by Larissa Ione
She locked on to the crimson stream dripping down his neck, following the tendons that stood out starkly under his bronzed, perfect skin.
“Take it.” His eyes were heavy lidded now, his body relaxed, and her mouth watered.
He didn’t have to tell her again. In a heartbeat she was on him. Straddling his thighs, she opened her mouth over the cut. She wasn’t going to use her fangs, not this time. With her fangs, blood flowed too fast. She took too much. If she could drink slowly and limit her intake, she should be able to control her renegade Satanic DNA.
The first drops of blood hit her tongue, and she gasped as the sensation of grabbing a live wire ripped through her. She could feel the bones in her back begin to knit and form more framework for her wings and the ecstasy of angelic sex made her writhe. Images flashed in her head. Erotic images of Reaver slipping his hand under her shirt and sliding his palm up her thigh. Of him kissing her breasts, tonguing her nipples. Of him licking his way down her naked body to her sex.
“Verrine,” he whispered. “I want you. Damn… I remember you.”
Yes. Reaver’s voice filtered through her ears and heat flamed across her skin as the fantasies played out and his blood flowed over her tongue. But… no, this wasn’t right. The images in her head weren’t part of a fantasy. They were memories, and while Yenrieth had said he wanted her, just that once, he hadn’t said anything about remembering her.
And Reaver definitely wasn’t the angel who had made her come three times before he took her virginity.
Yenrieth.
That son of a bitch. Leave it to him to interrupt her time with Reaver.
Fool. It was Reaver who interrupted the memories of Yenrieth.
She jerked upright, so startled by that thought that she couldn’t focus on feeding. Reaver was breathing hard and staring at her as if he’d seen a ghost, but if anything, she’d seen a phantom. A phantom lover.
The memories of her night with Yenrieth had been with her for thousands of years, and other than the fact that she couldn’t remember what he looked like, they had never altered or dimmed. But somehow, today, they’d not just changed; they’d gotten better.
Or maybe Reaver’s blood running through her veins was messing with her head.
“Why did you stop feeding?” His voice carried a strange hitch to it, but as he threaded his fingers through her hair, his touch was astonishingly tender. “What’s the matter?”
Oh, I’m picturing your head between my legs, your mouth at my sex while you fuck me with your tongue. Why?
She probably shouldn’t lead with that. Still a little dazed from the trip down memory lane, she murmured, “I don’t look like a demon, do I?”
He used his free hand to tilt her chin up and down and from side to side, making a big production of deciding if she had gone all beastie. She tried to read him, to get a hint of what was running through that handsome head, but his eyes gave nothing away.
Finally, his gaze met hers, and oh, she’d been wrong about his eyes giving nothing away. They were filled with heat, longing, and the vaguest sense of… familiarity? Déjà vu? They hadn’t had sex before, but they’d both seen each other naked. That could explain it.
Except that, back in the cavern, she’d felt that same familiarity. A rightness that didn’t make sense.
Frankly, the mystery was starting to piss her off.
“You don’t look like a demon,” Reaver said, his voice gravelly, and she wondered how he’d sound after a long, hard night of sex. “You need to get some rest. Let my blood heal you.”
She shifted on his lap, nearly moaning at the feel of his hard shaft pushing against the fly of his jeans. She loved that she could affect him that way. Perhaps it was time that she demanded what he owed her.
Sex.
Erotic tension bloomed between them, thick and heavy, almost as if he’d read her thoughts. Maybe she didn’t need to invoke their deal. Maybe he’d sleep with her willingly.
And maybe she was a big idiot. Just because he’d rescued her didn’t mean he’d lower his lofty standards to screw a fallen angel. So yes, she could demand that he fulfill his end of their bargain… except that all of a sudden, forcing him to pleasure her seemed like a real shitty thing to do.
Huh. Looked like her moral compass was starting to point more and more toward Heavenly north.
