by Anne Marsh
“Why? Why did it matter so much?”
“Truthfully?” Cuthah smiled slowly as he moved through the doorway and stepped out into the Heavens. “Why, because you were flawed, Brends. Some of the Dominions were flawed, right down to your very core. You’re imperfect.”
News flash. He’d known that since the Fall.
“You could feel,” Cuthah continued.
Brends shook his head. “All angels can feel.”
“No,” Cuthah countered. “Most angels are unfeeling. Oh, our kind believes they feel perfectly fine. We insist on it. We’ve lived so long in our perfect little Elysium, defending good from evil, that we no longer have any conception of what evil is. What it feels like. We’ve bred every bad, dark, evil thought and intent out of our race and that, Brends, is our Achilles’ heel right there. The dark is now reduced to a virus that contaminates our kind. Michael and his ilk have no idea how to deal with the tempestuous rampage of emotions. No idea whom to blame or how to place that blame.”
“You showed them,” Brends guessed. Cuthah’s words had a terrible logic. Cuthah had shown them. And in showing them, he’d led them straight where he wanted them to go.
“Yes.” Cuthah smiled slowly. “I did show them. I showed them that those uglier, darker emotions were a genetic flaw. A sickness of the soul so irreversible that nothing but the most radical surgery could cure it.”
“By framing the Dominions for a series of murders.”
“Yes,” Cuthah agreed. “And then, after Michael had punished you, it was really quite simple to keep an eye on the situation. I already knew how to find your soul mates, you see. I knew the genetic marker that identified them and eventually I tapped into the unrelenting data streams that bound the inhabitants of the world below closer together than they could have dreamed. I could find them. All it took was time, and time I had in abundance.”
“Michael never asked?”
Cuthah shot him a pitying look. “Who do you think reported back to Michael? Two millennia ago, Michael gave up on you a second time. He went into seclusion. It was better that way,” he added thoughtfully. “I was tired of his constant questions. Had any of the Fallen redeemed themselves? And how long had it taken the redeemed to find his soul mate and fall in love? Of course, every time, I gave him the truth. None of the Fallen had been redeemed. There were no soul mates.”
“I’ll be back.” Brends jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “And I’ll have an army.” He had the tools he needed now to come back. And he had the will, he acknowledged grimly. But not today. He’d finish sorting out his emotions later, but right now, seeing Pell wrapped in Dathan’s arms was all the evidence he needed that they could—they would—succeed.
Right now, though, his place was still on Earth, so he turned and went back.
Twenty-Five
His female was trying to torture him. The thin ribbons of the skimpy cocktail dress she was not-wearing slipped farther down her arms. When she inhaled sharply, the sensual scrap of black silk that passed for a bodice slipped completely. The dark shadow of a nipple peeked over the rosy material.
One brush of Brends’s thumb and that sweet fruit was his.
“There could be benefits,” Mischka whispered in his ear as she pushed him down onto his bed. “Of keeping each other.”
A week had passed since they’d killed Eilor and driven off Cuthah. When Brends stepped back through the portal, he’d landed in a different kind of shit storm altogether. Zer had questions about the soul mates Brends and Dathan had found, and those questions guaranteed Brends had no time alone with Mischka. His soul mate. Just the word made the warmth blossom inside his chest.
The dress slid down her to her waist so easily. She watched his eyes, clearly understanding that he’d enjoy the show. “You promised to make all my fantasies come true, Brends.” Her words shot straight down to his thickening cock, a verbal tease that made him want to take her hot and hard.
Hell, yeah.
Her legs opened and she draped herself over him, pressing the hot cradle of her sex against his straining flesh. He could certainly get used to this, he decided. But first he had to convince her to take him on. Permanently. Unfortunately, that meant showing some unwelcome restraint.
Carefully, he slid her off his body. “Restraint, baby,” he chided. “We should talk,” he added virtuously. But hell, he didn’t want to talk. He wanted to hold her in his arms, worship her with his body until there was absolutely no doubt how much he had missed her.
Playing for keeps here.
Instead of thanking him for his chivalrous nature, she tested him further.
She slid back on top of him.
“I thought you were the big, bad seducer.” Her husky whisper shot straight to his throbbing cock.
