The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2

Ava Gray Princes of Dominion

Just one glimpse. Camael knew it was unwise. He had been warned more than once and yet he found himself helpless to resist. Her beauty struck him on a level deeper than pleasure, deeper than pain. And so he stood on the other side of the Veil, hidden from her sight, and watched her brush out her long hair beside the river.

Most women bathed in company. Soft laughter and splashing would accompany their ablutions, but not hers. She was quiet, almost sombre; it did nothing to lessen her loveliness. Her hair shone like polished onyx, streaming down her shapely back in a swathe of dark silk. Sometimes she sang, and he closed his eyes, buoyed up by the melody. But not today.

For the first time, she spoke. “I feel you.”

She could not possibly mean him. Camael held his silence.

“I know whenever you are here,” she went on. “At first I took you for one of the river spirits, and I left gifts. But they went untouched.”

Should he have accepted her tokens, then? She had left him seashells and beads, prettily strung. But he had no use for such things. He stilled, uncertain.

“Show yourself,” she commanded.

His brethren would do worse than talk of folly if they witnessed what he did next. But he could not resist the urge to speak with her. It went against every edict. Passing the Veil, he shimmered into her world and donned a human body. She rose in a silver ripple of water and turned to face him, clad only in her hair.

“What are you, river spirit or demon?”

“Neither,” he said.

“Why do you watch me?”

“Because you are beautiful.”

Such a simple answer — and yet it appeared to please her. He could not have expected that, given how exotic she seemed and how little he knew of mortals. Camael only knew that he enjoyed watching them; they always seemed so much freer than he, unconstrained by the rules of heaven.

“My father would cut off the head of any man caught dishonouring me so.” She tilted her head, speculative. “But you. . you are not a man.”

“No.”

“What then? You wear a man’s form. Are you a devil come to seduce me?”

Again, he said, “No.”

But a flicker of interest stirred in him for the first time. It was impossible to look on her silken skin without curiosity — to wonder how it would feel to smooth his hands over her body. And she sensed it; a smile curved her lush mouth.

“Pity,” she said softly. “I do not think I’d mind. I am Rei.”

“Camael.” He found speech strange.

In the divine sanctum, they shared thoughts as a matter of course. There were no secrets. But now, of course, he had one. And that troubled him. Not enough to make him step away, however. Not enough to send him fleeing through the Veil and to find his archangel and beg for forgiveness. He was only a foot soldier, he reasoned, one who followed orders. Nobody would notice this breach. Nobody would care.

The woman pulled her long hair forward, so it cloaked her breasts. He wished he were those tresses, teasing her nipples with each breath she took. The force of the longing astonished him; this must be the reason they proscribed wearing flesh. With it came such shocking need. This was the first time he had broken the taboo, and he reeled with inundation from all his senses.

Warmth blew across his skin. With some shock, he realized he’d not clothed his form, perhaps because she wore nothing. In the realm from whence he came, such things were not needed. Everything was light and shadow and complete intimacy with every other scion. And somehow that still felt impersonal compared to the heat of the sun overhead, the chirp and buzz of insects and the soft whistle of wind in the reeds.

It was too much, and he stumbled, dropping to his knees. Beauty stepped towards him, concern overcoming her amused caution. “Are you ill?”

“Merely. . overwhelmed.”

“You truly do not spring from our world. Are you a god?” She seemed untroubled by that possibility.

Perhaps in her mythology, the gods regularly walked among humankind. Camael knew people entertained myriad theories about what beings populated the spirit world and the afterlife. None of them was correct, but it did not stop them from building complex theologies and rituals. Such practices offered comfort.

“No.”

“A messenger, then, for one of them.”

Near enough. Explanations would require more concentration than he could muster at the moment. He nodded.

“Is that why you’ve watched me? Need you to deliver me a message?”

“That I did for pleasure alone.”

“You would have me believe I own a beauty so great it distracted you from divine endeavours?”

“Yes.” And it was true.

Even now he longed to touch her, with a need so great it burned like an endless fire in his veins. His fingers curled. He had no experience with self-denial. In the sanctum there were no such desires. In comparison, sanctum existence was pure and sterile, all ideas with no passion to fuel them. He had never noticed the lack before.

He must pass the Veil again before he changed irrevocably. It would be uncivil to vanish without a word, but better than the alternative. Better than—

Oh.

Rei touched him. Her soft hand on his bare shoulder drove all thoughts from his mind. Longing surged through him in a maelstrom of bewildering heat. He had never been touched before. It did not matter that his physical body was only energy held together by his will. He still felt it, and that caress altered him forever.

“If that is so,” she murmured, “then surely I must reward you.”

His head spun, and all thought of escape fled his mind. “How?”

She pushed him back gently; it did not occur to him to resist. The bank beside the river cushioned him with soft grasses and moss. The tall reeds hid them from sight. Overhead, the sun shone gold, sweet and hot on his skin, and the sky blazed with a blue so fierce it filled him with wonder. He had watched her in innocent fascination, and she had caught him, against all expectation.

