Dar forced himself to stand and walk to her, tearing his eyes from her swinging feet and the ground so far below. “Why aren’t you with a choir whose leader is more air-like? I can’t think a water angel would be an ideal mentor.”
The angel stiffened for a moment before relaxing and shaking her head. “The Most Ancient Revered Archangel Raphael is the highest angel who has an affinity for air. He is . . . he is nearly an Angel of Chaos. It wouldn’t be a good fit.”
“Why not?” Dar persisted. “I’ve heard he’s a pretty cool guy, way cooler than that asshole Gabriel.”
Asta shot him a narrowed glance. “I won’t sit idly by and listen to slander against the head of my choir.”
Dar raised his hands. “Fine. Fine. But why aren’t you in Raphael’s choir?”
“I’m tempted enough without that particular archangel as a mentor.” Asta’s shoulders slumped. “Gabriel is strict, unbending. He pushes me to be the best I can be. His example keeps me from sin and inspires me to continue on my path to righteousness.”
“And that includes stealing expensive clothing and shoes? A morning shot of caffeine? Sitting on a rooftop with a demon eating raw seafood?”
He meant it to be teasing but felt bad the moment he said it. Asta caught her breath, and Dar swore he saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes. “I do the best I can. With Raphael as a mentor, I’d probably be two steps from Hel. I’m not infallible. I do sin, as much as I try not to. You wouldn’t understand what terrible temptations there are here among the humans.”
Dar held his breath and carefully sat beside the angel. “I do understand. I’m a demon, remember? I love nice clothes and coffee as much as you do.”
She gave him a watery smile. “And flying? I’m sure you fly all the time, since you have immunity and don’t need to fear death at the hand of us angels.”
Don’t look down, don’t look down.
“Uhhh, I don’t fly.”
The angel’s eyes widened. “You don’t fly? I know you all lost your wings in the Fall, but I thought you could still manifest those leathery bat-type wings. What do you mean; you don’t fly?”
“I . . . we . . . .” Dar made the mistake of looking down and felt himself break out in a sweat, his hands white knuckled as he gripped the rim of the roof. “Not all demons can manifest wings. I can’t. I don’t fly.”
Silence fell, and Dar felt her pity. It grated on him like sandpaper. “I don’t want to fly. It’s not my thing. I’m a rat. I like it underground in caves and tunnels. The air isn’t my thing.”
As soon as he’d said the words, a lump settled in his throat. She was an angel with an affinity for air, and he couldn’t fly — wouldn’t fly. The very thought of it sent chills down his spine.
“I’ll fly you. You need to experience it, even if just this once. If you don’t like it, that’s fine — you don’t ever have to do it again.”
Dar tensed, his hands gripping the ledge of the roof so hard he feared it would crumble in his grasp. A hand touched his shoulder, and he jumped with an involuntary reflex.
“Trust me. I won’t let anything happen to you, I swear. Trust me.” Her mouth turned up in the most adorable smile ever. “I’ve trusted you these last few days. It’s your turn.”
The demon drew a shaky breath. It was as good a day to die as any. “Okay. Just a short flight.”
He glanced over and saw the warm approval in her face. Moonlight and some inner glow lit her like a beacon in the night. Golden brown. Everything about her was like a warm loaf of bread right out of the oven. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she’d drop him from a thousand feet up, or drown him in Lake Michigan. It didn’t matter, because he was lost in the beautiful joy shining from her dark eyes.
“I’ll even fly you in your rat form. How’s that? Both of us conquering our fears at the same time.”
Who says I’m afraid? It’s what Dar wanted to say, but instead something totally different came out. “Right. You’ll be more likely to panic and drop me as a rat than as a demon. I know how you feel about rodents.”
The brown eyes widened then Asta threw back her head and laughed. It was a deep, smoky, musical laugh, and Dar felt his hands loosen on the roof ledge.
“I swear on my eternal soul that I will not drop you.” The angel’s eyes grew soft. Dar could have sworn he saw something in them that was more than affection. “I will never let you go, Dar, no matter how red your beady eyes are, or how your whiskery nose twitches, or how much your sharp claws dig into my skin. I will never let you go.”
