Warrior's Angel (The Lost Angels Book 4) (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

She’d had her warning, and she’d ignored it. She’d chosen to fight instead, the way she always fought, but she’d forgotten who it was she was going up against. And now her body betrayed her, succumbing to the wicked magic that ran through the man above her thicker than the lifeblood in his veins. Her thoughts reeled, spinning inexorably into oblivion as her womanhood pulsed hard, and pleasure ricocheted off every nerve ending she possessed. She cried out, but the sound was distant, heard only through the fog of the bliss that clouded her mind.

Eyes shut tight against the orgasm, she
felt him shred what was left of her clothing, ripping it away like so much tissue paper. She knew he could have simply willed it all away, but chose to tear it from her instead, bearing her before him by sheer force, the way a warrior would.

Righteous anger laced
her desire, familiar adrenaline joining the pleasure and giving it a ragged edge. She gritted her teeth as moisture flooded her core, and heat engulfed her, stealing so much of her strength. She wanted to battle, she needed to remain strong, but there was no hope. She rode out the orgasm with a low moan of surrender and clutched at him blindly as he again lowered himself above her, all fire and ice and sizzling electricity.

Somewhere outside, the sky was answering her spirit once again, and thunder rode through the heav
ens like the portent of her final downfall.

His lips were at her ear, his breath upon the flesh of her neck as he laughed with infinite cruelty, letting the sound of his victory wrap around her, punishing her as surely as the chains of his incubus magic.

“You are absolutely stunning, Rhiannon,” he told her before he placed a tender but threatening kiss upon the taut skin beneath her ear lobe. “Naked and writhing in ecstasy in my bed. You should see yourself.” More laughter, a low chuckle that licked like flames inside her, edging her closer to a second, forbidden climax.

She fought for breath, forced it between her lips. “Go to hell,” she gasped
, losing any further speech as one of his lips again brushed her neck, this time over the throbbing pulse of her vein.

Rhiannon forced her eyes open
to meet his now red-burning gaze.

He rose on one elbow above her
and pinned her with a look of searing, carnal craving. “Oh, I most likely will.”

She’d never seen anything so beautiful, and she’d never looked upon anything so terrifying. He might have been carved from alabaste
r, all ridges and grace, all untapped strength and skin that housed a vessel of sheer magic. But his eyes glowed like the blazes of hell, fangs threatened in a devil’s smile, and waves of pulsing pleasure radiated out from him to lick at her flesh like whips of sexual intoxication. The flames flickering at the centers of his vampire pupils were the fires of her annihilation.

“And I’m taking you with me.”

She hadn’t known that his hand was there, fisted at the back of her hair, until he yanked her head back to expose her throat. She gasped, ready to cry out, but that second orgasm she’d felt inching closer washed over her with infernal intensity, sucking the air from her lungs as his teeth drove home.

The duplicity of sensations hit her from both sides, a pain and pleasure of epic proportions, threatening the temporary sanity of her mind.
There was wetness beneath her fingertips, but only vaguely did she realize it was his blood, running beneath the nails she’d dug into the strong muscles of his back.

Wave after wave of intensity rode through her as he pierced
her without remorse, sinking his teeth deep and hard, claiming her exactly as she’d been so afraid – and so
hoping
– he would.

But it hurt
…. And it felt so good. He drew hard against her, pulling her precious life blood from her veins and into his with unbridled selfishness. The sensation was a constant rise and fall of surrendering passion, holding her in some sort of pleasure stasis, trapped in the velvet and satin of vampire love.

But a
new need was blossoming within her, one that rode like an earthquake beneath the incubus pleasure he swathed her with. It was deeper, more demanding, more real. There was an emptiness within her that ached and bloomed and opened, hot and slick and maddeningly real.

That hurt too.

Rhiannon’s eyes flew open once more, and she inhaled sharply, the world slamming into her like the kiss of a whip when she felt Michael’s fingers brush through the strawberry blond curls between her legs to slide to the heart of this new, throbbing need.

She was so slick, so sensitive, his slightest touch caused her to buck beneath him, and he chuckled against her skin as he drank harder, punishing her movement with another wave of fang-
induced pleasure. He touched her again, gliding over the swollen flesh of her lips to press slowly, firmly, between them.

