Archangel's Enigma

47

Not long afterward, she sat under the dusky, midday sun on a picnic blanket she’d spread under the distinctive umbrella-shaped canopy of a tree that had as many names as Africa had languages. Aqba, nyoswa, samor, umbrella thorn acacia . . . the name or the dialect didn’t matter. What mattered was that these trees provided welcome shade on the rolling grasslands of the savanna.

From her position, she could see the herons fly over the old watering hole, their wings flashes of white. Now that the reeds around the water were no longer regularly trampled under the ponderous feet of elephants, they grew lush and green when, elsewhere, the savanna was the golden green color of a season when the rains had come.

Much as Andromeda liked the herons and the lush foliage around the watering hole, she missed the elephants. There was something so very wise and steady about the magnificent creatures. And the way they cared for their young? As a babe herself, she’d been so envious of those awkward elephant babies who’d splashed in the water, certain their parents would protect them from the lions who liked to prowl around here.

But the elephants had moved on for reasons of their own, and though Andromeda knew their new favorite place, she didn’t go there. She didn’t want to inadvertently betray them to her parents’ guests. She’d done that once, accidentally shown a group of guests where the black rhino walked.

The three monsters had butchered two of the majestic creatures in front of her as she screamed and begged and tried to stop them. They’d done it for fun.

For fun.

That horrific day marked the only time she had ever been proud of her parents. Livid at discovering the slaughter, Lailah and Cato had meted out near-lethal punishments on the spot. Andromeda’s parents might torture and mutilate mortals and immortals without compunction, but they did not allow the abuse or senseless killing of animals.

Andromeda had asked once, why protect one and not the other? Her mother’s answer had been simple: Animals have no choice in whether or not to play the game.

Do all your playmates? Andromeda had dared ask.

Enough to not be innocent as an animal is innocent.

As a result of their stance, Lailah and Cato’s territory teemed with wildlife, was considered one of the most rich and diverse places on the continent when it came to fauna.

Yet despite the fact the aftermath of the rhino slaughter was well known to all who came here, Andromeda didn’t take risks when it came to the animals. The herons could fly away if anyone came here, and they weren’t usually targets in any case.

Where was Naasir?

She stood and walked up the slight rise behind the tree for the tenth time. It gave her an uninterrupted view of the savanna in every direction, but she saw no familiar feline stride, no glint of glittering silver.

Refusing to give up, she returned to the picnic blanket and checked the food she’d prepared by hand and with all of the love in her heart. She’d packed the meat in ice to protect it from the heat, then placed it in an insulated container, but it wouldn’t last more than two hours, given the warm temperature. She loved that warmth against her skin, loved the dusty scents in the air, loved hearing the far-off roar of a lion, had missed it all desperately when she was in the Refuge.

An hour later and the herons had flown away, leaving her with only the grasses for company. Even the light wind had fallen, the entire world in stasis. When she walked up the rise again, all was emptiness. “Naasir!” she yelled out to the mocking landscape. “If you don’t get here soon, I’ll eat all the meat!”

“Liar.”

Heart slamming into her rib cage, she swiveled so fast on her heel that she almost unbalanced. And there he was, his breath harsh and his skin hot, his hair tumbled from the run. She jumped into his arms, those arms wide open for her. Grabbing her under her wings, as if they’d done this a million times before and he knew exactly how to hold her, he lifted her off her feet and spun her around.

Laughing and crying, she locked her arms around him. “You’re late,” she accused when he stopped the spin. “I’ve been waiting forever.”

Cuddling her close, he rubbed his cheek against hers. “I’m hungry.”

She pretended to punch his shoulder, but when he put her on her feet, tugged him to the picnic blanket . . . and there, in the middle of the tartan was a book that wasn’t supposed to exist. Lips parting on a gasp, she fell on her knees. She reached for the book, snatched back her hand before her fingers could graze the gold-etched red leather.

The gold outlined the image of a fierce winged creature with fiery breath.

“You can touch it,” Naasir said, sprawling on his side on the blanket. “I asked Jessamy what to do to thaw it safely.”

“Thaw it?”

Naasir didn’t answer. He’d flipped open the insulated container and found the seasoned meat. Grinning, he popped a cube into his mouth . . . and his chest rumbled in pleasure, eyes heavy lidded. “Who made this?”

She bit down on her lower lip. “Do you like it?”

“Yes. I hope you bought a lot.” He ate several more cubes.

Forgetting the Grimoire for a second, she beamed. “I made it. I used special spices you can only order from a shop in Marrakech—I had the package flown down so it’d arrive in time.”

