Текст книги "Raziel"

Автор книги: Kristina Douglas

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“Maybe you’re not,” I managed to mutter. “You’re eternal. I’m not.”

It was the wrong thing to say. The playful expression on his face vanished, and darkness closed down. He started to pull away, but I shook off the last of my malaise and grabbed his arm, drawing him back. “Look, it’s just me. There’s no need to go all broody about it. It’s not like I’m the great love of your life.”

I could feel his anger again, but this time it didn’t frighten me. He caught me, rolling me underneath him. “You idiot,” he said. “Don’t you understand anything about this?”

“That you go through women every century or so? Sure, I get it. And you said Azazel and Sarah were an anomaly, so I assume once I hit my forties or fifties you’ll be turning your attentions elsewhere, and—”

“You don’t know anything,” he said brutally. “We’re bound together, you and I. It’s not casual, it’s not until you grow old. It’s not ‘just you.’ It is you. Why do you think I’ve fought it so hard? From now on, you’re the most important thing in my life, whether I want it that way or not.”

It still sounded to me like he didn’t really want me, that some cosmic jester was playing a game with him, tying him to me when he would rather have been with someone else.

“No,” he said, reading me again. “You’re missing the point. I didn’t want to care about anyone this way, ever again. The loss is too hard. If I think about losing you, it makes me crazy with grief and pain. I can’t lose you.”

“Just because someone put a whammy on you—” I began, prepared to argue my point.

“No one put a ‘whammy’ on me, whatever the hell that is. We were destined, and I was a fool to try to fight it. If I hadn’t been so determined to stay alone, I would have saved us both a lot of trouble. Look into my eyes, Allie. Look deeply. You know me.”

He was making me nervous, and I skittered away from the memories I was afraid to face.

“You knowme,” he said again, and I looked deep into his black, striated eyes, and remembered.

Sitting alone in the yard, listening to my mother scream at me from the living room, hugging myself, and he was there, and I didn’t feel alone. And later, when my mother dragged me from the drugstore where I’d been looking at makeup, I saw him again. And remembered him, even when he wasn’t there, and somehow I managed to withstand the rage and the lectures, knowing he was there. And my throat burned.

“I should have come for you sooner, Allie,” he said gently. “If I hadn’t been fighting it so hard, I would have been there. As it was, I didn’t even recognize you.”

I wasn’t going to cry. “But you still want to escape,” I said. “You still want to break this . . . connection.”

He hesitated, and that hesitation was enough to tell me I was right. “It’s not that simple,” he said finally. “You’ve been through a lot. I don’t think you’re ready.”

“Don’t tell me what I’m ready for,” I said. “I know what I feel. And all I want to feel is you.” And I moved up and put my hand on his chest, pushing him back on the bed.

He was warm, almost hot, and his skin was smooth and taut. I leaned over and kissed him, just the briefest brush of my lips against his mouth, and when he would have deepened it I moved away, letting my mouth trail down the side of his neck, kissing him where he’d tasted me, where he would have bitten me if he’d really wanted me forever.

But he wasn’t going to sense that. I kept my mind filled with images of him and me, images and words and all the reactions of the senses, taste, touch, smell as well as sight and sound. I could hear his heart pounding, the blood pouring through his body, and there was something unbearably erotic about it.

I moved my mouth down, down, not quite sure how to go about it. I’d seen porn at Jason’s insistence, so I knew the mechanics, but I didn’t want to follow that energetic example. Instead I wanted to explore him, carefully, using my tongue, tracing the blue veins, the thick, hard weight of him, closing my mouth around the head and sucking it gently, until I heard his moan of such blind surrender that waves of sexual delight danced through me, and I wanted more of him, wanted to pull and suck on him, wanted all of him in my mouth, and his groan sent shivers of pleasure through me.

He pulled me away, breathless, hauling me up to look at him. “Not that way,” he said. “Not this time.” And he pulled me under him, his mouth closing over mine.

I was shaking again by the time he moved his mouth. Could I come just from kissing him? Could I come from simply putting my mouth on him? Climaxes were there, just out of reach, almost ready, and my hands were trembling. It was too much. Panic was suddenly beating around me, and I tried to scramble away from him.

“I can’t,” I said in sudden fear. “I really can’t.” And I tried to get off the bed.

He caught me at the edge, pulling me back underneath him so that I was facedown on the bed, my mouth against the linen sheets that smelled of lavender and spice and something even more elemental. “Yes you can,” he said with simple truth, and he slid his arm under my stomach, pulling me up to my hands and knees.

