The Darkest Passion lotu-6

by Gena Showalter

  Mine. Yours. Ours. Forever. Cries from the demon, from him.

  Never. A stark reminder.

  When he opened his eyes, he returned his focus to the sky. “You used to live up there,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  “Yes.”

  “What was it like?”

  “We live in clouds, which are far more than you imagine.” Her affection was obvious. “They have rooms, and whatever we command, they produce. We’re hidden from the rest of the world, but we can still see what’s happening around us. Like angels flying past, or warriors corralling demons. We can see storms but not be touched by them. We can see the stars, blazing so close, but not be burned by them.”

  Palpable excitement from the demon. Yes, yes.

  “And you gave it all up.” For him. For fun. He was humbled. Guilty. Ashamed. For the most part, he’d given her only pain and worry. But he was also…glad.

  “Yes,” she said again, as simply as that. Then, shifting uncomfortably, she changed the subject. “Why do you have two butterfly tattoos? I’ve always wondered.”

  “The one on my back is the mark of my demon, and the one on my ribs is of my own making. I wanted to always see, to always know the narrow ledge I walk.”

  “I don’t think you ever needed visual aid. You never seem to forget.” Sadness had replaced the affection. “Enough reminiscing. I know you’re heading into battle tonight.”

  A sobering reminder. “Correct.” He didn’t ask how she knew about the coming fight. He could guess. She and Legion had spied on him. That’s why they’d left his room.

  “I want to go with you,” she said. “If I return home now, I’ll be able to join you and the Hunters won’t know I’m there. I’ll be able to protect you, like a shield. I’ll be able to—”

  “No!” He cleared his throat and offered more gently, “No.”

  The railing whined again, bending, and he pulled his fingers free, one by one. Again, he thought, Can’t lose her now. Again Wrath whimpered. “That’s not necessary.”

  They still had time, damn it.

  “I have to leave anyway, so why not now? Why not do so while I can help you?”

  Any other time, he would have admired such determination. Now he turned to her, snarling, “Why would you want to help me? Why aren’t you screaming at me? Ranting about what I’m going to do?” That would have been easier to deal with.

  Instead, she gazed up at him through calm eyes. “There’s no need for me to resort to such emotions. I’m an angel.”

  “Fallen,” he corrected darkly, then blinked. This was the first time he’d ever acknowledged the distinction, and oh, the irony sliced deep.

  There was a pause, a regretful sigh. Then, “Not for much longer I’m not.”

  Mine.

  He crowded her, closing the rest of the distance between them, fisting her robe and anchoring the handfuls of fabric against the railing so that she couldn’t escape. Did she not care that they would be parted? Did she not care that they would never again be together? That they would never again make love? That he would soon do something vile, unforgivable?

  “Let me go, Aeron.” Still so calm.

  Never, he thought.

  Never, Wrath agreed.

  We can’t think like that. “Will your people treat you differently when you…go back?” Even saying it was difficult, but he needed the reminder. “You won’t be the same person you once were.”

  “They’ll welcome me home.” She shook her head and more of those silky tendrils danced over him. “With the exception of our Council, they’re very tolerant. Very patient.”

  “Lysander doesn’t strike me as either one of those things.”

  She smiled wryly. “Well, he isn’t a typical angel.”

  That smile…he needed more. Had to have more. As many as possible, until… “There are seven days left.” The words croaked from him. Stupid. Still, he pressed their chests together, felt her nipples bead, and just like that he hardened, ready. “Promise me you’ll stay six.”

  The calm finally left her, a storm brewing. “Wh-why?”

  “Just promise me. Please.”

  Please, Wrath echoed, as pitiful as Aeron. Who would have thought they’d be reduced to this?

  “I can’t,” she said. “I’m sorry.” She looked away from him, over his shoulder.

  But not before he saw the tears swimming in her eyes. Tears that undid him…emasculated him. He reached up and cupped the back of her neck, forcing her to face him, to see his desire—and a determination that surely rivaled hers.

