Reaper Unleashed: Deadside Reapers: Book 7

by Cassidy, Debbie

  “Shit.”

  His large hand covered mine. “Allow me.”

  He took over, removing the belt easily, unzipping his pants and shucking them off.

  Just the boxers now and the prize hidden and straining beneath. I wanted to trace it with my tongue, run my hands along its length and grip its girth.

  Mine.

  “Let me.” I stepped closer, but not so close that our bodies touched. I lifted my chin and locked gazes with him as I peeled down his boxers. They snagged on his arousal and he sucked in a breath, closing his eyes as if in pain. It took everything I had in me not to touch him there. His heat beat against my bare abdomen, deepening the pulse between my thighs. The desire to touch him was like the need to breathe.

  His mouth parted on a sigh, eyes growing hooded because, yes, he wanted me to touch him too, but it was a challenge. If I broke, he’d win. No. I’d wait until he was ready. Until he broke and touched me.

  I turned away, aware his gaze was on me, his regard a caress, skimming down my back to linger on my buttocks and then down my thighs. I glanced over my shoulder with a coquettish smile then stepped into the water and sank down, immersing my body in bubbles. I could study him now. Really take him in.

  He was epic perfection with a body made for battle, all muscle and power. His skin was taut velvet that my senses recalled eagerly. Silken, magnetic, fragrant.

  He was all those things and he stood watching me with ravenous intent. I allowed my gaze to drop deliberately from his face to his broad shoulders, over the valley of defined abs to the v that hung at his tapered waist and south to the prize my body craved.

  I crooked a finger, beckoning him, then moved back against the lip of the bath to give him room. He sank into the water and I fisted my hands to stop myself from reaching for him.

  He’d set the pace.

  He wanted to take it slow.

  I’d give him that.

  The water caressed my skin like eager fingers, sliding over my breasts and lapping at my nipples.

  He lathered up his hands. “Come here.”

  I obliged willingly and turned to settle between his powerful thighs. Don’t touch him. Not yet. Oh fuck, I couldn’t go much longer.

  His arousal pressed to my back, hard and hot, and his hands were on my shoulders massaging, caressing. I held my breath as they moved down to my collar bones and then further still to skim the tops of my breasts. I bit back a groan.

  I needed him to touch me.

  My breasts felt full and swollen, nipples painfully erect desperate for his attentions.

  “Azazel.” His name was an explosion of need, hanging in the air between us. “Please.”

  “Hush,” he said in my ear. “Relax.”

  I let my head fall back and closed my eyes, heart pounding against my ribs. Please. He ran his hands back up to my shoulders and a whimper of frustration slipped from my lips.

  “How much did you miss me?” he asked, breath warm against the shell of my ear.”

  “More than anything.”

  “Show me.”

  “How?”

  “Touch yourself.”

  Yes. I slid my hand down my abdomen and between the sensitized folds of my sex to find the epicenter of sensation, swollen and ready for me. I was so fucking turned on right now it wouldn’t take much to tip me over the edge.

  “Azazel, I need you…”

  His hands swept down and cupped my breasts and a groan tore from my throat. He ran his thumbs over my nipples, the pressure just enough to elicit a gasp. With his powerful hands on my breasts and my fingers playing my clit, the world settled into a haze of spiraling pleasure

  I was going to come.

  “No.” He grabbed my wrist. “Not like that.”

  I let out a ragged moan. “Babe.”

  He spun me to face him and claimed my mouth, swallowing my protest as he propelled me across the huge tub and pushed me up against the edge. His hands were on my waist and then I was hauled up onto ledge.

  “Az?” I looked down at him, wet and dripping, and fucking gorgeous.

  He licked his lips and gripped my thighs, fingers digging in just enough to let me know he meant business. “I’m hungry,” he said.

