Rebel (26 page)

What a lousy gift, I thought dizzily, that it couldn’t even warn me of my impending death. And then I could think of nothing at all, my mind a silent scream, Cain’s name, as I fell into the doubtful comfort of endless sleep.

A moment later I was flung through the air, landing on the sand. I lay there, struggling for breath, knowing I was going to die anyway, that he’d crushed my throat and my lungs and there was no way I could breathe, when suddenly everything came back with a whoosh, and I realized the air had merely been knocked out of me when I went flying. I lay still, struggling to regain use of my muscles as I watched the two angels fight in a furious battle to the death.

Blood was everywhere, and I wanted to cry out, to scream a warning before Metatron’s huge fists crushed Cain, but I’d underestimated him. Cain was faster, smarter, and possessed of such a murderous rage that he made Metatron look like a lumbering giant. Blood spurted from Metatron’s neck, and he sank to his knees in the sand, clutching his throat, as Cain closed in on him. I tried to call out, to tell him
no, but some small, savage part of me wanted this. Wanted violence in my name. Wanted some kind of proof that Cain actually felt something for me.

There was a sudden darkness as Metatron’s huge wings extended, and a moment later he was soaring upward, fast and high into the sky. I rolled onto my back, expecting to see Cain fly after him.

A moment later I was caught up in his arms, held against his bloody chest as he peered into my face, looking for signs of damage. “I’m okay,” I tried to say, but there was only a whistling rasp of sound as I choked.

He pushed my hair from my face with a surprisingly tender touch, and I could see the relief in his eyes. “You’re okay,” he said, and I wanted to snap that I was trying to tell him that, but I gave up. “And you can’t talk,” he added with a faint curve of his mouth. “I can’t think of a better combination.”

I closed my eyes. Everything hurt, particularly my stomach and throat, but he was right, I was okay; and for the moment I didn’t have to do anything but let him hold me in the warm sunshine, his hands tender.

I don’t know how long it was before I felt another presence, and I opened my eyes to see Azazel land lightly on the beach beside us, his wings folding behind him, a grave expression on his face. “I couldn’t catch him.”

“Just as well,” Cain said grimly. “I want to be the one to kill him.”

Azazel nodded, looking down at me. I should have made an effort to sit up, but it was just too comfortable being held. I wasn’t even going to think about why, think about the man whose strength was slowly filling me. I was going to let go of everything.

“How is she?”

“She’ll live,” Cain said briefly, a bit heartlessly, but his hold on me was still incredibly gentle, so I didn’t object.

“So are you ready to finish what we started, or would you prefer to wait till you’ve recovered a bit from fighting Metatron?”

Cain gave him a snarl—surprising, when his usual manner was effortless charm. “I can kill you and Metatron with one hand tied behind my back.”

“Yes, I saw how successful you were with Metatron,” Azazel said. “I’m more than happy to let you try to kill me now if you’re ready. I just want to point out a few things.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” Cain snapped.

“In a moment.” He moved closer. “When the time came to kill me or save the woman you insist doesn’t matter to you, you chose to save her. What do you think that means?”

All I could hear was
the woman you insist doesn’t matter
and I tried to push away from him. It was a
waste of time—I still felt weak and shaky, and even at full strength I was no match for him as he held me more tightly.

“It means I can always kill you another day.”

“You and I both know that isn’t true. That chance won’t come again anytime soon. Yet you went to save Martha. I’ll believe the things you’ve told me about Sheol, but you’re wrong about one thing. There is such a thing as bonded mates, and Martha is yours.”

Cain ignored him, continuing to stare down at me as if I really mattered. “She’s a means to an end,” he muttered.

“But your end is now out in the open. You don’t have to use her anymore. Why are you still holding her?”

“I can still kill you,” Cain muttered, and I was ready to second the motion.

Azazel simply shook his head. “I’ll bring what you said to Raziel and the council and we’ll consider it. In the meantime, why don’t you take the woman who doesn’t matter to you somewhere and take care of her?”

And then we were alone. I waited for Cain to drop me on the sand and take off. Even if he did care just the tiniest bit, Azazel had thrown down the gauntlet, and Cain would have to prove him wrong. He’d been using me, which was no surprise. So why was it suddenly hurting so badly?

