“We’re glad you’re here, Victoria Bellona,” he said as we were catching our breath.
I’d grown tired of telling people to call me Tory. I glanced around. Michael was across the huge room, ignoring me, and I wished I were as good at dismissing him from my mind as he appeared to be at disregarding me. I pulled my attention back to Asbel. “It’s certainly better than the last place I lived,” I said. “Though not where I was expecting to go.” I let my eyes go back to Michael. “And not what I expected to marry.”
Asbel touched my arm with surprising sympathy. He smelled like cinnamon, always a comforting scent. Michael smelled of the night sky.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Asbel said quietly. “If there’s any way I can help, all you have to do is ask.”
“Can you help me get away from here?” I said flippantly, then turned, distracted, as Martha approached. If I had a bone to pick with anyone in this place, it was with Martha.
“Michael suggested we might spar,” she said in her soft voice.
“Really?” I glanced over at him. I seemed to be spending all my spare time looking at him, which was really pathetic. “Why?”
“He said you’d relish a chance to kick my ass, considering I was the reason they brought you here.”
That managed to get my attention. I grinned reluctantly. “It’s tempting. I don’t suppose your visions are your fault. It was the Greeks who killed the messenger who arrived with bad news, and I’m Roman, apparently. I’m sure you didn’t mean me any harm.”
Martha smiled back at me. She was a few years older than I was, but one look in her calm gray eyes told me she’d lived through more than I ever had—survived more—and the last of my resentment vanished. “I have a better idea,” I said. “Why don’t the two of us beat up on Michael?”
That coaxed a smile from her. “Now, that’s tempting, but I think he could manage both of us with one hand tied behind his back. I could use a little help with my kicks. I have a tendency to telegraph what I’m going to do next, at least when I spar here. Maybe in the heat of battle the enemy will be too wound up to notice.”
“You can’t count on anything. Let’s get away from here and I’ll show you some moves.”
We joined the others on the beach, away from Michael’s distracting presence. Martha surprised me. She was strong, resilient, and smart, and if she could just get past her habit of looking exactly where she was going to attack next, she’d be in good shape for the coming battle everyone kept talking about. I resisted every temptation to floor her until the very last, and when I had her on her back I laughed. “Sorry, I just couldn’t help it.” I released her and held out a hand, pulling her to her feet again. “Do me a favor, Martha. If you ever have another premonition concerning me, please, please, do not tell anyone. Particularly not me.”
Something flickered in her eyes. “I promise,” she said, her voice slightly hollow.
Everyone was out during the day at regular intervals, everyone except the first woman I’d met, Allie. The one Michael had fed from. Odd, how easily I could think of that without being shocked. Fed from her. I’d accepted it, for some reason.
The women were strong, and what they lacked in power they made up for in speed and inventiveness. They had been well schooled, and they knew they would be fighting for their lives and the lives of their husbands. I had no idea how many might survive if such a battle ever came to pass, but I knew their enemy would be wise not to underestimate them.
The Armies of Heaven were the enemy, Rachel had said. Surely that was wrong. Heaven was where good people went when they died, a happy place full of old friends and smiling faces. How could heaven have an army?
I showed more of my power with the women than with the stronger men. I had every intention of fooling the fallen angels into believing I was essentially worthless as a fellow warrior, a woman with a few clever moves but not much else. With the women I pushed harder, driving them, forcing them to use their wits and every last bit of their skill, just as a good teacher would do. I didn’t want these women to die, and I wanted to do what little I could to expand their abilities. The angels could fend for themselves.
At one point I felt Michael’s eyes on me, and I knew he stood just inside the open doors to the workout room, in the shadows, so he couldn’t be seen. I didn’t need to look. I already knew what his gaze felt like, a cool wash over my heated skin as I remembered the feel of his mouth against mine. I licked my lips, searching for his taste, but the salt of the ocean superseded it. I’d missed my chance—he was never going to kiss me again.
I immediately stumbled, deliberately, and went down in the sand beneath Martha’s triumphant cry. By the time I bounded back to my feet, he was gone.
It was simple enough to move farther and farther away from them as I went through my own moves. I had a well-worn series of exercises I went through, and though I toned them down for anyone who seemed to be watching, I was able to move down the beach, away from the others.
I warmed up, stretched, and ran in place for a little to get my muscles ready for the change. And then I took off in a casual sprint, just another runner working on endurance.
By the time I had gone about two miles up the beach, I was feeling less optimistic. There was no sign of civilization, no houses, no border separating Sheol from the rest of the world. I wondered whether we were on an island.
The coastline stayed the same, a mix of grass and stone, the high cliffs to my right, the ocean to my left; otherwise I might have thought I was running in circles. I was beginning to tire a bit, and I fell back into a walk. I was far enough away by now, at least ten miles by my estimation. It would take them too long to catch up with me.
I was hungry. I hadn’t had the sense to grab something to eat from the eternally stocked kitchen, but then, I’d taken off without a firm plan. Not the wisest idea, but I was so desperate to leave I’d taken the first chance I got.
