WHEN HE LIFTED the golden sword between them, Jovienne realized how real the danger had become. She hadn’t faced Araxiel in actual combat, but how they had fought and negotiated had been a battle in itself. He’d cunningly used that sword and his promises to get her to this moment where her consent was all that mattered.
He was here for proof of her loyalty. He was here for proof of their mutual intent. He was here for his own pleasure. All of which meant this was not going to be an easy, affectionate event. It was every bit a test.
But she’d been tested before.
I am the monster’s monster.
The voice of God had warned her to beware doubletalk, lies, and untruth. But she was uncertain if He meant Araxiel’s lies or her own. It might not make a difference anymore.
Araxiel noticed her trembling. He probably recognized the doubt gleaming in her eyes.
“There, there, my beauty. Be still.” His palm cupped her cheek adoringly. Slowly, his caress moved lower, fingertips gliding under her chin, down her neck, curling under the strap of her halter. He jerked once, barely moved at all, and the golden sword had severed the leather at her shoulder.
It seemed a waste, to ruin Eitan’s handiwork so needlessly. “There was a zipper,” she complained, voice hollow.
“This isn’t about practicality.” The tip of the scimitar skimmed along her collar bone and down her sternum. As the kiss of steel traced a heated line, she knew she hadn’t been cut. There was no sting, no warm wash of blood, although the barest shift of his wrist would have changed the angle and made it so.
He scowled at the bejeweled little dagger pinned to the vest. He tore the leather away exposing her breasts. Her wings twitched into an arch as if she had the thought to cover herself, and then decided against it.
Boldly contrary to the thread of fear warning her to flee, she was aroused. Dithering between uncertainty and dreamy curiosity about how this ache could be sated, her eyes closed.
“Ah,” he sighed, fingers brushing down her arm. “Open your eyes, Jovienne. This isn’t something you go through blindly. Bear witness to how I look at you…how the sight of you arouses me.” He brought her hand to his groin.
She didn’t understand, not exactly, what a man experienced with an erection, but the library’s romance books told her enough to know that hard was good. And he was very, very hard.
More importantly, he wasn’t ashamed of it, wasn’t resisting or rejecting her.
The chilled air, the thrill of exposure, and the heat of his hand on hers had a flicker of romance in it. Is that all I get to have? Even so, she wanted this to happen. She wanted to know. As much as she needed that sword.
Araxiel inched closer and his fingers tucked into the top of her pants and pulled.
“Don’t ruin them,” she said. “Let me take them off.”
“This part isn’t about what you want,” he snapped. “This is where the give and take begins. You give me what I want and you get to take the sword. When you make the right sacrifice and open the perfect Hellgate, you get to take whatever you want next.”
“Who is the right sacrifice?”
“Tomorrow, or rather, later this morning…attend the dawn service at St. Timothy’s. You’ll know.” Hands deft, Araxiel tugged and sliced, rending the pants until all that remained were ragged strips hanging over the tops of her boots.
She wanted to cry. She wanted to fight. But she had brought him up here.
She grabbed his wrists. “Are the books lies?”
“What books?”
Embarrassment flamed on her cheeks. “Is romance real? Is it ever like the fairy tales?”
“Some know love and tenderness,” he said. “But not us.”
He stabbed the scimitar’s point into the floor where it stuck fast. His hands slid to her waist and explored her skin, slowly increasing his touch, caressing and kneading.
“You’re cruel.”
“I? I am not the one who read dirty books looking for reality in fiction. I am not the one who came up here secretly hoping to play pretend.” His hand cupped her, daring to feel between her legs. “No, my beauty. I laid bare my intentions, so don’t you dare curse me for being the one person in this whole God-damned world who’s been honest with you.”
She drew back her arm to strike him, but halted as a new, sweet sensation filled her. He was doing more with his fingers.
“If you force me to defend myself,” he whispered, “I’ll have to stop doing this.”
A long moment passed as she sorted through the phenomenon she felt and found it too overwhelming to decipher.
“You like this, don’t you?”
Barely breathing, she gave the barest of nods.
“I want to hold you closer. Release your wings. You won’t need to fly for a while.”
The question blazed in her eyes.
“Don’t fear me now. Don’t doubt me.”
Electrified and entranced, she released the wings even as her hands wrapped around his upper arms. “Don’t stop.”
“Passion and desire are so much more than love and tenderness…but there’s so much more to passion than this,” he pinched her nipple, “and this,” he pressed his finger against her clitoris and slid his hand away in one long stroke.
Jovienne gasped a shaking breath.
He wrenched free of her grip and retreated a step as he tore off his shirt. Panting, he looked her up and down. She recognized the rigid pose, the heavy exhalations, and his expression as signs of an enemy about to charge. When he came at her, he wasn’t swinging, but he did grip the sword’s hilt and yank the tip from the floor as he passed it.
Without thinking, her hands rose up, reaching. Though he did not threaten her with the weapon, she wrapped her hand over his on its hilt to ensure he kept the sharp edge away from her skin. Almost holding it, her yearning owned her. She wanted that sword out of his grip. She wanted it all for her own. Even through this indirect contact, it sang to her, promising warmth and victory as each tidal crash of its power washed against her aura.
While she was distracted by the power of the blade, Araxiel spun her like a dancer, reeling her into his arms until her back pressed to his chest and he held her in a tight embrace. Driving her forward, he shoved her against the wall where one of the arched openings decorated the dome.
San Francisco sprawled before them, lights glittering like gems on a field of velvet.
“Soon, this will be ours. All of it. This world. And we won’t have to hide what we are,” Araxiel said.
With both her hands on the his which gripped the hilt, she continued struggling to claim the sword as her own.
“You haven’t earned this yet, my beauty, but if you’re so eager…” He jerked the sword away from her and stabbed it into the floor on their left. He forced her to bend and rest her elbows on the cement ledge. His legs pinned hers against the wall.
This was it. This was how it was going to happen.
Instead of rose petals and satin sheets, rough cement scoured her skin. Instead of candles, she had the just-past-full moon overhead. Instead of feeling his soft kisses, he wound her hair around his fist and pulled her head back sharply.
If there was any consolation, it was the scimitar thrumming and purring so close, inciting the darkblood within her.
A whoosh of air blew past. A deep voice commanded, “Stop this.”