Rebel (24 page)

Even if it he couldn’t imagine that ever happening.

He wanted to slide his arm under her stomach, pull her to her hands and knees and push inside her. He wanted to pound away at her until this blistering need finally disappeared. In the shadowy light he could see the scars crisscrossing her body. As he’d expected, they traced across her back as well, the cruel lines fainter here, fading. He wanted to kiss those lines as well. He wanted to put his mouth all over her body. He wanted everything from her.

He climbed onto the bed carefully, so as not to wake her. He lay on his side and pulled her against him, wrapping his body around hers, his cock hard against her backside, demanding, wanting to feel her breasts in his hands, her blood in his mouth.

She sighed, curling into him. Trusting him in her sleep. He rested his head against hers, breathing in the scent of her hair, her skin, her blood. And prepared himself for a long night of torture before, inexplicably, he fell asleep as well.

M
Y FIRST THOUGHT WAS THAT
something wonderful was happening. Like the Christmas days that had always been just a little bit better. Almost immediately it was followed by a flood of panic. The sense of disaster lurking. I held very still, opening myself for the vision that was trying to make its way into my barely conscious mind, and then reality came rushing back. Where I was. Who was with me. What I had done.

He was asleep, his arms holding me against him. He was hard, and I could feel my body heat in instant response. Even the blood seemed to leap in my veins at the realization that he was all around me. I wanted to turn in his arms, wrap my legs around his hips, and pull him inside me. I wanted to press his mouth against my neck and have him take everything.

I moved very carefully, sliding out of his arms, and for once things went my way. He didn’t wake up. It was getting close to full daylight, and I looked down at my body. I could see my scars clearly, and there were bruises forming at my hips where he’d held me so tightly. It had been little more than a hard, fast coupling, like nothing I had ever endured before.

And I was lying to myself again. The only way endurance came into it was in keeping up with him. I could still feel the power of the climaxes that had ripped through my body, and the memory shamed me.

I’d faked it with Thomas. I knew that now. He’d been so patient, so careful, so gentle, and I’d felt nothing more than warm affection and gratitude. Now, with one rough encounter, I seemed to have graduated into a full-blown sexual human being, hot and needy, and I hated myself for it.

I wanted to hate Cain, and while I knew there were a dozen reasons that hatred was justified, my sexual response wasn’t one of them. That was mine to own. It made no sense that Cain had suddenly been able to turn on a switch that I’d wanted to keep forever hidden, but he had, and I could only blame myself.

I found the torn shift I’d had on when I’d stormed into his room last night, but there was no sign of the underwear he’d ripped off me, and I wasn’t about
to go searching and wake him up. I tiptoed through the silent bedroom toward the door, carefully avoiding the shattered bits of vase that littered the floor. Had I really smashed it over his head? Had last night really happened?

I got to my room and headed straight for the shower. I was sore between my legs, and touching myself as I washed reminded me of him, stirring the powerful surge of longing once more. I used cold water, the icy stream a punishment far different from the embrace of the cold ocean I longed for, and I half expected him to be waiting for me when I emerged, but my room was silent and empty in the dawn light. I told myself I was glad.

I needed someone to slap me. I had been touched by terrible, ugly men. I had been made love to by a gentle, beautiful man. One was hateful and degrading. One was sweet and cherishing. Last night had been elemental, rough, overwhelming, and everything had changed. Why now? Why had I let this happen?

Maybe it was the shock of the previous day. It wasn’t often that someone tried to kill me; little wonder that I had wanted, needed, some proof of life. Sex was the very antithesis of the death someone had wanted to hand me, and making love with Cain had been an act of defiance, of claiming life.

Making love? I wanted to snort at my own absurdity.
There was nothing about love in what I had done with Cain. Just a spasm of powerful, physical response. Biology, that was it. Nothing more.

I should use Cain’s word for it, but it was too ugly. I wouldn’t call it anything but a mistake, one I wouldn’t make again. For all I knew, I’d made that mistake with the very man who’d tried to kill me. I had told myself it wasn’t Cain; now, in the cool light of day, I wondered if I’d been foolish once more.

