As the leather parted, she moved lower, settling herself between his thighs happily. Letting out a muttered oath as her tongue teasingly flicked out to taste him, one hand found its way to her hair, crushing the strands in his grip. Once her ruby lips wrapped around his cock while her gaze remained wholly focused on him, he was slain. This tiny slip of a woman had defeated him, as surely as if she'd met him on a battlefield.
Her mouth was warm and inviting. It was all he could do to hold himself still, to keep from lifting his hips and surging forward. He couldn't last as long as he hoped, but he couldn't explain it'd been centuries since he'd allowed himself the touch of another.
She was human. She wouldn't understand and it would likely frighten her beyond belief to hear such a thing. Instead of embarrassing himself and bringing an end to this moment far too soon for either of them, he used his hold on her hair to pull, dragging her upwards.
Once she was settled back over his hips again, he found himself grinning. The skirts she wore had spread alongside her thighs almost perfectly. Now that he was bare, he was left in no doubt she was as well. His little nymph hadn't been wearing undergarments. The heat of her flush against him was intoxicating... there was no chance to stop this, even if he wanted to. He most certainly didn't want to.
Their gazes met for one perfect moment, his hips lifting as she sank down. The groans from both mingled in the air as Raziel felt her ass hit the top of his thighs. With a shuddering breath, he reached to cup her cheek, drawing her down for a bruising kiss before she began to move. Tarin's lithe form rose and fell like the summer tide, the light of the moon silhouetting her against a star-studded sky.
Raziel felt as if he was floating in the aether, connected by a single tether. To her. Pinpoints of light flashed behind his closed eyes, shocks of pleasure that seemed to start at his toes and work their way upwards. Fingers dug into her hips, they found a rhythm that had both uttering soft, undecipherable words of praise. Each time she retreated, he moved forward, ensuring he never truly left her.
As she threw her head back, an echoing cry left her lips. It was answered by one of his own as he felt her tightening around him, her liquid warmth easing the way as he found his own release. Momentarily speechless, he laid his head back against the moss-covered ground, tracing patterns over her thighs with his thumbs as he simply basked in the warmth and relaxation that accompanied such a heady excursion. She still hadn't opened her eyes to look at him, though. Concern laced the pleasure as he sat forward slightly.
"Tarin? What's wrong? Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?"
He'd never forgive himself if he had. He'd attempted to be gentle, but angelic strength sometimes couldn't be tempered. It was yet another reminder that he shouldn't be here. Gently hooking a curled finger under her chin, he forced her to face him, though she resisted slightly.
"Open your eyes, darling. Look at me, please."
When she did, Raziel felt the blood in his veins turn to ice. Where stunning sapphire eyes had once been, crimson had bled through until they were nothing but reflected flames, a verifiable fire to fall into. As he tried to pull back, she tipped her head back and laughed, revealing small fangs. What was she? Clearly not human, as he'd assumed.
Trying to shove her off of him, he paled as she hissed and managed to cling to him. Even with all his strength, he couldn't break free. A part of him still didn't want to hurt a female, even one that was clearly a demonic entity of some sort. Damn his morals.
Growling in irritation, he flung out an arm, catching her across the chest. He thought it'd be enough to dislodge her, at the very least. Instead, she seemed to relish it, taking succor in the pain and growing stronger as a result.
Before Raziel could figure out another way to get this Hellspawn off of him, she bent, lips caressing his throat. Minutes ago, he'd have shuddered in bliss. Now, the reaction was for something wholly different. His struggles renewed in earnest. Whatever she was, he was not going to allow her to drink from him, to take in angelic blood. While he didn't know if it would kill her or not, he did know there was power in blood. Too much of it.
Rearing back, he snapped his head forward, grimacing as their foreheads connected with a crack. As the vision of her swam before his eyes, he saw her mouth open, teeth glinting in the light from the moon above which had earlier caressed her with a lover's touch.
Now it spelled only his doom. The sharp pain of fangs digging into his throat made him curse in reaction, fists clenching. Impossibly, as she began sucking against his neck, he felt his cock hardening again, the reflex impossible to curb.
With a laugh of unbridled glee, she rolled her hips, tormenting him further. There on the dirt, she rode him in abandon towards her own climax as he fought her every step of the way, even as his struggles began to cease. With every pull of his blood, he was losing strength. As she murmured something he didn't catch, he began to pray.
Chapter Four
He woke trembling, a first for him. Archangels did not get sick, their bodies couldn't be taken down by something so trite. Yet, here he was. His skin was slick with a fine sheen, teeth chattering loud enough to hear even though he felt like he was on fire. Without warning, his chest heaved, the motion disconcerting in itself. He'd never thrown up before in his life. He'd seen Gabriel do it, though. This felt a lot like what he'd witnessed his brother doing when he'd drank far too much.
The feeling intensified as he purged his stomach contents onto the cold stone floor. Blood, and a lot of it. What in God's name had happened to him? His memories were fractured like a broken kaleidoscope. The pieces just didn't make sense. He'd walked a woman home after leaving Bell's Tavern, he knew that much. After nearly being mugged or attacked by human men, he'd stepped in to protect her.
