Demon of Vengeance: Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 4 (16 page)

“Please, love,” he whispered, his cheek pressed to hers now. “You’re driving me crazy. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.”

As if his words were the catalyst her body had been waiting for, Phoebe exploded in his arms, convulsing as he impaled her on his rigid length. She pressed her mouth to his shoulder to stifle her cries as wave after wave of sensation washed through her. Sebastian stiffened above her, groaned like he was dying. Like he’d found Nirvana.

Deep inside, she could feel him jerking and pulsing, feel the wet heat of his orgasm rushing into her. He buried his face in her pillow, and roared as he dug his fingers into her hip, tightened his hand on hers, holding her in place as he continued to pump for a few seconds more.

And then, muscle by muscle, he relaxed into her. She kept her legs around his hips, kept her free arm around his neck, and basked in the feel of his body pressing into hers, crushing her into the mattress. Only when he began to stir did she realize what she’d done.

She’d bitten him.

In fact, her fangs were still embedded in his shoulder. Her first instinct was to jerk her head away. She caught herself just in the nick of time.
Stupid. Stupid.
She could have left horrid slashes through his skin like that. Puncture wounds were bad enough. Carefully, praying to God he wouldn’t notice, she slid her fangs from his flesh. His big body shuddered.

He rose, bracing his weight on his elbows. The shift in his position reminded her that he was still buried deep inside her.

And still hard.

Warily, she watched him search her face. And, as he stared into her burning eyes, an impossibly wide smile blossomed across his face. One that made her tremble.

“You bit me,” he said at last.

She could only stare up at him, cornered. Trapped.

But he hadn’t sounded angry. Or shocked. Or disgusted. Or any of the other things she’d feared he might experience. Instead, he sounded almost…proud. Definitely happy. She frowned. And deep inside of her, his erection jerked, pulsed. He slid slowly out of her. But then, taking her completely by surprise, he pushed back inside, flexing his hips, grinding into her.

No, not the reaction she’d been expecting. Not at all. Strange man.

No, strange demon,
she corrected.

“I didn’t,” she denied. Knee-jerk reaction. Pure and simple. When cornered, deny, deny, deny.

He turned his head and surveyed the tiny holes in his shoulder. Oh, yeah, that was a whole lotta pride in his grin. She couldn’t pretend otherwise. And his reaction was doing strange things to her insides. When he finally turned back to her, he looked like he was about to crow.

“Oh, yes you did.” With a jerk of his head toward the shoulder—and the still bleeding wounds—in question, he gloated, “Even you can’t ignore the evidence.”

Cursing herself, she glanced, unwilling, at the injuries she’d unwittingly inflicted. Two small punctures. Still seeping just a teensy bit of blood. Only a fool would continue to pretend they didn’t exist. But to acknowledge them meant to acknowledge everything she’d been taught to conceal.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, unable to look him in the eyes. “I didn’t mean to…it’ll never happen again!”

“Like hell it won’t!” he all but bellowed.

Startled, she gaped at his wrathful face.

“You
will
bite me again, whenever the mood strikes. Am I clear? I want
everything
from you, Phoebe. I told you that. I want it all. I won’t settle for anything less.”

Phoebe peered up at him. She couldn’t even process what he was saying. How could he want that? How could he look at her without revulsion? How could he—

She was saved from having to reply, saved from lending voice to the incredulous questions circling her befuddled brain, by a loudly cleared throat, just outside the tent flaps.

“Phoebe?” Ricardo called again. “Breakfast is getting cold.”

The reality of the situation came crashing down on her. Frantic, she began pushing at Sebastian’s shoulders, but he refused to be dislodged.

“I’ll be right there,” she called out, glaring up at Sebastian.

A muffled muttering could be heard, and then Ricardo’s footsteps faded away.

“Let me up,” she insisted.

“Not until you tell me you understand.”

“No, I don’t,” she snapped. But she hadn’t meant about his orders for her to bite him again, though she didn’t exactly understand that part either.

