Eyes closed, his harsh breath searing his chest, Gabe’s muscles slowly relaxed. Aurora was soft and warm beneath him, her arms still clasped around his shoulders.
Her heart hammered against his chest, her uneven gasps of breath teased his throat, and every few seconds delicate tremors consumed her. Satisfaction unfurled deep inside a buried chasm of his ruined soul, and he savored the scent of woman, of sex, and the unique flavor that was Aurora.
It had been an age since he’d taken a woman. But he hadn’t forgotten the inevitable aftermath. The overpowering need to untangle limbs and sever contact. To find his own space, without having to deal with any messy fallout from a temporarily enraptured mortal.
No such sense of self-preservation washed through him now. And his cock, still buried inside her tight cleft, stirred.
Again.
He should have known once—twice—would never be enough to sate the madness in his blood when it came to Aurora. She was too fascinating, too aggravating, to be cleansed from his system so easily.
She’s the only one I’ve wanted in countless years.
All true. But it still didn’t explain why he continued to lie here, content to wind her hair around his finger and enjoy how she clung to him as her erratic breathing gradually calmed.
“You untied me.” She sounded drowsy, sated, and slightly surprised.
That made two of them. He’d had no intention of releasing her until they were finished, but instinct had taken over.
He’d wanted to feel her arms around him. Why not? It didn’t mean anything deeper beyond the physical contact.
Even if he’d avoided that kind of intimate, physical contact in his distant past when he’d fucked around.
“Are you complaining?” He brushed his lips against her temple.
Her faint hum of amusement washed through him like a soothing balm. It made no sense, but he wasn’t about to fight it. He’d take any elusive façade of peace and embrace it while he could.
If he was sure of anything, it was this. His fascination with her wouldn’t last long.
“No.” She drifted her fingers across his shoulders, perilously close to his scars. Unlike previous lovers, she wouldn’t pretend they didn’t exist. She had no clue that mortals simply did not question an archangel. And even if she did, he doubted it would make any difference to her.
He didn’t want to deflect her questions yet again and shatter the mood. But he didn’t have to, as her fingers slid to his nape and her gentle massage was unexpected, soothing … extraordinary.
How easy it would be to roll onto his side, tug her close, and fall into blissful oblivion. But a dark, alien, serpent twisted deep in his gut, and he lifted his head so he could see her face.
Her eyes were half-closed, her cheeks flushed, and a small smile tilted her lips. She looked satisfied and happy. Why shouldn’t she? This had been his plan from the moment he’d seen the bottomless insanity glitter in her eyes when she’d discovered the truth of the Guardians.
Yeah, he was all heart when it came to Aurora. He’d wanted to banish the terror that threatened to eat her alive, but the sex had been all about mutual lust. Nothing wrong with that.
Yet the unease grew, like a malignant tumor, extinguishing the lingering tendrils of peace in his soul.
She had no option but to stay on his island for the rest of her life. Would it make her incarceration more palatable if she fell for him? If she loved him, she wouldn’t miss her former life. Millennia ago, he’d witnessed the blinding devotion a mortal could have for an archangel, at the expense of everything and everyone else.
Not that he’d ever craved that for himself. It was a one-sided obsession and he had no use for that. Whenever a mortal had professed undying devotion, he’d got out of there fast and never saw them again.
It was easier that way. Kinder, even.
But Aurora. He didn’t want her to fall. Didn’t want to witness her inevitable slide into bitterness when she finally accepted that he’d never return her feelings.
He just wanted this strange encounter to continue, without complicated emotions getting in the way and destroying what they’d found.
Was that too much to ask? If he laid down the ground rules now, before she lost her heart?
Slowly, she opened her eyes. They were so damn beautiful that he almost forgot why he had to warn her at all.
“Gabe,” she whispered. Why did he enjoy the sound of his name on her lips? “We need to talk.”
Her words were arrows through his chest. Too late. She gazed at him in adoration, and there was no mistaking the tenderness in her tone. He heaved himself up and braced his weight on his hands, his wrists grazing her shoulders, but couldn’t find the strength to leave the bed.
“Not now.” His voice was harsh. Not ever. With damning reluctance, he withdrew from her warm embrace and rolled onto his back beside her. “Go to sleep.”
