Archangel's Shadows (33 page)

Gripping the back of her neck, he kissed her again as she closed her fingers around the thick heat of his erection. His cock felt like iron, but his skin there, it was so delicate, so fine. Fascinated, her own pulse a hammer and her blood so scalding it was near ignition, she stroked gently to the tip, felt the wetness there. Her next stroke slicked that bead of wetness over him, turned his body even more rigid.

“Harder.” It was a harsh murmur against her ear.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

He chuckled. “There is a reason orgasm is called
la petite mort
.” Closing his hand over hers, he showed her a rhythm so rough she would’ve never done it on her own. But since he’d asked . . .

Releasing her on a groan when she proved an apt pupil, he locked his hand in her hair, kissed her, deep and voracious and raw. It was mouth sex and it scrambled her neurons. Her hand, though, it knew what to do, did it fast and hard until he broke off the kiss to throw back his head, muscle and tendon standing out in stark relief as his hips pumped into the fist of her fingers.

A
shwini looked down, watched him come for her, and it was the most erotic sight she’d seen in her life. When his muscles relaxed, she released him to bite at his throat, over his pulse. He shivered, then nuzzled at her, one hand cupping the side of her face. His eyes were lazy, his body languid as he walked her backward.

When the bed hit the backs of her knees, she fell onto it with a gasp. “My hand,” she murmured to the delicious man above her, one who looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed and was ready to crawl back in—with her.

A smile that was pure male. “I’ll take care of it.” Zipping up just enough to keep his jeans on, he moved with vampiric speed, was back from the bathroom in the time it took for her to inhale, the stickiness on her hand an erotic reminder of their intimacy.

Using a wet facecloth to wipe it off, he dropped the cloth over the side of the bed. “I’m not always so . . . civilized,” he said afterward, lifting one of her legs and pulling off her boot and sock. “Would you wear me on your skin?” Kissing her ankle, he put down that leg and picked up her other one.

Ashwini, her breathing less than even, found herself watching the way the muscles of his abdomen flexed and eased as he took off her other boot and sock. He looked up and, smiling, stepped between her thighs and braced himself with his palms on either side of her. Coming down in an effortless move, biceps taut, he flicked his tongue over her lips in a wet tease.

“You’re hot, sugar.”

“Yes.”

“You should take off your jacket.”

“That’s not the kind of heat I’m talking about.” Her body felt as if it were melting from the inside out, her bones honey. However, when he pushed back into a standing position again, she sat up and shrugged off her jacket, as well as the thin sweater she’d pulled on directly over her bra.

Janvier moved with that dangerous, beautiful speed again, his hands on her waist before she’d pushed the strands of hair off her face. Picking her up, he dropped her higher on the bed, so that her legs were no longer half hanging off the side.

It should’ve scared her, the evidence of his strength. Without her weapons, she’d never take him. But she wasn’t scared, not of Janvier, never of him. She welcomed him as he joined her on the bed, his shoulders blocking out the light. With his jeans barely hanging on to his hips, she had plenty of gorgeous male flesh to explore with her hands while he tasted and licked her throat.

Bracing himself on one forearm, he tugged down the cup of her bra. Her breasts were ordinary size; she’d never win a wet T-shirt contest. But Janvier groaned and dipped his head to suck not just her nipple but part of her breast into his mouth.

Spine arching, she thrust the back of her hand against her mouth to stifle her scream as he sucked. Each hot, wet pull went straight to her core. Her panties were so wet she could feel her arousal threatening to soak through her jeans. She didn’t care. Holding him to her, she undulated her body toward his in an attempt to rub up against the delicious friction of his cock.

When he lifted his head, she said, “No.”

Dropping a kiss to her nipple, he shifted his attention to her other breast and it was just as good. It tightened her stomach muscles, made her thighs clench around him.
“Janvier.”

“Let me,
ma belle sorcière.
”

She gave in, allowed him to do what he would, and was panting so hard by the time he lifted his head again that she had no breath to form words. Janvier stroked his hand down her ribs, then reached underneath and up to undo her bra clasp. When that proved difficult with her on her back, he grinned at her. “I’ll replace it.” Lace and cotton tore and her top half was nude to him.

Stroking her, shoulder to thigh, he kissed her mouth, her jaw, whispering sweet, dirty things in her ear that had her hips rising toward him even before he undid her jeans and slid his hand inside her panties. The shock of contact would’ve lifted her off the bed if he hadn’t been pinning her down with his body.

