Angel Bonds

by Lexi C. Foss

  She arched into him, her wings flaring around them. “You just drank my blood.” A hint of awe filled her voice. “And you’re still here.”

  He lifted from her neck with a grin. “Yes, I am.”

  “How? Isn’t my blood…?” She trailed off, a hint of confusion stirring with the heat in her gaze. Apparently, Gabriel hadn’t explained this to her, only to Issac.

  “You’re not a Hydraian, but a Seraphim.” He stroked the underside of her wing, near her hip, for emphasis. “Your blood isn’t toxic.” Something Gabriel had mentioned and Issac had now proven. A risk, perhaps, but it was the only way to know for certain. And Issac trusted Astasiya never to hurt him.

  She shivered, her pupils dilating. “Bite me again.” Persuasion caressed the words, enticing the predator within him.

  “Mmm, a command.” He returned his mouth to her throat, teasing her pulse with his tongue. “I approve, love.” His incisors pierced her skin, a growl lodging in his throat at the possessive need to reclaim his female—to mark her for everyone to see.

  Too long.

  Fuck.

  More.

  Her slick walls spasmed around his cock, her head falling back on a moan that went straight to his balls. Everything intensified—the heat, their pace, the urgency. His stomach clenched, her intoxicating blood flowing freely, satisfying an ache deep inside that he hadn’t realized remained unfed. Not his Ichorian senses, but a new one. A cavern of desire and love and purpose. This woman was his other half, his reason for existing, the love of his existence.

  Eternity would never be long enough.

  He held her close, his mouth and body worshipping hers as his name fell from her lips on a benediction that went straight to his heart.

  Her fingers wove through his hair, her eyes glazed as he pulled back to kiss her. It grew into a war of tongues, blood, and ardor between them. Each touch, each thrust, each lick and nip, all intertwined to carry them into a future of always.

  “Never stop,” Astasiya whispered, her wings folded around them, cocooning them in a halo of pale feathers. “I never want to stop.”

  Issac grinned against her mouth. “Then we won’t.”

  “I need…” Her lips trailed across his jaw, her tongue laving the column of his throat. “I want…” Her teeth grazed his skin, stirring a shiver from his soul.

  Fate whispered foreign intentions into his ear, his heart skipping a beat. They weren’t so much words as they were instincts, a knowledge founded on a plane of existence he didn’t comprehend. But the pull took them under, Astasiya’s incisors puncturing his skin, his blood flowing into her moaning mouth.

  It burned in the most delicious way, catapulting him over the edge into oblivion.

  “Aya,” he groaned, pleasure quaking throughout him, his orgasm stealing the breath from his lungs. His hand fell between them, needing her to join him, but she was already there, her body shaking on top of his, her feathers rustling across the sheets.

  His breath caught at the beauty of the moment.

  The shimmering colors, blinking in and out, her long waves of blonde hair cascading across her shoulders. And the sense of rightness overwhelming them both.

  “Issac,” she breathed, arching backward, her lips a delicate red.

  He ran his palm down her breastbone to her hip, holding her against him as her wings shuddered at her back and disappeared. Her green eyes met his, drowsy and sated and bewitching. She smiled and kissed him, their blood mingling between their mouths, solidifying some kind of pledge.

  No. A bond.

  An everlasting connection binding their souls for the rest of time.

  “I can hear you,” she marveled, her palm against his cheek. “Your thoughts. You’re in me.”

  He nibbled her lower lip, smiling. “Mmm.” He could get used to this, had craved it since meeting her. But now that he was inside her, he realized how much it didn’t matter. Issac didn’t require access to Astasiya’s thoughts to know how she felt. It was written in the way her body accepted his, the way she looked at him, the way she touched him.

  Love.

  So much love.

  Kissing her again, soundly, he opened his mind to hers, his heart, his very being, and allowed her to feel all his emotions, everything he kept harbored away, including the pain of last week and his joy at finding her again, and his regret for not saving her sooner.