Which scared the shit out of her. She wanted to be good. She did. But wouldn’t that mean lowering her guard? She’d lowered her guard with Yenrieth, and he’d nearly destroyed her.
But maybe she could start small, like magnanimously telling Reaver she’d let him out of the bargain.
“Reaver—” She spoke at the same time he said, “Harvester,” and because she was feeling all unselfish and good, she patted him on his chest and said, “You first.”
Dear Lord, his chest was firm. She patted a little longer than she should have, but hey, she still had a long way to go to be a totally upstanding person.
To her heart-stopping, mouth-dropping shock, he placed his hand over hers. “Why did you kiss me back at the cavern?”
Too flustered to form a clever response, she said simply, “To annoy you.”
He laughed, a hearty, soul-deep sound. “You do that a lot. You always have.”
Always have? He made it sound like they’d known each other for centuries. “Did it work?”
“Oh, yeah.” He shifted, lifting his hips, and the motion put his erection fully against her sex as she straddled him. “It annoyed me. It would annoy me if you did it again.”
She inhaled sharply. Was this a challenge? Or was he issuing an invitation? Harvester didn’t like invitations. Invitations were commands veiled in the pretense of having a choice.
So she’d take this as a challenge. She never turned those down.
Drawing on rusty seduction skills she hadn’t used in what seemed like forever, she leaned in, angling her face toward his. She paused when only a whisper of air separated their lips. His eyes darkened and grew heavy-lidded, and she felt an abrupt sense of relief. He wasn’t pushing her away. He wasn’t making her feel like an idiot for wanting to kiss him.
It shocked her how much that mattered to her.
Reaver’s heartbeat thrummed rapidly against her palm, speeding up as her mouth hovered over his.
But she wouldn’t give him what he expected. At least, not yet. Reaver had taken the lead for most of the journey so far, and it was time she took control. And kept it.
Lowering her head, she dragged her mouth on a lazy path from his throat to his jaw, where she nipped him hard enough to make him hiss. His hands dropped to her waist, gripping hard when she soothed her little bite with her tongue before moving on to his mouth. His lips met hers eagerly, and she started to think that maybe taking the upper hand wouldn’t be as easy as she’d thought.
He licked at her, forcing her lips open. With a groan, he rolled her under him so he was pinning her, moving between her legs in a slow, sinuous motion that made her writhe to get him even closer.
“Damn,” he whispered against her lips. “Just like I remember. You feel… perfect. Beautiful.”
A wave of heat washed over her with so much force she didn’t bother asking what he remembered. She knew he appreciated her body… hell, he’d always gone for the females who dressed on the trashy side, so she used to dress as provocatively as possible just to mess with him. What better way to drive him crazy than to make him hot and bothered for a female he detested?
But she hadn’t ever believed he thought she was beautiful.
Reaver shifted so they were both on their sides. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her as she ground against him, the weird gel mattress moving with them. It was as if they were in the sky, mating on air currents, angel style.
She wedged her hand between them and palmed his arousal, and his harsh, ragged breath vibrated her all the way to her bones. Even with the thick barrier of his jeans she could feel the hardness of him, the impressive size, the heat that radiate
d into her skin.
Enough playing. She didn’t do foreplay. Yenrieth had set the bar, and even though he’d destroyed her emotionally after it was over, she hadn’t been able to take her time with anyone since.
And it wasn’t like they had all the time in the world to have sex anyway. No, this had to be a quickie. Maybe once she fucked him she’d be over whatever it was about him that made her crazy. Since the very first time she met him on his first day of Watcher duty, she’d been drawn to him like a scissor moth to an open eye, which had never made sense. It still didn’t. This was too hot, too intense.
Her skin shrank at the thought. This kind of intensity was bad. She was too involved, and Reaver had to know it. Knowledge was power.
She would never allow any male to wield the kind of power over her that Yenrieth had.
Too late.
Panic built in her chest even as desire bloomed between her legs. His hand drifted to her butt, and her desire flared hotter, edging out panic and roaring to victory.
