Redemption (A NOVEL OF THE SEVEN SIGNS) (4 page)

He was a man of his word, after all. Lying was a sin. And he didn’t remember it written anywhere that a promise to hellspawn didn’t count. Since Michael had cast him down—the memory still stung raw, deep in his empty heart—that was the story of his life:
Better safe than screwed.

Speaking of which…

That female still huddled against the wall. He could smell her terror, bitter and sharp like lemon. It bristled his feathers. What was she thinking, hanging around the West Village at night? Everyone knew the vampire coven ruled these streets. And now she was doomed…

But his fingers clenched, unwilling to strike. Damnation was a b—well, it was unfair, when it wasn’t your fault. When you caught it like a disease. Unlike the Chosen—who’d all
submitted gleefully to the demon prince’s tricks, how else did you swallow a demon’s blood from the source?—she likely didn’t deserve the place she was going.

But he didn’t know for sure she was infected. And he couldn’t just leave her here, covered in blood like shark bait. “I’ll take you home,” he offered coldly. “It isn’t safe here.”

She just sobbed, hiding her face.

He crouched, impatient, wings flaring aglow. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you…”

The woman looked up, and Japheth’s voice died, strangled by the sudden hitch in his throat.

Heaven’s sweet grace, she was lovely.

He swallowed, painful. Hot dark eyes, bottomless, framed in long curling lashes. Exquisite heart-shaped face, bruised with bloody tears. A pretty dark freckle graced her left cheek. And that mouth…he’d be haunted tonight by visions of those full, cherry-ripe lips. He wanted to taste them, drink the soft honeyed heat of her kiss…

He coughed. Yeah, well, he wanted a lot of things. Wanting and doing weren’t the same. Like he’d remember how to kiss a woman in the first place.

But his skin tingled, hot and glittery, and blood rushed to all the awkward places. He shifted, aching. Lord, he was flushing. She’d see what he was thinking, laugh at him for it. “Umm…are you okay? You’ve got blood…”

“Yeah.” Low voice, a husky promise of pleasure. She wiped her face, and laughed shakily. “They attacked me, but I ran away… God, I’m so embarrassed. I don’t usually lose my cool like this. You must think I’m such a flake.” She licked her bloody bottom lip, and turned her haunting gaze up to him.

Japheth stared, transfixed. The tip of her soft pink tongue was the most hypnotic thing he’d ever laid eyes on.
Hell, no. Don’t go there
…but too late. He’d already imagined her warm dark flavor, the softness inside her mouth, that naughty tongue teasing his. Those swelling cherry lips, sliding over his cock, drowning him in her sweet heat…

He clenched shaking fists, willing this ugly desire to fade. He didn’t know her. She was wounded, bleeding, frightened.
Thinking about…those things with her was very uncool.
Heaven, forgive me
…

She inhaled, and the tiny catch in her breath quivered his feathers stiff.

And for the first time in centuries, his ice-walled resolve melted.

In a flash—how did it happen?—he was on his knees. The wall at her back grazed his palms. Her breasts swelled against his metal-clad chest. She gasped, rich with excitement, and hot blood pounded in his head and he wrapped his fingers in that sinful dark hair and gave himself up to her kiss.

Oh, Lord.
She tasted of flames and blood, so good he groaned. For one precious, shocking moment, her lips molded to his, delicious, alive…

And then his mouth caught fire.

Pain flashed, accusing. Burnt skin soured his tongue. Her hair sizzled his fingers with telltale wrath. And a hot demon-spelled blade pressed sweet agony against the thudding pulse in his throat.

Vampire!

Ash rained like snow, the broken remnants of demon magic. Too late, hellcurse’s foul stink sickened him. He’d been holding his breath, he realized distantly. Hadn’t smelled it. Too fixated on sinful pleasures to see the evil glimmer in her eyes. But now, her scent was unmistakable.

No accidental vampire, this scheming seductress. She was Chosen. Hell’s whore. The demon’s willing slave.

She laughed, and her sharp fangs crunched out. “Bleeding Christ. You’re all so
stupid
.”

Japheth’s mind stumbled, dizzy. His heart still pounded, his blood still screaming with toxic need. Should’ve known his irrational lust for her wasn’t real. She’d spelled him with her evil magic, and he’d fallen for it spectacularly.

But that didn’t change the ugly truth. The beautiful bitch was hellspawn. And he’d kissed her.

CHAPTER 3

Rose laughed. The dumb shock in this angel’s eyes was better than sex. She could still taste him, coffee and chili and delicious
what-the-fuck-just-happened
? She licked scorched lips. Mmm. So innocent, this golden-winged altar boy.

Different from the others, who’d taken what she offered with furtive delight. Angels had the morals of rats, only worse, because they lied about it. But this one had kissed her wildly, his passion uncontrollable. Almost like he’d never kissed a woman before…

Whatever
. His innocence only made her revenge on heaven sweeter. Her demon prince would be pleased. She gritted her teeth, and thrust her knife in for the kill.

But her steel met empty air.

He’d already swept up on golden wings.
Shit. Too slow.
She’d gloated too long, and now he’d gotten away.

She sprang to the balls of her feet, brandishing her knife.

The angel crouched, glittering wings backswept. One hand outstretched for balance, the other leveling his sky-fire sword at her. He wore dark leather pants and a silver angel’s cuirass that sparked with electric blue rage. Blood spotted his feathers,
slicked in his sweaty golden hair. A dark and angry warrior, primed for battle. His gaze stabbed her, poisoned with malice, frigid and greener than hatred.

“Angel Slayer,” he hissed. Barely audible, quivering…but not the passionate, reckless head rush of thirty seconds ago. Frosty, lethal rage, calculated to the last inch for the kill.