I knew what he was going to do, and I was past the point of having expectations. I wanted whatever he wanted, and if he was going to take me this way I would revel in it. I could feel him against my sex, hot and solid and still wet from my mouth, and even at that angle he slid in smoothly, filling me, and I let out a strangled cry at the thick invasion that twisted at my heart. The different angle made it feel new, strange, incredibly powerful, and almost more than I could bear.

He took one of my hands and pulled it behind me, placing it on his cock, and I realized to my dismay that even though I felt completely filled, there was a goodly amount still waiting. I let my fingers wrap around him, and I wanted more. I wanted all of it. All of him. Everything.

“Allie,” he breathed, a sound of regret and longing. “I don’t think I can stop if you need me to.”

“I don’t need you to,” I said, trying to push back at him, trying to get more of him. “I won’t break, you know. I just need you.”

He groaned, and pushed in, deeper, harder, and he felt huge, almost more than I could handle. Almost.

“More,” I whispered, and he thrust.

I let out a little cry, a mixture of pain and surprise, as he somehow managed to sheath himself all the way inside me, and I could feel him against my womb, and I wanted his child in there, wanted it so desperately.

But I could never have it. No children, no family, no cottage with a white picket fence.

But I could have him, all of him, and I let out a soft grunt of satisfaction as I took him. He was mine, I reminded myself. Even if he was looking for an escape clause, I had taken him, everything, inside me. He was mine.

He pounded into me, a heavy dark rhythm that was like drumbeats from the heart of Africa. The drums of the gods. And I couldn’t stop the shudders rushing through me, mini-climaxes that were building, and his hand went between my legs, his fingers touching me, and I screamed, putting my head down, my face into the sheets as I gave in to the wildness and power, the animal need washing through me. I gave myself to him with complete trust, no longer thinking, no longer doubting. He would keep me safe, he would stop when I had more than I could handle, he would know.

Again. And again. And again, he thrust into me, and each hard push made me shatter, over and over, until I couldn’t think, couldn’t hear, couldn’t see, I was nothing but a seething mass of sensation.

He pulled out and I raised my head and cried out from the loss of him, but he simply turned me underneath him, pushing inside me again, deep, so deep. “I want to look at you when I come,” he said, his voice a low growl, holding very still inside me.

My voice had vanished. I couldn’t think, couldn’t doubt; all I could do was feel. I was his completely, but he was holding back. “Take me,” I whispered.

“Take me.”And reaching up, I took his head and pushed it toward my neck, so that his mouth was there, hot and wet, and I felt the scrape of his teeth, and I wanted more. “Take me,” I whispered again. “Take everything.”

He tensed, froze in my arms, and for a moment I was terrified that he’d pull away from me. He lifted his head and looked at me, and there was such sorrow in his eyes, a sorrow I didn’t understand. “Allie,” he said softly.

But I was inexorable. My body was aching with need, a need I neither recognized nor understood; but I somehow knew I had to have his mouth on me, drinking from me, for me to finally feel complete. “Please,” I begged him, when I’d sworn I would never beg. “Feed.”

He kissed my lips, so gently I wanted to cry. He leaned down and kissed the side of my neck, with the same feathering sweetness. And then I felt the sharp, sweet, piercing pain as his teeth sank into my skin, felt the draw of him sucking at my neck, drinking from me, drinking life from me, and I felt tears running down my face, as I was finally made complete. Filling him as he was filling me.

His cock inside me seemed to swell, and I cradled his head against me, running my fingers through his thick, curling hair, whispering to him, soft words, love words.

And then he pulled away, rising up, and I could see my blood on his mouth, see the glitter in his eyes. He stared down at me, not moving, and I felt his climax deep inside me, giving me back what he had taken from me, and I joined him, flinging myself into the darkness with only him to guide me.

I MIGHT HAVE SLEPT MINUTES, hours, days. It didn’t matter. I was wrapped in Raziel’s arms, and neither of us was moving. I felt his hand brush my cheek, so gently. “You’re crying,” he whispered. “I hurt you. I knew I shouldn’t have.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” I said, rubbing my face against his hand like a hungry kitten. “I’m happy.”

He moved a fraction so he could look at me, and his expression was bemused. “Do you always cry when you’re happy?”

“I don’t know that I’ve ever been happy before,” I said simply.