Being skin to skin with her did unspeakable things to his libido, and he was quite certain that she understood precisely how arousing he found her proximity. The little Cheshire-cat grin on her face gave away that knowledge—as did the massive erection he was now sporting. Her hair poured around them like a midnight-colored curtain, the soft brush of the unbound strands erotic torture against his heated skin. He groaned and buried his hands in her hair. She smelled like chocolate and cinnamon. Cool and yet spicy. Inviting. Like the scent of the woman herself.
Unafraid. Demanding. Sexy as hell. She took what she wanted—and she gave. She held nothing back. The sexy murmurs she made as she licked an erotic pattern across his throat had his cock tightening.
Can’t come. Not yet.
He was playing for keeps, even if she didn’t know it. Her hands roamed his body with a wanton familiarity that he found shockingly arousing.
Hands stroked under his shirt, tugging at it. “Off,” she growled. “I missed you, Brends.”
Pulling the shirt off in a long, slow motion, he reveled in the hungry examination of her eyes moving over the chiseled planes of his abdomen. Her small fingers found the taut circles of his nipples and tugged teasingly. A low groan was wrenched from him.
“Tease,” he growled, pushing her dress down over the curve of her ribs. “I can see that you missed me.” With a small grin, she shimmied free of the fabric, tossing it behind them in the shadows, where the warm glow of the light did not penetrate.
Her bra left him dry mouthed with desire. This was wicked. Black satin fabric cupped her skin, mounding the flesh for his enjoyment. Black lace straps. The shadow of a nipple peeking out of the cup drove him to distraction.
Her fingers skimmed tantalizingly over her own skin in a small caress. “Like what you see?” she asked in a throaty voice. He nodded dumbly. This was bounty beyond his most secret fantasies. Her fingers took his and brought them to the small plastic clasp that held the two sections together. “Watch and learn,” she suggested.
She used his fingertips to brush against the hard peaks of her own nipples. When she moaned and her eyes drifted shut, he figured she liked what she was doing. Her sex shimmied against the thigh she rode in a slow, hot demand. He flicked his fingers and the bra slipped open, spilling her breasts into his hands.
She groaned a liquid demand. “More, Brends.”
He wrapped one hand around the back of her neck, pulling her face down to his for a hot kiss. His tongue plunged boldly between her lips, stroking and licking the mouth that fascinated him so. He never knew what she was going to say or do next, he thought with amusement. She was a treasure chest of surprises. How would she react when he palmed her sex? Would she moan? He could smell the sweet, hot scent of her arousal mixing with his own. It felt right. They were more than a match for each other.
When he slid his hard thigh farther between her thighs, she parted, melting around him with a soft gasp, and she straddled the muscles in a rush of liquid heat. Patience, he reminded himself. He had a plan here. All rationality was dissolving into the white-hot passion that blazed between them.
His next discovery had him panting against her neck.
She was soaking wet through the gu
sset of her panties. Pushing upward into all that hot, soaked flesh was better than any afterworld.
His abdomen was a series of deliciously cut ridges and the stiff brown nipples practically begged for the touch of her tongue. Who knew that she would be so weak when confronted with such a spectacular example of the male torso?
Brends’s heavy thigh pressed up against her aching pussy and Mischka bit back a scream of pleasure. There was no point in stroking his ego. Not, she thought with a wicked smile, when she could be stroking something else.
She ran her hands down his smooth stomach from his shoulders, wrapping her fingers around his erection. All smooth and satin hardness. Damp pre-cum clung to the tip, making her want to lick all that hot, salty skin. Maybe she would, later. If he was very, very good.
“Witch,” he groaned, thrusting into her hands.
“Greedy,” she whispered back.
“Something like that,” he muttered, and his fingers stroked firmly between her legs. Even through her panties it was as if he had touched off erotic fireworks. Sparks of pleasure danced behind her eyes and she spread her legs wider. “Good,” he said darkly.
Instead of ripping off her panties and getting down to business, his finger slid down her ass, delving between the cheeks and lower until his fingers rested against her, rubbing wickedly through the cloth. She moaned a small protest. He couldn’t tell if she wanted more or less of the sensation. He decided to give her more. She was right. He was greedy. He was not ready to break the erotic spell that held them in its grasp.
He watched her face to gauge her reaction. Swamped with the sheer pleasure of being alive, with this woman draped over him, trusting him with her pleasure and her body. Deliberately, he traced small circles around her hard little clit. Stroking, testing her readiness. Dropping his head, he kissed her, simulating with his tongue what his cock wanted desperately to do. Stroking in and out of the hot, heated depths of her.