Rhiannon cried out, and the rumble of thunder that had courted them earlier became louder, closer, riding over the apartment complex like
a massive beast.

Every orgasm he’d given her had been a part of his plan. She realized his cruelty as his fingers continued to press inward, sliding past her swollen defenses with expert, tender brutality. He’d only fueled her, prepared her,
sensitized her to his touch. He’d flushed her body with pulsing desire and swelled it pink with every climax he’d sent crashing over her – so that he could do this now. So that he could torture her with his final touch, this winning and wicked subjugation of her quivering, aching body.

You bastard
, she thought.
Monster! Angel…
.

His finger was inside her now,
and Rhiannon twisted and writhed as it was joined by another. She couldn’t keep herself from moving to meet him, begging him without words for whatever more he would give.

He moved slowly
within her, pulling slightly away and pressing further in, so tight that every nerve ending was caressed by his delicious touch. Rhiannon felt delirium inexorably wash over her as, unaided by magic, her own body built itself toward an ultimate peak, one higher and yet deeper than anything she’d ever known.

She cried out again, half-sobbing as Michael extracted his fingers and she very nearly went mad.

He moved above her, and she felt a heat that burned touch upon the entrance to her core. It pressed past her lips, inching and threatening, so large, she stretched around it in perfect pain. His flesh was a brand, and even if it killed her, she wanted it inside her like she’d never wanted anything before.

Please….

Her mind spun over the word without control. She gritted her teeth, pressing against him with everything she had in a futile attempt to keep fighting, to
win
. To make him do what she needed him to do.

And then she screamed as Michael’s
fangs sank deeper; she hadn’t realized his teeth weren’t impaling her to the hilt before. A split second later, the world exploded as he drove his cock into her with a hard, merciless thrust that filled her to the point of perfect, triumphant agony and seared her from the inside out.

The delirium that had threatened
her now flooded her, covering her in its sheltering darkness from which there is no escape, and pushing her past the point of no return. Michael pulled back agonizingly – then thrust into her again, gripping her body tightly to his. Rhiannon had no control over the sounds she was making; they filled the room, soft and desperate, fuel for the monster that had taken over her archangel.

He growled against her throat,
his claws pricked her skin, he pressed painfully deep inside her, and pulled back to drive into her once again. His strong body controlled them both, taking her over and over, claiming her with each thrust and every swallow.

A languid peace was coming over Rhiannon. Her
body crackled, lightning struck, and thunder engulfed them as Michael drove into her one last time, yanked his fangs from her throat and cried out in deep, hard male satisfaction.

Rhiannon felt him swell
within her, the pulse of his orgasm flooding her with liquid fire that set off one last, ultimate climax in her own body. She closed her eyes and smiled, riding it out in helpless, gluttonous satisfaction.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

She was banging a jar against the kitchen counter in her dream, trying to break the seal on the lid to loosen it. She kept banging, and it was still tight. Eventually, the jar shimmered, and everything warped, and Rhiannon opened her eyes.

Someone was knocking on the door.

“I didn’t want to wake you, but I think we should probably answer that,” said Michael. His lips were at her ear, and his voice raised chills down her neck. She bit her lip and shifted, sitting up. She took the sheet with her when she did, and it pulled away from Michael’s chest.

She couldn’t help but admire it.

They’d been in his bed more or less for hours. She’d lost track of time, in fact. When they’d come down from their first bout of lovemaking, he’d left her in bed to acquire them both some food. What he’d said about not shopping very much had been true, so Rhiannon had taken a shower and dressed in a borrowed shirt as he’d gone out for new clothes for her, managing to purchase exactly the right brands, colors, and sizes. He also came back with fresh fruit such as peaches and strawberries, which she loved. The jewel on his crown of purchases had been the diet root beer, which she pretty much craved on a regular basis these days.

Rhiannon knew he’d learned most of these things about her
when he’d “checked up on her” during his work for the NYPD. Her clothing sizes and preferences, however, she was guessing he’d gathered from the garments he’d shredded from her body earlier.

He
did know quite a bit about her, though, because he also brought back Pad Thai, which was her favorite food, and an entire bag of Sixlets, which happened to be one of her favorite candies. She’d laughed and shaken her head at his presumptuous admittance to having done his homework on her, and then she’d ripped open a mini-pack of Sixlets and slid every tiny chocolaty ball into her mouth.

