dropped her hands and nibbled on her bottom lip so it wouldn’t tremble so much. He took her hands and kissed each palm.
“Take your shower and I’ll have Max come over.”
She half-smiled at him. He leaned into the tub, turned on the water, and left the room. Evita stripped, climbed over the lip, and got under the spray. The warm shower eased her tense muscles. She moaned quietly as she washed herself. Only after her fingertips became prune-like did she turn off the water. She planted her feet on the soft mat outside the tub, pulled a towel from the rack over the toilet, and draped it around her shoulders. She manifested her once favorite long white silk and lace nightgown. After drying off, she slipped it over her head. She hugged herself, loving the feel of clean clothes on her body.
When Evita emerged from the bathroom, Virgil was sitting on the end of the bed in only a pair of linen drawstring pants. His pupils flared. “Wow. You’re as stunning as the moment we met.”
Her hands went to the top of her head. “Yeah, if you like horn—”
“Don’t do that. There’s no need to hide from me.”
Her cheeks heated. He remained seated, yet she expected him to stand and greet her as male would his mate. She didn’t know what that might entail for sure. Would he want sex?
Oh Deus.
There was no way she was ready for that, and for all she could remember she’d never been with a male. Although this clearly wasn’t true. She asked him what was wrong anyway.
“Why do assume something’s wrong?” he asked.
“I’m your mate. I…I…never mind.” She paused, then said, “You said earlier that you wanted to give me a proper greeting.” What was she saying now? However, denying her attraction to him was useless. Her stomach fluttered. She told herself that he was a proper respectful male and wouldn’t want physical intimacy.
He smiled coyly. “I’m aroused. So, I didn’t think—”
“Excuse me,” she coughed. “Did you just tell me you’re aroused?” Maybe he did want to make love.
“I do not wish to make you uncomfortable.
There was a knock on the bedroom door and Amalya peeked her head in.
“Sorry, I hate to interrupt but I’m not feeling well and I’d like to lie down.”
Evita waved the dark angel inside, relieved their conversation had been cut short. “Please. I’ll just…is there another bedroom?”
“Nope,” Amalya said.
“Where did you all sleep?” Evita asked.
“In here,” Amalya replied. “Don’t ask.” She stretched out on the bed and rubbed her baby belly.
Virgil took a deep breath. “I missed you.”
“He doesn’t like to be alone,” Amalya told her.
He shrugged. “That too.”
“I don’t think this bed is big enough for four,” Evita said.
Amalya giggled. “You got that right. Now it’s only big enough for me. I only let Elliott have this little section right here.” She pointed to the six-inch space between her and the edge of the bed.
Evita laughed. She really liked Amalya.
***
Virgil
“Come, Evie,” Virgil said, holding a hand out to her. His libido calmed the second Amalya poked her head into the bedroom. They sidestepped Elliott in the hallway. The white-haired angel smiled.
On the couch, two blankets and pillows had been left out. Although Amalya was thoughtful, he had a suspicion it had been Elliott. After Evie had saved the angel from falling, Elliott was so consumed with guilt that he treated Virgil poorly for hundreds of years. He assumed it was because the other male had trouble looking him in the eye. When Amalya came along, everything changed for Elliott. Hmm, more reason to love her. Her strength was his strength. A perfect match.
Virgil took one blanket and pillow for himself. “You can have the sofa.”
“What about the Healer?”
“Sorry, my love. He’s in Arcadia. I left a message for him to come here as soon as he gets back. Lie down, I’ll tuck you in.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” she said and unfolded a blanket. She bent over the couch, making a bed out of it, laying the chenille throw out. Virgil’s lips parted and he inhaled sharply. Her lovely curves made him hot again. He’d never forgotten what she looked like. How her breasts swayed when she made love to him straddling his hips. Or how her golden wings would splay during her climax. The front of his pants tented.