He was about to argue, then stopped as he remembered my life, the life he knew almost as well as I did. “Maybe you haven’t,” he said finally, and kissed me.

I wondered if his mouth would taste of blood, but it didn’t. It just tasted like Raziel, and I kissed him back, then let him tuck me against his warm, naked body. I didn’t really want to move.

I ran my hand up his arm, my fingers delighting in the feel of him. “What does my blood taste like?”

His hand was at the back of my neck, his long fingers kneading the lingering tightness there, but at my words they stilled for a moment. “To me? Like honey wine, sweet and rich and intoxicating. Not like blood would taste to you.”

“So can you bite people and turn them into va—into blood-eaters?” I asked.

“No. Why would I want to? It’s a curse put upon us for disobeying God. Why in the world would I want to spread that curse, even if I could?”

“Because it would give eternal life, wouldn’t it?”

He knew what I was getting at, and he sighed, pulling me even closer. “No, Allie. It can’t be done. Humans are not made for the sacrament, and the one time one of the Fallen gave in to temptation, his mate died. It’s forbidden.”

“I was just curious,” I said.

“Of course you were.” His voice was wry.

“Are you always going to be able to read my thoughts?” I asked with a trace of asperity.

“I can try not to. When you’re feeling strong emotion, it will come to me, and it will go both ways. In day-to-day life, I can shield you.”

“And in bed? I’m assuming we’re going to do this again?” I held my breath, waiting for the answer. Was he still fighting it? Should Istill fight it?

It was a long moment before he spoke, an endless one. “As often as possible,” he said.

I knew his thoughts, knew what he wanted. Now. Again. “Yes,” I said. “Yes.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

ISHOULD HAVE FELT GUILTY. I HAD tried to resist, but in the end she’d just been too much for me. I’d fed from her, drunk deeply, and in doing so I tied her to me forever.

It was something I swore I would never do again. I had my choice, aeons ago, and I paid the price. There was no escape for me or the others, but for Allie it was different. As long as I had kept away from her vein there was still a chance she could eventually leave.

Not anymore. And having taken her blood, I was going to find her serving as the Source even more difficult. Dangerous. Not for me, but for whoever dared approach her. They might have to restrain me for the first year or so, until I learned to control my possessive fury.

I should have known I couldn’t stop myself. Not when she was pleading. And I should have known she would plead. A bonded mate needs that ultimate joining. Without it she never feels complete, and I’d accepted that she was, indeed, my wife. Once I’d taken her to bed it was a foregone conclusion, and it was remarkable I’d fought it for so long. I wasn’t usually so thickheaded.

I’d lied to her, shielding my mind so she wouldn’t know. There had been rare occasions when a mate had fed from her partner, but it was very dangerous. Four out of five times the woman would die. The fifth time she’d gain hundreds of years of life, as long as she continued to feed.

Morag had finally died when her mate had fallen beneath the Nephilim; she’d been well over eight hundred years old. I knew what Allie would do if she heard about it, and I couldn’t afford to let that happen.

I wasn’t going to worry about that now. I’d done my best to protect her—by taking her blood I’d made her escape impossible, and I was sorry for that.

But sorry for nothing else.

I left her sleeping. I would have preferred staying with her, but I had to find Azazel. I knew him well enough, could feel his energy, and I knew things were very bad. Sarah had been his soul. He would be empty without her.

I found him perched on the top of the ledge, looking down over the compound and the sea beyond it. The funeral pyre of the Nephilim had burned down to a few live coals, and I shuddered as I saw it. Our fear of fire is so deeply ingrained that it haunted me. Like us, the Nephilim were terrified of it, but we were too vulnerable to use it as a weapon.

I folded in my wings and sat down beside Azazel. He was staring at the boat that had hastily been built, the boat piled high with the bodies of our women and our dead brothers. Sarah would be on that boat. It would be set afire and then sent out to sea, a Viking burial to suit brave warriors, men and women alike. It was our ritual, one we couldn’t avoid, the only time we willingly embraced fire.

“I’m going to leave,” Azazel said in a quiet voice.

“I know.” We had been together from the very beginning, from before we fell. I knew him as well as I knew myself. And for the first time in millennia, he was no longer going to be there.

He turned to look at me, and there was a ghost of a smile in his dark eyes. “How are you and the woman getting along? Are you still fighting your destiny?”

“My destiny? What exactly is my destiny?”