Dar took a deep breath and stood. “I can’t promise I won’t puke on you.”
Asta rose, huge wings of brown and gold extending full-width from her back. “Vomit is not included in this excursion. You puke on my shirt and you’re going for a swim.”
Chapter 17
Dar went to change into his rat form and hesitated. He hadn’t brought any additional clothing. If he destroyed these, he’d be heading back to his hotel room dressed in one of Asta’s outfits. With a shudder at the thought of wearing a minidress, he carefully removed his outfit, neatly folding everything and placing the clothes on a reasonably clean spot.
And now he was a rat — a two-foot-long rat with sharp claws and glowing eyes. Asta took a sharp breath and turned her head to look over the edge of the rooftop. This wasn’t going to work. He was on the verge of a heart attack just thinking of being flown far above the skyline, and she couldn’t even look at him. What was he doing thinking there could ever be anything beyond a moment’s attraction between them?
“Dar?” Asta reached out a hand toward him, her eyes still averted. “Can you help me out? I don’t think I can do this, and I really need your help.”
Something in her voice pulled at him. An angel asking for a demon’s help — surely Hel was freezing over right now. Dar moved under her hand, nudging her palm with his nose and rubbing his head along her fingers. They curled around the side of his shoulder, scooping him up carefully.
“You’re heavy.” Her other hand cradled his other side, and Dar was lifted toward her chest. He really wanted to snuggle into that warm space between her breasts, hear her heart beat against his cheek, but the thought that she might freak out and drop him was a huge deterrent. Asta still sat along the edge of the roof — and now Dar was held in her hands, suspended over the pavement so far below.
Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Fuck, he was going to puke if he even thought about how far down the city streets were. Instead, he focused on Asta’s face — or rather, on her chin, since she still refused to look at him.
This is fucking stupid. I’m going to die. And what a humiliating death it would be — horny demon trusts a musophobic angel and ends his life splattered on State Street.
“Ready?”
Dar squeaked his reply and felt her hands tighten painfully around him. Yes. Yes, I’m ready. For fuck sake, don’t crush me.
“Sorry.”
The angel took a few deep breaths, affording Dar a magnificent view of her cleavage, then revealed her wings.
Dar had seen them from afar, but he’d never been up close to Asta’s wings — and he’d never seen an angel bring them from their safe place into the open. The air shifted aside, as if the night suddenly wrinkled along the edges of the angel’s back. Then, with a sonic boom, blackness gave way to a burst of brown and gold. There was no gentle unfurling, no flash of light, just a deafening crack, and the snap of muscle and feathers extended to full length.
He only had a moment to admire them before the angel fell face-first from the ledge. All the air left Dar’s lungs and his stomach launched upward. They were falling. They were falling. Why the fuck wasn’t she using her wings? His claws extended to their lethal length, and Dar fought to keep from digging them into her chest to hold tight. Was she doing this insane free fall on purpose? If so, he was going to sink his sharp teeth into her hands as soon as they were safely on the ground. Paybacks were hell.
Dar was convinced they were
seconds from impact when Asta finally extended her wings, cupping the air and angling her body. His stomach sank toward his heels as they rocketed upward. The buildings were a blur of light as they rushed by. Dar shut his eyes tight and tried to gain control over his breathing. When he opened them, they were far above the city, hovering gently in a thermal.
“You okay?” He saw a flash of gold as Asta glanced briefly down at him.
Oh yeah. No problem at all. Wheee! Total rollercoaster fun. That wasn’t the most convincing lie he’d ever told. It might have come across as amazingly sarcastic, but it was the best he could do. There was no way he would let this angel know how close to stroking out he’d come.
“Yeah, well it’s not all sunshine and roses for me, holding a rat while I’m flying. I needed to do something to take my mind off that particular fact.”
He loved it when she was pissy. All right, Maverick. Let’s see what you’re made of.
Either he had a death wish, or had balls of steel to challenge her like that. All Dar knew was that he wanted her to concentrate on something other than his beady eyes and long tail. If aerial acrobatics helped the angel do that, then fine. He’d survived worse.
