Black Fallen (20 page)

My own nimble fingers trace the muscles in his back, down his sides, and between us,
where his thick hardness pushes heavily against my thigh. I grasp it—soft, hard, velvety—and
a low growl emanates from his throat. Lowering his head, he brushes his mouth across
mine, tasting with his tongue and holding my jaw still with his hand. His kiss is . . .
internal. Exploring. Soulful. I never want it to stop. . . .

He’s wedging hips between my legs, his weight braced on one forearm. The firm peaks
of my breasts brush his chest, and he shudders. Staring down, his eyes sadden. “This
wasn’t supposed to happen,” he whispers, and kisses me. “I’m not . . . Forgive me.”

My body is alive with more sensation than I can handle, and my mind won’t process
his words. Not now. All I want is feeling.

All I want is him. “Eli, please,” I whisper.

With anxious fingertips, I trace his spine from his neck to his waist, counting each
vertebra, lining each muscle as they tense under my touch. Slowly I lift my legs and
pull my heels against his buttocks, hooking them around his hips.

I can feel his heart slam against his ribs, and I know he can take it no more.

Lowering his head, he takes my mouth as though savoring every inch of my lips, tasting
with his tongue, and I kiss him back with desperate fervor. Skimming my hips, my stomach,
he cups one breast and deepens the kiss, our tongues entwined, and the intensity of
the dual contact makes his arousal push hard against me. Inside, my body is wrenching
for release.

Again I arch and push against him, then grab his neck and pull his head down to my
bare chest. He tastes the soft rise of my breast, dragging his mouth erotically over
it, tasting the aroused peak. I think I’ll lose my mind.

My breath catches and I moan—a soft whimper that doesn’t even sound like me. I can’t
help it.

With a hard yank, I pull his head to my mouth, where I kiss him, sweeping my tongue
across his bottom lip, then gently take it between my teeth. “Now,” I demand on a
hoarse whisper. “I want you now, Eli. Please.”

We stare at each for the space of a second, eyes locked. This . . . figment of my
imagination shifts his hips and fills me in one slow thrust. I moan out loud as my
wet heat envelopes him, holds him, forces his eyes to close, and he shakes with aroused
need.

“Christ, Riley,” he mutters against my throat as he starts to move inside me, reaching
for a destination singularly his, the wild need to claim it growing with each powerful,
primal thrust.

The mounting eruption within him grows at an uncontrollable speed and I can feel it,
just as I feel my own, and he drives into me with furious passion.

My own savage response shocks me, and I desperately claw at him, matching his every
move, pushing him over the edge until my name tears from his throat as he explodes
inside me, over and over as he buries himself deep inside of me, his body seizing,
shuddering.

My breath catches again and I hold him tightly as my own climax peaks and consumes,
my feminine muscles contracting around him with each pulse of my orgasm. I bite his
shoulder as its intensity heightens, little gasps escaping my lips; then slowly, with
each breath, my body relaxes.

He rests his forehead against mine as our ragged breathing returns to normal. My arms
go around him and pull him close. It’s not right. I can’t stop. Can’t move away.

Pressing his lips to my damp temple, he smoothes back my hair; kisses me long, deep,
taking his time to savor my mouth; then moves to my side and gathers me close. “I
am never far from you,” he says softly. “Even when you don’t know I’m there, I am.
And don’t forget about my invitation. I look forward to seeing you there. Alone.”

“Ri, wake up,” a voice calls to me. A hand caresses my cheek. “Riley?”

Slowly my eyelids drag open. I feel as though I’ve been run over by a truck. I blink
several times, and only after a few moments do I realize I’m completely naked. “What
the hell?” I say, then turn to the voice awakening me.

“Vic, what’s going on?” All I can now remember is the incredibly erotic dream I’ve
had. And especially the fact that I didn’t think it was a dream at all. I thought
it was freaking real. I thought it was Eli. Yet . . . now I’m not so sure. I stare
at the Romanian vampire. “Tell me you didn’t take my clothes off.” I pull the sheets
up to my chin.