I felt the sudden tension in his muscles the moment before he rose, but it was an effortless gesture, even with my weight still in his arms. A moment later we were up, up into the misty blue of the Sheol sky, soaring through the heavens, and all I could do was swallow.

Flying had always terrified me. The few times Thomas had insisted on taking me out had been miserable disasters, and Azazel had known that. He’d challenged Cain to carry me anyway, the bastard, and I held my breath and closed my eyes, certain the ground was going to come thudding up to meet us.

He held me loosely, comfortably, and I considered turning and clinging to him for dear life—then realized that I wasn’t afraid that he would drop me. Even with this casual embrace, I knew I was safe, and the sensation was both disturbing and oddly comforting. I opened one eye first, then the other, and realized we were moving through the shreds of late-morning clouds, soaring, the salt scent of the ocean drifting up to us. Wind was tugging my hair away from my face, and I dared to look up at him as he flew. He’d saved me, he’d held me, he’d kept me with him, and now he was taking me to safety. For now, that was enough.

When he finally set down, it had taken longer than a straight shot would have. I looked up at him
questioningly as he dropped down into our joint courtyard, and oddly he seemed to know what I was thinking. “I needed a little breathing space,” he said, almost an apology, except that Cain didn’t apologize. He charmed, he manipulated, he lied, but he never apologized. “I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

If it had been Thomas, he’d have been covered in scratches from my panicked hands. But he wasn’t Thomas; he was so clearly different from my gentle, loving Thomas, who had never been the right angel for me. I didn’t know why Thomas had been convinced I was his mate, why he’d brought me here when I was frightened of everything, but he had. And now I understood why. It was for Cain.

I shook my head, my voice still lost, and tried to get him to put me on my feet. He ignored me, striding toward the French doors that led to his apartment. I tugged at him, gesturing toward mine, but he shook his head.

“No,” he said, carrying me into his rooms and kicking the glass door shut behind him with such force I was afraid it might shatter.

He set me down on the bed so gently that I felt tears stinging my eyes, and I tried to blink them away. That only drew his attention, and he stared down at me for a long moment. “I want you to rest for a bit,” he said. “Though I’d be just as happy if you didn’t
recover your ability to speak for a while. You’re very restful when you aren’t arguing.”

If I’d had more energy, I would have stuck out my tongue at him, but as it was I simply lay back, watching him out of hooded eyes.

“I’m going to clean up, and then I’ll be back,” he said. “You sure you’re okay?”

I nodded, none too enthusiastically. Clearly he was taking Azazel’s orders to watch over me seriously. Of all the things I hated in this life, pity was one of the most despised. Particularly pity from someone I longed for with all the maturity of a childhood crush. I might as well stop denying it; I was obsessed by him. When I was dying, he was all that I could think of; and even now, when I wanted to smash something over his head again, I still trembled at the thought of his touch.

On instinct, I reached up and carefully touched the back of his head where I’d bashed him, and there was a spark of electric tension between us. He winced as my fingertips glanced across the bump. “Yeah, it’s still there,” he said with a grimace. “Next time you want to bash me over the head, why don’t you pick something a little flimsier and a little cheaper?”

I flipped him off, trying to put all my communication skills into that single age-old gesture. He just laughed again, drawing a soft blanket over me.
“Sleep, baby,” he said, and I realized that was the first honest endearment he’d used.

I decided to sleep.

U
P, UP, UP
into the icy darkness Metatron soared, his face a mask, his heart a stone. He had failed. Never in his life had he not managed to complete a task set before him, whether one of his own devising or Uriel’s bidding, with the sole exception of killing Azazel. He’d failed not once but twice to kill the seer. He’d failed to rid the Source of her spawn, and in the end he hadn’t even been able to obliterate Cain, a man smaller than he was. The icy air had stanched the bleeding from the wound on his neck, and he knew that once he reached Uriel, he would be either welcomed or banished into nothingness. He deserved no less. He had failed himself and he had failed Uriel.

