Revelation (13 page)

But part of her cringed, disbelieving. He’d conquered her and left her. A man she’d met only two hours ago. She’d no idea who he was. She’d gone to his apartment, for God’s sake. Alone. Without telling anyone where she was. What kind of moron was she? This was Babylon. He could be a torture rapist. A skin collector. A killer. Even if he was an angel.

And even if he’d told her the truth, how could she be so stupid? To show weakness like that. To believe he wasn’t using her, even for a moment. He hadn’t taken his pleasure from her—and Jesus fucking Christ, it hadn’t even crossed her mind to use protection, like she
wanted
a dose of HIV or something—but it didn’t matter. He was manipulating her, tuning her to his will. Using her irrational attraction to his advantage. Just like any evangelist, using her own natural willingness to trust people against her.

She shuddered, remembering how she’d wanted him inside her. How she’d begged him to take her.

How she’d admitted she believed, just so he’d touch her.

And now, his friends—his so-called Tainted Host?—had shown up, and he’d left her without a blink. Careless. Embarrassed, probably, to be caught touching her. But all her instincts had told her he was for real.

Just went to show her instincts couldn’t be trusted. They’d only betray her. Just like her mother’s betrayed
her
.

Woodenly, she cleaned herself with a towel and tossed it onto the sink. His scent lingered in her nostrils, his hot male flavor in her mouth. Her flesh still ached for him, to feel his weight atop her, his big length filling her…

She washed her flushed face, willing her heartbeat to return to normal. Her wounds were completely healed. It didn’t make her feel better. It only made her stomach squirm.

She stared at her reflection, and set her jaw, determination tempering like steel in her heart. Maybe all that light was the power of God. It didn’t matter. Whatever else he was, Luniel was handsome, charming and exciting—which all added up to
dangerous
. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

On her mother’s life, she’d swear it.

Luniel stalked from the bathroom, refusing to look back. Moonlight glared, and hot sparks charged his skin, the physical manifestation of his desire. He was so hard it hurt him, and the memory of her soft wet flesh on his cock made him want to scream. Her legs were so sexy in those lacy stockings, so lithe as she wrapped one around him. The way she’d gasped and writhed her gorgeous body under his…God, he wanted to grab his cock in his fist and jerk himself off.

Fuck it, he wanted to swoop back into that bathroom and get inside her, feel her firm, slick flesh sliding over him. She’d be so tight, so hot. He was certain of it. He’d spread her thighs apart and ride her hard and deep until they both exploded…

Yeah. Not happening.
With difficulty he refastened his jeans, every touch a desperate agony. She was too beautiful. Too tempting. Too intoxicating. He hadn’t been able to resist her, not with glory a liquid flashburn in his veins and his flesh quivering with need.

But he had to. He had to, or she’d be demon bait. Already he wanted to hold her, fold her protectively in his wings, keep her safe…

Unwilled, memories sprang, of the day Michael sent him away. Lying on the cold stone dungeon floor, choking blood, bruises already swelling deep in his guts. He’d scrabbled blindly to retrieve his sword, but the archangel kicked it away. Michael hovered over him in torchlight, sword blazing, those impeccable
icy wings adazzle with glory, and Lune had waited for cold flaming steel to slice his heart and end it all, but it hadn’t come. Instead, crisp ice-blond hair tortured his flayed cheek as the archangel leaned down.

Word of advice, Luniel of the Tainted,
Michael had whispered.
Staunch that bleeding heart. It’ll only get you killed.

And then his face hit dirt, and he’d woken up like this.

A whoosh of earthy breeze dragged Lune back to the present, and Dashiel clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. He’d changed out of his jeans, and wore his silver-armored breastplate and leather pants tucked into heavy boots. His dark wings shone, preened, his hair tied neatly back. “Hope we’re not interrupting anything.”

Luniel slashed a grin back, furious. He still smelled of Morgan, his fingers still damp with her essence. His shadow sparkled on the floor, and he still glowed, brimming with everything he’d done and said and felt. Pretty fucking obvious what he’d been up to. “Bite me, Dash. Didn’t you say something about a stick up my ass?”

“Hey, don’t get shitty with me,” said Dashiel cheerfully. “Enjoy yourself. Just do it on your own time. Look, the gang’s all here.”

The ladder clattered, and Jadzia vaulted down, her long blond hair fluttering. She was armored, too, the spelled silver curving over her slim torso. Extra knives were strapped to her black-leather-clad thighs. She landed lightly, flaring creamy wings. “Hey, Lune,” she said coolly. “Busy night?”