Victorian Arcos, in the hazy light of my room, stares down at me with liquid brown
eyes. And says nothing.

“Poe, Jesus Christ, when are you gonna—”

Noah bursts into my room and abruptly stops when he sees Victorian. I know he doesn’t
like the Romanian and will probably never trust him as I do, but he tolerates him.
To a certain degree. Noah turns to me, plops down on the bed, the mattress sinking
under his weight and making me roll toward him. He thumps me on the forehead. “How
long are you gonna sleep, woman? It’s been almost twenty-four hours now.”

I bolt up, barely remembering to take the sheet with me. The last thing I want to
do is flash these two pervs. “What? What the hell?” I say. How could I have slept
so long? “Move, Noah. Actually, both of you get out of here. I need to dress. Without
an audience.”

“Damn,” Noah mumbles, and rises from the bed. “Jake said to let you sleep, that your
body probably needed it.”

Not wanting to wait another second for either of them, I crawl out of bed, dragging
the sheets with me and around me, and walk over to the trunk where I have my clothes
stashed. Lifting the lid, I grab a pair of panties, a black tank, and a navy pair
of cargo pants. “Why did you listen to him?” I answer, holding the sheets now with
my chin and yanking up my panties. Dropping the sheets I turn around, back to the
boys, and pull on my tank top. Turning again, I glare at Noah. “I have a hard time
believing you just . . . listened to him. You know I don’t want to just . . . sleep!”
Grasping my cargoes, I step into them and pull them up. Only then do I notice the
wide-eyed expression on Victorian’s face and the ridiculous, pervy, wolfish grin on
Noah’s. “God almighty, you two.” I shake my head, punch Noah in the arm as I walk
by, and grab a clean pair of black footie socks from the chest. Pull them on, followed
by my Nikes, and gather my hair into a ponytail. I head for the door. “Coming?” I
ask the two.

“Almost,” Noah says, then laughs at himself.

I shake my head. “Jesus,” I mutter, then head to the bathroom in the hall. Just as
I reach the door, with Vic and Noah not far behind, I remember. Everything. That sexual
dream. Is it just my conscience missing Eli?

But the invitation. That was real.

The erotic dream and the invitation to the Marimae House are from the same person.
And guilt claws at my gut about both. I wanted that dream to be of Eli. Not of some . . .
stranger. What does that make me? In the dream, I was completely willing. A sick feeling
washes over me, and the empty void left by Eli aches as though someone has jammed
a knife into my heart.

I duck into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. I need to tell Jake about
this . . . whoever he is.

And now.

Part Eight

FALLING

The angel
s are so enamored of the language that is spoken in heaven that they will not distort
their lips with the hissing and unmusical dialect of men, but speak their own, whether
there be any who understand it or not.

—Ralph Waldo Emerson

Riley looks calm, even at mos
t times acts calm, but I can tell what lies just beneath the surface. A simmering,
almost boiling fury that will unleash on anyone whom she finds responsible for her
mate’s death. No’ that I blame her. But a storm is brewing, and she will be leading
it. The Fallen will never know what hit them.

—Darius

I
find Jake and Gabriel upstairs in the dojo, working the swords. It’s early—seven a.m.
Both are bare to the waist, hair pulled back, ferocious as hell. They look like they’re
trying to kill each other, hacking, swinging. Warriors. I stand quietly by, watching
and admiring. It’s odd to think that they both once swung those weapons as a means
of survival so many centuries ago.

“Amazing, aren’t they?” Sydney says, suddenly beside me. I glance at her. Leaning,
back to the wall, hands crossed over her chest, she stares at the pair on the mat
with admiration gleaming in her blue eyes. She looks at me. “I’m so sorry about Eli,”
she says, and admiration is replaced by sorrow. “I can’t imagine losing someone I
loved like that.” Her gaze immediately shoots to Gabriel. “It must be so painful.”

“Yeah,” I answer, “it is. I miss him every second.” Sydney looks at me, and I don’t
know if it’s something in my voice or something else that causes her to. I continue.
“He totally changed my life. And in my book, he’s not dead. Something has happened
to him, but he’s not dead.”

