All That Falls

by Kimberly Frost

  “I don’t know if it’s lack of courage as much as lack of interest. Redemption, fighting, and demon-hunting are your priorities. Anything you’d have with me would be somewhere near the bottom of your list.”

  “You’re wrong,” he said, rising and pulling the covers back.

  “Am I?” she asked.

  He lay on the bed and dragged the comforter to his waist. With an arm behind his head, he watched her. “One of the most difficult things about living in exile is being alone. I got used to it out of necessity. You’re a gift I never expected. Even being able to form friendships was more than I hoped for, considering what happened in the past.”

  “With Felice?”

  “Yes. And with others.”

  She tilted her head in question. He rubbed his thumb over her hand.

  “I’ve been killing demons for centuries. None of those battles, not even the one I fought last night, have been enough to secure my redemption. I’m sure the fight that redeems me will be more deadly than all the others. I have supernatural instincts, and I know that time is winding down. I feel it. Merrick’s destiny is tied to mine. It’s not certain that either of us will survive.”

  “Does he know that?”

  “He understands the danger.”

  “Alissa and Richard need him. When he made his promise to you, they weren’t a factor.”

  “Exactly, and they still shouldn’t be. It was his choice to remove her from her world. He could have waited until after the battle.”

  “Love doesn’t always leave a person with choices.”

  Lysander’s shoulders rose and fell. “Merrick will destroy the biggest threats to Alissa and Richard while there’s still time. If Merrick dies, Alissa will have to find her own way. She’s a muse. She’s attractive. The rest of the world will embrace her again.”

  “You could release Merrick from his promise.”

  “I can’t win without him. It’s not a fight for one.”

  “Maybe someone else can help you.”

  He shook his head. “The prophecy was clear, and I recognized Merrick the moment I saw him fight. He was a young teenager living on the street. He fought several men and there was a move—a sweep and turn followed by each hand striking in a different direction. It was one of my moves.”

  “Who taught it to him?”

  “No one. He moved that way by instinct.”

  “That’s quite a coincidence.”

  “It’s no coincidence.” Lysander hesitated, then added, “He inherited it from me.”

  “Inherited?”

  “Merrick’s mother was eight generations descended from Felice.”

  “From Felice and you?”

  Lysander nodded. “She made everyone believe her child died. An angel had appeared to her and warned her that the demons would come. They told her that if they found the boy, they’d kill him. She gave the child to the angel who hid him. I didn’t know the truth until seventy years later.”

  “Did you meet your—son or his children?”

  “Any involvement with me would’ve drawn demon attention. Anonymity protects them. I left them alone.”

  “Until Merrick.”

  “Merrick’s part vampire and was in trouble long before he met me. Being descended from angels and born to a prophecy is what sets him apart from other ventala. I trained him, and killing demons has raised him from the common ranks. Heaven watches him with interest. He has greatness in him, but it competes with darkness. My influence changed the course of his life. We became friends—and more than that. We’re the closest thing to family that either of us has. It’s led us to where we are now and what we must do together.”

  “Does Merrick know he’s nephilim?”

  Lysander shook his head.

  “Why haven’t you told him?”

  “I liked winning his loyalty and friendship. It was worth the earning, and his choices have done him credit.”

  “Why tell me?”

  “I wanted you to know that I’m not just using him. He’s a brother to me, and I to him. Also, I wanted you to understand what’s between Merrick and me, so that when I tell you that you’ve become as important to me as he is, you’ll understand your significance.”

  “As important as the warrior who could help you gain redemption? That’s a little hard to believe.”

  He shrugged, letting his hand fall away from hers. “True, nonetheless.”

  “When you’re redeemed, you’ll be leaving. You said yourself time is running out. I’ve already suffered a pretty tough loss just this year. I’m not sure I could face another.”

  “You, of course, must decide for yourself what you’re willing to risk. All I can promise is that I’ll never desert you as the musician did. You won’t be left in a fog of confusion and doubt.”

  “If you and Merrick survive the confrontation that’s coming, is it possible that you’ll live on earth for my lifetime or longer?”

