His mouth leaves my breast, the chilly air of the ancient chamber cooling my wet skin, and he lowers, kissing with tongue and teeth down my ribs. Goes down on one knee, drags his mouth over my navel, my hip. With adept fingers, he pulls off my boots, socks, unbuttons my dark jeans, pulls them down and off. All shoved away. Wasting no time, he hooks my panties, pushes them down, and pulls them off. Gone. My heart leaps. My breath stills in my lungs.

Those same adept fingers rise to my ribs, one hand on either side, and hold me firmly against the door. He teases first the inside of one thigh, then the other, fire pooling in all my sensitive places. I moan, about to lose my mind, and push his head down.

The moment Eli’s tongue slides inside of me I explode, jerking against the cool wood of the door. Eli’s fingers dig into the spaces between my rib bones. A sob escapes me. Can’t help it. Can barely breathe.

Then he rises and carries me to the bed. The room is bathed in a milky glow, and shadows reach, grasp, and miss. Eli sets me down and moves behind me, and his breath rakes against the bare skin of my neck. “I want you forever,” he says. “I always want this.” He nips my shoulder softly, causing me to shiver. “You.”

Eli’s boots, jeans, and boxer briefs are off and kicked away into a dark pile. When he finds me again, he presses the hard, carved stone of his chest against my back and I arch against it, and for a moment, his arms go around me, crossing over my stomach and pulling me close. There is no steady, fast thump of a heart hammering against me, but I feel his body quiver. He whispers I love you in French. I feel every ounce of strong, possessive emotion within him. All for me.

Eli turns me, moves over me, his weight resting on his forearm. With dark eyes filled with love, he studies me wordlessly. Then his mouth covers mine. His kiss is erotic, deep, slow. I wrap my legs around his waist, drag my heels down his calves.

Eli groans, and in one move he enters me. He sucks in a breath, stills, and murmurs more French words. They’re muffled and I don’t understand them.

His hard sex fills every inch of me, claiming its place deep within, and I hold on for dear life. He begins to rock, his hard thighs trapping me and his body crowding me.

A slow arc of pleasure builds and fires, sending shards of blinding light scattering behind the lids of my eyes. A cry rips from my throat as the orgasm racks me, and at the same time Eli’s own climax tears from him, over and over as he takes me possessively, claiming me in the most ancient of ways. Uncontrolled. Out of control.

Perfect.

As we both crash back down to earth, Eli remains inside of me, slowly moving, his breath coming in harsh puffs against my neck as his mouth kisses me. His arms are wrapped tightly around me, holding me tightly against him, and I feel more emotion, more love, in that full-body embrace than even the words themselves.

It’s that powerful. It’s that beautiful.

And I never, ever want it to end.

Part Six

DEMENTED ANGELS

I am never so frightened as when every thing is still.

—Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Parasite

If anything ever happens to Riley, I don’t think I’ll survive it. My love for her has quadrupled since I first realized I loved her. She fits me perfectly, and I want her for as long as we have together. The thought that something as powerful as a Black Fallen can manipulate her in her sleep petrifies me. She thinks she can handle herself in all situations, and for the most part, she can. But with a Fallen? I’m not so sure. They’ve already homed in on her. It’ll be up to me to keep her safe.

—Eli Dupré

The thought that I’ve sent an Earthbound angel to some godforsaken plane of torture and hideousness plagues me. I can’t stop thinking about it. I know I will have to rectify it. If it kills me, I’ll rectify it. The look in Ian’s eyes, the eyes of the Earthbound, haunts me. It’s compelling. Profound. I see it in my head, constantly.

It pisses me off.

I’m ready to find the Fallen and kick their asses.

The team practices for another day. Tristan and Gawan’s lessons are invaluable. They are truly master swordsmen, and I can only imagine what they would’ve been like in their prime. Well, they are in their prime; neither of them look a bit over their midthirties. But I mean in their original prime.

They’re tough as shit, too, and they cut no slack where their students are concerned. Vampires don’t sweat, but immortals do and so do the lupines. And so does a human with tendencies. They worked my ass to the bone, both of them. After we went through hours of stances, we were finally given the blades. Not easy. And not nearly as easy as the little blades I’m used to working with. Hell, you aim and throw. Or you stab. With a sword you have to watch your back. And your own appendages.

After, we paired up. At first our mentors took turns with each of us. Tristan is truly a unique guy to engage in swordplay. You wouldn’t think someone that big could move so elegantly. He makes it look effortless.

It’s a sham. It’s hard as Hell.