He should have known she wouldn’t obey. She curled onto her side and stroked his chest. He closed his eyes, so he didn’t have to see her, but her gentle touch was as potent as ever.
“Later,” she said, ignoring his attempts at protecting the fragile construct of her heart. “This can’t wait.”
“It can.” To underline his point, he flung his arm across his eyes. He was in no mood for an argument. And it didn’t matter how logically he presented his case, she wouldn’t agree with him. There was plenty of time for them to talk about it tomorrow.
Or next week.
“It’s important.” She leaned against him, her soft curves not helping his resolve at all.
This strategy wasn’t working. He rolled on top of her once again, pinning her to the bed. He’d saved her sanity earlier. It would be no problem seducing her so thoroughly that she forgot about her declarations of love and devotion.
Until the next time. He wasn’t going to think about the next time.
“Be quiet.” His mouth grazed hers and his cock hardened as she gave a submissive sigh. This was the answer. Fucking her into compliance until she was too damn exhausted to think, never mind speak.
“We can’t risk a third time.”
Her breathy comment managed to penetrate his rising lust and he stared down at her in bemusement. Of anything he’d been hoping to avoid her saying, this sure as hell hadn’t been it.
As declarations of love and devotion went, it was bizarre. And he’d been on the receiving end of some eccentric proclamations in centuries past.
His best strategy was to ignore it. Except he couldn’t. “We can’t risk what a third time?”
“You know.” She gave him a pained look, as though she thought he was being deliberately obtuse. “Unprotected sex.”
Unprotected sex? She was thinking about that, when he was concerned she’d been falling for him?
It was almost funny. Shame he didn’t feel like laughing. “And your point is?”
There was an edge in his voice. He couldn’t help it. He still couldn’t quite believe he’d so misjudged her mood.
And why did the fact she wasn’t on the brink of declaring undying love for him, irk him?
Sex with Aurora was interfering with the higher functions of his brain.
“My point?” She gazed at him, confusing clouding her eyes. “Well, I don’t want to get pregnant, do I?”
Ancient pain compressed his chest, and buried memories flooded his mind.
Helena. The child of his heart. The child of his love.
His miracle.
“No.” His voice was flat, while savage regret wrenched through his psyche, all but paralyzing him. “You won’t get pregnant.”
“But it’s possible,” she insisted, oblivious to the truth. “I’m not on any birth control, and even though it’s the wrong time of the month, I don’t want to take any chances.” There was a thread of panic in her tone, as though the possibility of conceiving the offspring of an archangel horrified her.
And she was right to be horrified. Except Aurora would—could—never conceive his child.
He pushed himself off her and collapsed onto his back. He’d never had a conversation like this before. Among those who possessed immortal blood, it wasn’t an issue, and for others they either knew the chances of conception were zero, or else they harbored a deluded desire to bear his child against all the odds.
Usually, mortals were too damn enthralled by the experience to even think of something so … normal.
When had Aurora ever reacted like a regular human?
He was under no obligation to explain. If she chose not to believe his word, that was her problem. Yet he couldn’t dismiss her questions as easily as he wished.
“Archangels don’t procreate.” They hadn’t for millennia. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
She stirred, and he knew this wasn’t finished yet. Just leave the fucking room. It was his modus operandi, after all. Instead, he screwed his eyes shut, and Helena’s sweet smile greeted him, her unruly curls framing her face, and her enchanting laughter echoed through the dusty void that had once been his heart.
“Why don’t I? You’ve got all the right equipment. And you can’t tell me archangels don’t procreate, because I know they do.”
His eyes snapped open, and she was propped on her elbow, gazing down at him. Denial burned through him, but it didn’t disguise the truth. Because she was right.
But she had no right to throw that in his face. How dare she contradict him and suggest he lied?
Because she’s Aurora. And that was the only reason she was in his bed. It was her disregard for all protocols that so ensnared him.
It didn’t mean he had to indulge her.
Her eyes widened in alarm, although he had no idea why. And then she brushed the tips of her fingers over his shoulder in an oddly conciliatory gesture.
