“You’ll find them. When you need them.”
“And for some reason you think my having sex with Michael is going to save the world?” I said skeptically. “I doubt it. And he’s not drinking my blood. I’m not that kinky.”
“We assumed that Michael simply bringing you here, marrying you, would be enough to ensure that he would prevail. Martha says no. It must be a true marriage.”
“If she thinks I’m going to fall in love with him, she’s out of her mind,” I said. “You can’t order that sort of thing.”
“Who says marriages have anything to do with love?” Rachel said. “Mutual respect can be as good a foundation as lust.”
I opened my mouth to object, then shut it again. I kept forgetting that movies weren’t real life. In movies it was all about love and passion. I wasn’t conversant enough with real life, or the Sheol variant of it, to know what went on there.
I had no idea whether there was mutual respect in our twisted marriage. Did I respect him? I respected his strength, his pigheadedness, his stubbornness. Apart from that, there was, damn it all, an occasional stirring of lust, at least on my side, which I found completely disheartening.
Then again, if the world was going to end, what was the harm in indulging it? “So we’re supposed to fuck like rabbits and he gets to drink my blood? Why isn’t he the one asking me?”
“He’s refused.”
I was an expert at hiding my reactions, my emotions. My mother would have eaten me alive if she’d ever known what I was thinking. The thought that my unwanted husband desired neither my body nor my blood was actually ridiculously hurtful. I felt rejected on the most elemental of levels.
“That makes two of us,” I said. “At least he’s shown sense for once.”
“His pride will kill us all.”
“You think it’s pride?”
“I know Michael. He’s prey to human desires just like the rest of the Fallen, and his appetites are strong, even though he’s managed to sublimate them. He wants you. He wants your body and he needs your blood, and he’s going to do everything he can to keep away from you so he won’t be tempted.”
This made no sense. “Why? He had no qualms about forcing me into a marriage. Why stop there?”
There was just the hint of a shadow in Rachel’s eyes, and then it was gone before I could call her on it. “It’s complicated.”
I glanced around me at the perfect little courtyard, the privacy, the filtered sunlight overhead warming me. “Are we in any hurry? It’s going to take more than that to make me jump into bed.”
Rachel sighed. “Michael is a warrior. You know that. Stories and legends of his past show up in almost every culture, and throughout his existence he has been dedicated to the art of war, the art of battle. He has focused everything on that one end, including his celibacy.”
“So you’re telling me he’s never had sex?”
She shook her head. “When he was driven from heaven, he fell hard. For a while he became obsessed with sensual pleasures. He is the most legendary, inventive warrior in all of the universe, in all of history. He put that same dedication into sex.”
I shivered. I didn’t want to consider why. Sex with Johann had been affectionate and pleasant after I got used to the initial discomfort and mess. I really couldn’t imagine that particular act performed with the fierce intensity I had already seen in Michael.
“So?” I managed to sound breezy. “He’s a—what do you call it?—a sex machine. For everyone but me, apparently.”
“He stopped. He bonded once, but she was killed almost immediately by one of the Nephilim. And he only bedded women, never took their blood. He refuses to drink from anyone but the Source, yet he still manages to maintain his strength. If he bonded, if he took your blood, his power would be unstoppable.”
“Clearly he’s not interested.”
“Clearly he’s too interested,” Rachel corrected me. “He refuses to bond, insisting it would weaken him. He’s wrong, of course. He refuses to drink, to let Uriel win. What he gives away in focus by bonding, he’ll regain in strength.”
“This is moot. He doesn’t want me and I don’t want him touching me.”
Impatience flared in Rachel’s eyes. “Don’t be disingenuous. If there’s one thing I understand, it’s how women feel.”
“What makes you such an expert?” I shot back.