She gazed down at him, eyes dark and hooded. “You are quite pleasing too.”

Her hands travelled his body, stroking him with sweet surety. He gasped in shocked pleasure as she bent her head and set her lips on his skin. Camael had no words for how it made him feel. A soft sound escaped him, part arousal, part encouragement. He wanted — he did not know what he wanted.

But she did. She eased on top of him, slim and graceful in the sunlight. “You are passive for a godling. By rights you might have taken me as soon as I caught your fancy. Why do you hold back?”

Whatever he might have said, it was lost as her mouth claimed his. She was the goddess in this encounter, so sure of herself, so expert as her lips toyed with his. He did not even know how to respond, but she taught him with inexorable, rising excitement. When they broke away, she was breathless, her face flushed.

“I know,” she whispered. “Now I know. I am your first.”

“Yes.”

“Give me a son. With your blood in his veins, he will conquer all he surveys.”

Camael meant to tell her that was not possible, but she curled her hand around his shaft. The throb of pleasure nearly undid him. And this was only a close facsimile; how much more intense might he feel if he were, in truth, flesh and blood? He lifted up, pushing into her fingers.

She raised her hips and then sank down, claiming him with her fierce heat. The world broke apart and then reshaped itself. Like a force of nature, she rose and fell on him, head thrown back. He gazed up into her face, memorizing her features. Surely no creature had ever been so lovely.

“Rei,” he gasped.

“Touch me too.” She raised his hands and showed him how.

It was like being given a key to a secret kingdom. He belonged to her now as surely as if she had created him. She took him to a place where only her touch had any meaning, and by the time they both stilled, he knew he would never be the same.

She lay down on him, trembling, and he wrapped his arms around her back. Her hair felt cool in contrast to her heated skin. He closed his eyes and drank in her clean river scent and her womanly musk. He would remember this moment as only one of the host could — forever indelible.

“I must go,” he whispered. “They will be looking for me.”

“Camael. Come to me again.” It was a plea, but it settled into his spirit as a command.

“Yes. As soon as I may.”

Leaving her felt as though he had ripped himself in twain and left the other part, perhaps even the greater part, in her keeping. Yet he rose because he must — and duty drew him back to the divine sanctum. For the first time in Camael’s memory, he did not wish to return. It was no homecoming; it was a burden.

“You are late,” Kenzo said.

Rei had never liked him, though he professed to want peace. His sire had killed her mother in the last raid, not that her father seemed to mind. Isuke was already looking at village girls for a replacement, some younger than Rei herself. It was disgusting, but it was also the way of the world. He needed to sire a son instead of a worthless daughter. Now Kenzo was here on diplomatic terms, talking to her father, who was village chief, about a permanent solution.

She had only been a widow for four months. It was too soon to turn herself over to another man’s keeping, but she lowered her head as he fell into step with her, knowing she had little say in the matter. Rei led the way toward the wooden huts, the largest of which she shared with her father.

“Answer when I speak to you,” he persisted.

“I lost track of time at the river.”

“Have you taken a lover, Reika?”

How she hated for him to call her that. It was an endearment, and yet he dirtied it. Rei meant lovely and ka meant flower, but he meant it as a possessive, not a compliment to beauty. Her left hand curled into a fist and her nails bit into her palm.

“Would you not smell another man on me?” she asked in mock-humble tones. “Are you not the greatest warrior the Tanaka village has to offer? Surely your senses are superior to those of other men.”

“You would do well to remember it. One day, you will belong to me, Reika. Your father will not listen to your sighs and your tears forever.”

She smiled. “But today is not that day.”

It angered him when she gave him her slim back and went into the house, where her father waited for his dinner. Courtesy dictated that she should have invited him in, but he was not her guest. Isuke could fetch him, if he wanted Kenzo’s company.

“Have you given the marriage any thought?” her father asked, later. “Kenzo will rule Tanaka someday, and it would be good for our village, too. No more raids. No more death.”

“Perhaps not from Tanaka,” she said, stirring the pot. “But there is always death.”

The others had already assembled. Camael found Raziel waiting for him, impatient as always. His kinsman wore a frown. In the divine sanctum one could shape the energy however he wanted, and today Raz was tall and thin, the better to loom over one he perceived as derelict in duty.

Where have you been? he demanded. Seraphiel has been looking for you. We have a new assignment, given by the Most High.

But the moment Raziel’s thoughts touched his own, they stilled. Incredulity radiated between them. He did not even try to hide his actions. There was no point. The host kept no secrets between them.

Cam. . what have you done? You are—

Different, he supplied.

They will cast you out for this. It is not done. Not since Gabriel. All knew how that had ended. After the Morning Lord, Gabriel had been the first to fall in eons. He had done so, not out of hubris or ambition, but for a reason they found baser and more inexplicable — for love, for a human woman who would crumble to dust. So pointless, such a waste. Yet Gabriel’s half-breed children had risen up to challenge mankind. The nephilim wars had required the host itself to intervene; such a march had never been seen on earth.