  He paused thoughtfully and rubbed his thumb over his lip. It was a gesture she’d noticed Merrick make, too. Did they realize they had that in common?

  “It’s possible. I’ve never been given a timeline.”

  She nodded and leaned forward to touch the gold hair fanned over the pillow. “I need you to do me a favor.”

  He took a deep breath in, his lids drifting down as if he savored her scent. “What favor?”

  “Stop announcing that you didn’t choose to be bound to me. I know it’s the truth, but it pisses me off every time you say it.”

  He nodded. “Shall I confess a secret I’ve been keeping about that?”

  “Go ahead. You seem to like making me the guardian of your secrets.”

  “If they’d given me a choice of any woman in the world to become bound to, I would’ve chosen you.”

  She smiled. “Am I supposed to be flattered? I’m probably the only woman other than Alissa that you’ve spoken to in the past hundred years.”

  “I don’t need to talk to a woman to know whether she suits me. I’m an archangel. I have exceptional instincts.”

  “So maybe Merrick’s right. Maybe the instinct to fly your dagger over on a broken wing wasn’t an accident. Maybe subconsciously, you chose what happened.”

  He glanced at the ceiling and licked his lips. He sighed and glanced back at her with a chagrined smile. “I can’t deny it’s possible. My history shows that I can be reckless and ruled by emotions. Perhaps Merrick inherited that from me, too. Perhaps that’s why I’m so critical of him for it. I see myself in him.” His fingers tapped idly against his ribs. “I swear it was never a conscious thought to come to you so we’d be bound by blood, but whether the instinct to go to the Etherlin was born of wanting you…” He shook his head. “Maybe. If it was, I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  “If it was, there’s nothing to forgive.”

  She traced his lip with a finger, and the tip of his tongue stretched to meet it. She closed her eyes as he licked her fingertip.

  “We have a lot to do,” she murmured, pulling her hand away.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he said in a low voice. His hand gripped the top of her towel.

  “I meant we have work to do and probably shouldn’t spend precious waking hours in bed.”

  “There’s time enough,” he said. With a deft motion, he unfastened the tucked end of the towel and it fell open, exposing her. The cool air raised gooseflesh on her arms, but heat quickly washed over her as he cupped her breast, his thumb stroking her nipple.

  Her breath caught, and her mouth went dry.

  “So beautiful,” he said, squeezing her. “Warm and ripe as fruit on the vine under a midday sun. Your body is a miracle, Cerise, at once strong and succulent.”

  She closed her eyes and bit her lip as sensations swirled through her. His fingers tightened on her nipple, and she gasped at the stab of painful pleasure that rippled through her.

  His hand released her breast slowly and slid down to her hip then to grip her thigh and buttock. His strong
fingers kneaded her flesh as it had earlier in the gym, but this time it wasn’t to soothe.

  Trailing his hand over the slope of her thigh and nudging it outward, he whispered, “You could make me a slave to your pleasure.”

  She tipped her head back, panting.

  He stroked her slick heat, teasing her with the tips of his fingers. Her mouth fell open, and she sucked in a breath. He ground his thumb against her, setting her on fire.

  “Wait,” she growled, grabbing his wrist.

  His fingers stilled.

  Breathless, she looked down at him through black lashes.

  “What am I waiting for?” he asked, pulling his arm out of her grasp. He licked the taste of her from his thumb with such relish, her nerve endings burned.

  She dragged the sheet down and ran her hand over him. “I don’t just want an orgasm. I want you.”

  “Then have me.”

  She stroked his erection and watched his stomach muscles tighten.

  “We’ve danced together, so you know we have the strength and flexibility for any position man has dreamt of,” he murmured and then groaned as she closed her fist around him. “Choose one. Choose them all. Just have mercy on me and choose quickly.”

  “I appreciate your offer to take me on a tour of the Kama Sutra,” she said, swinging her leg over so she straddled his hips. “But I’m too impatient to get creative.” She positioned him at her entrance and sank down slowly, stretching beyond comfort.

  “Oh—” she gasped. Her lower body cramped and throbbed, and she gripped his arms hard enough to leave bruises.