After she holds my stare for a moment, her gaze returns to Gabriel.

I’m uncomfortable talking about Eli. It makes me realize he’s not here for me right
now. To talk to. To touch. I turn at every corner and think I’ll see him, and I don’t.
I crave him. I know he hasn’t been gone that long, but it feels like it. Just as it
feels like he’s been in my life forever. What really sucks is that finally, finally
I trust someone with my heart . . . and I lose him. It’s not fair. It’s just not fucking
fair. And I’m going to find him. Even if it kills me.

“So, what about you and Gabriel?” I ask, wanting to quickly shift the conversation
off of me and Eli. “What’s up with you two?”

Sydney gets a faraway look in her eyes before answering. “I’m the key to this whole
thing, that’s what’s up,” she says, and I hear remorse in her voice. “Without me,
the Seiagh can’t be found or destroyed. I was born to become the Archivist. To do
this very thing we’re doing now. To save mankind. Gabriel protects me.” She looks
at me. “That’s it.”

I stare at her for several seconds. My brows furrow. “Bullshit.”

Sydney’s cheeks actually turn pink. “Yeah. Bullshit it is.” She gazes at Gabriel.
“Unfortunately, it’s a one-sided deal.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Sydney’s quiet for a minute, watching the two swordsmen. I join her, and, yeah, it’s
more than amazing. Jake and Gabriel are pretty equally matched when it comes to brawn.
They’re about the same height, too. Gabriel seems, though, to be more at ease, or
as one, with his sword. As if he’s been wielding it a lot longer. He probably has.
The muscles and cords in his back bunch and tighten as he arcs his blade, and when
it connects with Jake’s, both men make a grunting, guttural sound that reminds me
of a pair of Vikings fighting. Jake’s biceps . . . ridiculous. Veins popping everywhere,
despite them being void of blood.

“He’s never faltered with me,” Sydney says. “Not even once.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

She shrugs. “He’s never made a move on me. Never even showed me once that he, I don’t
know, wants me. Or even cares about me, Sydney Maspeth. It’s like he’s all business.
Protect the Archivist. Blah, blah, blah.”

“Meanwhile, he sets your skin on fire,” I add.

“Is it that obvious?” she asks sheepishly.

“What? That he rocks your world? Yeah, girl, it is. To me anyway.” I drape an arm
over her shoulders. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. Although,” I say, turning
my attention back to the guys, “you may be way off on your assumption about Gabriel’s
feelings for you.”

Sydney lets out such a long, lonesome sigh that I have to fight not to laugh. “Not
holding my breath, Poe.”

I grin at her. “You sound like my brother. Besides. Wouldn’t matter if you did. You’re
immortal, silly. Now,” I say, inclining my head toward the rack of swords against
the far wall of the dojo. “Wanna go at it?”

Sydney lifts a brow. “Might as well.”

“Good,” I answer, and we hug the walls of the dojo. “I need to burn off some steam.”

Sydney works my ass off good. She’s strong as hell, and her training has paid off.
She may not look it, but she can kick some serious tushy. I concentrate on my moves,
everything that Tristan taught me. Where to put my weight before I swing, and how
to thrust, jab, and hack. Sydney’s face is pure business as she weighs me, studies
my moves, and swings at my head. I’m breaking a furious sweat by the time we call
a stalemate.

“Impressive,” Jake says as he and Gabriel watch from the edge of the mat. “I think
I’m in love.”

“You’re our boss,” I say, catching my breath. “Sexual harassment. Ever hear of it?”

Jake grins. “Never.”

“You’ve improved,” Gabriel says, sheathing his sword. “De Barre is a fair teacher.”

“De Barre is a kick-ass teacher,” I correct, then nod. “You’re not too shabby yourself.”

Gabriel merely gives a slight nod of acknowledgment. One day I’d love to see what
his already-gorgeous face looks like in a full-blown smile. He really is something
else. No wonder Sydney has fallen for him.