  She responded with a wave of acceptance and forgiveness, her fierce love mending all the pieces of his broken soul and soothing the aches of his heart.

  This relationship, their bond, surpassed all logic and pretenses, reaching an area of the universe no one had ever touched.

  The future wasn’t just theirs to experience, but theirs to create.

  So much power, emotion, life, rippled between them, their connection not of this world. It blew Issac’s mind, leaving him shivering beneath her. But his Aya, she took it in stride, pushing him onto his back and placing her palm over his chest as she straddled him.

  Her winsome smile melted him inside, her eyes holding a devious gaze that belied her angelic nature. “We’re fucking again,” she said, already moving.

  He chuckled and rolled her beneath him. “No, Aya. We’re making love again. All night.” Because now that he could see inside her? He would never be able to stop touching her, desiring her, adoring her.

  Mine.

  Mine, she agreed, joy radiating in the thought. Take me, Issac.

  To the stars, Aya.

  26

  Stas

  “Death’s fragrance does not appeal to me, but I’m learning there are those of my kind who crave it. I understand why fear lurks in the dark, why there are those who never trust. Because I’ve witnessed such intense brutality this evening, yet I didn’t attempt to dispel it. Instead, I remained outwardly calm while screaming on the inside. I suddenly fear for my humanity and what millennia will do to my mind. For it has clearly rendered Osiris mad.”

  —Issac Wakefield

  Vita mutatur, non tollitur

  “My wings are pink.” Stas pinched her lips to the side, recalling the way her feathers felt against her back. They’d disappeared during sex, but the memory was vivid in her mind. Specifically, the color.

  She shook her head, irritated.

  Well, at least Lizzie will love them.

  “Lizzie.” Her heart gave a pang. “Does she know I’m alive? Is the baby okay? Is she okay?”

  “She’s all right, love. Jayson has taken excellent care of her,” Issac murmured, glancing sideways at her from the pillow. “She was distraught, but I’ll be honest, I didn’t really pay much attention. Not with…” He trailed off, swallowing. “I couldn’t much focus at all.”

  Pain trickled through their connection, a pain that rivaled her experience in that coffin, one that threatened to crush her heart and destroy her very soul.

  She shivered beneath the onslaught of his torment, the thought of her death fresh in his mind.

  Cold.

  Lonely.

  Broken.

  Guilt prickled her insides. “I’m always acting before I think,” she whispered, recalling the events that led to her demise. Her running across the beach to Lizzie’s side, being distracted by that Seraphim in front of Balthazar, and then using the last of her energy to take all the Sentinels down.

  I didn’t think.

  I acted.

  And I hurt everyone in the process.

  “You also saved several lives,” Issac murmured. “The Sentinels wore runes on their fatigues that repelled our gifts. You were the only one who broke through.”

  She shook her head. “But I caused so much pain… I hurt you, Issac. Just like in Bora Bora with Lizzie. I keep making all the wrong choices.”

  “Who’s to say what’s right or wrong, love? Blaming yourself for this is the same as me blaming myself for burying you alive. How were we to know? How could we have anticipated the results of that day?” Issac sighed. “We could dance in circles of what-ifs, but
all it will do is damage our history. We need to think about the future and how to better react, how to use our experiences as strengths.”

  Her heart warmed at his words. “You sound like Aidan.” Who also died, she remembered, the warmth inside her turning to ice in an instant. “Oh, Issac…”

  “Shh.” He silenced her with a kiss, his lips soft against hers. “Aidan lived for thousands of years. To say he enjoyed a full existence would be an understatement. While I mourn his loss, I also celebrate his life.” He smiled. “It’s as he would want it. He saved the next generation—Elizabeth and Jayson, and their unborn child. He would be proud of that.”

  Stas moved to her back, her palms digging into her eyes. “Fuck, I missed so much.” How many others died? How many lives did that bastard take from them? She nearly growled. “Tell me John is still alive…”

  Issac made a noise of pure disgust. “He is. The bloody coward is hiding, but I’m going to find him. We all are. And he will pay for what he’s done.”