In light of that history, it rendered Camael’s behaviour even more incomprehensible to his kinsman; this, he knew. He wished he could blame the woman — call her a sorceress — but what magic she owned came from her skin and her hair and her wiles, not some nebulous force. He understood now why Gabriel had given it all up. Here, one could shape the world to suit him. If he wished, he could recreate the river where he had lain with her, or he could stand in the hanging gardens of Babylon. Anything he could conceive, he could create. Despite that majesty, part of him — the half he’d left with Rei — still yearned towards Gabriel’s path, even knowing it heralded disaster.

Raziel paced. You cannot face Seraphiel like this. He will sense the stain on you immediately.

Nor can I conceal it.

His kinsman acknowledged the truth of his statement. That is why I am calling Nathaniel and Ezekiel.

The other two who comprised their host arrived almost immediately. One could always recognize Ezekiel because he always painted a black circlet about his arm, still mourning Gabriel’s loss. Everyone else preferred to forget, but Ezekiel had loved him. Once he had called Gabriel the best and brightest. Now Ezekiel refused to speak the Fallen’s name, but he eternally wore the black band, not as an accessory but as an integral part of him.

Nathaniel favoured red, and so his hair glowed like a sunset. Though they could resemble anything they wished here, most often they kept to recognizable forms. Not that such meetings were necessary, but Seraphiel preferred them as a means of guaranteeing he had his audience’s full attention.

As Raziel had done, the others saw the stain immediately. Nathaniel explored his memory, and Camael wished he had a way to prevent it. For the first time, he owned a thing he wanted to keep private. Then shame marked him at the impulse. They both drew back, shocked stillness in their thoughts.

And then from Ezekiel: So I am to lose another brother.

Not necessarily, Raziel countered. We must teach him to shield.

Nathaniel drew back, appalled. That is not permitted to our host. Only the Thrones may—

It is that, or lose him, Ezekiel interrupted.

Raziel faced their superior, as did Camael. As Ezekiel had the charge of them, it would be his choice, whether they attempted this forbidden thing. He would have faced his punishment alone, gladly, but joy suffused him that he did not have to. His host would not forsake him, no matter his transgression.

Can it be done so swiftly? Raziel asked.

By his expression, Nathaniel wondered the same thing. If Seraphiel grew impatient enough, he would touch their thoughts and summon them directly. Distance was nothing in a realm shaped by mind alone. The leader of the Seraphim, which took its name from him, could port them, should he so desire, and their wills would be unable to stand against him, for he was Seraphim, and they were mere foot soldiers.

Yes, their leader replied. I once had occasion to commune with one of the Thrones. Because they mediate between the Most High and the rest of us, they must know how to shield, so they do not yield more knowledge than we are permitted to possess. I took that knowledge when I broke the bond.

Why? Raziel asked.

Camael knew the answer even before Ezekiel gave it. To save Gabriel. But he would not even try. He was proud of his sin. He wished not to hide his love.

That boldness made Camael feel small. Was he so much less than Gabriel? Apparently he was, for he did not feel ready to confront Seraphiel and confess.

Let us have this thing done, Nathaniel said, some of his bright spark dimmed. We must needs all learn to shield, for we all share Camael’s secret now.

Perhaps Nathaniel wished that were not so. It was too late for regrets; his host had made their choice. He felt the warmth of their acceptance, though it came without understanding. None of them could fathom his choice. And yet he regretted nothing.

In the end, it was simple: a shift, a twist, and the mind divided in two. This, one showed the divine sanctum. That hidden thing remained crouched like a beast, behind the brighter part. The ease made Camael question what the Thrones might be hiding. What if the Most High were not made of perfect goodness and boundless justice? What awful darkness might his most trusted servants conceal from the rest? Once tasted, doubt burrowed into his spirit, leaving hollows.

Let us go to Seraphiel, Ezekiel said.

And, as they had always done, they followed him.

Time wore on.

Though Rei often went to the river alone, she did not see her golden god again. Her excuses about why she could not accept Kenzo and cement peace between the Tanaka and Nakamura wore thin. In her heart, she hoped their enemy’s son would lose interest, or find someone younger. These days, she could no longer be considered in the flush of youth. She no longer danced in the cherry blossoms with the young virgins. Instead she sat silently weaving with the old women.

At length, Isuke married his bride of choice. The girl had sixteen summers. . and she was silly. Hana did not know how to cook rice or clean a home, or how often the straw needed to be changed for use in bedding. She only knew how to smile prettily.

That would not be enough. If she did not give him a son, then she would go as Rei’s mother had done. In the dark of night, she sometimes wondered whether her father had asked his enemy to rid him of the wife who bred nothing but girls and dead babies. None of Rei’s sisters had survived to adulthood.

Still, it was too beautiful a day for such dark thoughts. Rei watched the dancers and listened to the trilling flutes. The smell of roast meat wafted on the summer wind, carrying the scent of hydrangeas. By this time, the azaleas were in bloom as well, like a stormy twilight. Rei strolled away from the festivities, avoiding the pantomime and the boy begging for sweets with tugs at his mother’s robe. It was good to see everyone in the village happy, even if such carefree days were coming to an end for her. With an inaudible sigh, she curled up beneath the purple fringe of the wisteria tree.