Gabriel’s eyes seek out Sydney, and I’m looking at him the moment he spots her. Yeah.
He’s hiding it, all right, but that is one immortal otherbeing head over heels with
Ms. Maspeth. All business, my ass. I can see it in his eyes. There’s more to that
hawklike, intense stare than just merely keeping the Archivist safe and sound.

I turn my attention to my employer. “Jake,” I say, and incline my head. “I need a
word.”

Jake sheaths his sword and swaggers across the dojo. The man towers over me and stares
down at me with an unbendable look. “Aye?” he asks.

“I’ve been issued an invitation,” I begin, meeting his gaze. When he doesn’t say anything,
I continue. “By someone who can speak to me inside my head. And apparently have sex
with me in my head, too.” I sigh. “I thought it was Eli.”

Jake raises a brow. From the corner of my eye I notice the rest of the WUP team entering
the dojo.

“Nice of you to share info, Poe. Do you recognize this person?” Jake asks.

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I haven’t seen his entire face.” I leave out the
part about the erotic sex dream that still brings me shame. “I don’t really know who
he is—”

“It’s a man?” he asks.

“It’s a male,” I clarify. “Obviously an otherbeing, if he can speak to me in my head.”

Jake nods. “So true.”

“So that’s all he did was give you an invite somewhere?” Noah asks, walking up to
stand beside me. “Out of the blue?”

I eye Noah. “Watch that jealous tone, spud,” I warn. “And no. He seemed . . . familiar
to me. And with me. Yet I’m sure I never met him before.”

“Where did he invite you to?” asks Darius, joining in. His hair is loose about his
shoulders, and he’s pulling it back from his face as he speaks. He gathers it with
a leather band and awaits my answer.

I look at him. “Some event at the Marimae House. He says it’s—”

“In New Town,” finishes Gabriel. “Still an old home. They host several charity events
a year. Edinburgh’s elite turns out, as well as many Londoners.”

“He’s lookin’ for something,” Jake says. Then gives a slight grin. “Besides you, of
course.”

“Who is he?” Ginger asks, and she comes to stand by Sydney. She’s wearing head-to-toe
black training gear.

“Mayhap another of us,” Jake answers, meaning vampire. “He obviously either saw Riley
or senses her presence.”

“Then he may sense our presence, as well,” Victorian adds. “Riley’s not safe.”

I glance at Victorian, and his expression is dead serious.

“Riley can handle herself,” Jake says, and looks at me. “Am I right?”

“Yes, you are,” I say without hesitating.

Jake nods. “Good. Now, what exactly did he say to you?”

I shift my weight. “He wants me to meet him at the Marimae House at seven p.m.” I
have to think. “Since I lost a day to sleeping, I guess that’ll be tomorrow at seven
p.m.”

“And what else did he say?” Noah prods.

“Well, he did say to come alone.” I look at Noah. “And that he couldn’t wait to see
me.”

“Fucking creeper,” Noah mumbles. “You’re not going alone, Ri. Forget it. We don’t
know what he is.” He gives Jake a challenging look.

“You’re absolutely right, Miles,” Jake answers. “She won’t be going alone.” He turns
and glances at Sydney and Ginger. “The other girls are going to join her.”

Lucian gives a low growl. I think I’m the only one, besides Ginger, who hears it.
Ginger places a hand on her mate’s arm and looks at Jake. “I’m in.”

“Me, too,” Sydney says. “I can’t stay cooped up in here one more day.”

“’Tis a formal event,” Gabriel says. “We’ll have your attire ordered.”

Jake glances at first Sydney, then Ginger. “A four, a four.” Then he looks at me.
“And an eight. In black.” He grins at me.

Prick,
I say to Jake in my head.

Tsk, tsk. I’m your boss. Sexual harassment. Ever hear of it?
he responds back.

I simply smile.
I’m flipping you the bird. Here. In my mind.

Jake laughs out loud.

It suddenly reminds me of Eli. The thought that there’s a chance, no matter how slight,
that Eli is . . . somewhere, and not dead, gives me strength. Courage. And lightens
me. I feel energized.