“Uh-uh,” she chided him, freeing her mouth. “This time, it’s my turn. Let’s see if we can make you lose control,” she said. She shot him a wicked look from underneath her lashes and the last thing he saw was her mischievous grin as she slipped down his chest.
Warm hands reached out to caress the heavy balls, stroking small circles over the full flesh with wicked fingers, weighing them. The soft pulling on his flesh and then the erotic release drove him crazy. Her breath moving across his stomach was his last warning; a hot, wet suction enveloped his erection and his world exploded in shards of dark red passion.
Long minutes later, he resurfaced, only to hear her say, “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you, Brends.”
He didn’t want to force her into his world. He needed her to accept him willingly. All of him, the good and the bad. “An eternity,” he warned.
“An eternity of this,” she countered, wrapping her fingers around his cock and stroking. Touching him was so damned right. “Not to mention, I get you. All of you. Tell me how I lose in this scenario, Brends, because I’m not seeing it.”
He had to warn her, had to let her know what she was getting into. “It’s not over between Michael and me. We’ve got battles to fight.” A war to win. Cuthah was merely the tip of a very dark iceberg. He couldn’t promise her safety, even if he could promise her love. Was that enough? “You can’t walk away, baby. Not ever. So be sure. Be damned sure.” His soul was in his eyes, in his voice. He’d never felt so naked before. Didn’t like it, not one little bit, but damned if it wasn’t worth it. If it didn’t feel right. A ripple of pleasure shot straight to his cock as her free hand settled on the dark tattoo of his wings.
“I’m sure.” Her wicked laughter surrounded him as she pinned him to the bed. “All I need is you. I love you, Brends Duranov. Bond with me,” she demanded, cupping his head in her hands. She lowered her mouth to his.
Could you die from pleasure? From sheer heartfelt joy? Because the taste of her mouth was better than any damn heavenly ambrosia. “Agreed, baby.” His eyes smiled up at her. “Ask your favor.”
Behind him, the door opened and closed with a soft whisper as Zer slid into the room to witness their new bond.
“Love me, Brends.” The fierce look of concentration in her eyes stunned him. “Love me forever, as I love you.”
“With all my heart,” he agreed. “I love you.”
The darkest of ink swirls began to appear on their wrists.
He didn’t need to look down to see the dark ink bands appearing on their wrists or feel the wicked smile forming on his face. Mischka Baran was tattooed deep in his heart and soul.
He’d fallen—and he’d found heaven.
Acknowledgments
It seems unfair that only the author’s name appears on the cover of a book when so many other people play important roles in getting the book written (and rewritten) and out the door. My fabulous agent, Roberta Brown. The amazing editors at Dorchester. My family, Zoe, Ethan and Louis. A book really is a group effort and I appreciate each and every one of you.
Special thanks go to Jen, who had no idea she’d spend our girls’ weekend licking envelopes shut; to Beth, who convinced an entire Duke psychology department to wait for the “erotic Goblin novel” (yeah, this is that book); to Marge, who always turns my books face out on the Borders shelves; and, last but not least, to the small army of folks my mother-in-law strong-armed into buying and reading my first book. Roger David Lee—you rock, and I’d love to meet you.
Praise for Anne Marsh
The Hunt
“The Hunt marks Anne Marsh’s debut novel and what an entrance! I was completely hooked from the first paragraph all the way through till the end. Ms. Marsh shows a true gift in weaving fun and charismatic characters that will leave you wanting more of her Hunter’s Mate romances.”
—ParaNormal Romance Reviews
“Marsh quickly draws you in and then shoots you down a dark and twisty tunnel…the pace keeps the reader motivated to find out what happens next.”
—RT Book Reviews
“This book has an interesting concept, magical temple guardians that can change back and forth between man and cat…”
—Night Owl Romance
“This story is filled with submission, humor, and lots of excitement…an excellent read, from author Anne Marsh.”
—The Romance Studio
“Funny and explicit, The Hunt will tempt the most finicky reader into an afternoon of reading delight.”
—Fresh Fiction
Other books by Anne Marsh:
The Hunt
Copyright
A LEISURE BOOK®
September 2010
Published by
Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
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Copyright © 2010 by Anne Marsh
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E-ISBN: 978-1-4285-0922-1
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