But we stuck it out, and although we get the fast version of Swordplay for Dummies, we all get the gist of it. In the Crescent’s courtyard, Jake has set up several dummies for head lopping. Again, not as easy as it looks in the movies. One big swing and off goes the head. Nuh-uh. You’d better hit that neck at just the precise mark, and you’d better have all your damn weight behind your swing. Or else it’ll hang. And squirt stuff.

Not pretty.

And not effective. Apparently, if you don’t completely sever the head, the Fallen and the Jodís can regenerate. I almost want to do it just to watch. Sick, I know. But if anything, I’m truthful.

Sydney’s the only one missing in our training. She’s already mastered the sword, thanks to a year with Gabriel, and she’s been assigned the task of going through the sacred tomes of the Celtae, courtesy of Darius. He’s another one that amazes me. It’s weird to have seen him, as well as Jake, Tristan, and Gawan, in a time other than this one. It’s a surreal occurrence, yet . . . it really happened. They lived in another time, one wilder, untamed—a place where your sword was your protection.

Or, in Tristan’s case, not.

I found out a few other things about him. Tristan’s wife? Forensic archaeologist. She, after excavating, digging, researching, and falling in love with a spirit, reversed the curse and brought not only Tristan back to life, but all of his knights. One, the youngest, is picking up Tristan and Gawan in a little while, and so I’ll get to meet yet another once-ghost. Even saying it inside my head sounds weird. But it happened. Almost as weird as a tattoo artist from Savannah, Georgia, being engaged to an aged vampire.

And Gawan. An Earthbound angel for centuries, he was on the brink of retirement. Was ready to become a full-fledged mortal, live out his life, and die. And just when he was about to retire, whack! He found a soaking-wet girl who claimed to be named Ellie on the road near his castle. She turned out to be a girl In Betwixt. Dead, but not. Ghostly, but not always. In and out. Yeah, they fell in love. Of course they did. The story would suck if they didn’t. She also happened to be his intended. His soul mate.

I get that. Mine’s a bloodsucker.

Gawan had to find Ellie’s half-dead real self before she actually expired. He did. Now they’re married, madly in love, and have a flock of children.

Blows my mind to hear it. And if all that can happen? Anything can happen. Good or evil. And that makes me know I’d best be on my toes, in tip-top shape. Ready for any damn thing.

We spend the latter part of the afternoon on the streets of Edinburgh. Wet Edinburgh. Wet, cold, mist-shrouded Edinburgh. Still a cool old city. But from someone who is used to the southeastern coast of the United States, it takes a little getting used to.

We move through the streets, the closes and wynds, Grassmarket and Cowgate. Gabriel takes us through the vaults, or the catacombs, of underground Edinburgh. He says we’ll need to know the city inside and out once the Fallen have regenerated. The vaults are eerily cold and dark, and throughout most of them only candles, occasionally lit by walking tour staff members, light the passageways.

All at once, I sense it. The others do, too. Another vampire. No sooner does the thought enter my head than a scream pierces the cold corridors of the vaults. In a flash, Victorian races ahead of me and disappears through an archway. He’s already morphed. When next I look, so have all the other vampires in my company. We all follow Victorian’s lead, through the shadowy passages of the vaults, and the screams grow more intense. I can tell the vampire is young, a girl. And in horrific pain. Like lightning, we fly through the tunnels, and at once we all come to a halt. We’re now in a large chamber. Victorian has a human by the throat, holding him high. Four other humans fill the chamber. And chained to a wall, a girl. Rather, a female vampire. Older than I figured. Maybe twenty. Her merlot eyes are wide, and she stares at Victorian.

“Arcos, don’t,” Jake instructs Victorian.

“She doesn’t deserve this!” Victorian yells. His eyes are latched onto the human in his grasp.

“Put him down or I’ll run you through,” another human says. She holds a silver dirk, strapped to the end of a long wooden stick. It touches Victorian’s back.

Just that fast, I’m there, the silver blade knocked from the woman’s hand. I shove her across the chamber and she hits the wall. “I don’t think so,” I say. “What’d she do?”

“What you murderers all do,” another woman, huddled against the wall, says.

I shake my head. “What did she do?” I repeat.

“It’s what she will do!” the remaining human, a middle-aged man, says. He steps closer, glancing at the one Victorian has suspended in the air.

“That’s not good enough,” Jake says. He looks at them all. “Victorian, put him down.”

Vic lets the man fall to the floor, where he scrambles up and huddles with the others.

“Now leave,” Jake says. And without another word, they all do exactly as he says.

Victorian hurries to the female vampire. “Riley?” he calls.