  My clit did a happy dance before he dipped his head between my thighs, and I lost all coherent fucking thought. My fingers sank into his hair, holding him to me, my hips rising to meet his mouth as his clever tongue drove me to the precipice, and then I was falling. The edges of my vision turned dark as my body tightened and pulsed in the grip of orgasm, and my cry remained trapped in my throat. He held me fast, lapping up my climax like it was the ambrosia of the gods.

  Tears stung my eyes, and I blinked them back as the words I love you hovered on the tip of my tongue, waiting to be released once my body was my own again.

  With a final swipe of his tongue, he raised his head, eyes dazed and dark with desire, to look at me. I was undone. I was nothing and everything, and I was his.

  He rose out of the water, hands sliding up my thighs to bracket my hips. My breath grew shallow as my gaze fell to his arousal. God yes.

  He entered me slow, inch by inch, moaning softly as I sheathed him, rippling around him with the after-effects of my orgasm.

  “Fee…” He said my name like a prayer and then he began to thrust, deep and slow at first then faster.

  My head fell back against the tile as a new orgasm began to build, quick and ready to explode. I wanted him to come with me. I gripped his shoulders, meeting each thrust with my hips over and over until he swelled inside me. His mouth crashed against mine and we peaked together, grinding every last drop of pleasure from the climax. Our soul bond flared, and in that moment, I was exactly where I was meant to be.

  Home.

  * * *

  It was time to leave all too soon. I dressed for the chill and came across the feather Esmael the Seraphim had given me amongst my things. Who knew what was on the horizon? And we might need his help, so I tucked that into the inside pocket of my coat just in case.

  We made it back to Imperium the next evening, exhausted and happy, despite the cloud of war that hung over the land. I had a feeling Azazel took me via the scenic route though, shying away from the areas decimated by Mammon’s minions.

  Part of me wanted to see, to know and understand, but there was a bigger part that needed to remain oblivious for just a little longer. My mind and body had been through so much, and I needed a little time to recharge before facing the full horror of what the Underealm was being subjected to.

  Time with Azazel was what I needed. It was like taking a dip in a pool of rejuvenation. My body was charged and refreshed and maybe it was selfish, but I wanted to stay this way for a bit, because once this moment was over, the pit awaited. And from what Azazel had told me, I was the only person who could gain access to the fortress where Mammon was supposedly holding Lilith.

  As my boots clipped on the marble floor that led to the library, it hit me that I was going to meet my father… Other father. Fuck. My heritage was a huge mash-up of essences and DNA. Did that make me some kind of mutant?

  The doors were slightly open, and the rumble of voices drifted out. Conah’s and someone else’s.

  Samael.

  Azazel pushed open the doors for me, and I stepped into a room out of a fairy tale. Gold and white balustrades held up each balcony loaded with leather bound books. Spiral staircases led upward here and there and sliding ladders hugged the walls. The floor was a patchwork of dark and light wood slotted together in a diamond pattern, and the lighting was soft and easy on the eyes. A huge wooden table, polished to a sheen, sat in the center of the room, surrounded by red, velvet padded chairs.

  Conah sat at the head of table, several books open in front of him. His golden hair was mussed as if he’d been running his hands through it. He looked up as we entered.

  “You made it,” he said.

  “How goes the search for the second scroll?” Azazel asked.

 
; Conah made a disparaging face. “It goes.”

  A gust of warm air blew my hair back from my face and the flap of wings had me looking up in time to see a dark shape hurtling toward us.

  Samael landed lightly and dropped several scrolls onto the table. He rolled his shoulders and his four wings retracted and vanished.

  His presence was like a magnetic force, stealing my breath just as it had done on the balcony the night we first met. Then his mercury eyes settled on me, and my lungs stalled. He smiled, and my heart contracted sharply in my chest.

  It was like being kissed by the warm rays of dawn. It bathed me in its ethereal warmth and called me forth. I walked toward him even before he held out his hand to me.

  “Seraphina, my daughter.” His voice was a melody that made my heart sing.

  How could any creature be this wondrous? And he was my father. I’d come from this. I had a part of this in me. It was too incredible to imagine.