No, what she didn’t understand was…any of it. Her reactions to him. What had driven her to bite him? What was so messed up inside her that she could actually grow fangs, let alone sink them into someone…into him? Why? Why had she given in to this overwhelming, illogical need to…to brand him this way, mark him as hers? Like she were some kind of territorial…
thing
?

What’s happening to me?

“You bit me, Phoebe. And you’ll do it again. I demand it,” he barked, easily subduing her when she tried once more to shove him off.

Tears, unbidden and unwanted, blurred her vision. She turned her head away and squeezed her eyes closed, willing herself not to let them fall. But she could do nothing about the way her breathing hitched.

“Damn it, Phoebe, hold still.” He jerked both her hands above her head, pinned them down. Consternation passed over his features. And he asked softly, too softly, “Do you know why you bit me?”

She couldn’t act like she hadn’t understood him, couldn’t pretend his question hadn’t hit her like a ton of bricks.

She blinked, forcing herself to look him in the eye. It was the least she could do after what she’d done. She shook her head, miserable.

“You bit me, love, because you are marking me. Claiming me as your mate. As you are mine.”

“Mate?” Incredulous, she blinked up at him. That was the last thing she’d expected to hear. “No.” She shook her head again, harder this time. “That’s…that’s just ridiculous. You say that as if we were a couple of—”

“Demons,” he supplied, unhelpfully.

“I’m
not
a demon,” she snapped. “You are, but I’m not.”

He frowned down at her, cocking his head to the side. “Why can you accept that I am, but deny it in yourself?”

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” God, she was starting to sound like a broken record. A lying, broken record. But she couldn’t face the ugly truth. Couldn’t accept that she—

Heaven help her, she couldn’t even
think
the possibility in her own head. “And I didn’t mark you as my…as a mate. I didn’t.”

“Yeah? Well these bite marks say otherwise. You marked me as yours. You laid claim to me, loud and clear.” Damn him, why wouldn’t he stop grinning like an idiot when he said that?

She shook her head, opened her mouth. But nothing came out. And so she snapped her mouth closed, pressed her lips together tight lest she do something really stupid. Like agree with him.

“Don’t you think it’s about time, all things considered, that you tell me what you are?”

Oh, he asked that question so calmly. Like he was suggesting a stroll in the park.

A question she’d spent the better part of her life running from, hiding from. Denying.

Even now, coward that she was, she still couldn’t cop to it. Not even when faced with irrefutable proof. She jerked her hands free, gritting her teeth when she realized the only reason she’d managed it so easily was because he’d allowed it. Phoebe gave his shoulders one last good slap.

“Get off me,” she demanded, pleased when her voice neither trembled nor broke. “Ricardo will come back, and next time he’ll come inside after me.”

“This conversation isn’t over,” Sebastian warned.

“I can’t do this right now.” Her voice broke, there at the end. Shame flooded heat into her cheeks, and she looked away.

Heaving a deep sigh, Sebastian rolled to his side of the bed, sprawled flat on his back, leaving her cold and vulnerable. Exposed. She scrambled from the bed. He pushed up on his elbows and watched her through narrowed eyes as she jerked the doors to the wardrobe open. The tears were back, worse than before. Careful to keep her back to him, she brushed them away with the back of her hand and snatched blindly at the first thing her fingers brushed.

“Fine. We won’t do this now. But mark my words, sweetheart, we
will
be doing this. We will be having this conversation…soon. I’ve respected your wishes and held off long enough.”

Phoebe jerked on a bra and underwear. She tugged on a shirt, getting it all twisted up so she had to stop and untangle herself before she could get her arms in the proper holes. She held her tongue as she wrestled with pants and socks and boots. She struggled with the clasp of her father’s watch, and fresh guilt swamped her. She’d betrayed the promise she’d made him. She’d given her secret away, even if unintentionally.

She could
feel
Sebastian watching her, and the weight of his stare made her fingers clumsy.

As she marched toward the tent flap, he called out, “Phoebe?”

Against her better judgment, she halted in her tracks and spun around. “What?”

“You need to wait for me.”

“Why?” She crossed her arms, her chin setting mutinously.

“Well, for starters, there’s that pesky little agreement we have where you don’t go anywhere without me.” There was that double damned wicked grin again. “And besides, you might want to give yourself an extra minute or two before going out there.”