Afterward, she'd held his hand, the smile she sent over her shoulder full of a promise he couldn't refuse. If the night held such riches, why couldn't he remember much else? When he went to stand, the world seemed to rotate on its axis. As his vision swam, flashes of hazy memories assailed him. The courtyard. Tarin. Her decadently lithe body writhing above him as his fingers dug into her hips to urge her on. Her azure eyes changing to crimson as her teeth lengthened.
He'd tried to pull away, but he'd been unable to. She'd sank her fangs into his throat, taking his blood in deep, painful pulls. As he'd fought, his throat had been ripped open, his life-force ebbing away as she beamed. She'd murmured something then, but he hadn't been able to hear it, the thundering of his heart eclipsing the noises of the rest of the world. As shadows began to seep from her skin, he'd begun to pray. "Our Father, who art in Heaven. Hallowed..."
He didn't get further. She'd hissed, disappearing in an instant as if she had never been. He'd stumbled to his feet, clutching his neck as his stomach cramped in a way he'd never felt before. Dropping to his knees at the edge of a fountain in the strange building he found himself in, he cupped his hands to bring the clear fluid to his lips. Anything to ease the parched tide of thirst that had suddenly overtaken him.
It didn't help. As his reflection steadied, he stared in awe. His throat, which should have been jagged and torn, looked unblemished, as if he'd never been fed on at all. Only the blood still caked to him bore witness to the event. Leaning closer, he let out a breath, a small exhale of air he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His eyes, normally a pale green, had shifted to become a perfect match to hers. Crimson. The color of evil, the color of death.
"Tarin!!!!!" His roar shook birds from the trees, echoed in the valley for miles. He'd been contaminated with the blood of something "other", something that should have never walked this earth among the humans. He was cursed, cast out. Heaven would likely not take him back. And still, the hunger beat at him, sinking claws into him and refusing to let go.
Clutching his head in his hands, he stumbled from the fountain, intent on getting back to the tavern. There, he could find his ampulla. They always kept them protected, stored near where they apparated into the human realm so they could retur
n safely once they were ready if they were too inebriated to use their powers to do it.
Surely, his Father could reverse this. Knew of some way to remove the stain on his soul. There were no other options. He refused to be a victim, to let loose the darkness the parasite had infected him with.
After searching for hours, he had to admit defeat. One of his brothers must have taken the ampulla with them when they'd realized he hadn't returned from his walk. Unfortunately, that left him stranded on Earth. Without his powers, without a way home, and with this accursed hunger that grew more insistent every minute even as he tried to ignore it. It wasn't a normal hunger pain, it was almost a combination of rabid thirst and hunger rolled into one, which nothing could slake.
With no other options, he returned to the building he'd woken up in. Drops of blood dotted the ground here and there, dried from the morning sun. He must have run after Tarin disappeared, ending up here. Lips twisting in sardonic amusement at the irony, he pushed the engraved door open with a shove, stepping into the darkened alcove. It was a shed or outbuilding on the grounds of an old monastery.
It figured, in his hour of need, he'd return to somewhere that kept him feeling connected to who and what he truly was. Unfortunately, he didn't think it would make much difference. If he couldn't get a handle on these urges to feed, he'd become just like them... evil. Fallen. A foul disease, a parasite on earth, worthy of nothing more than a quick execution. Now he knew how those he hunted felt.
Chapter Five
When you're among the damned, time has no real meaning. There is no clear separation as the rest of the world goes on. The passage of minutes and hours blends into a never-ending stream of consciousness you can't escape from, no matter how you try. You simply exist from one moment to another, whether you want to or not. This was his new reality, one he couldn't change.
After violently purging blood and bile from his system until he was weak and dizzy from it and failing to find his ampulla, he'd laid on the floor of the building he'd taken shelter in for what felt like only hours. Yet he'd witnessed the sky lightening with glorious rays of sunlight, then deepening with shades of twilight multiple times.
Days, then.
The world around him was maddening. It continued moving on as he stayed the same, locked in this hell of his own making. He could hear the tiniest whispers of unknown insects traversing the grass outside the lone window he'd situated himself in front of. Feel the vibrations of larger animals moving through the underbrush, digging under the dirt.
Their heartbeats sang a whisper of temptation, the sound of blood rushing through their small bodies a sultry lure that drew him to his knees. His throat was parched, dry as a desert ignored by the Allmighty. Desire pulsed through his veins, twisted and demented, a perverse craving that shook him to his core.
He was... hungry.
Archangels did not feed of the flesh. It was immoral, a perversity granted only to the humans, whom his father succored as they grew. His hands clenched into fists as he attempted to steady his breathing, the cool night breeze soothing him where nothing else would.
In... out. The soft rhythm of his exhales stirred the air around him, comforted him. If one could still breathe, could still feel the warmth of their flesh under their fingertips, still bleed their lifeforce into the waiting ground... surely that meant he was still alive.
Still... him.
