Chesterfield Apartments
Penthouse
Cleveland, Ohio
4:20 p.m., Dec. 24
Dana watched as Father Franks carefully folded his stole and surplice, both of them soaked through with sweat and blood. He placed them into his half-empty duffel bag and zipped it shut, his hands resting on the salt-and-snow-crusted case as he spoke words of benediction over it. Watching him, Dana sagged against the doorframe, her eyes going from the somber-eyed priest to Finn spasming on her bed.
Random, discordant thoughts assailed her. It was the first time she’d had a man in her apartment in years—certainly the first time she’d ever had two. And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a man in her bed. Or…or whatever Finn was.
Her apartment was much the same as it had been the day her father had died and left it to her…after his father had left it to him, and his father before. She never would have been able to afford this place otherwise. Books lined floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and tall windows looked out on two sides of her penthouse block to the cold and heartless city below. Her furniture was neither modern nor antique—it was simply old and sturdy. Only the bed was relatively new, a large wooden sleigh bed, an extra-long California king. And still Finn dwarfed it.
Now he lay quiet, the tremors that had racked his body finally subsiding into shivering twitches. Father Franks had prayed over him despite Dana’s significant concern that the action would do more harm than good. But Franks had to return to the church, to finalize preparations for Midnight Mass and ensure that his congregation was safe. With so many demons afoot and the priest’s own interaction with them to forestall their attack on Finn, it was all too reasonable that they would seek retribution. And according to the priest, even a demon would enter a church if its motivation was strong enough.
Beside Finn, he’d left a mini kit of his exorcism tools. He pointed to it. “You’re going to need to carry that with you,” he said, and Dana shuddered.
“Father, I don’t know any of the Latin, and I’m not a consecrated priest. I wouldn’t know the first thing about exorcising anything that might be crawling around inside someone.”
“You’ve already done more of it than any priest I know,” Franks said. “Besides, if I’m able to reach you in a time of need, I’d rather you have the tools on you than hope I’m carrying mine.”
“Fair enough.” Risking the few moments away from Finn’s side, she crossed to Franks and walked with him through the apartment’s living room/kitchen combination and out to the miniature foyer.
“This place is decorated exactly the same way your Father had it,” Franks said, looking down at her. In addition to the exhaustion, there was reproof in his eyes. “You can’t live in his shadow forever, Dana. If this day shows you nothing else, you must accept that.”
“He made this place safe for me, Father,” she said with a sigh. “Forgive me for valuing that particular aspect of it today. I’ll rearrange the furniture some other time.”
“Dana…” Franks paused. “Your father was a very special man. A good man. And his belief in God was devout. He carried himself with faith and integrity. That path remains open to you, no matter what’s happening now, no matter who you’ve been—or choose to become.”
Dana patted his shoulder. “You always have a way of helping the unchurched find their way back into the fold, don’t you?”
“Not always,” Franks said grimly. And with a last look that held more emptiness than Dana had ever seen in him, he walked out, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Dana went to the kitchen to pull a huge carafe of water out of the refrigerator. She winced as she inventoried the rest of the contents: cans of Guinness draught that had been in there since before her injury, wilting lettuce, sad excuses for vegetables, and a slightly questionable block of cheese. She ate on the go, stopping into corner delis and convenience stores, wolfing down diner pie and burnt coffee. She didn’t need to be a gourmet cook in her apartment. It was enough that it was safe. Shutting the refrigerator door, she opened the freezer and pulled out a bottle of black cherry vodka. She had rubbing alcohol already set up in the makeshift first aid station she’d assembled out of sheer fidgetiness while Franks had worked on Finn’s absolution, but the vodka wasn’t for Finn—it was for her.
Grabbing a jar of almonds from the counter, the only definitively safe food in the apartment other than condiments and alcohol, she moved back toward the bedroom, forcing herself to reenter the room.
Everything Finn owned reeked of smoke and violation. She’d stuffed most of their clothes into the washer except the sweaters, which she currently had banging around in the dryer with tennis balls and a fistful of dryer sheets. She’d quickly changed into jeans and a cardigan sweater, pulling her wrecked hair back into a ponytail, refusing to look at herself in the mirror, knowing what she would find in her eyes. Fear. Loss. And a totally baseless hope.