She made a dismissive noise. “Most of the women here are human. I am not. I told you, I’ve been where you are. I’ve been alive almost as long as the Fallen. I am Lilith, the first woman, the patron of women everywhere. I comfort the broken, I help the barren, I—”
“Not doing so good a job helping the barren around here, are you?” I said. “I haven’t seen any children since I arrived.”
She ignored me. “I understand,” she said again. “You’re fascinated by him—who wouldn’t be? You feel the same draw that he does, and both of you are fighting it. All you have to do is go to his room and strip off your clothes. I promise you that he’ll take care of the rest.”
“All I have to do?” I echoed, appalled. “I don’t think so. If the future of the world requires me to give my body to someone I dislike, then I guess civilization is going to come to an end.”
“It won’t.” Michael’s deep voice came from directly behind us, and I scrambled off the chaise, my face warm, my heart pounding.
Rachel moved more slowly, and I wondered if she’d known he was listening. And just how long he had been there. “Eavesdropping is an unpleasant habit, Michael,” she said smoothly.
“You knew I was there.” He verified my suspicion. “You were supposed to be helping her discover her powers, not turning her into a whore. What the hell do you think you’re doing? You know what I said.”
Rachel looked oddly guilty. “I know what you said, Michael. And I know we’re fighting for our lives.”
“You think I don’t know that?” he said. I started to sidle out, not wanting to listen while they argued over whether I was going to have sex with him or not, for God’s sake, but he caught my wrist in one strong hand, staying me.
I considered seeing whether I could flip him. I knew I could break his hold, because he underestimated me, but I wasn’t ready to let him realize the extent of my abilities. I stood there, gaze averted, willing the heat away from my face.
“You’re being a stubborn idiot. If Raziel ordered you—”
“He won’t. I’ve made my decision—she remains untouched.”
Uh, already touched, I wanted to say, but wisely kept my mouth shut. The very thought of lying beneath his strong, hard body, all that hot, golden skin against mine, was deeply disturbing. I hadn’t much experience to go by, but sex with Michael would be a far cry from what I’d shared with Johann. And the idea frightened me. Fascinated me.
Rachel threw up her hands in disgust. “As you wish. We’ll simply have to hope that Martha is wrong this time. If you refuse to listen . . .”
But he was already dragging me back into the house, away from Rachel with her intense eyes and her unexpected kindness. Rachel, the first woman. I’d forgotten to ask her what had happened to Eve.
Michael wasn’t hurting me, but after a gentle tug I knew he wasn’t letting me go without a major move on my part. I let him pull me along the corridors of the house, out into the hazy sunshine, and back to the annex that held my room and the training quarters. His room as well, but I wasn’t going to be seeing it.
He pushed open the door to my rooms and finally released my wrist, presumably expecting me to go inside meekly. Underestimating me yet again.
I slipped my hand around and caught his wrist, tugging him after me. “We need to talk.”
For a moment he didn’t move, and it was a standoff. I probably could have hauled him into my room, but I wasn’t ready to go that far. Finally he nodded, detached my grip, and followed me inside.
RACHEL HAD BEEN maddening enough, Michael thought, looking at Tory through hooded eyes. Now he had to
deal with his wife asking questions he wasn’t prepared to answer. But he already knew her well enough to realize she wasn’t simply going to let go.
He headed straight for the kitchen, helping himself to the chilled pitcher of water, then sank down on the sofa, deliberately not asking her if she wanted anything. His skin felt too tight, as it always did when he was around her. He’d chosen celibacy, and it had been no trouble at all until she’d appeared in the contessa’s airless salon and blown everything all to hell.
He could smell her, smell her blood, and he stared at her neck for a long moment, allowing himself the brief, forbidden, totally erotic fantasy of drinking from her, sucking the rich tang of her blood.
Once more Uriel was manipulating him into acts that would create nothing but death and despair, and he had sworn never to blindly follow orders again. The guilt that stained his soul was already too heavy a burden. He refused to compound it.