  “So that’s a maybe?”

  A shaky laugh escaped her. “No. That’s a no.”

  I did that. I made her laugh. “What can you promise me?” At this point, he’d take anything.

  “A…a day,” she offered shakily.

  A day. A day wasn’t enough. Eternity might not be enough. His grip on her tightened. “You’ll stay until I return from town. Even if that’s a little longer than twenty-four hours. Please.”

  “Why is that so important to you?” she demanded, letting loose the first hint of that churning tempest.

  Because I need you. Because I want you. Because I hate the thought of being away from you. Because, if it were only you and me, and my decisions didn’t affect anyone else, I would willingly die just to have another minute in your arms.

  “You’ll stay?” he insisted, ignoring her question. “If I think there’s a chance you’ll leave, I won’t be able to concentrate.” He’d never manipulated before. He stated facts, for better or worse, unconcerned by the results. Now… “I’ll be an easy target, perhaps injured again. So tell me. Tell me you’ll stay.”

  She licked her lips, and her shoulders sagged. “I—All right.”

  Not good enough. “Say it.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll stay until you return from town.”

  Without that layer of truth in her voice, he didn’t know whether she lied to him or not. But he chose to believe her, because he couldn’t stand the thought of her absence.

  “Now that we’ve got that settled, will you let me go?” Even as she spoke, she placed her hands on his chest, not pushing him away but tracing his tattoos.

  Mmm. Wrath sighed.

  She might not want to want him just then, but want him she clearly did. “Why do you desire me?” he demanded, another fierce reminder of the obstacles between them. “Why did you pick me? Beautiful as you are, smart as you are, sweet as you are, you could have anyone. Someone not covered with pictures of their sins.”

  “Because.” A mutinous answer, though she didn’t back away.

  “Why?” He shook her now, desperate for the truth for reasons he didn’t care to contemplate. “Please, Olivia. Tell me.”

  Perhaps it was the please that swayed her. Perhaps the savageness of his actions. Either way, she shouted, “Because you aren’t what you believe you are. You aren’t what everyone else believes. You might have delivered countless deaths but you love more fiercely than anyone I’ve ever known. You give of yourself with no thoughts to your own happiness.” She laughed, and it was as bitter-sounding as his own had been. “Funny, isn’t it? The very qualities that brought me to you are the things that are sending me away.”

  Stay.

  He quashed the plea before it escaped. Loved more fiercely? By gods, he would. Now, this moment, before time betrayed him.

  Without any warning, he meshed their mouths together, unable to stop himself, thrusting his tongue inside. She opened without protest, eagerly accepting his brutality. Good thing. He had no control, and was glad for it. He had only a beginning—Olivia—and the hated end—her loss. And that loss…gods. Losing her would slay him.

  No, he thought then. Her kiss would. His demise rested in this meeting of souls, he realized, and again, he was glad. He tasted and claimed and conquered without reservation. He gave and he took.

  If this were the end, he would die like a warrior.

  “I will make you mine, woman.
” He jerked her robe around her waist. Her legs, bared. Her core, his. Still she wasn’t wearing any panties, and the knowledge nearly floored him. One day, he wanted her on a bed. Wanted to remove her clothing slowly, take her lingeringly. Savoring every second, every breathy sigh.

  Now, he just wanted her.

  Urgency rode him as he reached for the button on his pants, tried to open—it caught, so he ripped them apart. His cock sprang free. “I hope you’re ready for me, Olivia.”

  READY FOR HIM? Olivia thought she would be ready for this man every minute of every day for the rest of her life. He was peering down at her as if she were necessary for his survival. As if he lived only because she did.

  And this would be the last time she ever experienced such a gaze.

  Sadness threatened to overwhelm her, but the force of her desire beat it back. Later. Later she could wallow in her misery. But for now, she was in Aeron’s arms. Her body was on fire for him. She was wet and shaky and aching all over.

  This was what she’d given up her wings for, after all. This was what she’d given up eternity for. And here it was, hers for the taking. No matter what happened next, she would always have this.