Kenzo found her, as he always did. There had been no attacks from Tanaka since he had been paying court — with her father’s approval. Now that Isuke had wed Hana, he would want her out of his house, and their old enemies would take it badly, should she give her favours elsewhere. No, there had long been an understanding. Rei only needed to make peace with her fate, and say farewell to what had been nothing more than a girl’s foolishness, lost in dreams by the river. Only in sleep could she have found such perfection.

The real world offered pots to scour and fields to tend and oxen to track down when they went astray. And Kenzo. The world offered her Kenzo as a husband. In truth, there were no other suitors. Too long had passed.

He sat down beside her, darkly pleased with himself, and set his hand on her arm. His touch filled her with revulsion, but soon he would have the right to do with her as he chose — beat or kill her — at his pleasure. Rei had no doubt he would brook no repudiation of his will. Kenzo would offer no choices. Most likely, he would also make her suffer for keeping him waiting so long. As the Tanaka’s firstborn son, he loathed being denied what he believed to be his due.

“When?” he asked softly.

She did not pretend to misunderstand. “It will be an autumn wedding, when all the leaves turn red.”

Kenzo offered a sharp look, for red was a dual color. But he did not demur. “So it shall be, Reika.”

To convey his displeasure, Seraphiel greeted them in a huge cavern with a ceiling so high it appeared to be made of darkness. Jagged streaks of lightning crashed overhead, highlighting the stark rock. Other times, this place might appear to be all white, formed of nothing but marble pillars. The leader of the Seraphim was not to be crossed lightly.

First he kept them waiting, and then he manifested in a font of golden light. When I call, I expect obedience.

Apologies, Ezekiel offered.

It took considerably longer to appease Seraphiel, and for every moment, Camael expected him to know, but the shields held. And Ezekiel intended for them to maintain this deception for eternity? Impossible. He already felt sick and shaken, not by his actions, but the subsequent efforts to conceal them. No matter the regulations, touching Rei did not feel like sin.

At length, they took their orders and went from the divine sanctum. They shook the mountains and painted the sky red, as instructed. It seemed like a great deal of effort in order to change one man’s mind, but they did not question instructions handed down through the hierarchy. Even Seraphiel did not know the reasons behind the commands he gave.

Afterwards, he followed the rest of the host. Once — not long ago — privacy mattered not at all. Now it was crucial. As he watched, Ezekiel shaped the wards that would keep others away. Let them think they discussed some secret orders given by Seraphiel, handed down by the Thrones.

Despite their success, Ezekiel wasn’t pleased. We must live this way forevermore. You all accept this?

The alternative is losing him, Nathaniel responded.

Raziel kept even his thoughts to himself, but of them all, he had been closest to Camael, and he could read his kinsman’s brooding silence. He was blisteringly angry. I never asked for help, Camael thought. I would have taken my punishment and left you out of it.

And you truly think I could allow that? Raziel demanded. Of us all, you would be destroyed down there. Did you know people call you Camael the Innocent, even here, where all are pure?

He hadn’t known that, and it angered him. Innocent I may have been, but I am not helpless.

No, Raziel responded. Just stupid.

Enough. The force of Ezekiel’s thought silenced them both. We acted to preserve your secret. You must go now to this human woman. Tell her whatever you must, but there will be an end to it.

He had watched the Morning Lord’s fall, once the most beloved and beautiful. Later, he had seen Gabriel willfully turn his back on his host. Neither hurt so much as the prospect of this — and he did not know why. Only that an ache throbbed deep in the core of him at the prospect of bidding farewell to a beauty he had hardly known.

I will attend to it now.

With a twist of his will, he left them. It was too much to hope he would find her where he had before, and yet that was the first place he looked. Camael matched his appearance to what she had seen before; otherwise, how would she know him? The river had risen since his last visit, which signified rain. How much time had passed? He stood quietly, listening to the water tumbling over the rocks. The trees were a little thinner, somewhat less green, and the air carried a chill. This was the dying season, when the leaves fell, and the world spun toward winter.

It was too cold for bare skin and he thought clothing into existence to cover himself. Not because he felt discomfort on any crucial level, but if another traveller came upon him here, they would call him demon or worse, finding him tarrying so. For the first time, it occurred to him he did not know how to find her. While he could focus on her essence and port to her, it might prove awkward if she were in company. He did not want to cause problems for Rei, or offer trouble she could not explain away.

And so he sought shelter in a cave not far from the river, where he built a fire. It was easy work, a matter of laying wood and willing it to kindle. He could have had fire without fuel, but that too would alarm human travellers. Camael wanted to blend in as best he could. Once he had created a tolerably comfortable space, he sat and sent the call. If Rei felt anything for him, she would be compelled to seek him out. The delay gave him time to accustom himself to her world. This time, he would not be helpless and overwhelmed by so many physical sensations.

On the third day, she found him. She looked different, less girlish. He had no way to gauge the passage of time here.

“It’s you,” she breathed. “And you have aged not even a day.”