  “Do you want to—” His last words were crushed by clenched teeth as she rose and slid back down.

  “What I want is to ride you like the stud you promised to be,” she teased, leaning forward for an angle that promised to send her spinning over the edge into orgasm with maximum efficiency.

  “If anyone can do that, it’s you,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

  She started with a slow rhythm that he matched carefully, every muscle taut. He was ripped like the greatest athletes in the world, and she feasted on him with her eyes, watching his muscles contract and ripple as he struggled not to lose control.

  Soon she didn’t care about anything beyond the intense sensations that roared through her. She moved faster and harder, and he steadied her as she lost control.

  An orgasm crashed over her, and she cried out. With shaking muscles, she fell forward onto his chest.

  He tipped her head up and sucked her tongue into his mouth for a kiss, then rolled her over onto her belly. Snaking a hand under her, he stroked her tingling sex and entered her again, hard and fast.

  “Lysander,” she groaned.

  “Hmm,” he murmured, biting her shoulder as the weight of his body crushed her between the bed and him. She drowned in the suffocating pleasure, her face pressed into the soft sheets. She struggled to meet his thrusts and then lost her mind in another body-jarring rush.

  Still seated deep inside her, he turned her over, pressing her into a wild, erotic stretch with her right leg hooked on his shoulder.

  “Wait,” she gasped as he brought her left knee toward her side and wrapped it around him, tipping her pelvis up. He leaned forward, not moving inside her.

  She throbbed around him, barely able to breathe.

  He kissed her gently, his tongue caressing her mouth. Then he kissed his way along her jaw and whispered in her ear, “Give me one more.”

  “I’m not sure—”

  “You can.”

  “Go slow,” she begged.

  “As slow as we can stand,” he murmured and bent his head. He drew the tip of her breast into his mouth and suckled her until the raw sensations turned warm and liquid again. He groaned and nipped her, making her breath catch.

  “Your heat is heaven’s chorus in my head. Hold me tight,” he whispered.

  She slid her arms around him, pressing her chest against his and loosening her thigh muscles. He felt her open and moaned with his mouth vibrating against her throat.

  She was both slick and ready, and swollen and sore. She held on and bit her lip, digging her nails into his back as he thrust harder and deeper.

  Light broke over the room, and her senses were overwhelmed. Hot and cold, sandalwood and orange, pleasure and pain. Sensations without mercy dragged her into one last blinding orgasm. She wailed, feeling him join her.

  For many moments aftershocks rocked her body, and the world beyond the bed seemed hazy and unreal.

  A thudding heartbeat and tingling flesh slowly gave way to an awareness of the room around them. Soft light. Rumpled sheets. And satisfaction so deep it almost hurt to feel it and know it would fade.

  “The stamina of angels and the courage of warriors,” he murmured.

  “Yes,” she said, pressing a palm against his low back. “You’re amazing.”

  “I meant you,” he said, his breath a sweet breeze against her neck. “I’m yours,” he whispered. “For life and longer.”

  She smiled and turned her head to kiss his jaw. “Very romantic. Will it ruin the moment if I ask you to let me up? You’re crushing me.”

  He laughed softly and raised himself. He moved onto his back, careful not to roll over any of her limbs. Then he pulled her on top of him. Her head lay against his chest, listening to the thump of his heart, its rate slow and strong. One of his heavy palms rested possessively on her naked buttock.

  He’d promised to be hers for life. She couldn’t get her head around that yet, couldn’t think about whether she was ready to make any promises in return. She only knew that being with him felt more right than anything ever had.

  Chapter 21

  Cerise woke with a wintry chill. Beneath her Lysander’s body leached heat from hers, leaving her stiff and aching. She extracted herself from his grip and rolled onto the bed, shaking. She rubbed her arms as he stirred.

  She climbed from the bed and went into the bathroom. She took a very hot shower and felt her muscles start to unknot. Afterward, she towel-dried her hair and dressed in sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and thick socks. She covered him to the throat with the blankets, but he pushed them back down to chest level.