Well played, Reaver. Well played.
Sex could be just sex. That’s all it ever had been for her. She wasn’t a young, stupid angel giving her virginity to the male she loved.
She was quite capable of separating her emotions from her physical needs.
Telling herself all the lies she needed to believe, she dragged her fingernails up his length, smiling at his combined hiss and moan of pleasure. At the button at the top of his fly, she stopped, letting herself toy with the brass disc for a heartbeat.
Yes. This was going to be good.
She flicked the button and tugged on the denim, and the fly opened with a series of muffled pops. Reaver’s cock sprang free, a broad, dusky column pulsing with thick veins. Finally, after all these years of curiosity, she took him in her palm.
He gasped, followed by a soft curse that was more of a moan. Oh, she loved those sounds—there was nothing hotter than a male in the throes of pleasure, nothing more beautiful than Reaver as he threw his head back and panted, his parted lips glistening from their kiss. In her hand he was rock hard under velvety-smooth skin, and as much as she wanted to pump her fist and take him higher, she wanted to savor this moment more.
She supposed she could take a little time for foreplay.
A desperate craving unfurled in her belly and reached into places she’d forgotten she had, awakening a beast she wasn’t sure could be put back in its cage. No, she was sure. She’d always been able to have casual sex… in fact, she preferred a no-strings roll in the hay.
But the desire she felt right now was nothing like what she’d felt for those casual flings.
Squeezing lightly, she swept her thumb back and forth at the silky tip of him, loving how his entire body jerked with each slow pass. She threw her leg over his and got even closer, so ready to take him inside her the moment they got their clothes off.
Suddenly, he gripped her wrist. “No… Harvester. We can’t.”
“We can,” she whispered against his throat. “I’m healed.” Except for her wings, but the bones were knitting together swiftly now, the pain dulled from the feeding.
“It’s not that.” He lifted her as if she weighed nothing at all and set her aside. Sharp, lashing pain scored her heart as he sat up and buttoned his jeans. “I’m not doing this with you.”
What the hell was going on? Harvester struggled to jump-start her lust-addled brain and make sense of what he was saying. Her body was juiced, her feminine parts were aching, and her heart was pounding.
Swallowing dryly, she sat up and braced herself against the wall. “What’s the problem?”
Shoving to his feet, he swore, long and loud. “What’s the problem? It’s you, Harvester.” He gestured between them. “It’s us. This can’t work.”
Very slowly, as if she were bleeding to death, something drained out of her, leaving her colder and more hollow than ever before. She’d trusted him to not reject her, and didn’t it figure that he’d waited until she’d truly let down her guard to do it.
“Of course we can’t work,” she said, welcoming the bitterness that seeped into her voice. Her old friend was back. “You’re a pure, holy angel of goodness, and I’m Satan’s evil whore of a daughter. So yeah, we can’t work. Thanks for pointing that out, Captain Obvious. But we can fuck.”
Reaver’s eyes were like jeweled drill bits, boring so deep inside her she was afraid he’d seen her darkest secrets.
“Tell me,” he said softly. “If Yenrieth were to return, what would you do?”
Yenrieth? How dare he conjure that name right now? What did Yenrieth have to do with anything?
“Who cares?” She stood, suddenly feeling the need to be on even footing with him. “Yenrieth hasn’t been seen in thousands of years. He’s dead.”
“And if he wasn’t?”
“Why? Are you afraid I’m falling in love with you or some shit? And then Yenrieth will magically return to sweep me off my feet and leave you in the dust?” She poked him in the chest. “Because I have news for you. I’m not falling in love with you, Yenrieth isn’t coming back, and, if he did, I’d be more likely to kill him than let him sweep me to anywhere.” She fisted the hem of her tank top and peeled it off over her head. “So get over yourself and fuck me, dammit.”
Reaver’s expression was a mix of anguish and disgust and, as far as she could tell, aimed at her. Was she that repulsive to him?