Now, her arms full of supplies, she hesitantly approached Finn, her mind running over the instructions that Franks had given her.
With these tools, your father could assist the oppressed by the simple act of laying on of hands.
Dana had never seen her father do that; he certainly hadn’t ever offered to heal her wounds that way. But her father was a true believer, a churchgoer with a capital C. Dana was lucky to nod in reverence to the cathedral as she walked by it. She’d simply never had that level of belief…in anything.
Still, Franks had seemed fairly convinced that she could offer Finn help. And his breathing had grown more ragged, his breath rattling in his throat. Pulling the notebook paper Franks had left for her closer to her, Dana took a deep breath and pulled the sheet down slightly from Finn’s chin.
A broad expanse of chest peeked out, the skin completely free of hair—not even a dusting at the point where men typically had the slightest indication of a trail, a path of possibility leading down to—
Don’t think about that. Dana bit her lip and, before she could lose her nerve, pressed her hands down squarely on Finn’s chest, her thumbs interlaced.
Sensation rocketed through her, and she drew in a shuddering breath, her eyes darting to the scrawled prayer Franks had recommended. “Omnipotent and eternal God,” she began, her voice already faltering. This was never going to work. “The everlasting Salvation of those who believe, hear us on behalf of Thy sick servant, Finn, for whom we beg the aid of Thy pitying mercy—”
“Stop.”
Dana jerked her head up, her mouth dropping as she looked into Finn’s clear, tormented eyes. She moved to pull her hands off his chest, but his, as always, were faster. In less than a second, his hands folded over hers, holding them tight. Even broken and bleeding, the speed with which Finn could move nearly blinded her.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Dana said hurriedly. “Father said that those words—the prayer for healing—would help. That my father had used them and—”
Finn’s laugh was low and looked like it pained him. “Dana, you’re far stronger than your father was. The energy in your hands would have made you a great healer, had you chosen that path. Merely resting your hands on me, on any of the sick, with intent, will bring relief.”
“Oh.” Dana swallowed. “Then, ah, you’re okay? After whatever it was they did to you?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. Bartholomew has an extreme advantage over me, in that he fully understands what a Fallen’s body is capable of in this plane and what it isn’t. I don’t want to know how he came by the information of what injuries would cause me the most pain, even though we are destined to heal. But I’ll be okay, eventually.”
She frowned. “You’ve been cut.”
“And that’ll heal as well. Within a day, here, I think. Without help. Sooner, yes, with the aid you would offer.” He flattened her palms on his chest, and Dana drew in a sharp breath. He moved his hands slightly over hers, caressing her fingers as he held them trapped against his skin. She felt the warmth of him, the smooth skin overlying thick, corded muscle, and her own body tightened in response. “How did you find me?” he asked.
“Transmitter,” she managed, and he smiled, the sight bringing its own healing to her. But on the edge of that was a thin, curling sense of need that seemed to start in her core and extend throughout her bloodstream, twining around her breasts and coiling between her legs. Her breath was coming fitfully between her lips, her lungs laboring even as her body ached to lean toward him.
“Of course,” he murmured, and his eyes turned to the collection of tools and bottles that she had arranged beside the bed. “Um…so you were going to play doctor?”
“I don’t know. I—I wanted to help.” Completely mortified, Dana yanked her hands away. This time, Finn let her retreat but followed her until he was seated upright, face-to-face with her on the bed.
“You have great strength within you, Dana,” he said, the words almost an intonation, but while he tried to remain stoic, he couldn’t stop the grin that teased at the corner of his mouth. “But I don’t think the fastest way to mend me will be with alcohol, scissors, and gauze.”
“Then what should I do?” she demanded, irritated. “You’re hurt. Injured.” Finn’s body was so close to her that she could feel the heat radiating off it, and she was painfully aware that under the soft Egyptian cotton sheets, he was completely naked.