Or not. The angel launched upward at an angle that would have stalled aircraft, and then she looped around, her back arched gracefully. If he hadn’t been so close to puking, Dar would have appreciated how beautiful her movements were. She truly loved to fly.
And he hated every moment of it.
They leveled out, sweeping down along the narrow corridors of northern Chicago, then eastward to cut across the moonlit path that painted Lake Michigan shades of silver. It was beautiful, and Dar struggled to put his fear aside and appreciate this different view of the city. Still, he could feel nothing beyond overwhelming relief when they soared back toward the rooftop where they’d begun this crazy experiment.
Her feet touched lightly on the roof, and she spread her wings wide, for balance. What an insane folly. She didn’t have enough fingers and toes to count the number of times she’d nearly freaked out and dropped him. Having a rat in her hands was bad enough, but the way he’d squirmed and scraped his claws against her fingers had nearly done her in. This was a lovely flirtation with the enemy, but that’s all it could ever be. They were miles apart. Angel and demon — a creature of air and a creature of darkness. He was so different from all the angels she knew, and that made for a crazy burst of passion. She’d dance with sin, maybe even cross the line, but whatever was between them could never last.
Are we on the ground yet? Please tell me we’re on the ground. Dar held perfectly still.
“Yes. Although I don’t think I’d call my rooftop ‘the ground’.” She’d done it — held a rat and hadn’t succumbed to a panic attack, or pitched him into the lake. Never in a million years had she ever thought she’d be doing this. A rat. She was holding a rat.
Yes, that rat was really Dar, but he still looked and felt like a horrible, nasty rat. Supporting him with one hand, Asta ran her fingers over the smooth gray fur, feeling the curve of muscle and jut of bone beneath his skin. His paws looked just like hands; the long sharp nails gently curved around her fingers. This wasn’t so bad. He actually felt rather nice. If she could just get past the red eyes, sharp teeth, twitching nose, pink tail, and long claws, he was rather cute. Twisting his head, Dar looked back at her with red eyes, his nose twitching. Ugh. Maybe he wasn’t so cute — at least not like this. Still, she was holding a rat. Holding a rat.
Then, in a flash of light, she was no longer holding a rat but a naked man. “Still afraid of heights?” she asked.
“Terrified.” He turned around to face her, holding her hands to keep them against his waist. “How about you? Still afraid of rats?”
“All except for you. Well, I’m kind of afraid of you when you flip your tail around and claw me, but other than that, I’m good.”
She was more than good now. His skin was warm against her palms. Why didn’t he have clothing on? At the very least, some underwear would have been helpful. Oh yeah. He’d stacked it by their dinner remnants and couldn’t exactly put it on when her arms were gripping his sides.
“Maybe we need to work on these things further.” The demon reached out and touched the ridge of her wing.
Asta jumped, twitching away from his hand, wonderful sensations racing through her — sensations she knew were beyond forbidden. “Don’t. They’re sensitive.”
She’d forgotten she’d left them exposed. How odd that she was so comfortable around this demon that she’d allowed such a fragile and vital part of herself within arm’s reach of him. Although, it was probably fair given that he was naked.
“Oh, come now. You just got to pet me. It’s my turn.”
Asta felt her face heat realizing how intimate it must have felt to have her stroke his fur like that. Fair was fair. “All right. Although, if you hurt me, I’ll toss you off the roof.”
He laughed. “I’ll restrain myself.”
The rest was a blur. Asta closed her eyes and leaned against him, feeling his hands caress the feathers and trace the bone structure underneath. Of all her physical attributes, wings were where her spirit-self was most vulnerable. Every touch reached more than nerve endings; it hummed through her very core, to the angel inside the human form. He stroked every barb of every feather, dropping one hand below her wings to bring her hips forward against him.
“Do you trust me, Asta?”
She wanted to say “no”, but it would have been a lie. For millions of years she’d been told how deplorable demons were, how they had lost their way even before the war, how their fall from grace heralded their slide down the evolutionary slope. She’d been told, but she’d never known them as the angels they once were. Dar didn’t seem all that deplorable, outside of some twisted interests, that was.