“I’m sorry.” She sounded contrite, and he exhaled a measured breath, relieved they could put this behind them without any need for further discussion. “It’s just as the myths of archangels are true, I’m guessing so are the stories of the—” She hesitated, clearly searching for the right word, and disbelief shimmered in his mind. She wasn’t going there. She wouldn’t dare. “Nephilim?”
She went there. This was killing him from the inside out. And she didn’t have a clue.
“Yes.” His voice was harsh, and he sat up, dislodging her gentle caress. Never explain. But he couldn’t stop the bitter words that demanded to be heard. “But like everything else from antiquity, humankind corrupted the truth.”
He knew the stories that polluted the histories of Earth when it came to the beloved Nephilim. It was one of the reasons why he had little time for those born on this planet.
“We might have the right equipment,” he tossed her words back at her with the scorn they deserved, “but archangels were never intended to procreate. Yet some did. But only with those you might quaintly refer to as their soul mate.”
Soul mate. The words tasted sour on his tongue, but the appalled expression on her face was enough for him to know she had instantly understood the implications associated with that hated term.
“I’m so sorry.” Her whisper brushed against his shoulder, and her obvious distress pierced through the memories that threatened to suck him into the abyss.
“It’s all right.” It wasn’t. It would never be all right. But she looked so devastated that he had to reassure her.
None of this made any fucking sense. Why did he feel the need to alleviate her discomfort when it was self-inflicted by her insistence to continually question him?
“I didn’t mean to pry.” Her voice was soft, and he had the strangest feeling she confessed to a great sin. He sighed heavily. Projecting, much?
He was the one who had sinned. And his loved ones had paid a horrific price.
Aurora would never discover the depths of his guilt.
“Go to sleep, Aurora.” It wasn’t a request. He was done with talking, but he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at her once again. She was only a mortal, a human from Earth, and yet in the last few moments he’d shared more with her than he had with anyone in millennia.
Why?
There was no answer. Only the irresistible allure of taking her into his arms and losing himself once again in her welcoming body.
He wasn’t enslaved to her charms. He refused to succumb to the demands of his lust. Grimly, he grabbed his shirt and dragged it on before leaving the bed.
She didn’t say anything. At the door he battled the urge to glance at her.
No.
Jaw set, he went into his office, his haven, and pulled open the top drawer in his desk.
Helena laughed up at him from the only picture that remained of her. His gaze slid to her mother, and even now, after all these endless centuries, the familiar agony of futile fury and hopeless devotion ripped through his decayed heart.
He’d been unable to save either of them. They were gone. And they could never return.
Eleni. His first love. His only love.
She had captivated him with her smart mouth and refusal to acknowledge his archangelic superiority. But then, Eleni hadn’t been a mere human. She’d possessed immortal blood herself, and her pride in her Nephilim heritage shone through everything she said, everything she did. She bowed to no one and, despite fighting her charms for more than three years, his surrender was inevitable.
He’d irrevocably fallen the moment he looked into her fearless dark eyes. Had fallen more surely every time they spoke, every time she refused his advances, and every time she laughed at his attempts of flattery.
Because she’d known. Right from the start, she’d known this was more than a fleeting liaison. They belonged together, and theirs was a partnership of equals.
Eleni was his beloved. The only one he’d ever loved. She was the reason he could never love again.
She was his heart.
And she was gone.
Forty years. That’s all the time they’d had together.
And the miracle of creating their precious Helena.
He shoved the memories back into the haunted corners of his mind. Nothing good came of sinking into the labyrinth of his past. He didn’t have time for it, anyway.
A child needed his help.
Last night, before Meph had arrived with Aurora, he’d secured a piece of intel. Eblis, who had no compunction listening into the thoughts and telepathic communication of those who frequented his club, recalled a group of pirates had been discussing the home solar system of the missing child, Evalyne.
With a thought command, Gabe’s sleek data device emerged from the surface of his desk. Superficially, it could be mistaken for an Earth-based laptop, but that’s where the similarity ended.
He logged onto the intergalactic network. Namtar was a mineral rich planet in the small galaxy of Fornax, where Eblis said the pirates had originated from. It wasn’t a sector of the universe he frequented, and before he contacted a certain high ranking demon in that galaxy, he wanted to access all the information he could about the various pirate tribes.
It wasn’t much to go on, but at least it was a start.