Adrian Phoenix - In the Blood

“True. Very true.”

She walked to the door, then paused when he showed no inclination to move.

He touched a finger to her veil. “What brought you to this room in search of sleep? Why not a walk in the garden or a night flight?”

Lilith met Gabriel’s gaze. “My conversations with Samael have resurrected memories I thought long dead,” she said, allowing just a hint of sorrow to soften her voice. “And…old feelings.”

Gabriel’s hand dropped to his side, amusement lighting his eyes. “Conversation? Is that what you call it?” He chuckled. “Hanging in the pit and name-bound, all thanks to you, I can’t imagine he’d have much to chat about.”

“Perhaps I enjoy watching him suffer. Perhaps I like hearing him rant and curse.”

“Now that I believe,” Gabriel murmured. “I think you came to this room to stoke your rage, to remember what he stole from us, little dove.”

Lilith smoothed the pleats in her gown. “When did you get to know me so well?”

Gabriel straightened and stepped out into the corridor. “You’ve never fooled me,” he said, his gaze locking onto hers. “Not once.”

“Truly? So you meant to fly your army into my ambush on the Golden Shore?”

Gabriel waved a hand. “That was a long time ago. I’ve learned since then.”

Lilith smiled. “I would hope so.” She walked into the corridor.

A servant, one of the half-mortal and wingless nephilim, bowed her blonde head and slipped silently into the creawdwr ’s chamber, a broom and feathered dust-sweep in her hands.

“There was another reason I was surprised to see you here,” Gabriel said. “The Morningstar has invited Samael to his aerie for a predawn breakfast and a bit of conversation.”

Lilith stared at Gabriel, a cold knot in her belly. “I lost track of time,” she said. “Thank you for reminding me. Good night.” She whirled and started down the corridor, but Gabriel’s voice stopped her.

“Do you think he’s hiding a creawdwr ?”

“The Morningstar?”

“Don’t play games, little dove.”

“I don’t know,” Lilith said, her voice thoughtful. “I don’t think so, however.”

“Ah, well, when Samael’s strength has waned enough to eliminate his shields, I’ll just root through his mind and find out for myself.”

“Sounds delightful,” Lilith said dryly. “Good night, Gabriel.”

“Shall I tell Hekate her mother dropped by?” His voice was honey-sweet again.

Thorns pricked Lilith’s heart. “Now who’s playing games? No matter how I answer, you’ll tell her anyway.”

“True, little dove. Pleasant breakfast.”

Lilith resumed walking, head high. She was halfway down the corridor before it dawned on her that she’d never tucked the bloodstained paper back into her purse. Her blood turned to ice. She couldn’t turn around and go back—she felt Gabriel’s presence behind her, knew he scrutinized her movements, her body language. She could only hope the servant would sweep the paper up and throw it away.

She had another concern to add to the lost bit of paper. Why hadn’t Star informed her of his forthcoming breakfast interrogation of Lucien?

Had he been hoping to surprise her and catch her off guard, perhaps? After all, she should’ve still been in their bed. Now, he was most likely wondering where she had gone in the small hours of the night.

Perhaps she’d simply tell him she’d been to see their daughter, but that thought left a bitter taste in her mouth. What if Hekate told him otherwise?

Lilith hurried from the aerie’s mouth and launched herself into the night sky.

Seattle, WA

March 23/24

SHE TASTED AMARETTO AND parted her lips for more.

Fingers brushed against her cheek, trailed along the line of her throat and then down, whispering across the curve of her breast. Sudden heat fluttered through her belly, ignited between her legs. And the scent of burning leaves and early frost filled her nostrils like incense, summoning her from sleep.

Heather awakened and looked into Dante’s gleaming eyes. Up on one elbow, he watched her, his fingers still caressing her breast through her pajamas, then he lowered his pale face and kissed her again.

Rolling onto her side, she kissed him back, drinking in the sweet taste of his lips. The intensity of her hunger, her need, surprised her. It burned at her core, white-hot. She skimmed her hand along his back, the feel of his silk-smooth skin and the hard muscles beneath sending hot tingles down her spine.

As the kiss deepened, Dante’s hand slid from her breast, down along the curve of her waist, to her hip, and yanked her closer still. His heat baked into her, merged with the fire blazing within her. He shoved her pajama top up, baring her stomach and her breasts. He cupped her breast, and his mouth abandoned her lips to trail hot kisses down her throat to her nipple.

A small moan escaped her as he licked the stiffened peak, then sucked it into the wet heat of his mouth. The flutters in her belly intensified. She heard the sound of her own rapid breathing as she worked a hand between them and unbuckled his belt, unfastened his pants, regretting that she hadn’t peeled them off when she’d put him to bed.

Dante brushed her fingers aside and finished unzipping his pants. With a low, impatient growl, he kissed her breast, then lifted his head. A blur of movement, a quick heated breeze, and then she heard the clink of his belt buckle as his pants hit the floor. Another blur of movement—white hands, sure and fast, and her pajamas and panties joined his leather pants.

Heather pressed herself against him again. They were still on their sides, face-to-face and skin to skin. She hooked a finger through the ring in his collar. Tugged and claimed him. Mine, she thought.

Dante’s mouth closed over hers and she felt a sudden sting as he bit her lower lip, the pain vanishing almost instantly. He sucked blood from the wound, his kiss hungry and rough. His hand tucked between her legs, his fingers stroking and dipping and finding all the right spots.

She moaned softly against his lips, moving to the urgent rhythm of heated flesh and hungry lips and exploring hands, caught up in the music of small gasps and rapid breathing and pounding hearts.

Sliding her hand between them, Heather grasped him, stroking his hard, heated length, his skin velvet-soft beneath her fingers. Dante sucked in a breath, shivered, and the heat fluttering through her belly whirled into a thought-ashing firestorm.

Inching up against the pillows, she eased herself onto him. Dante moaned low in his throat and drove into her, pumping against her, with her. He kissed her, deep and wild, ravenous.

Heather gave in to her hunger, a dark and primal surrender. She grabbed at Dante’s shoulder, his back, his hard-muscled ass, digging her fingers in with all her strength as she pounded against him.

His motion matched hers, driving hard and fast, his fevered heat torching a bonfire blaze within her, sweat slicking their skin.

Heather gasped as his mouth slid down to her throat and his fangs pierced the skin. The quick sting vanished beneath his lips, and he sipped, drawing her into him, like she’d drawn him into her.

Without a word, he grasped her hand and interlaced his fingers with hers, their palms pushing together—a balance, a promise.