Echoes and Embers (Rebel Angels) (4 page)

His chest heaved. It sustained the beast within him, strengthened the dark nature he had locked away. This was a dangerous game. He couldn’t afford to lose control, but he longed for her, hungered for just one taste.

Alyssa whimpered as Sariel tore his mouth from hers. He sank to his knees and lifted her legs to his shoulders, keeping her back against the tree. A startled cry escaped her. What was he doing? He buried his face between her thighs. His hands clasped her bare bottom, anchoring her in place as his mouth settled against her feminine flesh.

Shocked and overwhelmed by their unconventional position, she squirmed, clutching his forearms for balance. He traced her slit slowly, delving deeper, separating her folds until his tongue found its target. She arched into the caress, sensation coiling tighter with each, firm circular motion.

This was decadent! The faintest echo of memory told her she’d been pleasured like this before, but the utter carnality of the situation thrilled her as much as his skillful touch.

He didn’t seem to care if they were seen. He feasted from her body as if he would die without her essence. Her legs trembled and her pulse raced. Even in the grip of this raging passion his touch was tender, almost reverent.

On and on
he
licked and nibbled. She felt devoured. Consumed!
Just as he’d said.
His hands squeezed her bottom, his thumbs sneaking between her thighs, holding her open for his torrid kiss. Stroke after heated stroke, his mouth drove her higher, wound the passion tighter.

Shifting her weight, he slowly pushed two fingers into her aching passage. Alyssa released a long, keening cry. Her body accepted the penetration with grateful flutters, but she needed so much more. She needed his hard, thick shaft filling her, stretching and claiming her.

He moved, sliding his fingers in and out as his tongue settled over her swollen nub. Pleasure built and intensified.

Then the sensations exploded.

She covered her face with her hands, muffling her screams as intense pulsations ricocheted through her body. He continued the slow slide of his fingers and the tender stroking of his tongue until the last tingle faded from her.

He raised his gaze but kept his fingers inside her, grinning with salacious pleasure.

“Oh my,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

He chuckled deep in his throat, licking his lips with obvious relish.

“You should…probably let me down. I can no longer feel my legs,” she admitted with a dreamy smile.

Reluctantly, he eased her legs to the ground. Her wobbly knees collapsed and he swept her into his arms.

She snuggled against his chest, enjoying the shelter of his strong embrace. If her body were capable of the sound, she would have been purring. “What about your pleasure? I may be slightly addled, but I know you didn’t… That is…”

“I can give you nothing more. I will not become what I once was. I can’t live like that again.”

Resting her head on his shoulder, Alyssa threaded her fingers through his hair and fought back tears. His selflessness left her in awe. He’d just given her incredible pleasure, yet he wanted nothing in return.

He rose and continued on down the path, Alyssa cradled in his arms. She was not dainty like Rosalind or willowy like Lailah, but her tall, curvaceous body seemed not to burden him at all.

“How long ago was this other Grigori assigned to Rosalind?”

“Time passes differently in Heaven than it does on earth. I cannot answer that.”

“Do you know this angel well?”
A certain
intensity had entered his tone when he spoke of the other Grigori. If she were to protect Rosalind, Alyssa needed to know as much about the situation as Sariel was willing to share.

“I know
all of my
angels well.” He shifted her higher against his chest.

“But this one is special to you?”

“I must know what happened to him. If he
Fell
, there is nothing I can do, but the uncertainty is worse than not knowing. So many of my order have
Fallen
. Each loss is felt mightily.”

“What becomes of Rosalind if you determine she is a
Nephilim
?”

His arms tightened, but when he spoke his tone was calm, neutral. “My determination will be made in stages. If her nature is corrupt, she must be destroyed.”

Gasping, Alyssa squirmed out of his arms and blocked the path. “What did you say? If you decide Rosalind is corrupt, you will kill her?”

“The only alternative is that she
Fall
. Would you rather she
be
damned for all eternity?”

“Who are you to pass judgment on anyone? What just transpired between us proves you are—”

“The dichotomy within my nature is precisely what makes me qualified to determine these cases. It is also what attracts you to me. We are the same. I don’t understand the specifics, but you are just as corrupt as I!”

“I am not
Fallen
!”

“Neither am I. But we are different from other angels.”

“Michael challenged us to…” Panting harshly, Alyssa raised her fists to her temples. The pounding intensified, blinding her. It had been there. For just a moment her memory had been intact, the truth of her situation clear. Then it vanished, evaporated like the mist she despised.

“
Truth
.”
She grasped the word like a lifeline. “I must find Lailah! This is not about memories. It’s about lies.”

* * * * *

“What do you mean she’s departed? It’s the middle of the night.” Resisting the urge to ball up her cloak and toss it across the room as Rosalind had done
earlier,
Alyssa folded the garment and draped it over her arm. She
needed
to talk to Lailah.