“Well, I’m not dead, it would seem,” he parried, and he shifted his hips, the evidence of his erection clear and unmistakable. “In fact, I’m predicting a full recovery.” He moved more forcefully, rolling up on his knees as she perched on the edge of the bed, trapped in her own awkwardness. “So I take that as a good start, don’t you?”
She looked at him, unable to stop her smile. “I do.”
“Excellent. And if you’re looking for suggestions for next steps…” he murmured, and leaned down to kiss her.
Dana resisted for only a moment, her own body screaming for release even as she knew she should allow him to rest, to recover, to do…whatever the hell it was he needed to do. But her skin was on fire where he curled his hand around her nape, fanning out her long hair over her shoulders as if he’d never felt the contours of a woman before. Finn stopped, breathing in deeply, then tilted her back enough so that he could look down at himself. The sheets had fallen away from his body, pooling in a luxurious pile at his hips. His gaze traveled back to her belly, then her breasts, then her face, which had to be flame red with embarrassment at this point. Why was all this so difficult? she thought, disgusted with herself. All she had to do was dive at him, and he’d do the rest, she was almost certain.
I mean, sure, he’s a Fallen angel and all, and I’ve never had sex with a Fallen angel, but what does that matter in the end? It can’t be all that different, can it? He’s got a clean bill of health certified by heaven, I’m on birth control, he wants it, I definitely want it, and—
“I’m pretty sure what happens next requires fewer clothes.” Finn’s voice cut across Dana’s thoughts, and she jerked in surprise.
“Of course! Of course it does,” she blurted. “But I—I’m a mess. I should shower, I should—my body, I—”
She quivered in his hands as he continued to rub her shoulders, his laughter light and impossibly intimate. He lifted a hand to brush his thumb pad over her lips, pulling her lower lip down as he explored its texture. Then he leaned in, taking that lip into his mouth, his heavy groan sending a ripple of pleasure through his body that reached hers as well.
“Dana,” he rumbled softly. “I honestly can’t remember the last time I’ve had sex, but at my best guess it’s been at least six thousand years. And in all those millennia, I’ve never felt so desperate to feel a woman in my arms as I do right now with you. It’s everything I can do not to drag you into this bed and rip your clothes off before you take your next breath. So I don’t so much give a shit about whether or not you’ve taken a shower in the last few hours.”
“Oh,” Dana whispered. “Well…that covers that, I guess.”
“We good, then?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost gentle.
“We’re, ah—we’re good.”
“Good.”
Then his hands were at the neckline of her sweater, and despite his threat of ripping the garments free, he instead eased his fingers slowly along the shallow scoop of its neckline, pressing over the delicate collarbone. The touch of his hands there made Dana’s head fall back, and Finn quickly moved into the space she had bared for him, his teeth gently scraping along her neck, his tongue rough against her hot skin, his own breathing sounding as shattered as hers.
She felt his fingers slip beneath the collar of her sweater, and the heat between her legs intensified. Despite her best efforts she suddenly felt awkward again, clumsy in the presence of—well, the presence of—
“Finn,” she managed.
“Let me,” he said, his words hoarse. He bunched up her sweater to bare her bra and followed the line of the delicate silk band around to the hook in place. He thumbed it loose.
“And how is it you’re so good at removing a bra if you haven’t had sex since the Stone Age?” Dana asked wryly, and he looked at her, his eyes now as hot as his body.
“Fallen angels come fully equipped with a particular set of skills.” He grinned, then his gaze searched hers. “If you’re uncomfortable—”
“I’m not.”
An instant later, Dana’s bra and sweater were suddenly gone, tossed to the far wall of the room. Gently, Finn moved his hands over the mounds of her breasts, kneading them in wonderment, his eyes widening as the nipples pebbled and hardened in his hands. He spread his fingers wide, claiming each breast for his own, then, as promised, followed the path his fingers had taken with the questing insistence of his mouth, his lips at once gentle and fearless, seeking to touch, to tease, to take her as much as she would let him, and to come around and take her again.
Dana shuddered against him, her hands pressing up against his arms, his shoulders, pulling him to her, unwilling—unable to stop the tide of her emotions as they rolled through her. Her need increased even as Finn leaned down farther, his curious hands tracing the curve of her waist where it flared out to meet the hard edge of her jeans.
