by Michele Hauf
Blade dropped his wings and let out a breath. “That was easier than expected.”
But how soon before the angel realized that even if they did leave Zen alone, she wasn’t going near the demon portal?
Not if Blade had any say about it.
* * *
Zen munched a crisp green apple she’d found in the fridge. She hadn’t been able to sleep after noticing Blade had slipped out of bed to go outside. So food it was. She wondered if, as a vampire, he was repulsed when he ate for his faery. Gotta be weird.
But he liked weird. And so did she.
Wandering barefoot in front of the cathedral windows, wearing but the long T-shirt that belonged to her lover, she reveled in the moment. The act of being in his home, eating a sweet, juicy apple. For all other moments would be different, some urgent, some not so urgent. Some gorgeous, some weird. Some would challenge her and...
And it was the challenge she wanted to avoid now. Breathing in, she inhaled the air that designed this mortal realm. And knew that she was no longer one from Above. That realm was no longer her place.
And yet the place she had been destined for, Daemonia, teased in incomprehensible ways. So when it did not—as now—she could enjoy the moment.
When the door opened, she listened as Blade ascended the stairs. He wandered into the kitchen and poured a glass of water, drank it down, exhaled, then padded across the hardwood floor toward her.
From behind, he embraced her, wrapping his hands across her stomach and leaning down to kiss her at the base of her neck. His hair tickled her skin. He smelled like a wild, dark forest. She smiled and offered the half-eaten apple.
“Hungry?”
“Only for you,” he said. “I want to hold you now. Forever.”
“That’s sounds like a choice I’d like to accept.”
Zen turned and touched the scar that curled around from the back of his torso, and she bent to kiss the raised flesh. It was a new scar. Because of her.
That was over. She wouldn’t again purposely do something that would cause him danger.
“Bring out your wings, lover. I want to have sex with you in faery shape.”
“I’m never completely one or the other. If you want the faery, you also get the vampire.”
“Would that be so terrible? My blood is no longer blue.”
His eyes took her in from head to shoulders and then paused there at her throat. Fangs descended over his lower lip. Zen inhaled a shiver at the incredible sight. The thought of him sinking those into her skin appealed. He would never harm her. And if the bite was a sensual experience, the urge to have him do so would consume her.
“I crave demon blood,” he said. It seemed like a confession to her. “It’s the faery in me that has the craving, and it makes my vamp go after it like a hound. I don’t want to crave yours.”
“But if it’s mixed with ichor?” She knew that faery ichor was like a drug to vampires. “Can you, a vampire, drink ichor?”
He nodded. “I’m half faery, so ichor is not addictive to me.”
“So maybe the demon blood is safe, too? If you crave it?”
“It is safe to me. But, Zen, I don’t want something simply because I crave it. It tastes awful. But I feel...stronger after I’ve drunk it.”
“I see. It is a habit, then.”
“The only habit I will admit to is wanting to hold you. To kiss you.” He leaned forward and kissed her. “To touch your skin.” His strokes under her jaw and down her neck caused a shiver of goose bumps to ripple her flesh, as well as tighten her nipples in anticipation.
“Wings,” she said softly. “Please? And fangs. Promise I won’t ask for the bite.”
Her lover’s wings unfurled behind him in a glorious spill of crisp autumn scents and winter ice, capped with the luscious hint of spring. Moonlight spilling through the windows shimmered on them. His wings were black and blue and silver, formed in a demonic shape, like something depicted in Doré’s etchings of Dante’s Inferno, and serrated around the edges in gothic peaks and curls. Black filaments dusted the tips and a faint blue arabesque designed curls in the shimmery silver.
Zen reached over his shoulder to touch one, but Blade put up a finger to stop her. “Be careful. You touch my wings, you’d better mean business.”
“I’m all about the business, lover.”
“Yeah, but the kind of business I’m talking about is an erotic touch.”
“I know what happens when a person touches a faery’s wings.” Because know-so-much chick was in her zone. “I’m in.”