“I only know what Imogene told me.” Rosalind didn’t bother looking up from her embroidery. Her wooden bench faced the hearth where a fire gently crackled. “You ordered me to remain in my room, so how would I know what transpired beyond these walls?”

Fits of temper suited Rosalind better than sulking, but Alyssa wasn’t about to encourage her along those lines. “What exactly did Imogene tell you?”

“That Lailah’s departure couldn’t be delayed until morning. Apparently the need for Lailah was more urgent than she realized.”

Accepting the information with a stiff nod, Alyssa chose her words carefully. “Do you know where I went tonight?”

Rosalind lowered the needlework to her lap and looked up. “You departed with Sir Sariel. If it’s not seemly for me to be alone with him, then why is it permissible for you to be alone with him?”

Heat blossomed across Alyssa’s cheeks as images of Sariel’s embrace, his demanding kiss, his hands and mouth—

“Is he your lover? Is that why he came here, to see you not Lailah?”

“Sir Sariel’s reason for joining us is complicated.” Unsure what she should reveal and what would needlessly frighten her ward, Alyssa guided the conversation in a different direction. “He escorted me to see Mae. I wanted to—”

“My word is no longer sufficient? Why would I lie?”

“I didn’t visit Mae to verify your story. I wanted to understand your hostility. We were friends once, not that long ago.”

“You doubt my word and treat me like a child.” Rosalind fidgeted on the bench, turning her face toward the fire. “It’s little wonder I’m hostile toward you!”

Pausing to gather her thoughts and calm her voice, Alyssa studied Rosalind’s delicate profile. She was so young, so innocent. How could Sariel imagine anything evil resided within Rosalind? “Mae told me what the people in the village are saying about me. Do you believe I’ve gone mad?”

Alyssa held her breath as she waited for Rosalind’s answer. The girl was angry. Would that make her brutally honest or would she seize the opportunity to inflict pain? This had to be resolved between them. She couldn’t go on fighting Rosalind at every turn.

“I don’t know what to think. I don’t know who you are anymore.”

The first sentence gave Alyssa hope, the second cut like a knife. Inclining her head to acknowledge the response, she let out her breath and debated what to say. “What specifically has changed and when did I start—”

“Don’t mock me!” Rosalind shot to her feet, her embroidery falling to the floor, forgotten. “When you first came here you claimed to be a distant relation, then some relation’s dear friend. You speak about past events as if you witnessed them while you can’t remember yesterday. You have never been married, but several times you’ve claimed to be a widow. Your identity changes with the wind.”

“Who do you believe I am?”

Rosalind’s lips trembled and she glanced away. “It took me a long time to figure it out. You’ve been kind and protective. Father Myron told me—”

“You spoke to Father Myron about me?”

“Actually he questioned me.”

The image of flickering torches and angry villagers pounding on the castle gate flashed within her mind. What had triggered this hostility toward her? Rosalind’s attitude was obviously a symptom of a much larger malady. “What did Father Myron ask?”

“He wanted to know if you had attempted to…exploit me or
Monthamn
Castle
in any manner.”

“And what did you tell him? I want you to be honest. This has gone on long enough.”

“I told him you have been kind and nurturing, that my only concern is
your
…”

Rosalind hesitated. Alyssa picked up the girl’s embroidery and set it on the bench. “Go on. I need to understand what troubles you.”

“Father Myron said you likely lie about your past because you are trying to escape something unhappy. He told me to pose my questions to you directly, or accept you as you are and let it rest.”

Alyssa reassessed her initial frustration with the priest. She couldn’t have asked for wiser council. “You’ve been unable to let it rest, so what would you like to ask me? I will do my best to answer.”

“Were you my father’s mistress?”

It was a brilliantly simple explanation. Alyssa wished she’d thought of it. No! She must combat the lies, not compound them. “I never knew your father. What brought you to that conclusion?”

“If you had been Father’s…leman, you would have had nowhere else to turn when your benefactor died.”

“You don’t believe I am capable of securing another benefactor?” Alyssa smiled until she saw the pain in Rosalind’s gaze. “As God is my witness, I never knew your father.”

“Which god would that be, Alyssa? There are as many in the village who claim you practice the Dark Arts as those who believe you’ve lost your wits.”

She was back to torches and pitchforks, only cries of “Burn the witch” now augmented the image. Troubled by this new complication, she pushed her hair out of her eyes and schooled her expression. It wouldn’t do to let Rosalind know how upsetting she found the conversation. “Who leads the gossipmongers? Is there one person in particular I should confront?”

Rosalind shook her head, firelight dancing in her dark hair. “Father Myron is doing everything possible to combat the rumors.”

“Has my behavior been so outlandish?”

“Nay.”
A hint of regret sparkled in the girl’s blue eyes, but Alyssa wasn’t sure what caused the emotion. Was she ashamed of her own behavior or uncomfortable with Alyssa’s?
“So many have lost so much.
Everyone wants someone to blame. Your wild tales have made you an easy target.”