She ground her teeth. What was he playing at now? “Because?”

“Because, love, your eyes are still black.”

Chapter Thirteen

Sweat trickled like a steady stream down Sebastian’s chest, ran like a river between his shoulder blades. He tipped the canteen to his lips and took a long draw of luscious, ice cold water. The sun beat down on his face. Once he’d drained the canteen, he lowered it to his lap, conjured it full once more, and screwed the cap back on.

He’d been sitting here for the last three hours or so, watching as Phoebe sifted through a pile of recently unearthed…junk. He couldn’t make heads or tails of most of it, though she seemed to know exactly what every little chip was. He shook his head and watched her lift a shard of pottery into the light, watched her tilt her head as she meticulously studied it from every angle. Her face shone with wonder.

Give the woman an oasis in the jungle, a tent full of modern amenities, any comfort she could imagine with just a wish, and did he get so much as a thank you? A well done? An, “
Oh, Sebastian, you irresistible, sexy stud! You shouldn’t spoil me this way
”?

Nope.

Nothing but complaints. In his head, he recited her arguments in a mocking, scornful tone. “
You can’t do this, Sebastian.
” “
This doesn’t belong in a jungle, Sebastian.
” “
Change it back, Sebastian.
”

Ugh!
He could pull his hair out.

So much for luxuriating in a well-satisfied post-coital glow.

How did one go about pampering a mate when she refused to be pampered?

Grinding his teeth, he scowled as she lovingly set the shard aside and picked up another piece of broken clay. His eyes narrowed. He should have conjured the damned tent full of dirty, old, broken pots. Then, just maybe, she might have gifted him with a smile.

Why was his mood so damned sour? Any other guy would be sitting on cloud nine, grinning like a loon and whistling a happy tune, after a wakeup call like he’d gotten this morning. He should have been whistling right along with them. After all, it had been, hands down, the best sex he’d ever experienced. As old as he was, that was saying something. And, she’d bitten him, marking him as her mate. He couldn’t be happier about that.

No, it was what had come after that had pissed him off. And the more he thought about it, the angrier he got.

Her tightlipped resistance had snapped his last nerve. The way she acted sometimes…if he didn’t know better, he’d swear she had no idea herself.

Frowning, he studied her again, only this time he tried to fit the puzzle pieces together in a different order. What if she
didn’t
know? What if
she
had no idea what she was?

He scowled now, his focus drifting away. Was it possible? She’d been raised by a Guardian. Surely he would have—

Sebastian shook his head. His thoughts started to circle back on themselves. Maybe he needed to look beyond Phoebe for the answer. What if the Guardian himself hadn’t known, hadn’t realized he’d married and mated a demoness? What if he hadn’t known he’d sired one, was raising one?

By all accounts, her father had been human. Completely human. And Phoebe herself displayed normal human traits. Hell, she even smelled human. But what if Phoebe’s mother had hidden the truth from her husband? What if…

It was, he supposed, possible. After all, Kyanna’s entire family had been Guardians and, according to Kyanna, half the things recorded in the precious books passed down generation to generation had been wrong. Or missing vital information. Humans—Guardians—didn’t exactly have an all access pass to Hell, at least, not one with round trip tickets.

And what better place for a demoness to hide than with a human already bent on hiding something?

It stood to reason there’d be a lot of room for error on her father’s part. Whether he knew about his wife—and his daughter—or not.

Sebastian rubbed his hand along his jaw, scratched his chin. What if Phoebe truly didn’t understand what was happening inside her own body? The reason her eyes changed? The way her ears drew to points when she got really, supremely pissed off? The sexy little fangs? Yeah, he’d gotten a good look at them that night on the couch, though he was pretty sure she didn’t know he’d seen them. And he’d gotten a damned good look at them as she’d slid them out of his shoulder. He got hard just thinking about them, about the way they felt.

But how could her father not have known? How could he have lived with Phoebe’s mother for—for what? years?—and not have realized, not have had even the slightest inkling? Or raised Phoebe and not have had some sign? Some clue? Which circled to the question of how her very presence had been masked so well?