“So wet for me,
cher
.” His breathing as harsh as her own, he accompanied each word with a kiss. “You make me lose my mind.”

Her own mind a chaos of sensation, she clutched at his shoulders and, unable to resist the temptation, looked down. The sight of his hand between her thighs, his muscular forearm lightly dusted with hair, made her moan. She needed his kiss, needed to find an anchor again. He bent his head, gave her what she wanted without a word passing between them.

When he withdrew his hand ten seconds later, she dug her nails into his shoulders.

“I would see you.” Going down off the bed with those words—with a pause for a kiss or three along her body—he hooked his fingers at the sides and pulled off her jeans and panties in one strong tug. Dropping them onto the floor, he came to kneel between her thighs, taking hold of her knees to spread her wide.

Fingers closing on the sheets, she watched him watch her. His eyes were heavy lidded, his cheeks flushed at the arch of his cheekbones, his breathing ragged. And when she ran her eyes down his body, it was to see that he was thickly aroused, the zipper of his jeans doing a very bad job of containing his length.

“Take off your jeans.” She wanted to see him, too, wanted to have every inch of him touch every inch of her.

“In a minute.” Inserting his hand back between her thighs, he began to stroke her lightly, so lightly. Again and again and again until her skin shimmered and she was rising up against him, caught on the edge of a pleasure so intense, she could feel it building under her skin like an electrical storm surge.

He withdrew his hand.

She threatened to murder him in creative ways.

Janvier’s responding smile imprisoned her, seduced her. When he kissed her, she bit him. It only made his smile deepen. Wrapping her legs around his hips had no effect. He made his way down her body, and then . . .

The scream that came out her mouth as his own closed over her clit was a thin echo, her lungs devoid of air. He sucked hard, eating her up like she was candy, and the storm surge crested, collided. Her mind splintered, rode the crest . . . and he kept on kissing her, long slow licks, small sucks, and quick flicks that had her riding the wave for so long that she was boneless when it passed, her muscles quivering.

Pressing a kiss to her inner thigh, Janvier rose and got rid of his jeans at last.

Beautiful,
she thought but couldn’t say, her mind too fuzzy from the exquisite, erotic thing he’d done to her.

“You are the beautiful one, sugar
.
”

She frowned, but then he was coming over and she had other things to think about. His naked body on hers, it felt even better than she’d imagined, all heat and strength and a wholly masculine weight, his skin silk under her possessive hands.

Rubbing against her, Janvier reached down to stroke her again. She shivered, sensitive but not in a bad way. “Yes,” she murmured, before he could ask the question.

He kissed her again, and this time she kept her eyes open. So did he. The intimacy was blinding. When he slid his finger inside her, she shuddered but didn’t break the eye contact. Neither did he . . . and nudged in another finger. Spreading his fingers slightly inside her, he curved them to stroke her deep and slow.

Feeling the storm surge begin to build again, she stroked his cheek. “Together this time.”

Turning his head, he kissed her palm.

Her heart squeezed.

She ran her fingers through his hair and down over his nape as he removed his hand from between her legs and shifted position. When he slid his palm down her inner left thigh, she let him push her thigh out wider, and then he was nudging at her with his cock. She moaned at the feel of him pushing into her, the blunt head of his cock wide enough that she definitely felt it, her muscles stretching in an effort to accommodate him.

A small sound escaped her throat. He went motionless.

Tightening her legs around his hips, she rocked up. “I want you inside me.” Kisses on his lips, his cheeks, his throat, her hands cupping his face. “I need you.”

“Ashwini
.
”
The fingers of one hand digging into her hip, he took a shaky breath and pushed.

It burned but the hurt was a good one.

He slid in another inch, both of them sucked in a breath . . . and he began to retreat. But he pushed back before she could complain, going in an inch deeper. Again, and again. By the time he got to the fifth stroke, she’d forgotten the edge of discomfort and was thinking only of the pleasure. Muscles clenching around him, she heard him swear and then there was no more thinking.

Just heat and sex and Janvier’s body stroking in and out of her, their mouths ravenous on one another and their eyes open. She gave him her soul, took his, and it was as it had always been meant to be.