Of course I had. I had made mistake after mistake. The worst being the fact that I still wanted to go to him, climb back in bed and wrap myself around his body.

I dressed quickly in severe, dark clothes, pulling my hair back into a tight knot before looking at my reflection, and then couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up. I had a black eye and a scrape along the side of my face, which my ruthless hairstyle exposed for all to see. I also had a glow that even I could recognize. There was no other term for it. I looked well fucked.

I reached up to release my hair to cover my too-revealing face, then changed my mind. It would be interesting to see how people reacted to my bruises. Would anyone give himself away?

Or had I already faced the man who had done this, climaxed with his hard cock inside me? If so, why hadn’t he finished it? Finished me?

My plan for the day was simple. I would spend it with Allie, safe on the top floor of the main compound, away from everyone, and we would talk about the baby and not worry about the storm that was fast approaching. I would tell her I’d slipped on the rocks, or something equally lame, and with luck she wouldn’t notice anything else. I wouldn’t have to face Cain until I was ready to, and that was a small comfort. I could put what had happened between us in a dark place in my mind and ignore it, concentrating on what was really important.

For the first time, the most glaring question came to me. Why? Why would someone want to hurt me, silence me, kill me? The answer was obvious and immediate. Because I saw things. I had stopped anyone from hurting Allie. With luck, I would see other dangers before they could happen. Someone must be afraid I would see what he or she was going to do, and it had to be something very bad.

My visions were still unreliable. I hadn’t foreseen my own danger, from either the man who’d tried to kill me or the man who’d taken me up against a wall. What kind of gift was that, when it couldn’t even give me a simple heads-up?
Don’t walk alone on the beach—someone’s going to try to drown you. Don’t walk into the man’s room in the middle of the night, wearing hardly anything, and start a confrontation when you know sex has been seething beneath the surface since you first saw him.

But then, I had never been able to make my visions obey my needs or give me answers to questions that were vitally important. Maybe if I could find out who’d tried to kill Allie, I would discover who had tried to kill me as well. Or maybe the two events were entirely unrelated. Most people had secrets, and my erratic visions could expose things people needed to keep hidden.

There was nothing I could do but watch my back. And keep as far away from Cain as possible in this tight little society, until I knew for sure just how dangerous he was. I couldn’t afford a repeat of last night. I didn’t think my heart could bear it.

As if my heart had anything to do with it. I wasn’t a coward, but right then I needed to be. I headed toward Allie’s safe aerie before anyone could stop me.

S
HE WAS HIDING
from him. Cain had half expected she would, and for now he should be willing to let her be. Last night had been a mistake—he’d been planning to seduce her slowly, so that he could insinuate himself into her visions more thoroughly. Instead he’d banged her like the horny bastard he was, and he knew she would run. It didn’t matter how many times she’d climaxed, and while he’d been too busy to count, he knew she had kept track. She was terrified of her own sexuality; he’d botched it, and she’d gone into hiding.

It was for the best. He had no intention of touching her again until his own irrational longing was under control. As long as she was safe, he could keep his distance.

At least, he should. He could no longer deny that he was obsessed with her, anathema that the admission was. He didn’t want to need anyone or anything; he’d spent most of his endless existence alone and inviolate, and he preferred it that way. Physical release was easily found—it hadn’t been idle boasting when he’d told her he could have anyone he wanted. He knew how to flatter, how to charm, how to flirt, how to seduce, though she’d been absurdly resistant to all his patented tricks. Until it had all exploded into a few rough moments up against the wall, and all his masterful skills had simply disappeared in his need for her. He’d lost control, and he hated himself for that.

In retrospect, he should simply have taken her to bed the first chance he got. He’d been so bemused by his reaction to her that he’d been instinctively cautious, looking around for anyone else to use in her place. By waiting, he’d fueled his lust instead of defusing it, so that now she was a dangerous distraction. Each time he’d entered her dreams and taken the sweet release of her body, he’d made his own longing worse. Even taking her last night hadn’t been the release he’d expected. He’d put it off for so long
that a taste wasn’t enough. He needed to feast on her. His need made no sense to him, but denying it was getting him nowhere. It simply was.