Dipping under his arm, Zen stepped around behind him and between his wings. She spread her palms over the soft, yet tellingly strong appendages. They fluttered under her touch. Blade hissed in a gasp, indicating his arousal.
“Hold me,” she said.
He wrapped his wings about her, caressing her torso firmly. She raised her arms over her head and tilted her head back against his neck. The sensations of warmth and erotic massage across her skin were irresistible. One of his wing tips pushed up under her shirt and coaxed the garment off over her head. The man was talented with those things.
A wing swept over her breast, her nipple growing instantly rigid. Soft as feathers but warm, so warm, his wings permeated her skin with a kind of anticipatory joy.
“Blade, that’s amazing.”
The wings swept away and he turned to kiss her, wrapping his wings forward to again embrace and pull her forward. And he lifted her, cradled by his wings, and held her to him as he dipped his head to lick her breasts.
She gripped the hard, bony upper portions of his wings and felt the gush of life within them. Much like a firm erection in her grasp, the wing was supple yet solid. He growled against her breast, a hungry, wanting plead for more.
She stepped back and lazily took him in. Regal, exquisite, a gorgeous creature of wing and...yes, the fangs were down. Muscles flexed and drew her eye to the skin that felt so soft under her fingertips, yet was hard as stone. And when he grinned, it was the most wickedly appealing invitation she’d ever received.
“Come at me, woman.”
Zen actually jumped into his arms, her legs wrapping about his hips. “Show me some of that wing action,” she whispered at his ear, then bit the lobe and tugged.
The soft wings, which were not made of feathers but rather a suede-like material, caressed Zen’s back, and with Blade’s nod, she leaned back into the cradle of them and spread her hands over the strong but soft appendages. Holding her with but his wings allowed Blade to kiss her breasts and glide his hand down to her mons, where he dipped one finger over her clit and slowly massaged the swelling, wet bud.
She clutched at Blade’s wings, gripping the edges to anchor herself to the exquisite feeling. He moaned deeply against her chest and lashed his tongue over her nipple. “Touch them. Stroke them,” he said.
So she matched the rhythm of his finger between her legs and stroked the fabric of his wings. She could feel the hot blood rushing through them. Blood and ichor? Or was it all ichor since this was the faery part of him?
Who cared? Zen squirmed and shifted her hips, accepting his ministrations and wanting him to go faster, deeper... And then the rush of sensation frenzied through her system.
Chapter 24
So there was a new plan. Zen would lie low, keeping herself off the radars of both the angels and demons. And Blade would stand his ground of no longer killing demons for the sake of killing them.
Right now, in Blade’s mind, the angels were the bad guys. Zen was still holding out judgment on the demons, and that was her right. Perhaps the middle ground was the best place to stand, but defense was so ingrained in Blade that this step to setting down arms was big enough.
It was well past noon. They’d lingered in bed making love again with the rising sun, though the shades were pulled. He couldn’t get enough of Zen’s body, and she seemed to want all of him. Constantly. He was cool with that.
Sharing himself was...easy with Zen.
This relationship was not the same as that with Octavia. He wouldn’t allow it to be. He’d walked into this one with eyes wide-open, and now that he had the facts—as dire as they were—he would continue to protect and love her. Because he had fallen. And unlike Zen’s fall, his had been accidental, and yet, he was pleased about the step into this new, yet strangely familiar territory.
But he had a few errands to run today, and rather than answer his brother’s curious questions about why he had forgotten, Blade kissed Zen on the forehead and promised to return in an hour or so with some lunch for her.
He stopped by Stryke’s place. The construction crew had arrived and had begun to dig the basement, but they needed a permit to pour concrete footings.
On his way in to town he got a phone call from Michael Donovan, the halo hunter Dez had said she’d track down for him. He was in town for the day, passing through, visiting old friends, and he wanted to talk.