Did she trust him? Admitting to trusting an enemy was the hardest thing she’d ever done. And the bravest.
“Yes. Yes, I trust you.”
His hand left her wing to cup her jaw and raise her face to his. “Will you be mine? I really want you to be mine.”
Mine. Did that mean the same thing to demons as it did to angels? Two days. Two days and all this wonderful crazy rush of sensation would disappear. Somehow the thought wasn’t as comforting as it had always been.
“Yes, but only if you will be mine.”
“Haven’t you noticed? I’ve been yours all along.”
His mouth met hers, light and teasing. Hands roamed up her waist, skimming along the joints of her wings before coming forward to cup her breasts. She felt a chill along her ribs and realized he’d bared his claws and torn her shirt to ribbons. It was ruined anyway, from her wings ripping through the back, but his pointed nails on the soft underside of her breast and the feel of silk strips across her skin was more than she could bear.
She stepped forward, her leg between his to keep him in step with her until his back met the side of the wall surrounding the staircase. Flesh resonated against metal, but he never broke stride, keeping one hand at her breast, while bringing the other up to grasp the nape of her neck. His fingers fisted in her curls, tugging at her scalp and forcing her head backwards so his mouth could leave hers to travel down the front of her neck.
“You sure?” His voice was husky and full of need, yet somehow vulnerable.
Two days. That’s all she had left. Two days.
“Yes. I want you.”
The demon seemed to lose all control. His hands tore her clothing from her flesh, kneading and clawing in desperation. His need was incredibly liberating, and she found her hands roving his naked flesh, thankful she didn’t have to negotiate buttons and zippers to get to him.
Her lips parted, and her hands made their way up to circle his neck. His mouth was possessive and demanding, hungry as it plundered hers. Thought slid into the background as physical sensation took possession of her body and mind. Asta pressed herself against him, abandoning herself to the moment and kissing him as f
iercely as he kissed her. Her body turned liquid; her heart raced; her blood pounded through her veins.
Dar pulled back, and his warm breath feathered against her cheek. She turned, brushing her lips against him as their eyes met. There was a flicker of something as he looked at her. “Can we . . . I don’t think I can be my best up here, nine-hundred feet above the ground. Could we possibly go inside? To your closet?”
The last word was said with a wicked grin. Her closet. She smiled. “Yes.”
The door had no sooner closed behind them than he was on her, pushing her backwards where she crashed against clothes and shelves of accessories, spilling them to the floor. They toppled down among them, rolling in a tangle of chiffon and silk until they came to rest against the wall that separated the main room from the kitchen.
“Damned mother-fucking pants. Where the hell. . .?”
She laughed softly against him, reaching her hands down to assist in clothing removal. It was all so intimate, far more intimate than any of her encounters with angels had ever been. Here they were, tangled in a heap of fabric, hot and desperate to find ecstasy in each other’s arms.
Her shirt was in tatters; she’d shimmied her pants down to her ankles and kicked them off. Nothing was between them except bare flesh, but Dar held back. His hands practically tickled her skin as they traced up the underneath of her arms and down her torso. His mouth roamed along her neck and shoulder, working slowly down. His erection was insistent against her inner thigh. She shifted, arching her lower back to urge him on.
“Damn. You angels have no patience whatsoever.” He chuckled against the top of her breast. Then his mouth moved lower, teasing around her breast then down to her waist. She made a small noise, bereft that she could no longer reach him with her mouth, and dug her hands into his hair.
It was soft, silky as feathers. Her fingers stroked through the strands as he worked his way down her waist and across her abdomen. Oh stars, the feel of him against her skin was glorious. His mouth was light and teasing, strands of his hair tickling along her waist. Her hands twisted his hair as his tongue glided along the crease of her thigh, skirting the part of her that throbbed and ached for him.
Demons & Djinn: Nine Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Novels Featuring Demons, Djinn, and other Bad Boys of the Underworld Page 45