She didn’t seem to have any abilities either. At least, if she did, he’d never, not once, seen her use them. Not even when her own life had been in danger. She didn’t radiate energy, not that he could tell. Though he’d be anxious to know what Gideon had to say about that. That was, after all, Gideon’s gift—the ability to detect energy. Was it possible—

A terrified scream pierced the air. Sebastian shot to his feet, his focus cutting to Phoebe. But she was already in motion, sprinting up the steep steps of the ancient pyramid so fast her feet were a blur. Up above, a worker dangled precariously at the edge of a huge cut stone. They’d cautioned the workers about getting too close to the edge of the stones. Apparently, someone hadn’t taken the warning to heart.

The sight of her running at top speed caused Sebastian a split second of surprise, giving Phoebe a head start. One she didn’t need. She was already at the top of the ruins before he could blink.

How
—

No. Now was not the time to ask how. Now was the time to move. Without giving it a second thought, he shimmered to the top of the ruins just as Phoebe, laying flat on her stomach at the edge of a massive stone slab, was dragged toward the edge, pulled down by the worker’s weight. She’d stretched as far as she could go, and her grip on the worker’s hands was beginning to slip. Instead of scrambling for purchase as she should have done, she stretched, securing a tighter hold on the flailing man, which, of course, dragged her even farther over the edge until she hung by her hips.

Cursing, Sebastian grabbed hold of the first thing he could get his hands on—the waistband of Phoebe’s pants. He hauled her back, then, arms wrapped around her waist, lifted her clear of the ledge. The worker came right along with her. Sebastian’s strength was great enough that their combined weight barely caused him any strain. No, his heart raced for another reason all together.

The sight of her hanging head down over the edge of that nearly sheer rock face would have given him a coronary, had he been human.

Gritting his teeth, he dragged her to safety, inadvertently pulling the worker along with her. Once they were back on stable ground, a safe distance from the edge, he dropped her on her butt. The worker landed beside her. And Sebastian lost the fight. He sat on his ass, hard, and fisted his hands in his hair, half a second away from pulling it all out by the roots.

By the saints!
If he’d been a second later in grabbing her, she could have been dragged right over the edge. She could have died.

The urge to grab her up and shake the living daylights out of her slammed into him. Fury as he’d not known before rocked him. He sat there and breathed deeply—in, out, in, out—so that he didn’t do something he’d only end up regretting later.

The worker leaped up, and a furious spat of Spanish poured forth. He made the sign of the cross, over and over, spewing prayers for deliverance from evil as he backed away, the word demon upon his lips. Sebastian rolled his eyes. The worker raced for the stairs and flew down them, almost as fast as Phoebe had ascended them.

“Damn it,” Phoebe snapped, pushing herself to her feet. She dusted her ass off, and then slapped her palms to her hips as she glared down at him. “Well, that’s just great! I hope you’re happy now.”

Sebastian could only blink up at her and sputter. And then he saw red. In a flash, he was on his feet and had his hands manacled around her shoulders. Unmindful of anyone else that might be watching, he jerked his energy in, centered his focus—or tried to anyway—and shimmered them away.

The moment they solidified, he released her and stormed off. He heard her gasp and swear somewhere behind him. But he was too angry to care, too mad to stop.

“Where are we?” Phoebe demanded.

He ignored her and kept right on walking. How dare she be mad? How
dare
she take that tone with him? She’d put herself at risk. And he’d just saved her life.
Maybe.
But did he get a thank you? Hell no. In all likelihood, she would have plummeted to her death.
Possibly.
But who the hell knew? Because she wouldn’t discuss jack shit with him. Oh no. He was just supposed to fall in line, take the pat on the head like a good little demon and not ask any fucking questions.

When he reached the line of trees bordering the meadow, he spun around and stormed back, just as worked up on the second pass as he’d been for the first.

Well, no more. This conversation was overdue. Long overdue. And he’d be damned if he let this go on a moment longer. They were going to have it out.

Right here.

Right now.

Just as soon as he calmed down. Just as soon as he could talk to her without feeling the need to shake her senseless and scream bloody murder. Just as soon as he could breathe again.