They’d talked.
About everything, really; mostly about the Adarians, Gregori, Samael and the other archangels and their archesses. But also about life and the world, in general.

It felt bigger to Rhiannon now
, that world. For decades, the universe had been people.
Just
people, really. People she could divide into good and bad: evil bastard and victim.

Now, however, it wasn’t just people, and it wasn’t just a univer
se. There were worlds out there beyond her own. There were not only other places with other beings, but other
realms
. It was no longer a universe, but a
multiverse
.

Normally, this realization would make a person feel very, very small. But Michael Salvatore was the Warrior Arch
angel, one of the Four Favored, and she was his chosen mate. She wasn’t less important than she had been before. If anything, she felt bigger now than ever.

As they’d talked
, they began to forget about the worries that had plagued them until now, and they’d eaten, which Michael practically forced her to do so that she could regain her strength. And when that strength was regained, they’d fallen right over the cliffs of lust once more and tangled themselves in the sheets of Michael’s bed in another round of mind-blowing sex.

But now someone was banging on the door, and Rhiannon guessed
that every good thing had to come to an end at
some
point.

Michael
smiled and sat up with her on the bed. “One sheet,” he said. “We can’t both take it.”

“It’s mine,” she replied firmly.

Michael shrugged casually and got out of the bed, exposing his body with shameless abandon.

Rhiannon felt her gut tighten and a
hot blush take her cheeks. It wasn’t like it was the first time she’d seen it, but it was quite a body. He
was
an angel, after all.

He pretended to igno
re her, concentrating on grabbing fresh clothing from his dresser drawers. He pulled on a worn pair of jeans over nothing at all and then shrugged another black tee-shirt over his head and shoulders.

Rhiannon watched him dress
, and absent-mindedly touched the wounds he’d left on her throat. There was not a force strong enough in the world to make her heal those particular wounds. They were battle scars she fully intended to keep. She flushed with happy memories every time she felt a twinge of soreness, either on her neck or… lower.

When Michael
finished, he turned back to find her still watching him. His brow raised, and his lips turned up at the corners.

“I just slept with you,” she said defensively. “
Twice. I’ve earned the right to ogle.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off.

“No, it doesn’t go both ways.”

He chuckled, but like a gentleman, he tur
ned around, allowing her to discreetly exit the bed. She moved like liquid lightning to get back into her clothing, despite her soreness.

T
he knock came again at the door, this time sounding more desperate than before.

“
Rhee? Are you in there?” a small voice called. It was tight and high-pitched with emotion.

Rhiannon’s eyes widened, and she straightened,
having just finished with her second boot. “Oh my God, that’s Mimi!”

Shame flooded her; s
he was moving at once. She and Michael left the room to head down the hall at a full-on run. Mimi sounded desperate.

Michael reached the door, turned the knob, and popped it open.
Rhiannon came up beside him, nudging him out of the way.

Mimi stood on the threshold of Michael’s apartment, with Strike in her arms. The dog lay limply in her grasp, eyes closed, chest unmoving. Blood matted his fur here and there, and had gathered and dried at his muzzle. He was very obviously dead.

Mimi’s face was a mess of tears and snot. Her eyes were swollen and her skin was the ruddy color of terrible emotion.
Strike’s blood had stained her clothing, but her grip on the animal was fierce. She shook uncontrollably on the doorstep, and Strike’s body shook with her.

“
They killed him!” she cried, her voice clogged and trembling. “The gargoyles did it!”

Rhiannon
shot forward, taking Mimi in her arms while Michael eased Strike’s body out of her small grip. Thunder rolled over them all as Rhiannon tenderly and quickly ushered Mimi into the apartment. The late afternoon sky was darkening by the second, not only because the sun was setting, but because clouds were moving in like a water vapor stampede.

“
Aunt B grounded me,” Mimi cried. Rhiannon sat her down on the couch and went to fetch a wet washcloth. “It made me so mad, I snuck out again! I couldn’t find Strike!” She hiccupped.

Thunder moved closer, finding purchase in
the gathering darkness.