Her eyes stung, and she hated herself for it. Feeling suddenly, stupidly exposed, she covered her breasts with her arms.
“I can’t.” Reaver’s voice was guttural as he wheeled around and stared at the wall. “I remember. I loved you.”
She blinked, her bafflement taking the edge off her anger. “What are you talking about? Did you hit your head?” She eyed his throat. “Did I drink too much blood? Are you okay?”
“I loved you,” he repeated, because it hadn’t sounded crazy enough the first time. “But I remember the hate too.”
“Yes,” she said carefully, because she didn’t want to set off the madman. “You hate me.”
“And now I know why.” He clenched his jaw so tight she heard a crack. “You told me what you did to me, and I understood. As Reaver, I got it.”
As Reaver? She was beyond baffled now, was starting to get scared. Something was very wrong with him.
“But as Yenrieth I hated you. I can feel that now. Like it was yesterday.”
Oh, God. She breathed a huge sigh of relief. “I think somehow our memories are getting jumbled up together. Weird stuff happens in this region, and with the lasher implants and your sheoulghuls—”
“Dammit, Harvester, listen to me.” Pivoting, he dragged both hands through his hair over and over, almost obsessively, as if whatever was scrambling his brain could be calmed by a scalp massage. “I came to rescue you to find Lucifer, but I’d been planning to do it all along anyway. Because of the Horsemen. What you did for them. They’re my children,” he said, and it was as if all her bodily functions seized up under an adrenaline overload. He was freaking high. He couldn’t be their father because their father was—“I’m Yenrieth.”
Nineteen
Reaver couldn’t believe he’d just admitted the truth to Harvester. At the worst possible time. But dammit, images had slammed into him while she was feeding, knocking him so off balance that it felt as if he was in two places at once—the present and the past—and only Harvester could shed light on the dark holes in his memory.
He’d remembered moments with Verrine, more flashes of their exploits together, but this time they were a little longer, and this time, they came with the raw emotions he’d felt when the memories had been made.
He’d loved her. He didn’t remember why he hadn’t acted on how he’d felt, but he was certain he’d loved her. So when Harvester had kissed him, he’d felt like everything was right. It had been like coming home.
But then she’d touched him, stroked him, and even as his lust built, searing hatred had scorched his heart. The
memory of why he’d bedded Verrine had slammed into him, along with the rage he’d felt when he, as Yenrieth, had learned that Verrine had kept the existence of his children away from him for almost thirty years.
Now all of those emotions were swirling around in his head the way they had five thousand years ago, fresh and poisonous, and mixed with everything Reaver knew and felt, as well.
He didn’t know what he was supposed to be feeling right now, and he was pretty sure Harvester was in the same leaking boat.
She stared at him, and her eyes glazed over with disbelief and confusion. Her mouth opened. Closed. And then he saw it. The moment it all sank in.
Her face went ashen with devastation. “Oh no,” she whispered. Her entire body began to shake. He could smell her fury, her sense of betrayal, and it sliced him wide open. “No. You… oh, gods, no.”
“Harvester—”
“Shut up!” she rasped. “Don’t you speak to me, Yenrieth. Don’t you ever speak to me again.”
Closing his eyes, he waited for it. When it came, he was ready, but it was still the most painful slap he’d ever gotten, not because of the force but because behind it was a female whose agony transferred straight to him.
“How long have you known?” She was screaming now, her anger so great that her powers were seeping into her tirade and blistering waves of heat seared his skin. She snatched up her tank top, her eyes blazing with raw hatred. “Where have you been for the last five thousand years, you bastard?”
He didn’t reply, but it wasn’t because she’d told him to never speak to her again—he was pretty sure that would be impossible given that she was asking questions she demanded answers to. No, he didn’t reply because he couldn’t. He didn’t know where he’d been prior to the last thirty years or so. And he was pretty sure she wasn’t ready to hear anything he had to say.
“Answer me!” Tears streaming down her face, Harvester lunged at him.