  “Olivia,” he said, her name a guttural beseeching.

  “Ready. Promise.”

  He cupped her bottom, lifted her, and as she wound her legs around his waist, he drove inside her, all the way to the hilt. She cried out, unable to strangle the sound. As big as he was, he stretched her, but as sore as she should have been, considering they’d done this not long ago, her pleasure was unparalleled.

  “Need you.” In and out he thrust.

  “Yes!” Her nails dug into his back, scouring. There was no holding back, not for her. She needed this. Needed this memory to keep her warm at night. “Just like that.”

  Harder and harder he pounded inside her. It was heaven and it was hell. So good, so close to ending. Last forever, she prayed, but she knew it wasn’t a prayer that would be heeded.

  The railing rocked with them, whining, then finally giving out entirely. Over they tumbled, falling…falling…Aeron never slowed his thrusting. She loved it, reveled in it, the wind whipping around them. Freedom and love and pleasure, all wrapped together. Without fear or regret. Aeron would keep her safe.

  And he did. Just before they hit, he twisted and his wings expanded, gliding them to a slow stop. He settled her gently on the ground, those thrusts continuing still, never ceasing. She kept her legs locked around him, accepting him, arching up into him, desperate and eager and lost.

  The sun fell steadily, pretty and pink, and anyone looking down would be able to see them. She didn’t care. Her need was too great.

  “Olivia,” he panted.

  “Aeron.”

  Their gazes met, his violet irises wild. His expression was taut, feral, his lips thinned and bleeding from where she must have bitten him. There was something so hauntingly beautiful about him like this. Something so savagely tender.

  “You are mine,” he gritted out.

  More than anything, she wanted to be. “Yours.” Until he gave himself to Legion. Then, as the girl had said, Aeron would be hers. Stop. Enough. She had now, this moment.

  As though sensing her thoughts and wanting to drive them away, he lowered his head and kissed her again, this one even more wonderfully vicious than the last, his tongue stabbing at hers, his teeth grinding against hers. So much passion…

  She scratched and bit and shouted, hurtling over the edge of sanity, once again falling, this time spiraling apart, screaming, clutching at her lover, every muscle in her body spasming deliciously. There. Oh, yes, there. He hit her just right, and her orgasm soared higher. She couldn’t see, her eyelids squeezed firmly, but she felt him shudder over her. Heard him roar her name.

  When he collapsed on top of her, his weight crushed her, but she loved it too much to offer a rebuke. If only they could stay like this forever, lost in the here and now.

  “Olivia,” he croaked.

  Slowly she blinked open her eyes. Aeron was watching her, his features somehow stripped bare. Open, needy. “Don’t say it,” she said. If he planned to tell her that this had changed nothing, she knew that and didn’t need him to sink the knife deeper into her chest. If he planned to ask her to stay, even though he had to be with Legion, even only once, she would be tempted to do so. Even though the Council would send someone to kill him. Even though images of him with the demon would haunt her forever.

  No matter which way this played out, they were doomed.

  “I have to.” His voice was throaty. “I want you to know—”

  “Uh, Aeron,” someone called. “Hate to interrupt, but it’s time to go.”

  Caught again, she thought with a sigh. Would they never be allowed to enjoy the afterglow humans so praised? Except, this time she was glad of the reprieve. She scooted out from under Aeron and stood, smoothing her robe to her ankles.

  “Go,” she said without looking down at him. “As promised, I’ll be here waiting.” And then we’ll say goodbye.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  3:00 A.M. MOONLIGHT was no longer quite so bright, and the streets were deserted. Shops were closed, and partying humans had finally left The Asylum. The lights were out, not a single movement inside.

  About a hundred yards away, Aeron was crouched beside Strider in a shadowed corner. The warrior held a remote control and a tiny four-wheeler with an even tinier camera attached to its roof. Apparently that camera could cut through the dark, filming faces and bodies as clearly as if they were bathed in sunlight.