  Good. “It needs to be painful.”

  “It will be.”

  “And bloody,” she added, picturing her former mentor’s head on a stake. Stas didn’t typically lean toward emotions of hatred, but for John? Oh, she loathed him entirely.

  “Absolutely,” Issac agreed, falling silent beside her.

  She removed her hands to gaze up at the high ceilings, the events of the last however many days or weeks rolling through her mind. Such as her becoming a Seraphim.

  A Seraphim with wings.

  How do I make them appear again?

  Frowning, she searched for a muscle or a physical trigger but found none. And her feathers—her pink feathers—remained hidden.

  “Ugh,” she groaned. Maybe her inability to make the wings appear again was a good thing. “My feathers are fucking pink.”

  Amusement shone in Issac’s gaze. “That’s your primary concern at present?”

  “What? They’re pink, Issac.”

  His responding chuckle blossomed into a laugh that shook the bed beneath them, causing her to glower at him.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “You’re right,” he said between laughs. “It’s hilarious.”

  She sat up and smacked his arm. “You’re not the one with rosy plumes coming out of your back.” Although, they appeared to be gone now. She didn’t really understand how it worked. “Do you think they change colors?”

  He continued laughing, his handsome face too alluring for her to smother with the pillow. It was a crime to be that beautiful. Truly.

  “I’m serious,” she said. “Do you think they’re always going to be pink?”

  Tears glistened in his eyes, his long fingers flicking them away from the corners. “You find out you’re a Seraphim and your biggest concern is the color? Not how you misted to Montana? Or how the feathers grew? Just the color.”

  “They’re pink,” she growled. “It’s like Valentine’s Day threw a party on my back.”

  His laugh erupted again, followed by more tears that left her sighing beside him.

  “Well, you’re helpful.” She tried to slide off the bed, but he caught her by the waist and yanked her underneath him, his thigh sliding between hers as he went to his elbows on either side of her head. All while chuckling.

  “We’re in the middle of chaos, love, and you’re focused on a color. It’s amusing. But you’re right. I should be taking this more seriously. Pink is certainly…” He trailed off on a chuckle, then bit his lip to keep from laughing more. She could feel his amusement through the bond, the hilarity of the moment. And the stress residing just beneath the surface that required his humorous outburst.

  She palmed his cheek. “I think we both need to eat something.” They’d been in bed for… hours… days? Who the hell knew? And they hadn’t contacted anyone.

  “Yes, reality,” he murmured, trailing his nose across her cheek. “Although, I feel well satiated at the moment.”

  She smiled. “After all that biting, I imagine you would be.”

  His eyebrows danced as he hummed, “Mmm.” He nipped her earlobe. “How do you feel about breakfast, darling?”

  “It’s a meal I enjoy,” she replied, glancing at the dark windows. “Even at, uh, midnight?”

  “No idea what time it is,” he admitted, sliding backward onto his heels. Naked. Glorious. The body of a god, both outside and inside the bedroom. His lips curled. “Oh, I do enjoy that look on you. But I thought you desired a break?”

  “I’m not sore, if that’s what you’re implying.” If anything, she felt rejuvenated.

  “No, the beauty of immortality is our ability to heal.” He winked and slid off the bed. “Let’s eat something, perhaps off of one another, in the kitchen.” He held out a hand. “Assuming there’s still food to prepare.”

  Hmm, yes. They’d left the house a few days… uh, or weeks, ago, maybe? She frowned. “What day is it?”

  “Honestly? I haven’t the slightest clue at the moment.” He caught her ankle and tugged her across the sheets. “Let’s have a wander and find out, yes?”

  She giggled as he lifted her off the bed, setting her on her feet before him. He dipped his head to brush his mouth over hers, then led her to the closet. Her eyebrows lifted. “Where did all these clothes come from?” It was empty when they visited, and she’d left with her full suitcase.

  “I may have called in a few favors to have the house stocked for future use.”