He slid his fingers underneath the waistband, and Dana let out a sharp hiss.
“I, uh—I haven’t been with anyone. In a while. Like a long while,” she said lamely, the enormity of what they were doing suddenly hitting her.
Finn chuckled. “I think I’ll beat you in that game.”
She swallowed, her tension ratcheting higher as he moved to unclasp her jeans. Finn wasn’t your ordinary one-night stand. He wasn’t even your ordinary once-in-a-lifetime stand. But her heart was thudding despite her awkwardness, and she found it was her hands that were brushing his away, dragging the zipper down bit by bit as Finn’s breathing grew more labored and his body bucked over hers, his gaze tracking the trajectory of her fingers.
Then the zipper got stuck.
“Um…” Dana yanked, then yanked again. Is this seriously happening?
“Now you’re just teasing me.” Finn’s laugh was clear and bright, and a heartbeat later, he thrust her hands away, peeling her jeans down her legs as she pressed herself back into the pillows, her body burning for him, her brain in the process of significant meltdown.
“Sweet fire in heaven,” he breathed. “You’re beautiful.”
She grimaced. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”
“I would.” Finn’s brilliant blue eyes were alight with a glow that would have unnerved Dana if he’d given her even a moment to reconsider. Instead, he traced a trail of kisses down her stomach, over the soft curve of her belly, suckling her hipbones hard as her body strained toward him. His eyes swept her body, coming to rest on her legs, including the heavily grafted right shin, which he laid his hands upon, soothing coolness warring against the heat he was inspiring throughout the rest of her body.
“Such beauty, everlasting,” Finn said, moving to her feet, drawing his hands along them and then moving back up her legs to where she was burning for him, practically whimpering, her body convulsing as he explored her inch by inch. As he moved closer to her core, however, his movements shifted, his pace slowing, his already gentle touch becoming impossibly light, teasing her, tempting her. He brushed his fingers over the vee between her thighs, and Dana let out a sharp gasp, but he didn’t dip farther, his fingers instead trailing over her as if she were a puzzle he wasn’t yet sure he wanted to figure out.
“What are you doing?” she asked in mounting panic, her body betraying her with wet heat that elicited a growl of wonder and frustration from him, Finn’s fingers dipping far too gently into the musky dampness, just enough to pull her out of her skin. “Please, don’t—don’t stop. Not yet, not—”
“Dana,” Finn whispered, and the brush of his lips over her thigh made her tremble in anticipation. “Tell me what it is you want. Whatever it is, I’ll give it to you.”
Something in his voice rumbled through her, her mind going blank with a sudden fear and mad, ravening joy. He was giving her something—a gift, a moment, she didn’t know what. But her mind and body were tumbling over with emotions, her senses overwhelmed and her body naturally curling into his, shutting off all thought, all realization of anything but the need that poured from her and invited him into her, to claim her for his own.
He hadn’t made a move toward her, she realized dimly. He was watching—waiting—for a word, a sign, an indication that this was what she wanted. Distantly, she wondered if he hadn’t been with a woman in so long that he’d forgotten the way of it. More distantly, the faintest cry of alarm reminding her that he was a freaking Fallen angel and she did not want to screw this up for him!
Was she the first, then?
Instead of mortifying her, the idea enflamed her, her body experiencing a rush of heat that blanked her mind of any thought save for him taking her to completion, him exploring feelings that he might never have felt before, her body as his playground—and his to be hers as well. To claim him, first and forever.
Her mind tipped over into a cauldron of sensation, where rational thought had no more place.
“Please, Finn, use your mouth—your tongue—your…your cock, I don’t care,” she burst out, the words foreign and unnerving in her own ears. “Please just keep going and don’t stop until I—there, there,” she begged. She dragged his hand over where her body burned for him, splaying his fingers against the sensitive engorged skin. Too late, she thought of how she must sound, the wanton plea in her voice, her body slack and open to him, and she moved to surge up, to take it back, to make it right—to somehow undo what she had started.
Finn’s left hand on her belly stopped her, pushed her back.
While his right hand spread her wide.