He’d wondered if she remembered. He had wondered if he ought to come and tell her there could be nothing more. Perhaps she already knew. But his conscience would not permit him to share such intimacy and then offer only silence thereafter.

The right words — words of farewell — trembled on his tongue and yet he did not speak them. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “But when I did not quicken, I thought I dreamed you.”

Would that were so — then he would not feel the awful sensation of being torn in two. He carried Ezekiel’s orders like a weight in his heart, but for the first time, he struggled against them. Camael did not want to obey. He craved a few more moments with her.

“I cannot get you with child,” he said, instead of good-bye.

“Because you are truly not of my world.”

He inclined his head.

“Then it is safe for us to be together.” Before the fire, she began to disrobe. “I relived that afternoon so many times. Nothing ever felt so good or so right.”

This was where he must tell her. But instead, he admired the curves of her body, no longer sylph slim, but rounded and succulent. “Rei. .”

“You make my name sound like singing. No one ever did before.”

When she threw herself into his arms, he was lost, oh, so lost. Camael wrapped his arms about her. He had not touched her thoughts as he did with the host, and it mattered not at all. He knew her. The ache he hadn’t been able to explain before intensified into longing, and then he recognized it.

“I missed you.” Such longing for an absent person; it was wholly new to him.

“And I, you.”

It had been almost five years since she’d first felt him watching her, nearly three since she had lain in his arms. Yet she had never been able to forget him. Rei wondered now whether she was mad. Her father had at last broken down her will to refuse the marriage, and in two weeks’ time, she would become Kenzo’s bride. An alliance between the two villages would improve life for all concerned.

No more raids. No more burning houses or dead livestock. Thus she had been told, over and over again.

So what was she doing here, breaking her vows for a golden dream that had come to seem no more real than the touch of the breeze upon her skin? The answer was simple: she could not deny him. He lived in her blood, like a fever. Yet she could not blame him for what had passed between them. She had seduced him, and if she were honest, that sense of power offered great allure. In her village, she had little, even as chieftain’s daughter. But she had bewitched this impossibly powerful male — and that certainty was heady.

Just once more, she told herself. Kenzo will never know. He had not been promised a virgin bride, after all. Rei had married young, and her husband perished of fever. She had been a widow for some months before she encountered Camael by the river, else she would not have known how to seduce him.

But this time, it was different. She sensed it even before he put his arms around her. He was more centred, more sure of himself. Rei did not yet know what that change signified.

He kissed his brow to hers. “I want to know you.”

Rei thought it a poetic way of asking to make love to her again, so she nodded. Suddenly her mind filled with him, every small shame and unworthy secret — he possessed them all. The moment she tried to resist, he went away again, leaving her alone, and that might be worse.

“What—”

“I thought you gave permission.”

“For that?” It seemed wholly more intimate than sharing her body.

“I wanted to know you this time, before. .”

Before they made love. She understood the impulse, though in her experience, such knowledge came in small trickles, not in a single brush of their minds. But she knew him now, too, and he was unquestionably alien. He had touched no women in this world or any other. Rei could not have explained why that excited her; only that it did. It lit a fire unlike any she’d ever known.

But even so, she wasn’t the aggressor. This time, she could tell he knew what he wanted. His mouth claimed hers, tender but implacable as well, as if his kiss branded her. Madness. Though she had been free three years ago, she was no longer. And yet she could not refuse him. Did not desire to, no matter the cost later. She had been like a shade, echoing the memory of life after vitality had fled. Only in his arms did she kindle beyond that pale shadow.

As he kissed her throat, she shivered. When he stroked her inner thigh, her legs fell open in welcome. There was nothing so divine as a godling slaking his desire. Her breath hitched as he traced the curve of her hip and nibbled behind her ear. Then he slipped his hand around her body, playing with her right breast.

But he wasn’t as sure as he pretended. In the firelight, his oddly innocent eyes asked reassurance. “You like that?”

Mutely, she nodded, not sure if she could speak. Rei’s husband had never taken such care with her. Sometimes she wanted the mating, and sometimes she didn’t; it had all been the same to him. In her world, men most oft felt so. They held all the authority. Despite his otherworldly power, the same did not hold true with Camael. She marvelled at that, even as he caressed her. It seemed to her she had never truly known free will before.

He paused, holding her arms to the light. “Who did this?”

“Kenzo.”

The Tanaka’s firstborn saw no reason to be gentle with a woman. He used his strength instead. Camael bent his head and pressed his lips to the marks. As she watched, they faded with a god’s power to heal. Rei wanted to weep, but instead she answered with a kiss to his throat.

The firelight permitted her to see his response — awe gilded his beautiful face, even as much as the fire did. He revelled in her pleasure and his own ability to invoke those feelings. His lips followed his fingers: full of delicacy, demand, and burgeoning confidence. The heat against her skin was delicious and unexpected; his mouth sliding along her curves made her scrape the soles of her feet against the rock. Groaning in response, he licked until her nipple stood erect, begging for his attention. She cried out when he sucked it into his mouth and teased her with his teeth.

