Anger stiffened her limbs. Now she tried to get her legs between them, to push him away. He would have none of it. When he released her enough for her to see his face, she went still again.
“Come now.” A smile of such lightness and beauty, echoed by silver eyes that were wet around the edges. She fought the urge to smile back. It was the first purely joyful expression she had seen on his face. He looked like a boy, all mischievousness and delight. “You just broke a geas that took me one hundred years to build, and you have nothing to say.”
She scowled, crossing her arms. “Are you laughing at me?”
Shock took some of the joy out of his face. He clutched her close again. She tried to ignore her body’s response to contact with the expanse of his chest and the ridged plane of his abdomen. His belt pressed into her thighs, and she wiggled a bit as cool leather and metal dug into the sensitive skin.
“I’d never laugh at you, Isela.” The earnestness in his tone tugged at her as lifted her back onto the couch and then did his best to undo her braid.
“Then why are you laughing?” she said, swatting his hand as he continued to fuss with her hair. “I was worried I’d hurt you.”
She could tell he was trying very hard not to smile.
“I had forgotten happiness,” he said. “And you may have knocked out the power on the north end of the castle.”
She sat back on the couch with her arms folded over her chest, confusion and concern warring as tears dried on her face, and he’d never known a woman he wanted more. A sienna blush flamed in her face and, to his intrigue, her breasts. Her legs were still parted, the robe bunched around her hips and thighs. Her smell sang to him. His cock throbbed insistently even as his chest tightened against a surge of emotion he’d long ago thought he’d never feel for another living thing.
There was so much of her that was still human. It had taken him too long to see it as strength. The same part that made her vulnerable also made her power work in ways a necromancer would never expect.
“You did with compassion,” he said, running a fingertip over the line of her mouth, “what most could not do with force.”
She was mad at him, but it lacked any heat. Fighting for dominance on her face was wonder and surprise and love. He would do anything to have her look at him like that for the rest of their time on earth. It had been a long time since he’d believed in any divine power, but in that moment she was enough to make him thank whatever god had put her in his path.
He said the only thing he knew how to say, his hands settling on her hips. “Thank you, Isela Vogel.”
Confusion won, turning her expression charmingly innocent. “For what?”
He yanked her hips to the edge of the cushion with a smooth jerk that made her gasp. “For seeing me,” he said, looking up at her from beneath a fringe of tousled hair, “as I am. And for wanting me anyway.”
Before the first tear could spill over her lashes, he lowered his mouth to taste her.
His name tangled with a sob and a shout in her throat. He smiled into the succulent flesh. When he glanced up again, her head was thrown back on the cushions, fingers fisting and releasing spasmodically at her sides. As tempting as it was to let those taut dancer’s legs tighten around his shoulders while he brought her to her peak, he wanted more.
He pulled back. Before her eyes could open, he’d flipped her smoothly onto her knees, her chest resting on the back of the couch. She grunted with pleasure as her knees spread wider, preparing for his entry. But he pressed her forward, tilting her hips back so he could continue with his mouth at a new angle. He had to grip her hips to keep her from twisting away as release wrung her body of its pent-up desire. The wave of her surged against his lips, and he lingered to let her tremble and sigh as the last of her climax shuddered through her.
With one hand, he held her as the other made quick work of his belt and fly. She braced herself as he slid an arm around her waist, reaching to guide him. He wanted to go slow. But the touch of her swollen heat, the scent of her still lingering on his lips, rendered him senseless. She was going to be the death of him.
He felt the surge as he plunged into her. She opened, physically and energetically, taking him in. Sparks of gold danced on her skin as he quickened. Tightening again, she groaned, and he slid his fingers to a better position to help her. When he looked down at himself, his skin glowed, the emerald tangling with gold until she too shone. Her skin glittered. Denying himself final pleasure, he flipped her onto her back.
Passion heated her face, but the strands of gold in her hair and the irises of her eyes glowed with an energy all their own.
A gasp escaped her lips. “Don’t stop.”
He arched his body over hers, pinning her hips with his own. So much heat. Must protect her. Must claim her. Desire was in control now. All heat and fire with none of the reptilian coldness that had prowled his consciousness for an opening before. He slid home with a roar. There. Mine.
“Once more for me.” Part plea, part command.
He thought she laughed, husky voice glittering around the edges. He felt his soul slipping free of its mooring, racing to catch the golden shape dancing ahead. His climax coiled low and building, painful now with urgency. He held it.
“I will have your surrender, goddess.” His breath slid against her ear.
“Take it if you can, death dealer.” The voice of his lover, coated in the gold of a god.
Stars bloomed behind his eyes when he caught the golden shape, and it was he who surrendered. Heat and power surged up through him in a roar of white noise. Blinded and deafened by his own release, he felt her begin to clutch him and let himself go completely. Her body formed a cradle. This, he thought in a language so old he’d not spoken it aloud in hundreds of years. She is where I belong. This is my home.
Then he realized where they were.
“Don’t move.” Azrael’s voice caressed the shell of her ear.