Just as soon as the thought of her dangling over that ledge didn’t kick him in the balls.

He reached her side, took one look at her, and then spun back around and marched off once more. It took two more passes before he didn’t fear for her safety. But, just as he reached her side, determined to have this out in a calm and reasonable manner, she stepped into his path.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She had the audacity—the sheer nerve—to glare at him. “Where are we? You know what, forget it. I don’t care. Just take me back.”

Blood. To. Instant. Boil.

“Hell no!” he shouted, inches from her face.

But instead of backing down, which would have been the smart thing to do, she got up in his face and yelled right back. “Yes!”

“I’m not taking you anywhere until you tell me what the hell you are.”

“I don’t know,” she screamed. And the moment the words left her lips, her eyes flew wide, and she stumbled back a step, as if he’d just sucker punched her.

Her mouth fell open, and she staggered back another step, sucking in a sharp breath. She jerked her hand up to cover her mouth, but it was too late.

Sebastian pulled up short. His lips parted, and his temper slowly leached away. So she
didn’t
know.

“Take me back,” she whispered.

“No.”

“I’m not going to discuss this, so you might as well take me back now.”

“No.”

“Damn it,” she exploded. “I have to go back. Now. These people are a superstitious lot. I’ll be lucky if half my crew doesn’t desert before we make it back to camp.”

“Is that the excuse you’re going with this time?”

“Excuse? It’s cold hard fact.”

“Be that as it may, we aren’t going anywhere until we get a few things clear.”

“There’s nothing to get clear. You need to take me back.” She turned and stomped away, giving her attention to the meadow. “Where are we anyway? This place looks like a war zone.”

“That’s because it was.”

She shot an inquiring glance over her shoulder as she came to stand beside a crater the size of a small car. Grass and a few wild flowers had begun to grow in the pit, but it, like numerous other areas in the meadow were still recovering from the vicious battle. A battle between the Fallen, a flock of angels, and a nest of demons. A battle that had nearly cost Sebastian his wings, and the Slayer his woman and his life.

Sebastian gritted his teeth and strove for patience. She was trying to deflect the conversation, but it wouldn’t work. Not this time.

She glanced up, scanned the tree line, took in an area over to the west where a towering forest had been sheared down to stumps. Nearby, what had once been a massive boulder now lay in shattered, ragged pieces. A short distance over, stretches of scorched earth had started to come back. Tender shoots of green had already started to form a blanket, decorated with tiny blossoms. Even the sight of nature’s resiliency wasn’t soothing his ire.

“What?”

“We’re in the Rockies, in a meadow near the Slayer’s cabin. The battle happened not quite a year ago between a group of Stolas’s minions, a contingent of Michael’s flock, and us, the Fallen. There were no real winners, though Stolas’s followers took an ass whooping. Now, I’ll tell you what we
are
going to discuss.”

She turned to face him, squared her shoulders, fire glinting in her stare. But he cut her off before she could blast him. “We’re going to discuss you being…not human.”

The wind got sucked right out of her sails. She shook her head. “I am hu—

“Enough,” he roared. Immediately, Sebastian closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Calmer, he looked at her and tried again. “Enough. You aren’t fooling anyone anymore, sweetheart. I know you’re a demoness.”

Not exactly the appropriate term, but he figured she’d object far less to demoness than to the term demon spawn, though that was probably just as accurate, or at least closer to the truth. The term Halfling was generally used when referring to someone of human and angelic descent. What was the correct term for human and demon mix? Not full-fledged demon spawn. Demonesses were rare enough. But a female demoness of mixed race? Unheard of.

Spawnling
was the best he could come up with.

As it was, she flinched. Why did she look so…so wounded?

“Phoebe,” he said, and started for her, hands held out to capture hers.

But she jumped away like a scalded cat and thrust her hands behind her back. She looked to his shoulder, the one she’d left her mark on, and then she turned her face away. As if she couldn’t stand the reminder of what she’d done. Of what she was. Beneath his shirt, the already healed wounds gave a slight throb, one that resonated in his balls.