His eyes lit up, but his next words were a growl. “Open the book so you can be sure it’s your stupid Grimoire.”

Laughing at the way he always referred to the Star Grimoire, she picked it up with utmost care. The leather was in near-flawless condition, only a little creased on the spine. “How can this be so old and so perfect?”

“It was hidden away,” Naasir said. “Maybe Osiris found it in the ice when he built the house that became his stronghold.” A shrug. “Later, it returned to the ice.”

“Will you tell me about your becoming?” Under a warm African sun where no darkness could linger.

He growled and, reaching over, grabbed the Grimoire. Undoing the lock with a rough quickness that made her squeak, he thrust it at her. “Is this it?”

Realizing he wasn’t going to tell her anything until she’d confirmed whether or not this was in fact the Grimoire, she took it from him and, sitting cross-legged on the picnic blanket, opened it with care. The text flowed like water across the page, interrupted only by two squares of delicately detailed illustrations.

Gold and silver and green and red, the colors were brilliant, as if the lines had been drawn yesterday. The black ink of the writing was as dark. Turning the page, she found a full-page drawing of a griffin. The mythical creature’s wings were gloriously arched, its body that of a lion and its eyes a hypnotic obsidian. Running her fingers carefully over the image, she felt her throat thicken.

“This is a jewel,” she whispered to Naasir. “One of the Seven Lost Angelic Treasures.” She rubbed away the tears rolling down her cheeks before the salt water could fall and damage the page.

Shifting to sit behind her so he could look over her shoulder, Naasir wrapped one strong arm around her waist. “Can you read the writing?”

“Yes. It’s an ancient angelic tongue.” Though angels were immortals, their languages had nonetheless drifted over the eons. “If I read it aloud, you’d understand large parts of it. It’s just the writing of it that’s changed so significantly.”

Naasir’s hair brushed her cheek as he leaned forward to turn the page, his body warm and strong around her. “So it’s the book from your vow?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Tugging the Grimoire out of her hands, he dropped it on the far side of the picnic blanket. When she turned to ask why he’d done that, he slammed his mouth against hers, his hand thrusting into her hair.

The shock of contact was blinding. Then came the hot, hard punch of violent pleasure. It hurt, she’d been needing him for so long. Moaning, she twisted in his embrace so that she could wrap her arms around his neck. He had other ideas.

A second later, she was on her back on the blanket, Naasir over her.

Weaving his hands through her own, he pinned them to either side of her head. His hair—one of her feathers still in place—fell around his face as he dipped his head toward her, his eyes silver bright. Mercy but he was beautiful, she thought and then his mouth was devouring hers, and her heart, it was thumping like a brutal hammer inside her chest.

She devoured him as he devoured her, her tongue licking against his, her teeth grazing his lips. He bit. Of course he bit. And that was okay, because this was Naasir and he was hers for this moment, this instant, this day.

He lowered his full weight on her, nudging apart her legs and grinding his erect cock against the swollen folds between her thighs. Inner muscles spasming as a ragged cry was ripped from her throat, she wrapped her legs around his waist and rocked against him. Growling into her mouth, he released one of her hands, reached down between them.

Claws grazed her skin.

She jerked as she felt her pants tear. He didn’t stop there—he ripped and tore until there were only a few shreds hanging by her boots. Her panties disappeared as quickly and then his no-longer-clawed fingers were stroking her with a slick, wet intimacy that made her want to beg and to take and to give all at once. Shuddering, her breasts aching and her nipples painfully sensitive, she pushed up his T-shirt and, when he didn’t cooperate, nipped hard at his jaw.

That got her a growl and a silver-eyed glance through lashes as beautiful.

“Take this off,” she ordered.

He thrust a finger inside her instead.

Her spine arched as her mouth fell open on a silent scream, her breath lost and her body clenching down hard on the small, possessive invasion.

Naasir’s lips brushed her throat.

She jerked at the scrape of fangs, but he didn’t bite, every muscle in his body so tense it was as if he’d snap. Her mind was fuzzy but she knew instinctively what was wrong. Pushing her free hand into his hair to hold him to her, she gasped in enough air to speak. “Yes. You can feed from me. Take me.”

Tension dissipating into molten heat, he scraped his fangs over her needy flesh again and, withdrawing his finger from her body to her moan and the carnal, liquid sound of her readiness, moved his hand to the fly of his jeans . . . and a second later, the rigid length of him was demanding heat against her. Shoving up her thigh until her knee pressed into her breast, he began to push into her.

She’d expected him to thrust, had been prepared for inevitable discomfort, but he nuzzled and kissed at her as he went slowly. “You’re very tight, mate.”