It was getting late now, the shadows growing long as I continued along the beach. At this time of year, in late March, the sun here seemed to set early, around six o’clock. I would have hours to keep moving, to ensure my safety. I couldn’t afford to let them find me.
The shadow brushed by my consciousness, and I looked up, squinting against the sunlight, as the outline of a huge bird soared by. But it wasn’t a bird, and I was an idiot. Because there was no sign beneath their clothes, I had forgotten that the angels were still equipped with one more weapon.
Their wings.
I began to run.
HE SWOOPED DOWN like a bird of prey and caught her midstride, yanking her flailing body against his before he took off, soaring upward, high, higher, until the air grew thin and cold and her struggles slowed, until frost sparkled on the nose he wanted to kiss, the skin he wanted to lick and suck and bite. He shifted her in his arms, cradling her, staring at her pale, soft mouth, and he had the sudden overwhelming urge to breathe warmth into her. His head moved closer, and her eyes opened, looking up at him, as if she knew what he wanted. He jerked back, keeping his gaze focused on the sky rather than her face, until he descended toward Sheol with his annoying, errant wife cradled in his arms.
In truth, he had no idea why he he’d gone after her. She could have walked for days, weeks, and found nothing, no escape from the future she’d been born to, and it would have taken the decision away from him. She’d taken nothing with her, and he knew she was much smarter than that. Her desperation to get away from him was so strong it had clouded her better judgment.
Good. That would keep her at a distance. That was all he wanted, for her to be out of sight and out of mind. But he didn’t want her dying on the beach, alone, in pain. She had so little time left, shorter than the usual frail human existence, and he didn’t want any of it to be stolen from her.
By the time he reached the compound she’d begun to stir, and the feel of her warm, strong body in his arms did what he knew it would do. There was nothing wrong with his cock, nothing missing in his desires
. He just chose to ignore them. Which was becoming harder as time went on.
He landed lightly outside the french doors and kicked them open, striding into the room and dumping her on her bed. She immediately tried to scramble up, but he simply pushed her back down.
“I’m not going to touch you,” he said. “Ever. You don’t need to risk your life by running away into nowhere, and trust me, the beach leads absolutely nowhere. The only way out of Sheol is through the gates, and they’re guarded, warded, protected. You can’t open them. So stop trying to escape, and I promise to leave you alone.”
She said nothing. She lay in the middle of the bed. Her dark hair had come loose from its plait, and her face was even paler than usual, her green eyes blazing up at him. It was getting more and more difficult to keep his gaze away from the delicious swell of her breasts, the temptation of her mouth. No, he reminded himself sharply. No.
“Do I have your word you won’t try to escape?”
“No.”
“Fine.” He spun on his heel and stalked from the room, slamming the door as he went. The locks and wards clicked into place, sealing the room. She would be able to open the windows, to let the sea breeze in, but she wouldn’t be able to escape. Let her try the pleasures of house arrest again and see how she liked it.
It suited him perfectly. He needed time to regain his equilibrium. He’d almost kissed her again. He had to be out of his mind. Because if he did, he knew what would follow, as surely as the night followed the day, and he didn’t want that. Couldn’t want that.
Why not? the voice in his head demanded. Who would it hurt? Martha says you must. She’ll die anyway. Why not?
One hundred years of celibacy, two hundred years of taking nourishment only from the Source—and it had made him strong, invincible. He had watched history unfold from his place with Uriel, had seen the disasters wrought by lust. It had brought the Fallen to their knees, destroyed cities and worlds. There was too much at stake to risk losing even one bit of his power.
His skin felt tight, his heart was pounding, and he was still hard, his damned, betraying body telling him what he wouldn’t admit. It was a waste of time denying it. He wanted her. Needed her.
He wouldn’t take her.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
I DIDN’T MOVE FOR A LONG TIME. AT least this time I didn’t have the roiling nausea that had accompanied the first time he’d flown with me, but I didn’t want to move. I had too much to think about. About opening my eyes during that short, breathless flight to see him staring down at me. I’d wanted him to kiss me, really kiss me. I’d looked up into his eyes, and if I truly had been a goddess, I would have willed him to put that hard, beautiful mouth against mine, to breathe life and warmth back into me. The longing was so powerful it was like a tangible thing, so strong that I was certain he felt it too; but then he soared upward, into the icy cold night, and everything went black, and I went unkissed. And I wondered if he felt the same longing, the same regret for missed chances.
Finally I rose, walking over to the open window. The moon was high in the sky and a wind had come up, whipping the trees at the base of the cliff, and that strange, aching feeling built, filling my chest, churning my stomach, washing through me with a wave of what I knew was desire. Real, honest, adult desire, something I’d never felt before. I didn’t like it.
I needed to eat. I had to stay strong if I was going to have any chance of escape. There was a huge salad with cheese and meat and chickpeas in the fridge, so I wolfed down the entire thing, followed by the ubiquitous Diet Coke, which was improving on further acquaintance. Rather like the Archangel Michael—and that way lay danger. I took a quick shower, changed my clothes, and headed for the door as the moon shone bright overhead.