“Tell me what you want now,” he murmured, sounding odd and hoarse.

Unbearable tension rose within her as his golden head surged between her breasts. She did not notice when he slid the robe completely away, baring her body. Aware of a momentary lapse in contact, her senses swam as she tried to focus and received only the sweet shock of his hot skin against hers.

Dipping his fingers into the slick, swollen folds of her femininity, he stroked her, making her hips lurch up to meet him. He found a place that felt to her as if he held lightning against her flesh. Rei tested him in turn, fingers stealing down his abdomen and curling around his man’s flesh. He bucked, strain evident in his face. For long moments, he worked against her cupped palm, moaning with each push.

Oh, now, my love. Now.

She was ready, so ready. But to her surprise, he did not cover her. Instead he slid lower. Since he was innocent, he must have taken this from her darkest and most secret fantasies. No man would stoop to perform this intimacy for a woman. But a god would. Only such a one could possess the self-assurance to humble himself so.

“Camael!” she cried as his mouth found her.

Rei clutched his head, fingers tangled in his gilded hair, and rocked against his mouth. He licked her, just so. Climax shook her, head to toe. Giving her no chance to recover, he slid up and pushed inside. Once, twice, thrice, he thrust, making her moan. He wrapped his arms about her hips, dragging her up to meet each push and she locked her legs about him. His fierce beauty almost hurt her eyes, seeing his intensity so focused on her body.

Her second peak crashed almost as hard as the first, coming in relentless spasms, and it drove him over the edge. Though her own satisfaction had been staggering, she still knew when he shook in the familiar response. But she had never been so fiercely glad of it before. Her husband had used her body, but only Camael made her feel this way, and she took visceral pleasure in maddening him in the same fashion. He offered no accompanying gush of seed, however, and she regretted the lack. It was the only imperfect part of their union.

She did not protest when he rolled to the side and wrapped himself about her for warmth. With him at her back and the fire at her front, she felt the cold beyond their private haven not at all. But the world would intrude soon enough.

“I heeded your summons this last time,” she said softly. “But I can come to you no more. I have made promises to others, now.”

“Yes. I saw that in you.”

Of course he would have. How could he permit it? Why wouldn’t he take her away, back to his godly palace, and keep her there for himself? Yet those were not questions she could ask, and so she swallowed the pain like a shard of broken pottery.

“Rei. . according to the rules of heaven, this is wrong. I am not to have you. Not to do what I have done. Twice now. Twice the sin.” He did not sound as though he felt guilty, though, merely sad beyond bearing.

“So you will not call to me again, either.”

“No.” He laid his head on her breast, ear to her heart, as if listening to what she could not say. “But if I did, if I found a way, would you give up everything for me, Rei of the River?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in her, only a broken kind of longing, because the fierce desperation of his arms about her in this moment did not speak of hope. Instead it betokened an impossible love and inevitable ending.

Did you end it? Ezekiel asked.

They awaited his return together, converging as soon as they felt him. Camael did not need to answer. As soon as he let them touch his mind, they knew. Nathaniel filled with sorrow while Raziel boiled with anger. From Ezekiel, he sensed nothing, not even surprise. Doubtless he saw only history repeating itself. He had walked this road with Gabriel.

You endanger all of us with this madness, Raziel accused.

Nathaniel stared at him, sombre as he rarely was. He is right, brother. Do you think Seraphiel will forgive our involvement?

I shall not, the Seraphim intoned, manifesting.

The time had come, then. For himself, he cared remarkably little. Camael only wanted to return to Rei before she married the man who had put the bruises on her arms. He cared nothing for the dramas of heaven any longer. Still, he could not let his host suffer for his sins. He had to try.

I acted alone, he told Seraphiel. They knew nothing. Only I must Fall.

The leader of the Seraphim sent angry amusement arcing into his thoughts like a lightning bolt. It stung, as intended. Do you take me for a fool? I saw through your shields immediately. I only wanted to see how complete the conspiracy. And so I have. Your whole host is corrupted. They will pay.

A flaming blade appeared in Seraphiel’s hand, rippling with awful blue fire that gave no heat: the Sword of Judgment. With it, he tapped Ezekiel on the shoulder. Ezekiel, your loyalty to your host proved greater than your love for the Most High. I know you yet mourn Gabriel’s loss, so I bear good tidings. The grim glee that accompanied the thought sent a wave of horror through Camael. You may now join him, as the leader of these Fallen. If you can find him. If he yet survives. I know you, Ezekiel. You feared the Fall as nothing else. For our kind, it is the closest thing to death. And so I give you dominion over it. I give to you power over death and transformation. They will beg you for clemency, those dying and doomed, and you will offer none. May it bring you nothing but pain to be known as the Merciless Archangel when your secret heart is so tender.

Camael thought he would run Ezekiel through then, but no. They had conspired together; thus they would die together. And the Seraphim had not finished sentencing them for their crimes.