He was returning to the afterlife with information that he would offer freely, whether Uriel took him back or not. He hadn’t been driven from heaven; he had merely been killed in combat and left behind. Uriel would not be pleased that he hadn’t made his way back sooner, but he could always say he had hoped to gather information to bring down the Fallen.

If Uriel let him stay, let him lead the armies once
more, he would dare to ask for the Source. In all of this she was blameless, and Uriel might be disposed to be generous. If not . . .

That was to be decided later. First he had to talk his way back into the dark, celestial glories of the afterlife. He just hoped Uriel was in a good mood.

I
T WAS DARK, A DEEP, COCOONING NIGHT,
and I was safe. I lay in the arms of my lover, naked and warm, skin to skin, and I sighed, moving closer. I was curled around him, my head on his shoulder, my arms around his waist as I listened to the rise and fall of his breathing and waited for what this new erotic dream would bring. In my dreams nothing was forbidden, and I wanted ecstasy to wipe out all the bad things. I wanted his mouth all over me; I wanted to taste him, take him in all the forbidden ways; I wanted to scream and cry and melt with him.

His hand slid up my arm to cup my face, turning it up to his, and in the moonless night I could see only the familiar glitter of his eyes looking down at me. His fingers were long, hard, stroking my skin, and I realized with sudden shock that this wasn’t another dream. I was in his bed. Naked.

For a moment I froze, and he simply pulled me closer, skin to skin, his mouth against my ear. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “I’m here.”

I wanted to tell him that was exactly what was wrong with the situation. He threatened everything I cared about. But it was too late. His hands were sliding down my back now, molding me against him, and it was only reasonable that I lift my mouth for his kiss, slow and hot and sweet. It was . . . amazing, the laziest, most thorough of kisses, starting with the soft pressure of his mouth on mine, feathering against my lips until they were trembling. His tongue delicately traced the seam of my closed lips, pushing. I knew that if I let his tongue inside me I would do anything, and for a moment I resisted. He bit me then, a soft, reproachful nip, and I gave in, letting his tongue push into my mouth, touching mine, sliding, and I closed my eyes and fell into the wonder of it, kissing him back.

For some reason I expected him to be in a hurry. After all, our first coupling had been rough and quick, and even Thomas had been relatively straightforward and businesslike about the whole thing. But in the blessed privacy of the pitch-black night, Cain took his time, moving his mouth across my cheek to my ear, biting the lobe gently in a surprisingly erotic move. I’d never considered my earlobes to be an erogenous zone. Trust Cain to have known.

He kissed me again, and this time he coaxed my tongue to move, to dance, to slide against the rough texture of his in a slow, languorous joining that made my skin sizzle. Or maybe that was just the remnant of the strange effect he had on me. He moved his mouth down along the side of my jaw, my neck, pausing at the base where my carotid artery pumped with a steady, aroused throb, and he breathed in the smell of it. I could feel his want, his need, palpable. I could feel my own need, overriding my fear, and when he placed another small, erotic bite there, heat flooded my body.

I opened my mouth to stop him, but no sound came out. I had forgotten that Metatron’s murder attempt had left me mute.

Which meant I couldn’t tell him no tonight. It was no longer my decision; I could hide in the darkness and take what I wanted and then pretend it had nothing to do with me. For a moment I was tempted, so tempted, to pretend this was out of my control.

But it wasn’t. It was exactly what I wanted, just as I had accepted those invading, arousing dreams. I had welcomed his body into mine many times already, in that half-life between waking and sleeping. I would welcome him now.

He pushed me back against the mattress gently, leaning over me, and I went willingly. I knew what would happen next—he would push inside me, and
I would take him, hold him in my arms as he shuddered against me.

But he made no move to cover me. Instead he cupped my breast, and I arched against the surprising reaction it brought. My breasts had never been sensitive, yet the light touch of his fingers against my nipple was unbearably arousing. His mouth followed, and I found I could make noise after all, a low, sensual moan of reaction as he licked my breast, then closed his mouth over me and sucked. I reached up, needing to hold on to something as sensations bombarded me, and I caught his strong biceps, digging my fingernails in. He bit me then, lightly, growling low in his throat, and heat washed over me, a fierce conflagration I was more than ready for.