Tarin had attempted to cast out his holiness, to steal the divine within him. She'd succeeded admirably, but he was not willing to relinquish his control over his senses so easily. If he did not feed on God's creations, then he surely was not evil. If he could temper the lust with his nonexistent grace and resist the urge long enough to earn his passage home, perhaps his Father could undo this travesty.
He wasn't meant to live among the monsters, scrabbling for blood in the sewers like vermin. He was an Archangel, the elite. The warriors chosen as protectors, as soldiers.
Surely this could not be his fate.
He ached, body straining towards the nourishment he had only to reach out and seize, but he would not bend. He would not break. He would starve before harming an innocent, she must have known that. Tarin would not be the death of him and he would find his way home.
All was not lost, hope was never gone. Where there was a will, there was a way and he was determined and stubborn enough to find it. He just had to keep the beast within at bay.
One more hour, one more day.
The greatest curse one could bear was to be given a glimpse of Heaven, of absolution, and then have it torn from their stretching grasp. It was far better to have never known such a glorious home, than to have loved it so deeply, so unselfishly, and have it ripped away in an instant.
For that treachery, Tarin would give her life. Her blackened soul would soothe his own, rotting in the deepest pits of Hell evermore. He would see his home again. He would earn his silken wings once more.
He would accept no other outcome.
Chapter Six
Breathing ragged, he brushed blood from his nostrils, attempting to steady his heartbeat. Dropping to his ass in the dirt, he put his head between his knees and closed his eyes, trying to settle himself as best as he could. He was covered in blood. His? Someone else's? He hadn't the slightest idea. He remembered teeth. Purging anything good left in his soul to make room for... something.
Gagging instinctively, he forced the reflex back. He was tainted. Cursed. She'd done something to him so vile, so wretched, that he would never again step foot onto the sacred ground of his home. Opening his eyes, he stared at his hands, turning them over to inspect them. Scratches raked over the skin, as if something or someone had fought him viciously. As he laid back on the grass, he let the memories come, determined to figure out what he'd done. What he'd become.
Screams. There were so many, panicked heartbeats sounding like thunder to his sensitive ears. They'd scattered like prey, horror in their eyes, fear in their stench. He'd torn through them like they were cattle, and in that moment, they had been. They were food, nourishment to those stronger and more powerful than they. Throats ripped to shreds as he drank eagerly of their life force, before tearing strips of flesh free. He, an archangel, had violated their corpses, tearing limbs, taking trophies. Where they'd gone, he didn't know.
He'd went on like that for days in a crazed bloodlust, hunger refusing to be sated, thirst unable to be quenched. In the end, he now found himself outside the monastery. With a sinking feeling, he tipped his head back, eyeing the imposing building behind him. Did he dare?
Did this accursed form he now walked in... desecrate those who had dedicated their lives to his own creator? He had to know. He couldn't rest until he knew for sure. Raziel needed to face his own actions. Pulling himself to his feet, he took one unsteady step, then another.
As the door swung inward, the scent of death hit his senses and he knew without even stepping further that he'd been here. This would forever be his burden to bear, his stain on his soul. Entering the silent monastery, he realized... it was no longer a place of worship. It was a tomb.
A few lay scattered in the vestibule, clutching their crucifixes in vain. He'd blown through them like they were nothing. Further along, there were still more, the religious crosses on the walls shoved through their chests, used to pin them to the wooden floorboards beneath.
Finally, he reached the doors to the sacred space beyond. He prayed to a God that no longer heard him to find he hadn't desecrated this holy temple. Of course he had. The abbot lay sprawled across the altar. His ribs had been pried open, until they stuck upwards like some kind of blasphemous offering. Resting on one like a pike was the male's heart. Or... most of it anyways. He had a sinking feeling he'd eaten the rest. Choking on bile, he sank to his knees.
His agonized howl shook the rafters, likely the Heavens themselves. He would never again feel his wings carry him across the sky. Never feel the soothing presence of his creator. He was damned, completely, and everything good in h
is life had forsaken him. As long as he'd held the darkness at bay, there had been hope.
Now even that was lost. He tracked back to where he'd started this devil's rampage, burying his victims one by one, or what he could find of them. He buried the friars and abbot in the little graveyard they tended, before he burnt the building to the ground.
Standing in the moonlight, flames were reflected in his reddened eyes as he turned his back. This was his penance. This was his reckoning. He was born an angel, reborn a monster. Now? He was utterly and completely alone in his despair. As one tainted and depraved as he deserved to be.
Hearing a tutting noise behind him, he whirled, heart leaping to see the dark haired vision behind him, before his face went white as he spotted the glowing sword held in his hand. He should have known one of his brothers would be sent to slaughter him. He'd expected Michael, if he were honest, but Gabriel was still an Archangel and obeyed orders as the rest of them did.
Bowing his head, he whispered a low prayer, before meeting Gabriel's eyes. "I'm ready, brother. I will not fight you. Release me from this Hell on Earth, and I shall be grateful to you for the kindness."
Ashes of Eden Page 2