  Torin always found the coolest toys. The proof rested in Strider’s wide grin as he launched the vehicle forward.

  The rest of the men were scattered around the building. A building they’d once helped restore—a building they were about to destroy. Some were high on rooftops, gun barrels pointed down. Others were on the street like Aeron, hidden in different locations.

  Aeron lifted the portable monitor that would allow him and Strider to see through the camera’s lens. And sure enough, the buildings and roads he’d traversed since their creation were visible. Amazing.

  “We’re good,” he told Defeat.

  “We’re ready for you, Willie,” Strider said into his earpiece.

  Aeron wore a headset, as well, and heard William’s reply. “Gods, I can’t believe I let Anya talk me into this. I’m going in.”

  A few seconds later, William abandoned his post and rounded a corner. His clothes were disheveled, and he clutched a bottle of whiskey. He bore no resemblance to himself, his dark hair now bleached, his piercing blue eyes hidden by dark contacts. And his face…somehow, he’d roughened his skin and changed the shape of his features.

  Every step he made looked as if it threatened to topple him over, but he managed to belt out a love song while moving forward.

  Mocking bastard. Not that he knew Aeron planned to betray Olivia.

  Sweet Olivia.

  Mine, his demon stated.

  Ours. No. He nearly smashed the device he held. No one’s. Not Wrath’s, and certainly not his. Except…

  How was he supposed to go on without her? She was light, and she was happiness. She was love, and she was bliss. She was…everything.

  “You with me, Wrath?” Strider muttered.

  The question came just in time, drawing him to the present. He watched as William tripped, as planned, and crashed into the front door of the club. Distraction. Glass shattered as he fell. He lay there a moment, sputtering drunkenly. The remote-controlled truck raced over the shards of glass, slipping inside the building unnoticed.

  Didn’t take long for a flood of armed men to come barreling toward the immortal.

  “What are you doing?”

  “God, he reeks!”

  “Get him out of here and clean this up. Now!”

  Two of the guards latched onto William roughly, hauling him to his feet. “Hey, gents,” he slurred in an appalling British accent. “This where the party’s
at? Oh, lookie. A gun. How bloody manly. But I should probably warn the angels on the hill. Can’t encourage crime, you know.”

  “Boss?” one of the men holding William said. “We can’t just let him roam. He’s seen too much.”

  “First, I’m not your boss,” William said, then he frowned and clutched his stomach. “Second, I think I’m gonna be sick.”

  The man in charge—Dean Stefano, Galen’s right-hand man, Aeron realized, even as Wrath prowled through his head, ready to hurt, to kill—flicked his attention to William before turning back to the shattered remains of the door. “Make it look like he was mugged. And do it away from the building. I don’t want anyone sniffing around here.”

  A cold, utterly uncaring death sentence for a man they assumed was human. Humans, the very beings they allegedly strove to “protect.” But then, Stefano was a cold, uncaring man. He blamed the Lords, particularly Sabin, for his wife’s suicide, and wouldn’t rest until all of them were dead.

  Punish…

  In the past, Aeron would have secretly loved the demon’s command and hated himself for it. No matter how much the victim deserved what he dealt. But no longer would he castigate himself. Losing Olivia was reason to rage. Destroying someone evil? A reason to rejoice. And he would.

  He’d have fun.

  Soon.

  The two guards jerked a now-protesting William outside. “What’s going on? Just let me go and we’ll—”

  “Shut up, asshole, or I’ll cut out your tongue.”

  That’s when William began sobbing like a child. If Aeron hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought the warrior was truly scared. But he did know better. This was all part of the role William had volunteered to play. And by “volunteered” he of course meant “caved to Anya’s threats to burn his book if he didn’t cooperate.” They’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, to what was about to happen, but deep down they’d all known it would.

  William couldn’t free himself and run; that might raise their suspicions, put them on guard. He had to take whatever was dished, and let the men walk away afterward.

  The guards rounded a corner and hurried down a back alley, out of sight. Even though Aeron could no longer see them, he could hear what was happening through his earpiece.