  I slipped my palm into his and gazed up at him in wonder. Now that I knew who he was to me, I could see myself in the slight dips in the corners of his mouth and the flicks at the edges of his eyebrows. Traits I’d missed when we’d met on the balcony.

  “Hi.” My voice sounded strange to my ears. Hesitant and small.

  Samael reached up to stroke my cheek. “You may have your mother’s face, but you have my heart. Conah has been telling me about you.”

  Conah cleared his throat. “Just the basics.”

  “I’m proud of you,” Samael said. “Proud of your courage and determination. You will need them now in spades.”

  “I know.”

  “The pit is a wasteland of horror and devastation; it isn’t just the air that is toxic. Toxic creatures reside in the nooks and crevices of the dust land. We will need to be vigilant if we are to survive.”

  “We?”

  His brows pinched slightly. “Of course. You did not think I would sit idly by while my daughter went into danger, did you?”

  His daughter. The way he said it, with pride, made my heart swell. I’d grown to care about Eldrick, my Loup father, but the connection between Samael and me was a cosmic force. It called to me, telling me I belonged. Here, with this man. My creator. My father.

  I shook my head to clear it. Whoa.

  Samael tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. “I understand this might be strange for you, daughter. But you will acclimatize to it. Our bond is unbreakable, and had I been lucid, I would have found you sooner. I would have kept you safe.”

  I believed him implicitly.

  He tore his gaze from my face, and it was as if the sun had dipped beneath the horizon.

  “Well?” Samael asked Conah.

  “None of these are blank,” Conah said. “None have Lilith’s signature.”

  Samael made a sound of displeasure and the urge to fix whatever was bothering him surged hot in my veins.

  I quelled it. I wouldn’t be controlled by cosmic connections. I had a mind of my own and intended to use it.

  “We won’t be going anywhere without the second scroll,” Conah said tightly. “We need the rest of that map.”

  Samael indicated the scrolls on the table. “Let’s continue to search. It will be here somewhere.”

  I squeezed his fingers. “We’ll find it.”

  Fuck, I’d totally caved, but then Samael smiled, and it was worth it.

  “We have time,” Azazel said. “We can’t go anywhere until Keon is back with the Limarax herb. It’ll take a week to steep and make the tincture. Hopefully Asmodeus and Mal will return with the forces we need to fortify the Imperium by then.”

  “Then we search every inch of this library until we find the second part of the map,” Samael said.

  Conah picked up one of the scrolls Samael had retrieved and unrolled it. “Let’s get to work.”

  I headed for the nearest spiral staircase, ready to hunt for scrolls, but my mind was suddenly on Keon—my unwilling, blue-haired bodyguard and Lilith’s secret lovechild. He no longer needed to protect me. The curse was done with me. What did that mean for us? And Lilith…She hated Eve, so once she realized I was Eve and Samael’s actual offspring, what would that mean for me?

  No time to think on it. Keon couldn’t be my problem. He just couldn’t.

  I just hoped he was okay.

  Chapter Twenty

  Keon

  This part of the Underealm is a veritable jungle. Huge, leafy bushes, big, overly-bright flowers that make my eyes hurt, and sticky, wet air that clings to the inside of my mouth. I usually prefer to go barefoot, to feel connected to the earth, but there are too many hidden dangers on the ground here—sharp stones, thorns and biting things—so boots work best, even though they restrict me.

  A huge green and blue insect flies at my face. Is it blind? Can it not see me? I swipe it out of the way before it can make contact.

  I fucking hate insects. They bite and they buzz, and if I could assassinate them I would. Teeny tiny daggers are what I need, but in the absence of miniature blades, I settle for slapping at my skin like a lunatic.

  “They like your blood.” A male voice startles me.

  I freeze. How is this possible? No one sneaks up on me.

  Ever.