  “It doesn’t help,” he murmured.

  “What?”

  He rubbed his eyelids then opened them. “If the surrounding temperature is very low, clothes or linens can help prevent my body temperature from plummeting or can help me rewarm, but indoors where the temperature is moderate, blankets and clothes don’t do much.” He yawned. “Body heat is the only thing that works.”

  “I woke up feeling like a Popsicle,” she said.

  “Sorry.”

  She took his right hand and rubbed it between hers. “Are you cold?”

  “No worse than usual.” His left hand rested on his chest. “Better in fact, for the moment.”

  She got up and gathered the things they’d taken from Ileana’s. It was time to concentrate, but before she could return to the bed, someone knocked. She glanced at the door, then at Lysander.

  “You can answer it. There’s no danger to us.”

  She set the photos and papers on the end of the bed, grabbed the dagger she’d been training with, and walked to the front door. She kept the knife in her right hand and hidden behind her, opening the door with her left.

  Mr. Orvin hulked in the hallway.

  “Sorry to bother you, Miss Xenakis.”

  “It’s okay. What’s happening?”

  “The boss got a call about Jersey’s missing brother. He’s just Varden-side of the Sliver, trying to buy a gun and V3 ammunition.”

  A gun and vampire-killing ammunition? Hayden’s not violent. Cerise knew suddenly, with a lurching stomach, that that ventala bitch Tamberi Jacobi had done something terrible to him, something that could only be settled with a V3 bullet.

  “The dealer’s keeping him there,” Orvin continued. “I’m going to swing by to pick him up. The boss thought you would want to know.”

  �
��I do. Thanks. Is Hayden okay?”

  “He’s trying to buy a gun, so he’s on his feet. That’s a good sign. Sounds like he’s kind of banged up though.”

  “Banged up how?”

  “The boss didn’t say. Listen, the little songbird’s sleeping. I didn’t wanna wake her up yet. Thought you could stay close to her till I get back with her brother.”

  Cerise’s brows knitted. “Hayden’s hurt. I’ll go with you.”

  “No need for that. We’ve got a truce on for the moment, but the peace is kinda shaky. Easier for me to go after him alone.”

  “We won’t slow you down.”

  “We?” He glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, right. It’s like that,” Orvin said with a carefully neutral expression.

  “Yeah, it’s like that,” she said with a half smile. Until he’s gone. She felt a pang of dread at the thought, but pushed it from her mind. Just live in the moment, she thought with another glance at Lysander stretched out like a ray of sunshine before them. It’s a really great moment.

  “You can’t do better than him in a fight, but I can do this quick and easy on my own.” Orvin looked over his shoulder toward the other door. “She’s had a couple nightmares. She might sleep through, but I told her if she needed something to knock here. Hate for her to find the place empty if she comes.”

  Cerise nodded. “You’re right. I don’t want her to feel alone.”

  “Great. Here’s the key and the code for that apartment in case you want to check on her. I’ll be back in about an hour. You need anything while I’m out?”

  “Just the Molly Times bassist.”

  “I’ll get him,” Orvin said with a smile, then he turned and lumbered away.

  Cerise closed the door. “Merrick’s bodyguard has a crush on Jersey.”

  “They’re an odd match. If they were mythical creatures, she’d be a pixie and he’d be a giant. They’re two feet and several octaves apart.”

  Cerise laughed. “Sometimes opposites attract.”

  Lysander shrugged.

  “They do both have that white-blond hair,” Cerise noted.

  “She uses bleach to make hers that color.”

  “Lots of women do. Blonde’s always a popular color.” She sat on the edge of the bed, lifting a photograph from the collection of papers they’d brought from Ileana’s. The photos had been taken in a place Cerise didn’t recognize. One of the walls was painted black and had graffiti on it. The three-pronged lightning bolt from the inside cover of the Molly Times debut CD was central to the artwork. Then she came to a skinny male body, nude against rumpled blue sheets, and she froze, recognizing the Misspent Youth tattoo on the naked flank. She squinted and could make out a Ramones’ “Road to Ruin” T-shirt on the floor.