Luniel flushed, and looked away. Awesome. Hell of a time for her to show up. Jadzia was a wonderful girl. He cared about her, enough that they hadn’t yet had the
this was nice but it’s over
conversation that inevitably followed when he slept with a woman. But Jadzia was a gritty fighter who never gave up, and that distant look in her clear blue eyes said
mistake
.

Another swoop of reddish wings, and Trillium landed in a cloud of smoky nightclub stink. He wore similar armor and fighting gear, but somehow contrived to look scruffy, his flame-orange hair artfully messed like a porcupine. Tattoos flexed on his brutally strong arms as he lounged against the kitchen counter and lit a cigarette, wafting smoke away with a careless
green-dappled wing. “Where’s the party, guys? Oh, yeah, I forgot. This is Lune’s place. Obviously not here.”

How Trillium managed to keep all those tattoos and piercings in fast-healing angelflesh was a mystery. If you asked him, he just winked and said nothing. “Yeah, well, my place isn’t a fucking ashtray, either. You stink, Trill.”

“Those things’ll kill you,” chimed in Jadzia, testing her knife’s edge with a fingernail.

Trillium blew smoke rings. “You think? All the cool kids are doing it. I wanna look like Dirty Harry.” He glared and set his mouth tight in imitation, his crazy orange hair incongruous.

“Who?” Jadzia and Lune said simultaneously.

“Dirty Harry doesn’t smoke,” Dash pointed out, flopping into the cushions with his wings spread. “And Clint Eastwood
died
twenty years ago, dude. The cool kids haven’t been doing it since the nineties.”

Trillium looked shocked. “You don’t say. Damn those reruns.” He took another drag and tossed the cigarette hissing into the sink. “Well, what’s the rumpus, chaps? When do I get to julienne some demon balls?” He conjured his sword and pirouetted with it, slicing the air with blazing orange flame. Trill loved earthly things, money and bodies and drugs—too much, as far as heaven was concerned—but he was still fit and devilishly quick.

The soft clearing of a female throat made Luniel turn.

Morgan emerged from his bathroom, her face still pink but composed. Her dark hair curled wet, and a stray lock stuck to her cheek beside her mouth. He wanted to kiss it off. With a fresh sting of desire, he remembered crushing that hair in his fists, pulling himself down to her, parting her thighs and forcing his hard cock between them, searching…

Telltale sizzle heated his wings, and he flushed again and turned back. “Guys? This, uh…this is Dr. Morgan Sterling.”

Morgan stared, swallowing. As if the sight of Luniel, still shirtless, his lips still tender
from her kiss
and his blacker-than-black hair tousled on his massive shoulders
by her hands
, wasn’t enough.

Now there were
four
beautiful angels in the room. And three were staring at her.

She lifted her fingers, a weak wave. “Hi.”

The huge dark-winged one was first to break the silence. He swooped from the cushions where he’d lounged and landed lightly before her, tossing Luniel a teasing wink. Brutally handsome, this one, flashing hot-chocolate eyes and a face carved from rough granite. And seriously massive. He towered over her and Luniel both, silver armor flashing in the moonlight, his black-coffee wings flecked with gold.

“Lune, you crafty dog.” He bent to kiss her on both cheeks and flashed a smile, as brilliant as Luniel’s but somehow darker. “I’m enchanted, Dr. Sterling. Lune’s told me all about you…Well, not yet. But he sure as hell will, if he doesn’t want me to kick his ass.”

Morgan stuttered. He still held her hand. She didn’t know whether to pull away. “Um. Right.”

Luniel sighed. “Give it a rest, Dash. She’s kinda new to the whole angel thing?”

“I will, when you remember your fucking manners. What’s gotten into you?”

“What? Oh. Sorry.” Luniel waved his hand, exaggerating. “Morgan, this scruffy lout is Dashiel, and no matter what he says, he’s not lonely and single and aching for your company.”

Dashiel grinned, charming as hell. “He’s just jealous. Pay him no mind. But now that he mentions it…”

A flutter of reddish feathers, and the second angel—who a moment ago flourished a flaming sword—shouldered Dash aside. This one had elaborately messy, fire orange hair and lip piercings, rakish like a modern-day pirate, and he, too, wore silver armor, his bulky tattooed arms glistening. His mint-green eyes twinkled as he kissed her hand with a flirty bow. “I, on the other hand, am totally single, and aching like you wouldn’t believe. Just so you know.”