“Right,” Jake says, and turns to everyone. “Since the Jodís move during the night
and the Fallen are, as far as we know, down again to recover, we should spend the
daylight hours training. So partner up.”

“And tonight?” asks Ginger.

Jake gives a slight grin. “Tonight we hunt.”

“Hunt Jodís?” asks Victorian. He slides a glance my way.

“Hunt . . . everything,” Jake corrects. “Unless Syd finds another clue.”

For the rest of the day, we train. Swords. Hand-to-hand. Dirks. You name it. All the
while, though, my thoughts remain on Eli. I see his face every time I blink. In my
head, I even hear his voice. How can someone like Eligius Dupré come into my life,
change it so drastically, then . . . leave? It doesn’t seem real. I still expect him
to walk around the corner any minute. Sometimes I glance up. Hoping. I even hear his
voice in my head.

It doesn’t happen.

“Shit!” I yelp, and jump back. My thoughts rush to the present, and my vision focuses
on what’s in front of me. Lifting my hand to my shoulder, I cover the trickle of blood
caused by Jake’s sword with my palm. I stare hard at him.

“Pay attention,” he warns. “Your mind has to be in this, Riley. It could mean your
life.” He inclines his head to the rest of the group. “Or one of ours.”

I wipe the sweat from my brow. “Yeah,” I answer, frowning. “Gotcha.” By now the sun
has started to drop, and I need a little alone time. Maybe a short run before darkness
totally falls. My pride is a little stung, having been chastised with the tip of a
sword in front of the whole WUP team. I need to blow off a little steam.

Again. Seems I have a lot of that built up lately. But that’s the way I handle things.
I don’t sit around and cry or mope. I run. Or kick the shit out of something. Usually
my training bag at home. Since I don’t have one of those here, I’ll just run.

Replacing my sword in the rack, I slip out of the dojo as the others are sparring.
Peter is in the kitchen doing . . . something. I hear plates and silverware clanking
together. The Crescent’s hall is shadowy and dark, the lights extinguished downstairs
all except the one lamp in the foyer. I ease out the front door and into the cool,
briny Edinburgh evening. The sun is not fully extinguished yet, so the sky is a myriad
of purples and pinks. No sword to weigh me down, I’ve only one dirk tucked into the
inner belt of my black training pants. Wearing a long-sleeved black tee to cover up
the dragons, I take off, leaping over the Crescent’s black wrought-iron gates and
onto Old Tolbooth Wynd. I’ll be back before it’s time to head out into the city.

At Canongate, I turn left and jog toward the Palace of Holyroodhouse. Behind the old
palace is Holyrood Park, and from what Gabriel says, it’s something like six hundred
acres. The Salisbury Crags slope up to one of Edinburgh’s landmarks, Arthur’s Seat.
Gabriel says it’s a little over eight hundred feet high. That’s a pretty sick steam
blower, if you ask me.

So, that’s where I’ll head. Out of the city, and a place where, especially at this
time of evening, I can wide-open run. No one to notice but the wildlife.

Jogging down Canongate, I pass the kirk where I found that poor girl the other night.
Slain by a creature concocted from dark, ancient magic. I glance over and see a middle-aged
couple and a younger boy, maybe fourteen, standing near the very place I found her.
I slow to a walk. The woman has a small collection of wildflowers bunched in her hands,
and she bends over, lays it on the ground, and turns to the man beside her and sobs.
The boy looks . . . helpless, hands shoved in his pockets, and he glances around.
His gaze catches mine.
Yeah, kid. I know the feeling. I’m sorry as hell you have to go through it.

The boy blinks and stares at me for several seconds, then leans into his father.

I continue on.

The streets are damp from the afternoon’s rain shower, and the dark gray cobbles take
on a slick shine in the haze of evening. There’s still enough light to see, so I take
it easy at first, keeping my pace to a leisurely, humanlike jog. The blast of a horn
cuts through the air, followed by another. I dodge a store clerk locking up his business
for the day. F
ISHMONGER
, says the painted sign on the window. The man looks at me. “Aye, lass. Are ya headed
up to the Seat, then?” he asks.