Heart melted and in his hands, she just held on to him with a needy, hungry desperation. Her other hand remained locked with his as her body stretched to accommodate his girth and length. Kissing her, Naasir rocked forward another inch. She clawed at his back. Growling into the kiss, he rocked again.

And again, and again.

Until he was lodged fully in her, the ache of him inside her an erotic pain, and the feeling of belonging so deep tears pooled in her eyes. “Naasir.”

Keeping one hand under the back of her knee, he nuzzled his way down to her throat.

Her stomach fluttered.

Her breath hitched.

And then he sank his fangs into her right as he began to move his cock in slow, deep thrusts, each movement rasping over her aroused flesh.

The pleasure was a huge, raw crash over her senses. Naasir rode her through the first wave, ignited another by sucking her blood and rubbing his thumb against the throbbing nub between her thighs. The second one slayed her, leaving her limp and honey slick, her muscles quivering.

It was all she could do to keep her leg around his body.

Increasing the speed of his thrusts once her body stopped spasming around his cock, Naasir raised his head from her neck and took her mouth again as he pounded her into the picnic blanket. She felt taken, branded, loved with an honest, wild ferocity that called to her own primal nature.

Not fighting instinct, she bit down on his neck when he bent his mouth to her throat again. A deep, inhuman growl, his hand tightening its grip . . . and his fangs sinking into her as he thrust his cock home.

Naasir collapsed on top of his mate, his cock still snug inside her, and lazily stroked one silken thigh. He could hear her heart thundering beneath him, feel her body clenching in unexpected spasms that wrung pleasure from her limp form. Shocked surprise had dilated her pupils to dark moons.

Smiling smugly, he kissed her, then nuzzled his way down to lick closed the tiny wounds he’d made with his fangs. “You’re delicious.” He would feed from her often when they rutted.

Enjoying their combined slickness, and happy she was marked by him now, he stroked gently in and out of her. His cock was beginning to harden to full readiness again. “Do you hurt?”

“I ache.” She ran her fingers over his lips, eyes heavy lidded. “You fill me up.” A smile when he nipped at the tips of her fingers, followed by a shiver as he circled his hips in a sensual tease. “Don’t stop.”

Delighted, he slid his hand down her body to push it under her tunic and the tight tank top she wore to control her breasts. Her inner muscles clamped possessively on his cock when he closed his hand over the warm, soft globe and squeezed. He liked that, so he squeezed again.

Andromeda arched her neck in response. Dropping his head to lick and kiss at her neck, he began to move. Slower this time, but just as deep. He could keep this up for an hour, might just do it if she let him. Lazily licking at her neck as he rubbed his thumb over her nipple, he pretended to bite her when she put both her hands in his hair and tugged.

A harder pull. “I want a kiss.”

Kissing his mate was no hardship. Stretched out on top of her, he playfully seduced her mouth until she pushed at his T-shirt again. “Help me get this off.”

Sated enough to be more patient, he cooperated and soon the warm air kissed the naked skin of his back. He went to rip off her tunic, too, but she grabbed his wrist. “I already don’t have any pants.” Reaching down to her waist, she pulled the tunic off over her head, then followed with the tank top, freeing her breasts, the plump mounds topped by dark brown nipples.

“Pretty,” he purred.

Maneuvering so he was on his knees between her spread thighs, his cock still buried inside her, he palmed both breasts with possessive hands, watched her eyes flutter shut. Her teeth sank into her lower lip when he pricked her with his claws, the moan that left her throat making his balls draw up tight.

Patience evaporated.

He covered her body with his once more. He’d fondle and bite and suck on her pretty breasts later. Right now he wanted to rub up against her, inside her, wanted to drench her in his scent until no one else would ever dare make a claim on her.

Andi was his.

Her hands stroked up his ribs and over to his back, her body beginning to move in time with his lazy thrusts. “This is . . .” Another moan as he ground himself against her.

Sliding his hand under her, he clenched his fingers on her ass, tilting her up for even deeper penetration.

“Naasir . . .” Her nails dug into his shoulders, her wings restless on the picnic blanket.

Unable to resist, he bent his head to her neck and bit again.

She came hard and out of control around him. Growling because he was pleased his mate found him so irresistible, he tightened the hand he had on her ass and drew on her blood as he continued to rock in and out of her. The taste of her on his tongue was drugging, her nails on his skin dark pleasure, the aroused, sated scent of her the final straw.

His spine locked as he thrust so hard into her that his balls slapped against her body.

He heard her cry out, but it wasn’t in pain, and so that was all right.