“You’re married to the Source, or will be. It only makes sense that you should be the Alpha as well.”

“No. You’re the Alpha. You always have been.”

“I’ve always been married to the Source, and I suspect you’re not about to hand her over.”

I said nothing. There was nothing I could say.

“Besides,” he added, “I won’t be here.”

I knew there was no arguing him out of that one. “I will serve in your place while you’re gone,” I said. “The moment you return, you get it back.”

He shook his head, his eyes bleak, staring into an empty future. “I may not make it back. The Nephilim are growing stronger, and there’s nothing Uriel would like more than to bring me down.”

“Then why go?”

“I have to.” He looked back out at the boat. “I can’t be here without her, not right now. This will heal, it always does, even if I don’t want it to. But for now I can’t stay in our rooms, sit at our table, be in our house without her.”

I nodded. The loss of a mate was the most devastating thing that could happen to us, and Azazel’s passion for Sarah had been deep and strong. I could only hope he’d survive beyond our safe walls. Walls that were not so safe anymore.

“I understand,” I said.

He glanced at me. “Are you going to be able to watch when the others take the blooding sacrament?” he asked. “You seemed to be having a hard time controlling yourself earlier today. It might be better if you waited until you feed from her. Until you do, your possessive anger will be hard to control.”

“I’ve already fed from her,” I said.

Azazel looked at me. “So soon? You surprise me. I thought you hated her. You certainly fought hard enough to get rid of her.”

“She’s mine,” I said.

He nodded. “I suspected as much. But I should warn you. Even though you’ve fed from her, the first two or three occasions when others take her blood will be hard for you. Gradually you’ll get used to it and see the difference between the sacrament and when you feed. But it will be difficult. Do not let your jealousy get out of control. The woman is besotted with you. Even if she were able to look at other men, she wouldn’t—I’ve known that from the very beginning.”

“Did you know she’d be the Source?”

Darkness shuttered Azazel’s face. “No,” he said. “If I had, I would have killed her.” He rose, and I rose with him, watching as his wings spread out around him. “I haven’t found the traitor. I’d planned to wait until we discovered who let the Nephilim in, but I find I . . . can’t.” He looked toward the funeral boat, and his face was bleak.

“You won’t be here for the ceremony?”

“No.” It was a simple word that conveyed everything. “Good-bye, my brother. Take care of that harridan you brought among us.” And then he left, soaring upward into the night sky.

I watched him until he was out of sight, then sat again, not moving. This was the change I’d felt coming, the end that threatened us all. Azazel had led us from the beginning of time—he’d never left us. I had no gift of prognostication—but even I had known the end of times was upon us. It was no wonder I’d fought it.

Would the Nephilim have broken in if Allie hadn’t been here? Had that been part of Uriel’s plan? Had he known I would hesitate, recognizing her from our earlier meetings? Anything was possible.

There was nothing he wanted more than to distract us from our main goal, and he had succeeded. Lucifer still lay trapped, farther away than ever, and for a long time we would be busy mourning our dead and rebuilding our defenses. The monsters would have broken through sooner or later, but had Allie’s arrival, the fact that she was unquestionably mine, somehow pushed things up? I would never know.

Uriel was winning. I knew it, so did Azazel. It was little wonder he hated Allie. Her arrival had signaled Sarah’s death.

I thought back to the Source, her gentle smile, her wisdom. Allie was a far cry from Sarah’s serenity. I wasn’t even certain she’d agree to the sacrament.

She’d insisted she wasn’t going to provide blood for the Fallen. Once they started to weaken she’d change her mind, of course. Allie wasn’t the kind of woman who’d stand by and let anyone suffer.

Except, perhaps, me, if I annoyed her. I liked peaceful women. Gentle, obedient women whose only reason in life was to love me. Allie was too much of the new world. Already she’d been a pain in the butt, and I knew she’d continue to be. I would have to get used to it.

I should go back, tell the Fallen that Azazel had left us. Most of them would already know—the unspoken bond among all of us was very strong. I could tell them, and then head back upstairs and wrap my body around Allie’s and wake her slowly.

I’d tried to be careful, afraid I’d hurt her. She was small, unused to me, and the thought of causing her pain was enough to slow the raging tide of my hunger for her. But I hadn’t been able to stop, any more than I’d been able to keep from feeding from her. Yet she’d been able to take everything with no more than a slight wince. More proof that she was made for me, when I’d refused to believe it for so long. No ordinary woman could take me as she had, not without pain that would preclude pleasure.