I needed the sea wind on my upturned face, the moon shining down on me. I felt restless, sexual, at odds with my body and my life, and I needed to move, to run, to work off all this strange, disturbing energy.
The door was locked. I stared at it balefully, but it was impervious to my annoyance. I checked the other door, just to be certain, but of course it was locked as well. People opened locked doors with credit cards, according to the movies. I didn’t own one, but there were other forms of plastic in the kitchen that would serve the purpose.
I found a thin, hard spatula and headed back to the front door, prepared to slide it through the crack between door and frame. And then stared in astonishment.
There was no crack. The door and frame were solid, as if carved out of one piece of wood. It was sealed—there was no place to slide the spatula.
The french doors were the same, the joinery gone, smooth wood in its place. But they still had mullioned windowpanes, and in a moment of blind fury I picked up a chair and flung it at the doors.
It bounced back, almost hitting me. With a curse I threw myself at it, with the same results, except I landed sideways on the couch.
I knew a lot of curses. Watch enough movies and you can get very fluent in bad language, and I let it all fly. The rat-fucking bastard had locked me in. Not only that, but he’d put some sort of voodoo whammy on the doors and windows so I couldn’t break out.
I was going to kill him.
I pulled myself upright from my ungainly sprawl and glared at the front door. Rachel had insisted that I was a goddess. If that was so, where the fuck were my powers? If I was an ancient Roman goddess of war, surely I could demolish something as simple as a lock?
I knew Latin. I knew eleven languages, and had been in the process of learning new ones when I’d been called to my mother’s salon. People used Latin for spells, didn’t they? And for unearthly power. And it was certainly the right language for the mythical Victoria Bellona.
I eyed the door, and I made a little deal with myself. If I could open that door without an axe or a key, then I would accept that I was who they said I was—the goddess of war, here to fight the Armies of Heaven.
It would have to be Latin. I couldn’t call on the Prince of Darkness like they did in witchcraft movies, since I had a strong suspicion that the Prince of Darkness would be on the side of the Fallen. As for appealing to the gods, supposedly I was one of them. I’d just go for straightforward Latin. Not a commonly used word such as aperire, to open. I needed something more forceful. Erumpere was to break open. The imperative form of that would be erumpite, wouldn’t it? I eyed the door with a baleful glare.
“Erumpite!” I said in a ringing voice.
Nothing happened.
“Effringito!” I tried again.
Nothing. “Aperito!”
I was ready to give up, when something prickled along my arms. It was impossible, of course. Even so, I rose and started toward the door, just on the off chance . . .
It opened. I didn’t even have to touch the doorknob. At my approach the door simply popped open, standing ajar, and I stared at it in disbelief.
Well, this was entirely cool. Apparently all I had to do was make a demand in Latin and it would come true. And I was very, very good at Latin.
I checked the doors to the beach, but they were still locked, and I decided not to waste my time with them. One avenue of escape was better than none, and it was getting late. I stepped out into the corridor, moving silently, and headed down the hall. I was seriously annoyed. How dare he try to lock me in?
I had just reached the building’s main door when I noticed the faint light coming from the workout room. Shadows flickered, as if someone was moving around in there, and I knew who would be down there in the middle of the night. He hadn’t gone straight to his room after locking me in. He’d gone to work off the frustration that roiled within him, frustration that was also threading through my body.
If I had any brains I’d get the hell out of there. Then again, sometimes being a fool was absolutely irresistible. Particularly when I’d get to savor the look on his face when I strolled in.
The doors were open to the night air, that seductive breeze blowing across the dimly lit room. The
re were several mats strewn around on the floor, but only one man was in the room. He was a blur of grace and speed, spinning, leaping, dancing through the air like a god. He wore no shirt, only the loose white pants he’d had on earlier in the day, and for the first time I got a good look at the tattoos that snaked and swirled around his body. I watched them slide up his lean, muscled torso, around his biceps, encircling his neck, dancing with him as he moved. If I hadn’t realized he was a supernatural being before, I knew it now. No human could leap that high, move that fluidly, dangerously.
He stopped suddenly, and I was afraid he knew I was watching, but he simply walked over and picked up a bucket of water. He poured it over his body, and I watched it sluice down over his chest, his arms, dampening the loose pants so that they clung to him. I gulped for air.
He lifted his head, suddenly intent, though he didn’t look in my direction. “How did you get out?”
“Magic. I’m a goddess, remember?” I strolled into the room, determined to prove just how unmoved I was by all that wet, gorgeous male flesh.
“I remember. I didn’t think you did.”
“I thought I’d give it a try. Harry Potter movies are good for something.”
“Harry Potter?” he echoed, clearly confused.
“Don’t you watch movies here?”
“No.”
I shrugged. “Your loss.” Though in fact I’d seen enough movies to last me this lifetime and the next. “A little Latin goes a long way.”
He said nothing, watching me. He was faster, deadlier, more graceful, than anyone I’d ever seen in my life, better than the best of the truly impressive warriors I’d watched and sparred with today. Better than Metatron, who’d been suckered so easily; far better than Pedersen. Could I take him?
I moved into the moonlight. “I don’t want to be here.”
Warrior (Fallen) Page 9