  “And you ordered me all dresses?” she asked, incredulous. Her entire side of the closet looked like something Lizzie would prefer to wear, not Stas.

  Issac smirked. “I like your legs.”

  “And I like jeans.”

  “Top drawer, love.” He gestured with his chin toward the second dresser at the back of the bedroom-sized closet.

  Sure enough, several pairs of jeans sat on top. As well as some yoga pants. She opted for those instead and paired it with a tank top and sweater she found in another one of the drawers. Issac pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, his hair artfully messy—from her fingers running through it—and his scruff thickening around the edges of his jaw.

  “I kind of like this version of you,” she decided. “You’re… relaxed.”

  He snorted. “I’m an unkempt mess, but thank you for accepting it.” He gazed down at her, his palm against her lower back, holding her close. “After we eat, I need a proper shower and a shave. Mountain man is not my preferred appearance.”

  “It’s cute, though.” She was partly teasing, partly telling the truth. Issac could pull off almost any look he attempted, including this one.

  “It’s disturbing,” he countered, tapping her on the nose. “And my jaw is itching like crazy.”

  “Did you want to shower first, then?” she suggested as he walked her backward out of the closet. “Trim up the man scruff?”

  His lips curled. “Darling, if I give in to that idea, we’ll never eat. I’ll just fuck you in the shower all day instead.”

  “I’m not sure I’d object to that.” Her shoulder brushed the bedroom wall as she headed toward the shower, not the stairs.

  Issac spun her so she faced the right direction and slapped his palm across her ass. “Food first.”

  “I thought you were ‘well satiated’?” she teased, using his words from earlier.

  He yanked her back against him, his palm demanding against her lower belly, his lips at her ear. “You were the one who suggested food. Now I have to feed you. It’s in the rules, love.”

  “Rules?” she repeated.

  “Ask Balthazar.” He nudged her toward the stairs.

  She glanced at him from the top step. “Balthazar, huh? You’re friends now?”

  “We’ve always been friends.”

  She snorted and started downward. “Yeah, I believe—” She froze as the living room below came into view. Specifically, as the oversized couch and recliner chairs appeared. One of the end table lights was on, showcasing a lounging Stark, who held a
book in his lap, his long legs crossed at the ankles.

  He glanced upward from his lazy position, one of his arms tucked behind his head, propping him up against the pillows near the end of the couch. “There’s coffee in the kitchen” was his greeting. He went back to his book, completely unconcerned.

  “You.” She stomped down the stairs, ready to kill him. He knew about her Seraphim status from the beginning and never told her. He saved her all those years ago, had someone alter her memories to hide it all, and allowed her to think her parents were dead.

  Oh, but she remembered everything now.

  Every fucking detail.

  How he found her in that field, took her away, and promised to come back to her. Promised to help her find her mother. Then stole her memories without her permission, claiming it was to protect her. Then this asshole had the audacity to become her trainer at the CRF? And still didn’t tell her the truth? No.

  “This is your fault,” she snapped. “You… You kept me in the dark. You didn’t tell me shit. Issac buried me alive because you never told any of us the truth!” She lunged at him, but the bastard went angelic and misted behind her, his arms crossed, those red wings splayed behind him.

  “Stop being a brat.”

  “A brat?” Oh, now she understood the color of his feathers. This man wanted to bleed. Well, she’d paint him crimson.

  Her fist connected with his jaw before he could phase again, and he stumbled backward with a shocked expression.

  Issac whistled behind her. “Took the action right out of my hands, love. Hit him again, yeah?”

  “Happily.” Except the bastard disappeared again, this time landing with a finality on the wood platform at the bottom of the stairs.

  His hands were on his hips. “First of all, nice hit. Second of all, could one of you please use the phone on the coffee table to phone Jacque? He’s teleported in three times now to check in and only left me alone because I promised one of you would call him when you finished”—he waved upward—“upstairs.”

  Stas’s cheeks warmed. “You’ve been here the entire time?”