After stopping at the city hall for the permit, Blade drove to the city park. He wandered past the football field where a couple guys were tossing the ball and toward the docks that overlooked the lake. The straightest lake in the state, his sister, Daisy Blu, often said of Tangle Lake. It disturbed her that the town’s namesake wasn’t tangled. Blade could but snicker over her frustration.
He parked himself under an awning set into a rectangular concrete base where a picnic table had once sat. Work-release crews from an area prison were repairing and repainting the tables this weekend in preparation for the big city shindig that celebrated the summer.
Pulling a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket, he slid them on. The sun’s rays didn’t touch his skin here, and he could walk in daylight, no problem. But vampires did burn faster than most, and he avoided direct sunlight for more than a few minutes whenever possible.
Tonguing the tips of his fangs, he realized he’d not bitten Zen when they’d been making love. And his wings had been out. She had intimated she’d like a bite, and he’d thought it might be okay. No more blue blood? She should be safe for him.
Maybe.
He still wasn’t willing to risk it if even the tiniest bit of angel remained in her. Would she ever be completely angel-free? He hoped so. Because the bite would allow him into a part of her more valuable to a vampire than anything else. Her very soul. They could bond.
He wasn’t ready to bond with her. He wouldn’t jump so quickly as he had with Octavia. A slow, trusting relationship felt right to him. And he wanted that from Zen.
He wanted a lot from her. And that realization made him sit up straight. He really had fallen in love with her. Idiot. Love was for fools. And never ended well.
“Saint-Pierre?”
Turning, Blade nodded acknowledgment to a man with short dark hair who wore aviator shades. Khaki cargo pants and a crisp white shirt rolled up to the elbows gave him a big-city casual look. He shook his hand and determined he was merely human.
“Michael Donovan,” he said. “The witch said you’ve come upon a couple halos lately?”
Blade drew up the halo sword and held it, tip up, before Donovan. “You talking about this?”
The halo hunter preened over the weapon, even snapped his finger against the blade, then said, “Wow. That used to be a halo. How did you manage to rework it? An angel halo is formed from the most indestructible metal known to man. And angels, for that matter.”
“My dad is a sword smith. Add a touch of my mother’s faery dust, and voilà.”
Michael whistled in appreciation. “May I?”
Blade clasped the hilt tighter. “You going to give me some answers?”
“I’ll do my best. I know a lot about angels, but not everything. I’ve been hunting halos for over a decade. Ran into an angel or two in the process. And just so you know, you can trust me. My girlfriend’s a vampire. So I know about all the species.”
Blade eyed the man discerningly. He wasn’t about to trust him, but should the human attempt anything funny he’d not get farther than two steps before Blade made him understand it wasn’t wise to mess with him.
He handed the sword over, hilt pointing toward the halo hunter. Donovan took it and, with an awe-filled sigh, studied the blade, running a finger carefully along the metal, and then balancing the precise weight.
“How many halos do you have?” Blade asked.
“Eighteen. Found them all over the world. When the angel falls the halo falls away.”
“Right. Unless the angel holds tight to the halo when falling.”
“Why would they do that?” he asked, handing over the sword. “Doesn’t make sense. The very purpose of the fall is to maintain their angelic nature so they can stalk the mortal realm. Of course, the halo could serve as a handy weapon, but it could also be put over the angel’s head, rendering it merely human as the earthbound soul is returned to the body.”
“An angel might hold on to the halo because they didn’t want to fall for the original reason intended.”
Donovan wobbled his head in an uncertain nod. “Maybe.”
“There’s another halo in town, unchanged and in original form. It’s in the hands of the angel who fell with it.”
“No way. Where is it? I’ve got to get my hands—” Donovan dropped his shoulders and relaxed his enthusiasm. “Well, you know. I’d like to take a look at it.”
“You’re not going anywhere near that halo. The owner is partial to it.”
“Is this the angel who could be a demon that Dez told me about?”
Blade nodded. “Tell me about angels who fall to become demon.”