I’d felt her tighten around me in helpless response, felt her give everything to me. She was mine, and I was hers.

I was no longer alone. I turned to see Sammael land beside me, light as ever, his light-brown wings folding down around him. His face was set, emotionless, and I greeted him without rising. He’d lost his mate as well. His grief had to be very deep indeed. So deep that he didn’t allow it to show.

“Azazel has left?” he said.

I had watched over Sammael after he’d fallen. Helped him with the huge adjustments, listened to him, advised him when he’d asked for counsel, stayed with him when the terrors hit him. If Azazel was an older brother, Sammael was a younger one. Someone I protected, guarded against evil.

I looked at Sammael and I saw the emptiness in his eyes. And I knew the truth.

I REACHED OUT FOR RAZIEL, but he was gone. The bed was already cold where he had been, though mostly he’d been on top of and beneath and behind and around me. I should have slept for days after all the things we’d been doing. Instead I was awake and wondering where he was. And when he’d be back, beside me, inside me, again.

I didn’t want to get up—the evening air was cool and the covers were deliciously warm. Hadn’t someone told me I wouldn’t have to use the bathroom as much? They’d lied.

I got up, noticing with lascivious amusement that my legs were shaky. I staggered to the bathroom, understanding for the first time the term relieving oneself. Washing my hands, I looked at my reflection in the mirror and laughed.

He’d left his marks on me. The bite mark on my neck, two pale puncture marks that looked like something out of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.The whisker burns on my breasts. The tiny bites and scratches and even faint bruises all over my pale skin. Tentatively I let my hands slide down my body, caressing all those marks, and I closed my eyes, letting out a soft sigh of pleasure. “More,” I whispered. What had the man done to me—turned me into a nymphomaniac? I’d had more sex in the last two days than I’d had in years.

I headed for the shower, stepping beneath the warm spray that was always at exactly the right temperature. Just another one of the perks of the afterlife, I thought. I’d always hated fiddling with showers to make sure the water temperature was right, particularly in a prewar apartment building in New York City with antique plumbing. The lovely perfection of the shower in Raziel’s rooms was joyful indeed.

Not to mention that there were seventeen different sprays, ranging from the rain-forest shower overhead to the myriad massaging sprays coming from the silver pipe, each aimed at a strategic part of my body. I reached for the liquid soap and almost swooned. It had the same spicy scent that clung to Raziel’s golden skin. I closed my eyes and slathered myself with it, letting the water sluice it away from me.

The bathroom was filling with steam, and I sat on the shower’s teak bench to enjoy it; a moment later I heard the door open, and my pulse leapt. He was back, sooner than I expected. I’d never shared a shower with a man. Sharing one with Raziel would be . . . delicious.

“I’m in here,” I said unnecessarily. “Why don’t you join me?” It was astonishingly bold of me—while shyness had never been my particular failing, sexual openness was equally foreign. But I had looked into his eyes and known how much he wanted me, and no foolish misgivings would get in my way. He wanted me, and for now I could let myself accept it, revel in it. He was mine.

I could see his outline through the heavy mist in the bathroom, moving toward the shower’s doorless opening, and I rose in one fluid gesture, ready to move into his arms, when something stopped me. I froze, tilting my head to listen to him, but there was nothing but silence from the man who stood there.

It wasn’t Raziel. This man was shorter, broader. Dangerous. I’d already called out to him—there was no chance of pretending that I wasn’t there. No chance of slipping out of the open shower and hiding behind the bathroom door. I was trapped.

I left the shower running, on the off chance that whoever was in here had an aversion to getting wet, even as I realized how foolish that was—it wasn’t the Wicked Witch of the West who was threatening me. He moved closer, and the overhead spray beat down on his blond curls, his well-modeled face, and I felt relief wash through me. It was Sammael. Raziel must have told him to bring me to him.

His expression was odd, almost vacant, as he reached past me and turned off the water. He paid no attention to the fact that I was naked, but that didn’t surprise me. I was hardly the type to inflame the passions of most men, and Sammael had just lost his beloved wife. He was probably barely aware of me.

He took my arm, not gently at all, and pulled me from the shower, tossing a towel at me. “Dry yourself,” he ordered in his expressionless voice.

Something was wrong. With Sammael, with the situation, and fear sliced through me. Had Raziel been hurt?