•   •   •

E
lena landed on the Tower roof late that night, after assisting a fellow hunter with a vamp who’d turned into a squirrelly runner. The small, slippery woman had been fast, weaving in and out through the city with the agility of the acrobat she’d apparently once been. Elena had found herself admiring her—even more so after her response to being caught. “I should’ve never listened to Bill,” the petite runner had muttered in disgust. “Loophole, my ass! And now that very nice ass is toast!”

Wondering how many others Demarco’s accountant target had infected with his “loophole” lunacy, Elena reached out to Raphael.
Archangel?

No response.

Frowning because she’d assumed he was at the Tower, she walked inside and to his office to find it empty. Her next stop was Dmitri’s office. The vampire was dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt today, his hair messy, as if he’d been running his hand through it. There was no doubt that Dmitri was a gorgeous, sexy man. There was also no doubt that he liked blood and pain a little too much.

His relationship with Honor was nothing Elena would’ve ever predicted—because the fact that Dmitri loved his wife was never in question. He saw no one else when Honor was in the room, his dark eyes only for her. Anyone who dared hurt the other hunter would soon find themselves very dead, likely after significant torture.

“Ellie,” he said, curling a tendril of scent around her senses.

Fur and champagne and the promise of agonizing sin.

Tensing her muscles against the impact because she knew damn well he did it only to test her, she gritted her teeth until the first wave passed. “Is that a report on the victims Ashwini’s team found?”

A nod, features grim. “The one named Brooke has the most broken bones and internal injuries, but her chances of survival are nonetheless better than the ones Cornelius fed on.”

“It’s certain, then, that it’s Cornelius?” Elena had kept up with the ongoing situation despite her other duties. The request for assistance from her hunter pal had come in only forty-five minutes before; she’d spent the rest of the day flying across wider New York. Raphael had asked her to take a Legion squadron and visit the well-behaving vampire leaders.

An indication that their control of their people has been noticed, and a reminder that the Tower never stops watching.

Having seen bloodlust in action a number of times as a hunter, the carnage sickening, Elena had no problem with doing what she could to ensure their city didn’t descend into a bloodbath. As it was, the men and women she’d met today had all been on edge. News of Anais’s and Severin’s detainment at the Tower, entwined with the blood-chilling fear of the others who’d come face-to-face with a coldly furious Raphael the previous day, had spread through the community like wildfire.

Elena had reassured the vampire leaders that Raphael had noticed their attention to their duties and that they were in no danger of being called to a meeting with a pissed-off archangel. Her simple presence, the fact that she knew their names, had been enough to drive home Raphael’s second point while simultaneously making the leaders feel appreciated.

Her wing muscles ached from the hours of flight, her body exhausted, but it had been worth it to reinforce the calm of the city. Even the Quarter had been free of any hint of bloodlust when she’d dropped by prior to answering Hilda’s call for an angelic assist. Her Guild colleagues had begun to utilize her in specific incidents where an aerial view would be helpful and it gave Elena a way to keep her hand in, even as she spent more time on Tower business.

Her hunter soul, however, wished she’d been able to help Ash and Janvier also, the ugliness of what they’d discovered enraging her.
No one
had the right to do that to another living being, to take sick pleasure in the terror of another.

“My gut says it’s Cornelius,” Dmitri answered now, dropping the report on his desk. “It all lines up too well—the way the victims are emaciated, the red and cream feathers, and the fact that Giorgio spent half a century in Lijuan’s court at the beginning of his Contract. That last’s something I’ve just learned.” He put his hands on his hips, raised an eyebrow. “But Janvier and the hunter are chasing this trail. What can I do for you, esteemed consort?”

Her fingers itched for a blade. “Have you seen Raphael?”

“Ah.” He walked closer. “I’m afraid one of your favorite people has come to visit.”

“If you tell me Michaela is here, I’ll have to stab you for being the messenger.” Raphael had personally escorted the other archangel out of his territory prior to the battle, after Michaela pretended to be pregnant to gain their sympathy—or for some other Machiavellian purpose they hadn’t yet worked out.

“Such kinky things you say, Ellie.” A purr of sound, before the scents around her became intoxicating enough to strangle her breath.

“Dmitri, stop baiting Ellie.” Having entered behind Elena, Honor went to poke her husband in the side, a scowl on her face. “What are you doing to her?”

Wrapping an arm around Honor’s shoulders, Dmitri held her close. “Keeping her strong.” His eyes watched Elena, unblinking as a predator’s. “Her scent susceptibility is a weakness others haven’t yet learned to exploit, but they will.”