  Fuck. This is Delphine’s fault. A mystical gift from a daemon shaman years ago, Delphine has been my companion for decades. But ever since she left to be with the male snake, my senses have been off. She was the eyes in the back of my head. She wouldn’t have allowed this man to sneak up on me.

  My fingers twitch, eager for the hilt of my blade, but I know I won’t make it in time, and so I prepare to lash out with my tail.

  “Now, now. There’s no need for alarm,” the disembodied voice says. “You’re in my territory now, and I need to know if you’re friend or foe.”

  “That depends on who you are.” I’m ready. Primed to defend if I’m attacked. Muscles coiled to spring into action to evade a strike and then cut down the enemy.

  “I’m the guardian of Meridia,” the voice says.

  And is that a hint of amusement I detect in his tone?

  “Only those who are worthy may pass. Are you worthy?”

  Hell if I knew. “Look, I need an herb, that’s all. I’m not here to cause trouble.”

  “Yet you carry blades and your body responds to my voice as if ready for battle.”

  “Call me cautious.”

  “You will not pass armed.”

  Irritation flares in my chest. Who the fuck is this guy to tell me, the queen’s blade, what I can and cannot do?

  “I’m here for an herb. Lives depend on it, and I don’t have time for idle conversation or meaningless quests. If you wish to attack me then I will defend.”

  I take a step and an invisible force crashes into me, knocking me off my feet and taking me to the ground. My breath remains trapped in my lungs for a split second before whooshing out in a whistling exhalation.

  Mother fuck—

  A weight settles on my chest, pinning me, and then an upside-down face appears above me. Wispy-white hair, slanted green eyes and a thin slash of a mouth make up the visage. He studies me for a long beat then his eyes grow round. He blinks several times as if unsure of what he’s seeing.

  Yes, I have this effect on most demons and daemons. There is no other like me and I’m reminded of that wherever I go.

  “Would you like to paint a picture old man?”

  “Briathos?” He shakes his head. “No. No, you are not he.”

  “Listen old man, if you don’t release me from your infernal magicks this instant, I will make you sorry.”

  “And yet you sound so like him…”

  Fuck this. I strain against the power holding me captive and it shoves me back to the ground and tightens its grip.

  “You have her eyes though,” the man says. “Oh… Oh my.”

  The weight on me vanishes and I don’t hesitate to spring to my feet. My daggers are ready to kiss flesh, but the small man is gone.
/>   What the fuck?

  “Please put the weapons away, child,” he says.

  Like hell. I turn slowly on the spot, scanning the shadows between the trees. “Show yourself.”

  “Once your weapons are sheathed.”

  “So, you can attack me again?”

  “I was merely restraining you, and I could do so again if I wished.”

  He has a point. I can slice and dice flesh, but there is no fighting the very air. Slowly, reluctantly, and against my every instinct, I lower my daggers and slide them into their holsters.

  The air before me ripples and the minute man materializes. He looks up at me with glistening eyes.

  Is he about to cry?

  This makes me very uncomfortable, and I take a step back before I can check myself.

  “You look so much like him,” the man says again.

  What is he talking about? “Look like who?”

  He smiles, beatific but also kind of creepy. “Your father of course.”

  * * *

  My father. This miniature daemon knew my sire? There is part of me that wants to walk away. A part that is stubborn and angry and unwilling to know my heritage because what point is a past for a daemon with no future?

  But there is another part of me, a hidden part, that surges up now to demand, “How do you know my father?”

  “He was my friend.” He grins up at me. “Not at first.” His chuckle is saturated with nostalgia. “We argued at first. We clashed.” He brings his fists together to illustrate. “I was forced to put him to the ground many times, but he came around to my way of thinking. He was a warrior with the heart of a king.” He sighs, his mouth turning down. “He would have been a wise, fair king.”

  My heart pounds too hard and my mouth is dry because I feel his words deep inside me. I sense this story coming to life, and I recognize it as my heritage. This is a missing piece of my past, and I squash my instinct to run away.

  It’s time. Time I knew this part of myself. “Tell me…”