He could have her. That was no surprise—he had always been able to have any woman he wanted. All he had to do was focus on her and she would be in his bed, on her back, her knees, any way he wanted her. He did nothing by half measures. He could kill anyone he wanted, fuck anyone he wanted, and he’d learned to keep that power under tight control.
It was straining at the leash now, his desire for her, and the bondage image only made him hotter. He wanted her so badly that he had run himself into a state of exhaustion last night after dumping her here, rather than risk the temptation to come back and take what everyone wanted him to take. Everyone but her.
“They want us to sleep together,” she said.
Did she have to have such a soft, delectable mouth? He wanted that mouth on his body, her small tongue tracing his wards and tattoos. He didn’t blink. “No, they don’t. They want us to fuck.”
She didn’t flinch at the crude word—he had to give her that. “For some reason, they think I can change your mind,” she said. “That I’d want to change your mind. You need to make it clear to them that you have absolutely no interest in me sexually, and then maybe they’ll leave us alone.”
“I never lie.”
It took her a moment to realize what he’d said. “What would the lie be?” she asked warily.
He wasn’t interested in playing games. “You know the answer to that as well as I do. If you were an anonymous body, I could do what I had to do with no difficulty. You’re a little harder to dismiss.”
She actually looked amused. “I think you’ll manage. If you’ve been celibate for so long, I hardly think I’m likely to change your mind.”
He said nothing.
She took the chair opposite him, and he watched the way her strong, lean body flowed, graceful and compact, every move in perfect control. Metatron should have known better than to underestimate her. He should have known better. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
“Why are you celibate? Do you think having sex will ruin your focus?” she persisted.
“No.”
“Then I don’t see why you’ve chosen a life of celibacy.”
“And I don’t see why you’re obsessed with whom I do or do not fuck,” he countered.
He was beginning to piss her off. Good. It was better that way. “That’s an ugly word,” she said.
“Is it? I suppose it depends on your context. And what you think of the act itself.”
“Clearly you don’t like it, if you’ve gone without sex for hundreds of years.” He could hear the triumph in her voice, as if she’d made a decisive hit.
He let his eyelids droop lazily over his eyes. “I got bored. There are only so many interesting variations you can try without causing permanent damage.” He saw her flinch, and controlled his amusement.
“You like to hurt people?”
“Sometimes. When it increases their pleasure.” In fact, pain and bondage were only a small part of the whole mesmerizing world of sexuality, and he hadn’t grown bored. He’d become obsessed, trying to fill some emptiness inside himself. He’d never succeeded, and he’d finally given up trying, turning his back on the world of soulless pleasure. He could read the worry in her eyes, despite the effort she put into appearing unfazed. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”
Where the hell had that come from? He wasn’t going to have sex with her—why was he even discussing it?
Her eyes widened, but for a moment she said nothing. Finally she said, “Your job is to inflict pain. You’re a killer.”
“I’m a warrior,” he said. “As are you.”
“I’ve never killed . . .” The words trailed off as she remembered.
He watched her carefully, curious. She would have to kill again, without hesitation, if she was to be of any help to them. “It was a necessary death,” he said finally.
“Is any death necessary?”
“You don’t need my answer to such an elemental question. Only your own.”
She was still considering. And then, like the click of a switch, she nodded. Accepted. She pushed her rich, dark hair away from her pale face, and once again he acknowledged how beautiful she was. Not the perfect beauty of the Fallen, but the attraction of something else, something more complex and troublesome. “Rachel wanted me to seduce you.”
“I’m not surprised.” He kept his voice, his expression, neutral.
“I told her no.”
“Of course you did,” he said softly. “Sex is the last thing on your mind.” He shouldn’t have said it when he knew it was patently untrue, but he wanted to see if he could get to her.
Once more she surprised him. Her smile was slow, sensual, and he wanted to curse as his body leapt in response. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said. “I imagine I think about sex just as often as you do.”