A small, purring sound escaped her—all pleasure without a single thought that could be translated into language. She wasn’t going anywhere. She could lie like this for days, just savoring the cool air on her back and his heat on her belly. Gold’s giggle came languorously a heartbeat later. Oh Isela, thank you.
I suppose we are going to have to tell him about this. Eventually.
Pretty sure he figured it out.
A grin licked her lips, and she let her tongue dart out to taste the skin of his neck. Salty. “If this is how all of our lessons end, I think I’m going to like this training.”
He shifted with a laugh that became a little growl of warning. Aftershocks throbbed inside her. The air caressed her back again.
Wait. That wasn’t right.
Gold echoed. Wait. Issy…
Now she heard the slight edge in Azrael’s voice. “Just don’t—”
Her eyes flickered open and she blinked. The ceilings that had once housed the royal riding school and an armory before Azrael had converted them to his own personal quarters were twenty feet high in places. The exposed beams hovered before her. Her eyes caught on a little spider making its perilous way across the dark wood. Had her vision improved again?
The skin on her back puckered in the draft. A certain lightness in her own belly. As though she was floating.
She sucked in a hard breath and twisted her head to take in the room below them as Azrael called, “Wait!”
They fell. Azrael twisted in midair to land beneath her on the rug, but with her elbow trapped between them, she succeeded in knocking the breath from them both. They landed with a thump and a collective gasp for air. Azrael recovered first, rolling her from his chest to prop himself up on one hand.
He, of course, was laughing. Did nothing surprise this man?
Her first inhale came with the smell of charred leather and burned popcorn. He jerked his chin in the direction of the smoldering remains of the couch. A kernel sprang off the floor and landed a fluffy white ball.
A huff escaped her. “I
liked that couch.”
“I’ll buy you a dozen more,” he said, springing to his feet and pulling her up with him. “And we’ll burn them all.”
Her legs wobbled and he caught her, sweeping a forearm behind her knees.
“Did you do that?” she asked as Azrael bounded up the stairs to the bathroom. “The floaty thing?”
“No, little god…” He grinned, setting her down and hooking the robe from her shoulders with a finger as he passed. “You did.”
Isela sat down hard. “I what?”
“Come, let me wash you.” He herded her under the rainfall showerhead. “You reek of sex, and we’re due in the training ring in a half hour.”
“But I…” She reached for the soap but he was faster. “We?”
He slapped her hand away with a look of reproach. She supposed she’d had boyfriends with worse fixations. “Our master-at-arms was unsatisfied with my performance on our expedition. I’ve been ordered to report for a tune-up.”
She gave herself over to the slow torment of his hands. “I thought powers were elemental.”
He shook his head absently. “For necromancers. And witches. Gods have the laws of nature at their command.”
Gods. That’s what she was now, wasn’t it? Not a witch, not a necromancer. For the first time it occurred to her that no one had tried to teach her because they didn’t know how or even where to begin.
“That was why you had to work together,” she said. “To stop the gods the first time.”
He tapped the end of her nose. “We needed each other.”
“And now?”
“Now we try to keep the peace between us.” He turned off the water. “But the world as it is—necromancers over everything—this cannot hold.”
“That’s why the Allegiance was afraid of channeling a god.” And why she was such a danger to them. And why they would want to strike now, while she was still mostly human and vulnerable. Even a small god would be more than a match for the Allegiance once she understood her power. She met Azrael’s eyes as he handed her a towel. It took her a moment to recognize the expression in his—hope. “You’re not worried.”
He opened the glass door, gazing intently for a moment. “Watch carefully.”
He traced a symbol in the condensation, ignoring the droplets that rolled away to create a sweeping, elegant dance of lines. It reminded her of calligraphy and hieroglyphics. She recognized it by the third stroke. The geas he’d used to immobilize her.
“You see?” he asked, waiting for her confirming nod before wiping his hand over the glass and erasing it. “Practice it until you can do it without hesitation. Then use it on Tyler or one of my Aegis. Someone I can release if it goes wrong. When you can safely undo it, try it on a human. It’s useful to get information from a subject without truly harming them. Most people break quickly from fear and anticipation.”
A thousand questions bubbled up.
Azrael shook his head before any of them could emerge. “You are right—a single project of focus will teach you much more than a stack of books. And Dante will handle the books in any case. Do you remember it?”
Isela thought back, surprised to find she could recall each stroke exactly.
“And now that you know how to break it and how it’s formed, it can’t be used against you again. That is the lesson.”
A wedge of gratitude closed her throat. He finished with his towel and discarded it. Naked, he stalked to the counter, running the hot water and laying shaving implements on a clean towel.
She admired the dimples above his perfect ass and the corded strength of his legs before her eyes caught on the fading signs of his recent fight. She knew in a day or two they would be gone completely.
He had only three permanent scars, acquired before his healing ability had developed. She knew the story of each. He’d kept them to remind himself of the lessons they’d taught. The one on his back reminded him to be careful where he placed his trust. The broken lines on the knuckles of his left hand to remind him of the importance of hard work. The jagged tear at his throat to remind him of mortality. He’d placed her fingers over it in the dark so she could learn the ridges as he’d explained that it had begun to lose effectiveness. Until she came into his life.