She grinned in response, infectious. The other one, Dashiel, had rough edges, but she sensed he was a gentleman underneath. This one, she felt sure, had never been any kind of gentleman.

Luniel shoved him lightly backwards, so he let go of her hand. “You’ll be aching worse if you don’t back off. Dr. Sterling, this carrot-headed moron is Trillium, and as you can see, it’s impossible to take my so-called friends anywhere.”

Morgan managed another wary smile. They all had the same eclectic accent as Luniel. And they were ruthlessly charming, in an oh-my-God-did-an-angel-just-kiss-my-hand kind of way.
Smoke and mirrors. Don’t trust them.
“Right. Do you guys always, uh, flirt like this?”

Dashiel made an innocent expression, as best he could with that supernova smile.

Trillium laughed, warm like chili chocolate. “Nah. You just lucked out, is all. You’d rather get sneered at by the ice prince? Just wait till Ariel gets here—”

“Yes, they do.” A husky female voice drifted, and an exquisite pale creature glided down in front of Morgan. Flowing blond hair, wings like creamy velvet, cool jasmine perfume. Her silver armor shone, spotless, curving over her slender figure, and wicked knives were strapped to her taut thighs over black
leather pants. Clear blue eyes, a few shades lighter than Luniel’s, surveyed Morgan distantly. “Childish, isn’t it? If only any of them were worth flirting back with,” the angel added coolly, her gaze flickering to Luniel.

Morgan’s courage quailed. Oops. Had she stepped on some girl-angel toes? This woman—this
lady
—looked like a goddess, strong and self-possessed. Far more beautiful than she.

Envious much?
She offered her hand. “I’m Morgan.”

“Jadzia.” The angel shook briefly, her brow creasing. “What kind of doctor are you?”

“I’m a pathologist. An assistant medical examiner for Babylon County.”

“Ah.” Jadzia’s face cleared. “You look at dead bodies. Nice.”

“Glamorous, huh?”

A beautiful smile, a flicker of warmth. “I dunno. You should fit right in around here.”

“I hope so.”

Jadzia leaned closer, confidential. “Never you mind the boys,” she said, her voice carelessly at a level they could all hear. “They’re sweethearts once you get to know them. Dash is just a big old teddy bear under all that macho bullshit, and Trill is clearly erecting intimacy barriers, with all that ink and hot metal. As for Lune, well…” An amused smile. “I’m not quite sure what he’s compensating for with that big pointy sword of his. But I’m sure he thinks it’s important.”

Luniel snorted, and Trillium mimed stabbing himself in the heart. “You wound me, Jaz. Truly.”

Morgan giggled, her face heating. It was kind of a big sword. If she didn’t know better…

Dashiel cleared his throat. “Guys? Can we get on with this?”

Trillium flung himself into the cushions, preening one green-flecked coppery wing. “Sure, Teddy Bear. Apocalypse, vials, ocean of blood, blah blah. Where
is
Ariel, anyway?”

“Mike sent him to hunt down the third Guardian.” Dash flopped beside him, crossing his ankles. “Don’t expect him anytime soon.”

“You mean we’re short a dude, dude?” Trill sighed. “Great. Who’s on scowling duty, then? I vote for Lune. He’s best at it after Ariel.”

Luniel scowled at him, comical.

Trill just grinned, and patted the cushion beside him. “Come sit by me, Dr. Sterling, and we’ll see what barriers I’m erecting.”

Morgan grinned back, and sat, but on the sofa, outside his reach.

Luniel smirked, and dived overhead for his loft, black wings astretch. His voice drifted down as he hunted about on the floorboards. “We’re short more than that. I don’t see Iria here.”

“Couldn’t raise her,” said Dash. “Probably off eating some unsuspecting male for breakfast. She’ll catch up with us in her own time.”

“Did you get my text?”

“Yeah. You found Ithiel. I’m sorry, man.”

Luniel swooped to the floor, his silver breastplate hooked over his arm. He’d taken off his jeans—Morgan flushed—and now he wore boots and black leather pants that hugged his thighs and curved sweetly over his ass. “Quuzaat,” he said succinctly. “Dirty demon prince, loves himself a plague.”

He finished dressing while he explained what they’d discovered from Ithiel’s body, but Morgan barely heard a word. Luminous skin, glistening smooth in the moonlight. Muscles rippling as he tugged his black hair into a band. Long limbs stretching as he pulled a light sleeveless shirt over his head, pecs flexing as he vanished his wings to fit his breastplate. He buckled it, shrugging massive shoulders to make sure it was loose yet firm, and sprang his wings back, ruffling sooty feathers.