But time, pushed along by Metatron’s ham-handed attacks on Allie and Martha, was running out.

Cain would destroy the safe, smug little world of the Fallen, rip away the masks and lies that covered them, so that they might rise, stronger than ever and with no lies to weaken them, and wipe out the Armies of Heaven. And he would kill Azazel, who had led the Fallen and done nothing when Uriel had murdered Tamarr.

Now it seemed he would have to kill Metatron as well, for putting his hands on Martha. It was the least he could do, as penance for the pain he was going to cause her.

Once the smoke cleared and the dead burned, including Azazel, he would let her go, release the bond. He’d leave again, and he wouldn’t come back until he’d forgotten all about her.

She was mortal, after all. In a hundred years she wouldn’t even be a memory.

A
FTER ONE LOOK AT MY FACE,
Allie had said nothing. If I’d had the energy to worry, that would have been cause enough—Allie stomped in where angels feared to tread, and tact had never been her strong suit. I must have looked as shell-shocked as I felt.

She even managed to beat me at cribbage, which she never could. For some reason I’d become unable to count to fifteen. But Allie was more than the source of blood for the Fallen. She was the source of strength and solace as well, and as the morning passed we ate ice cream and pastries and lasagna and every possible comfort food we could think of, and we laughed and even cried a bit. I finally began to feel my shattered soul recovering.

I got through without seeing Cain once. It was what I’d planned, so it made no sense that I felt
oddly deflated. I managed to sneak into my room while everyone was at dinner; I locked the doors, drew the curtains, turned off the lights, and curled up in my bed like a child afraid of the boogeyman. I didn’t know what I’d do when he knocked on the door.

He didn’t come. Not to my door, not to his own. I tried to reach out with my mind, to sense where he was, but as usual my stupid gift came up with a big fat nothing.

The only way I could find him was through sleep, but even that proved elusive. I tossed and turned, but the memories kept coming back, brief and visceral. His mouth on mine; his hands on my hips, holding me; his hand between my legs, stroking me; bringing me to a swift climax; his cock against me, pushing into me.

I rolled over on my stomach, groaning. He’d started something I’d never wanted, and I didn’t know how to get rid of it, how to make it go away. I hadn’t wanted sex, hadn’t liked sex. Now I was obsessed with it.

When I awoke the next morning I was frustrated, grumpy, and bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, but at least I’d managed to keep the erotic dreams away. If staying awake would do it, I’d go without sleep for weeks or months or however long it took for Cain to leave.

I was strong, and I wasn’t going to give in to weakness. Never again.

M
ETATRON MOVED PURPOSEFULLY
along the hallway. The women were talking, and while he despised gossip, this time he listened.

“Did you see Martha?” the demon Lilith demanded.

Victoria Bellona answered. “I did, and I wanted to hug her. She finally went to bed with Cain. It’s about damned time.”

“Not necessarily the wisest choice,” Lilith murmured.

“Oh, come on, admit it. He’s walking sex. And no one deserves it more than Martha.”

“But he’ll leave. He always does,” Lilith said.

“Maybe not this time. I bet Allie will know more.” A moment later they were rushing up the stairs, and he watched them go with disgust burning in his heart.

It mattered not that it was part of Cain’s mysterious master plan; it still filled him with contempt and fury. The obscenity of lust ate at his soul, and the knowledge that Cain had given in, had writhed naked with the seer, was so foul that he needed to cleanse his mind.

And the only way he could do so was with blood.

He couldn’t afford to let Cain stop him again. No one else would pay any attention, but Cain was watching too closely. He had to be distracted.

There was one thing in Sheol that would override Cain’s careful plans, a score he had waited millennia to settle. He could settle it now.

“Azazel’s looking for you,” he announced when he found Cain in the training room.