I turned to him, about to demand an explanation, when something stopped me. He stood so still, waiting for me, his face blank, his eyes dead. Mourning his wife, I thought. But I still couldn’t rid myself of the belief that something was terribly wrong.

I didn’t waste any time, though toweling off and dressing while Sammael watched wasn’t one of the most comfortable things I’d ever done. I kept my back to him, turning around once I’d done up the white shirt and loose black pants I’d once more filched from Raziel. I still couldn’t face bright colors, but plain white seemed too mournful. “Are you taking me to Raziel?” I asked.

“Of course.” There was still that strange disconnect going on, as if he were in shock.

“I’m so glad you survived, Sammael,” I said. “I know the loss of Carrie must be so hard for you.”

He didn’t blink. “He’s waiting for you,” he said.

Where? I didn’t say the word out loud, though I’m not sure why. Feeling unsettled, I let my mind reach out, delicately, searching for Raziel.

There was no answer. Not even the muffled consciousness I’d been able to reach when he was deliberately closed off to me. Was he asleep? Had he gone somewhere to rest after the energetic hours we’d spent?

But he wouldn’t have done that. When I’d drifted off to sleep the last time, I’d been folded in his arms; in his repletion he hadn’t held anything back. He’d wanted nothing more than to sleep like that, his body entwined with mine.

And now he’d vanished. I jerked my head around to stare at Sammael. “Where is he?” I asked again. “Why isn’t he here?”

“He wants you to join him. He’s in the caves.”

A cold, creeping sickness filled my belly. He was lying to me. Raziel had told me never to come to the mountain again, and there was no reason for that to change, even in our recent rapprochement.

I began to back away slowly. I had no idea whether I could run faster than one of the Fallen, but it was certainly worth a try. “Let me just get a cup of coffee,” I said brightly, turning toward the kitchen.

“No.”

I raised an eyebrow, feeling haughty. “No? If I want a cup of coffee, I’ll get one,” I snapped. “And if what Azazel said is true and I really am the Source, you’re going to be relying on me for blood for the next little bit, however long it takes you to find another mate. So don’t piss me off.”

“I won’t need your blood,” he said. “The curse will be lifted, and I’ll be back where I belong.”

Oh, crap.“Just you? Or all of you?”

I didn’t need his expression to verify what I already knew. “You let the Nephilim in,” I said in a sick voice, remembering the sound and the stench of them, the hideous tearing of bodies, the screams of the dying. His own wife torn apart and devoured. I wanted to throw up.

“There is no new life without the end of an old one. The Fallen should have been wiped from this earth aeons ago. Once the Fallen have been destroyed, the new order can come to pass, and I will ascend to my throne in heaven.”

“Ascend to your throne? Do you think you’re God? Jesus?”

He gave me a look of withering disdain. “You know nothing of these matters. I will join Uriel as the guardian of heaven and earth, and wickedness will be burned out. The Fallen will be entombed in the middle of the earth as Lucifer has been, there to suffer eternal torment—”

“I get the picture.” There was a messianic gleam to his eye now, and I’d learned at my mother’s knee that there was nothing worse than a zealot. “And what happens to me?”

“You are the whore of a fallen one. There is no mercy or forgiveness for you.” He took my wrist, his hand grinding my bones together, but I bit my lip and didn’t say anything. “He awaits you.”

He dragged me out onto the narrow terrace, and I gave up all dignity and shrieked for help, prepared to fight like hell before I let him throw me over.

Instead he put one beefy arm around my waist and soared upward, into the moonlit sky.

I stopped struggling. He could easily have dropped me, and I’d never liked heights. Yes, I know I was supposed to be over all my phobias, but there were a lot of things that were supposed to be true that so far had failed me.

I hadn’t been afraid when I flew with Raziel. But Raziel was my mate, my soul, everything to me. Since I was probably going to die, there was no need to try to talk myself out of it. It was completely unoriginal of me, but I was desperately in love with my beautiful fallen angel, and thank God I was going to die before I told him. At least I’d be saved that embarrassment.

Except that he knew. He had to have heard me, known me, during those endless, blissful hours of taking and giving. He knew I was in love with him, and had been since . . . I could no longer remember when I didn’t love him. It was so much a part of me that I couldn’t separate it into time or space. Loved him so much that I could die for him, leap into hell for him. Whatever I had to do.

I had a choice. I felt dangerously close to tears, but I wasn’t going to give in to weakness. If I was going to die, I was going down in flames, and I’d take Sammael with me if I could.