Jesus. Rose thought
she
had issues.

But her pulse raced, lacing her blood with heady fight or flight. She’d lost the surprise advantage that had helped her make her previous kills. And the bastard was strong, agile. Big, too, those glistening muscles packed with power. She’d need all her wiles to win…

“Very good,” she mocked, circling to get better range. “What’s the matter, angel? Can’t fight properly with a hard-on?”

“I always fight with a hard-on, whore.” An ice-spiked laugh. His accent was elusive, mixed. “Maybe slitting your throat will get me off. Whaddaya say?”

“Have at me, then, sucker, you’re cutting into my feeding time—umph!”

Sizzling blue fire scythed past her nose. She swayed, dizzy. She’d ducked his blade by an inch. Fuck, he was fast.

But so was she. She dived into a handspring and rolled to her feet. He was already there and kicked her legs from under her.

Her flesh tingled. Fighting was dancing, but with sharp objects. She whiplashed, and jumped, aiming a backhanded slash at his face. He thrust up a wing to block her strike, and grabbed her wrist, flinging her off her feet.

Her skull cracked on the pavement. Groggy, she fought, but he straddled her, pinning her shoulders with his knees.

Wildly, Rose kicked, but connected only with a cushion of feathers. He slammed her wrist into the concrete. Skin sizzled on bare skin. Her knife dropped from numb fingers, and smoothly he aimed his burning blue sword point at her throat. “Don’t talk and fight. It makes you careless.”

Fuck!
She wanted to scream in frustration. That had been way too easy. She’d been too confident.

He was good, she’d give him that. He was breathing hard, and she couldn’t help noticing the bastard filled out his silver chest plate admirably. Blood stained his golden hair, and the big muscles in his arms gleamed with sweat. His shining feathers quivered taut with rage. His thighs strained inches from her nose—strong, hard-packed thighs, not one wasted curve—and as her gaze traveled upwards, treacherous heat rose in her belly. He hadn’t been bullshitting about the hard-on. She could smell him, heady, more chili espresso than angelstink, with a musky lash of hot male flesh. An impressive hunk of powerful masculine beauty.

And what a
stupid
fucking thing to be dwelling on, when he was about to send her screaming to hell.

Rose thrashed, and spat curses that blistered his fingers. She threw a spell, hellsmoke stinging, but he deflected it easily now that he was on his guard, and ash exploded, raining harmlessly. His blade singed her neck. Her wrist sizzled where he crushed it. She didn’t care. “Spare me your preaching, godscum. I don’t want to be saved.”

“Oh, I won’t preach to you, bloodsucker.” His gaze glittered, icy. Impossibly green, this angel’s eyes. “I wouldn’t waste my time. You’re already damned.”

For a moment, she quailed. She didn’t want it to be true. She’d made a mistake, let herself be seduced. What happened to Bridie was an accident. She hadn’t wanted this stinking, disgusting life. The blood, the slaughter, a demon prince’s dirty urges, the endless threat of eternity in hell if she didn’t comply…

But too late. She’d crossed that bridge. Bridie was dead. No going back.

And this angel’s precious heaven didn’t care.

“Fine.” She tried to cover the crack in her voice with sass. “Then fuck your God, and fuck you.” And she spat, right into the angel’s face.

It hit his bloodstained cheek, and sizzled to steam, and she waited for the burning thrust of steel into her throat.

But he just stared, his handsome mouth trembling, and in a sweet-smelling blue flash, he vanished.

*   *   *

Japheth hit the ground in some dirty Babylon alleyway and cursed. Windows shattered, and the evil words carved acid welts into his tongue. He rarely cursed. Bad words were self-indulgent. They lacked restraint.

But…
fuck
.

Angry red fireworks burst from his wings. Her scent still sparkled his feathers. Her kiss still burned his mouth with sweet hellflame, the hot delight of her lips parting under his…

Moonlight glared in his eyes, accusing. He wanted to howl his frustration to the sky. He slammed his fist into a brick wall, cracking a dozen bones. Pain was good. Pain was penance.

Tonight, it only felt dirty.

He gritted his teeth. Curse that demon’s slut. He’d overpowered her no problem. She’d been a fool to take him on, he was half again her size and could fly. He’d every chance to slit the evil seductress’s throat, to paint the ground crimson with her blood and send her howling to hell where she belonged.

But he couldn’t.

Couldn’t ram the blade home.

He yanked his hair, hard enough to bleed. If only he just wanted her.

Oh, yeah, this was way worse than simple lust. No matter that her sultry dark eyes hypnotized him. That he’d not touched a woman like that in centuries, that the lithe play of her athletic body under his made him shudder with poisonous desires long forgotten. If it were just a hard-on, he could atone.

But for a fateful instant, when she lay at his mercy with his sword’s edge thirsting for her blood, he’d felt
sorry
for her.

Deep in her bottomless eyes, beneath all the rage and vitriol, he’d seen guilt. Self-loathing. Bitter longing for forgiveness.

His hand healed, a swift crunch of bones. He wanted to smash it again, punish himself bloody. A demon’s wicked slave would never be forgiven. She’d made her choice open-eyed. Too late to pretend she was sorry for it now.

He closed his eyes, and retreated into his icy darkness, letting it enfold him, encase his heart like armor, pushing earthly
temptations to a safe distance…and the glitter in his wings faded. His skin cooled, his heartbeat slowing. Detached, remote. Untouchable.

He opened his eyes. The red-stained moonlight glinted on glass windows, gloated over his skin, like demon voices cackling softly from the darkness…but frost settled in his veins, and he flexed cold fingers, satisfied.