Seraphiel spun to face Nathaniel. To you, Fallen, I give responsibility for fire. This force can be used for cleansing or destruction. You will spend eternity weighing the difference, judging what must burn, what should rightly burn. Since you were the gentlest of us all, it will be a just punishment, and for each wrong judgment, you shall receive a scar. You will know agony beyond imagining, Nathaniel.

And you, Raziel. The Seraphim pointed the Sword of Judgment. Who first plotted to hide this transgression from me. I find it fitting to give to you the mantle of mysteries. From this day hence, you will be charged with keeping divine knowledge from the mortal world. They must not know of us, see us, or hear of us. You do so love your secrets, do you not? And this responsibility will give you the most contact with humans — and I do know how you love them. You will clean up for them forevermore.

Finally Seraphiel came to a stop before Camael. He stood straight and steady against the terrible threat of the sword. You had carnal knowledge of a human woman and sought to hide it. You put base pleasure before your vows to the Most High. So then, Camael, I charge you with joy. That did not sound terrible, but then the Seraphim continued. You will be responsible for making sure the world stays in balance — that those who ought to be happy, are, even when you are not. In time, it will become. . excruciating. I only wish I could be there to see the moment when you realize I have placed upon you the heaviest burden of all. You craved the pleasures of earth, and so I bestow them upon you. You were once princes of heaven; now you are only princes of dust, princes of your small dominions. You are exiles, henceforth, never again to know divine peace. Go forth, Fallen. I cast you out!

Seraphiel swung the Sword of Judgment in a wide arc, and the fire cut them wide open. Beneath their feet, a chasm opened, and then they fell. Pain became Camael’s only awareness. The world washed red.

As Hana plaited her hair, Rei faced the truth. He was not coming. She had been a fool to place her hopes in a god’s hands. Surely she should have learned by now that they did not care. If anything, they saw this world as a place to come and play, where pleasures might be shared and then forgotten.

He had not promised; he’d only said if I find a way. It seemed impossible that there existed a force that could hinder the will of a god, but then, he had also said he was only a messenger. So perhaps he was not important enough to break free whenever he chose. Perhaps he too had responsibilities.

She bore fresh bruises on her back, but her wedding clothes hid them. Kenzo had tried to take his rights as a husband the night before, and she’d fought him. Not before tonight. And so he’d taken his satisfaction of her in another way — with his fists. He truly might have killed her if Hana had not heard her cries and tiptoed to see. Though she was a silly girl, she was not heartless and she had run to fetch Isuke.

“She is not your bride yet,” her father had said. “While she remains in my house, you will treat her with respect.”

For a long moment, she’d dared to hope her father would call off the ceremony. But no. He needed the Tanaka alliance, so he must abide by the agreement. This was no more than a temporary respite, as Kenzo stormed out. They both knew she would pay dearly for her final night of peace.

“I am sorry for you,” Hana said then. “I wish he was a kind man, like Isuke.”

“It will help the village. I am only one woman, after all. And if I die in Kenzo’s care, Father will have a legitimate grievance. The Tanaka will owe him blood money, so my death may serve better than my life.”

“All the same,” her stepmother said. “It is not my wish for you.”

“Nor mine. But we cannot have our dreams come true.”

If she could, a golden-haired godling would come to smite her enemies and carry her away to his palace in the sky. Instead she sat still while Hana finished her hair and pronounced her ready. “There has never been a prettier bride.”

Untrue. But she forced a smile; she would not wear her misery openly. She was the only living daughter of Isuke of Nakamura, and she would honour him by going to her fate with courage. As Kenzo’s wife, she would not live long. She had antagonized him and shown she had too much spirit, too much of her own mind.

It was hard to contemplate her own death. Rei stood, raised her chin, and followed Hana out of the hut. But as she trod the petal-strewn ground, she heard the call for the second time, like a flute inside her head and trilling in her veins.

He had come. Against all odds, he had come. If she fled with him, the village would suffer. They needed her to seal the peace with Tanaka. Rei shook her head; she had never craved the role of martyr. Then she lifted the hem of her wedding robe and began to run.

Death. In an agonizing eternity, Camael felt all he was cease to be. The cessation of his divine self hurt more than he could have imagined; as though Seraphiel had rammed the Sword of Judgment through the middle of his soul and he’d come away lesser and smaller. That might be an apt comparison.

Covered in blood, he pushed shakily to his feet. As before, he was naked, and it was cold. But this time, he felt it. The flesh he wore felt heavy and awkward, a meat cage that housed his spirit. Camael took stock of his surroundings, and with some amazement, he realized he’d Fallen beside the river, where he first saw beauty. Of the others, he found no sign. Were they to be punished then by spending an eternity of exile alone with their sins? He longed to see the rest of his host and beg their forgiveness for what his desire had cost them.

He had no way of knowing how long it had been, how long he had suffered in earthly terms. It might have been years, again. She might have forgotten him. He knelt beside the water and washed as best he could. That done, he knew he could not leave this place without learning the truth. Rei was the reason he was here. It was unthinkable to go into exile without knowing.

Now, he needed a fire for warmth instead of comfort, but time might be short. Closing his eyes, he sent the call. While he waited, the chill sank in, raising bumps on his flesh. How he wished he had something to cover himself. He had once thought humans did it to hide their shame, but now he saw there was a more practical reason.