He kept his face expressionless, even as he felt his skin grow hot. She would probably die anyway. Why not? “You’re playing with fire, little girl,” he said in a steady voice.
“Am I?” She shrugged, and even that mundane gesture held a wealth of sensual grace. “Apparently you’re immune to my dubious charms.”
A smile came before he could stop it, and she blinked, momentarily nonplussed, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Her startled eyes met his, and he let his omnipresent guard drop, just for a moment. It was like an electric shock jolting his body, the sudden knowledge that all of them were right, she was his. And he couldn’t, wouldn’t, have her.
He moved closer, without realizing how it happened—so close, all he had to do was reach out and she would be in his arms, wrapped against his hungry body. He lifted his hand, surprised to see it didn’t shake, and cupped her face, his thumb gently brushing her soft lips.
He almost told her. Told her that his kiss would lead to her death. That even if he felt his centuries of determination crumble in the face of his need, he wouldn’t give in.
“We’re not doing this,” she whispered.
“Of course not.” He could stop. His self-control was legendary. It was a small enough test, simply to prove it to himself, to lean forward and replace his thumb with his lips, brushing her mouth softly. He pulled away, almost too quickly, as desire rushed over him.
She looked at him, her green eyes startled but uncomfortably knowing. “Of course not.”
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
I STOOD ALONE IN THE MIDDLE OF MY room after he left. What were the lines I’d heard so often in the movies? Time to get the hell out of Dodge. Let’s blow this Popsicle stand. I had no idea why people seemed to hate Dodge so much, and in all the movies I’d watched I’d never seen a Popsicle stand, but I understood the concept. I needed to get the hell out of there, and I’d waited too long, seduced by the ocean and the friendship. Seduced by my husband’s beautiful face and body, I was caving. Charmed by him despite myself, despite his best efforts. Charmed by that sudden, unbidden smile.
What would it be like to see that smile without all the baggage? To see him really smile at me?
Why not do what Rachel asked? I fought to igno
re the little voice that niggled in my head. He was deliciously gorgeous, but it wasn’t merely his physical beauty that had such an odd effect on me. All the men here were beautiful, angelically so. And none of the others caused me even the slightest twinge.
There was something about the Archangel Michael that pulled me on a deep, irrational level. His slow, sexy smile had almost brought me to my knees. And if I gave in, I’d never leave. Never taste the richness of life that had always been out of reach. I wanted to be loved, I wanted children, I wanted to see and experience everything. If I stayed here, Michael would be my world, that rare, devastating smile would be my reward, and I wasn’t going to let that happen.
I looked out the french doors to the sea shimmering in the misty sunlight. There were people on the beach, some running, some going through martial arts exercises with impressively good form. I wouldn’t mind sparring with some of them, I thought. If I were going to stay. No escape that way. The house backed up against a steep cliff, and while I could attempt the climb, I could hardly do so in broad daylight. I had to stay put, at least for the moment.
Rachel wanted me to sleep with him. They all wanted me to sleep with him, everyone except Michael himself, which, if you thought about it, was insulting. There was nothing wrong with me. My body was lithe and strong, my face pretty enough even though it fell far short of movie-star perfection. Why didn’t he want me?
But he does, the little voice whispered in my head. He did, and I knew it, in the unconscious, elemental female way that had existed throughout history, all the way back to the first man and first woman. Beneath the cool gaze he used to try to intimidate me there lurked a blaze, so strong it made me uneasy. I refused to let anything frighten me. But if anything did, it would be the heat in the icy fallen archangel.
I pushed open the doors, letting the soft sea air into my room, and went out to join the army on the beach.
IN THE END, slipping away was easier than I had expected. In the workout room I sparred a bit with a couple of the men—the angels—including a particularly kind one named Asbel. He had the same perfect beauty, but on him it somehow looked more human, more approachable. By the time we finished, we were both exhausted and laughing.
Warrior (Fallen) Page 8