“Hmm...I do fancy myself a bit of an angelologist as I learn more about them.” Michael crossed his arms and considered the question. “There is a race of demons who were once angel. The Casipheans.”
“Yes, that’s the breed I’m dealing with.”
“Okay. The Casipheans fell eons ago and landed directly in Daemonia. They are the only race of demons who possess divinity.”
“Divinity?”
“An angelic birthright. And believe me, if I were an angel from Above I’d want to take out the Casipheans because it’s not right, you know, a demon walking around with divinity. Divinity is only for the chosen. Or so the angels believe. Yet they are the ones who taint it most.”
“Do the Casipheans know this?”
Michael shrugged. “My demonic knowledge isn’t top-notch. I only knew that tidbit because I’ve had a conversation with an angel slayer. The Sinistari are angels who are specifically chosen to slay those angels who hunt their muses. They fall to Beneath, become the Sinistari demon and sit in wait until they are called to slay a Fallen.”
“This angel lore is complicated.”
“That it is. But just imagine, whether or not the Casipheans know, their divine vibrations are constantly infusing the entirety of Daemonia. It’s gotta be interesting in the Place of All Demons. Ha! I bet it drives those bastard angels mad.”
Blade quirked a brow. “You don’t like angels much?”
“I believe they are far more evil than some demons. Bunch of self-righteous assholes. I am a big fan of the Sinistari.”
The angel slayers. Interesting. There was so much Blade did not know about other species and breeds. And there were days he wished to remain oblivious.
But not today. He needed all the information he could get to protect Zen.
“So have you spoken to these angels who seem to be giving you trouble?” Donovan asked.
“One of them recruited me to slay any demon I laid eyes on. I initially refused, but then—I hate demons.”
“Everyone has a right to their opinions.”
“Simaseel is the angel heading the demon-slaying mission. The angels are trying to infiltrate the Casipheans and annihilate them.”
“Makes sense.”
It shouldn’t, but it did if the angels were jealous that breed of demons possessed divinity. And it was wrong in ways Blade could not begin to understand.
“So how do we stop a cavalcade of an
gels?” he asked.
“Why? Have you switched sides? Are you fighting for the Casipheans now?”
“No.” Stand for the demons? Never. “I just...” He exhaled and shoved the sword back in the sheath he wore at his hip. “I need to know everything to help her.”
“Who her? The angel demon?”
“Zen. Or Synestriel, as Simaseel called her.”
“The Keeper of the Second Light,” Michael said with a knowing nod. “She created all light that beams from manmade sources.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Anything that gives off a glint, sparkle or glow, but which is not naturally generated.”
“Like...rhinestones?”
Donovan shrugged. “Yes, I suppose.”
“Makes weird sense.” And he did like weird. “Zen’s blood is no longer blue, so I believe whatever angel she had in her has faded.”
“But she was angel for a while?”
Blade nodded. “Simaseel sent her to fall and become the Casiphean queen.”
“That’s where the infiltration plays in.” Donovan leaned against the wood post. “Clever.”
“But she—Zen—has amnesia, and is only just beginning to remember her mission. Right now, she’s swaying regarding her alliances. I want to push her over to the right side.”
“And which side is that?”
“Mine.”
“Ah, love.”
“I didn’t say anything about love, man.”
“Yeah, but that’s generally the catalyst that makes a man do crazy things. Like stand up for an amnesiac Fallen One when the angels will surely rip him to shreds. And speaking of crazy, you, uh, won’t mention my name to any of the involved parties, will you?”
“No reason to.”
“Whew. I’ve been living a relatively quiet life lately. Not sure I’m up for angel battles. I don’t mind taking out the occasional vamp, if need be, though.”
“What does your girlfriend say about that?”
“Vinny is cool with me doing what is necessary for the two of us to survive. She’s been through a lot. I’d protect her with my life.”
Blade could relate.
“You sure I can’t take a look at the halo your Zen has?”