Rhiannon helped Mimi
blow her nose, and ran the damp washcloth slowly over her face. “But when I was hiding in the hall, I heard two guys talking about
gargoyles
. They said they’d been in your rooms, Rhee! And Strike was in there!”

Despite the fact that her heart was hammering, and her chest was tightening in empathy for Mimi, t
he temperature of Rhiannon’s blood began to drop in her veins. Gargoyles had been in her rooms? Looking for her? How the hell had they gotten in?

The outside of the Swallowtail Foundation’s
apartment complex was stone.
They can move through stone
. And it was as easy as that.

Fully frozen ice
traveled through her arteries and capillaries now, grating like icebergs against the hull of a ship. Mimi
had
left Strike in her room. She’d admitted as much earlier, at the restaurant. Strike was dead because of Rhiannon.

“Mimi,
oh God, I’m so sorry….” She got up from where she’d been kneeling in front of Mimi before the couch, and sat down next to the child, who immediately wrapped her arms around her waist.

Mimi
began bawling uncontrollably. “I… found… him… in the… alley!” She called out the muffled words in-between cries. “His neck is broken!”

Rhiannon looked up to see Michael standing in the archway to the adjoining kitche
n. His face was stricken, and his eyes were that impossible blue just before glowing. He’d placed Strike’s body on the linoleum floor and covered him with a towel.

Rhiannon met his
gaze. But any thoughts they might have shared about the gargoyles, about Gregori, or about the Culmination, were cut short as lightning struck so close outside, the thunder blew all sound to oblivion.

The windows shattered inward, and
Mimi screamed, but Rhiannon only partially heard it. Her ears were ringing as she took them both to the ground, covering the girl’s body with her own. She hadn’t prepared for that lightning bolt; it hadn’t been one of her own. The sound was not magically muffled. Instead, it was terrible, like the sky cracking open to let in something dark.

It was
also disorienting. There was movement around her, but it was blurred and on the edges of her vision. Rhiannon propped herself up on extended arms and lifted her head.

Life
slid into slow motion. Something moved on the other side of the windows, but wind swatted at the curtains, giving her only glimpses of what it could be. She smelled something, too. Like the smell of a match striking, and of leather, and of some kind of acidic thing, like poison.

Dragons
. Her body turned heavy with dread.

She forced it to move,
pushing herself to her feet, taking Mimi with her. She lifted the child into her arms as the outer wall of Michael’s apartment exploded inward. There was no sound. Wood and insulation fragments sailed overhead in that slow motion that would have gone wonderfully with the score to
Platoon
.

Rhiannon ducked, taking Mimi with her
. They rolled as something large came through the wall directly in front of them. Once more, fragments of building sailed through the air in a cosmic ballet.

One went through her right arm, but she felt it numbly, all impact with no pain, and she kept going. Her boots slid, still in slow motion, on debris t
hat was building up beneath and all around them.

The Culmination?

H
er mind whispered its fear, but even that whisper was lost to the numb silence of catastrophe.

She kept moving, dodging,
rolling and guarding like the player of some enormous video game, all the while hugging Mimi close. Heat licked at her side, the fire of a red dragon. A roaring sound tried to break through the slow-motion silence. Shapes loomed overhead, and somehow the ceiling was gone. An angry heaven stretched above the living room now, deep and dark and tumultuous.

L
ightning languidly sliced up that churning sky, carving it into fragments of dark energy. Wind whipped through her hair, and rain kissed her face. Rhiannon pushed on through the living room and into the hall. The ceiling was still intact there, and by comparison to the rest of the world, it was tranquil.

She recognized the door to Michael’s bathroom
and opened it at once, tossing Mimi inside. The girl stumbled, but caught herself on the bathtub.

“Get in and get down!” Rhiannon commanded. Mimi obeyed at once,
crawling over the lip of the tub. “Stay there!” Rhiannon turned to leave, planning to re-close the door behind her – for all the good it would do. Dragons were coming through the walls, after all.

But when she
turned back to the hall, it was to find it blocked. Half a dozen pairs of inhuman eyes were focused upon her.

It wasn’t just dragons, either

Every supernatural creature Rhiannon had ever gone up against was gathering in Michael Salvatore’s little one-bedroom apartment. And all of them were bent on killing
her
.