She had taught him that fear and hope were sides of the same coin and that love was the prize for claiming one over the other. After, they’d made love with a fearsome gentleness, and when, at last, she slept, she did not dream of the dead.
He coughed lightly and she looked up. A little grin curled his mouth. “My eyes are up here.”
She swallowed the emotion in her throat and focused on detangling her hair. “Quit strutting around like a peacock.”
He laughed, giving a quick glance to assure himself all his tools were in order before examining the task at hand in the mirror. Trekking across remote plains and into abandoned mines didn’t lend itself to personal grooming apparently. She’d never seen him with so much growth. It made him look feral and unpredictable.
“I realized something on the road,” he said as he lathered. “The others run their territories like fiefdoms, and by turning a blind eye I have accomplished nothing. If I fall tomorrow, this will all go away.”
Isela shivered. Only meeting the Allegiance had given her an indication that the world was not as stable as it seemed. The peace Azrael kept within his borders made his territory one of the most successful.
“There is only one solution,” he said, taking the razor to his cheek.
She watched his strokes. Sure and steady, he razed the week’s worth of growth in orderly passes, pausing occasionally to clean the blade. She was glad he hadn’t asked her to do it. As intimate as it sounded, the fact that she had no idea what she was doing would have killed any growing arousal. She didn’t want to test his immortality by accidentally slitting his throat. And now her hands were shaking at his words.
“You mean to take down the Allegiance.” Isela sat down on the edge of the tub, the length of her hair forgotten over her shoulder.
His eyes met hers in the mirror. “One by one if I must.”
“Why now?”
His words were simple, but she felt the conviction in them. “I wasn’t strong enough before.”
“Before what?”
“Before you.”
Challenging the Allegiance. It sounded like lunacy. They would be two against seven, and she just learning how to use the power of the god.
He saw it in her face. “Not tomorrow, Isela. Not even in a year. But we can do it. Together.”
Azrael focused on his reflection, gliding over his chin and along the skin of his neck. He scrutinized a bit of skin on his jawline, made a quick pass, and then set down his razor. A splash of water and the familiar face reappeared—controlled, unflappable. But now she knew what was there, beneath. She could see the untamed under the surface of his skin.
“My family,” Isela said finally. “My friends.”
He inclined his head. “We can try to wait it out, protect what is ours. It doesn’t have to come to war. I’ve already begun to make allies in the Allegiance, perhaps we can persuade others to join us and dismantle it from within.”
She thought of Yana. If they were bold enough to snatch her in the heart of Azrael’s territory, was anyone she loved truly safe? Could she ever consider any of the others allies?
“You must promise me something,” she said, proud of how calm her voice sounded as she managed to steady her fingers enough to make a braid.
A canted grin in the mirror. “You’re learning how to deal with immortals.”
“You will treat me as your consort. You will tell me everything, and you will include me in your plans and stratagems.”
“And you’ve been reading the codes,” he said admiringly.
“Dante is a good teacher.”
“The best,” he agreed. He paused thoughtfully. “There may be times that I must move fast, and I won’t have time to talk it out. Can you trust me in t
hose moments, that I do what is best for us and to explain later?”
Her heart thudded against her rib cage. Every beat now bore his name, as though it had always been so. “I can. Will you trust me to handle my goddess in the manner that I think best?”
Thank you, Isela. Gold chimed in. You didn’t forget me.
As if you’d let me, Isela said wryly.
A rush of rose gold bloomed in her chest.
“I can,” Azrael said.
Isela dried her hand and stretched it out. Azrael turned, crossing his arms over his chest and studying her. Isela kept her eyes north of his belly button. Mostly. He chewed at his lower lip, and every last thought fled her brain.
“For the gods’ sakes, put on some pants,” she muttered.
“Hard time concentrating?” he said, leaning back against the counter. “It’s still worse when you prance about in one of those tiny leotards.”
Isela’s cheeks heated but she held his gaze. “Do we have a deal or not, O lord of death?”
His brow slid north. “One more thing.”
She waited patiently.
“Your hair,” he said. “Will you wear it down more? It favors you.”
Isela snorted. “We’re talking about taking down the most powerful seven necromancers in the world—”
“And their cronies.”
“And their—cheese and crackers—we are in way over our heads,” she muttered, glaring at him. “And you are worried about my hair?”
“I’m a simple man.” He shrugged. “I enjoy the sight of my lover’s hair and the feel of it free against my skin.”
“Do you know how much conditioner that’s going to take?” She sighed. “Fine. Don’t run off into danger without telling me what’s up. Hair down. Got it.”
She extended her hand again expectantly. He clasped her palm in his own and drew her against the length of his chest, lowering his head to taste her mouth. She couldn’t help herself, she drew her fingers along the smooth skin of his cheek, and arousal pressed into her core with pulsing heat. He lifted her easily so she could rest her knees on the countertop on either side of his hips. He stroked her cheeks with his freshly bare jawline and mouth until she purred.
Dancer's Flame (Grace Bloods Book 2) Page 25