The waiting seemed endless.

And then he heard the soft crackle of dry plants crushed beneath running footfalls. Camael was in no condition to fight, but he recognized her movements even before she burst into sight around the bend in the river. Rei wore a complex robe, layered in sashes, and her hair had been intricately arranged.

“We must go quickly,” she said, breathless. “I will be missed soon.”

Go where? She knew more about this world than he did. Camael had no idea where they might be safe from her pursuers. The only place he could find readily would be the cave where they had sheltered together and made love. Though he was vague on the concept of distance, that would not be far enough away. His whole body burned with cold, and he could not think.

She drew up, staring at him with furrowed brow. Her dark eyes raked him head to toe, taking in the differences. “You’re real this time.”

“Yes,” he said. “I will not be leaving you again.”

Rei froze, terror dawning on her lovely face. “I need you to take me away from here. They will kill you. And me.” But it was clear from her expression, she feared more for him.

Camael went to her then, his uncertainty easing. He took her in his arms. “Fear not. Though I have Fallen, I am not powerless.”

In his heart, he sensed the scales Seraphiel had inflicted on him, weighing the generosity of her spirit against the circumstances surrounding her. The verdict was clear; Rei deserved to be happy — and she was not. Camael sensed the bruises on her back, more serious than the ones he’d healed on her arms. Someone had hurt her and would do worse, if he permitted it.

But he could make her happy. Perhaps he twisted the spirit of the intent, but the Seraphim had given him room to make his own judgments. And so he would.

But before he could make any plans, he heard the sounds of pursuit. These footfalls were unfamiliar to him, but Rei stilled in his arms. Her upturned face reflected pure dread; she thought him helpless.

“Run,” she begged.

The man who burst into sight carried a curved blade. Like Rei, he was dressed in formal regalia, his long black hair upswept. And Camael knew he was also the monster who hurt her. Guilt and fury bled from him in red-black rays, surrounding him like a tainted sun. This one did not deserve joy — and Camael had the power to sever him from all possibility of attaining it.

“I knew you had taken a lover,” the angry beast spat. “And he is not even of our people. You shame your father, Reika.”

She glared at him. “Do not call me that, Kenzo! You have no right.”

“How will you stop me? I have all the power. I am the Tanaka’s firstborn, and I have been wronged. No one will speak a word in protest when I order the two of you executed. See how your beloved cowers.”

Camael stepped away and gently set her from him. He spoke to Kenzo. “You have brought nothing but misery, even to your father. Your mother died bearing you. You are the very soul of grief.”

For the first time, the other appeared shaken. But he rallied, raising his sword. “Words. You have only words.” And Kenzo charged.

Camaek raised his arm and plucked the air with his fingers, latching on to the immortal part of the man who hurt Rei and took pleasure in it. Instead of silver or gold, his life-thread unravelled black and red like the aura blazing around him. This was the right thing; the scales in his heart agreed. It was a fair judgment. With one final tug, he drew the soul out and set it wafting in the air. Its weight would decide its final destination. As with all mortal spirits, it tried to soar, but sin weighted it down, and Kenzo’s soul drifted down into the earth and beyond his knowledge. His body fell, empty and lifeless. The sword clattered to the ground.

“There will be war.” Rei sounded numb. Not with grief, but shock. “What magic have you that you can slay a man with a turn of your wrist?”

“Only that of judgment. He stood in the way of your happiness.”

“And you think his murder will bring me contentment? What manner of monster are you?” She backed away, her slippers sliding on the damp grass.

“Did you love me better when I was not real?”

“I think I did not know you at all.”

“Yet I Fell for you. I gave up everything. You said you would do the same. Did you lie, Rei?”

A sob broke from her. “I — no. No matter what you have done, no matter what it costs me, I love you still. My heart beats for you, whatever dark thing you are.”

Camael smiled, aching for her. She was still — and always would be — the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. “It will cost you nothing. Watch.”

He knelt beside the dead man and touched his fingers to his face. It was a simple task, hardly more than a flicker of energy. When he stood, he was Kenzo. He stripped the robes, dressed, and took the man’s sword, and then he nudged the body into the river. The water claimed it.

“You will take his place,” she breathed. “There will be peace.”

“None will ever know but you. Does this bring you joy?”

“Yes. I never imagined I could keep my home and be with you. I thought there would be a terrible choice.”

There was, Camael thought. And I made it for you.

She kissed him with all the passion she had given him before. Now he could have it for a lifetime. Her lifetime. He would accept the consequences later; he knew now what punishment Seraphiel intended for him. His damnation would be deferred. In centuries to come, he must find the rest of his host — and possibly Gabriel as well — but he would make her happy while he could. Such a short time. How diabolical the leader of the Seraphim — and how clever. But today was not for suffering. Not today.

“Let us marry,” he said aloud to Rei. “I think that is why we are dressed so.”

Her smile nearly blinded him with its delight. Taking his hand, she led him towards the village and their life.