Angel in Chains (The Fallen 3)
Page 39He shuddered, but the control he’d grabbed didn’t break. He thrust slow. So slow. Forcing the pleasure on her with each movement of his body.
No, not forcing pleasure. Giving it to her.
She wanted to give to him.
“You make me want more than any other.” His hands rose. Found hers. His fingers threaded through hers and held them locked to the mattress. “How?”
She could only shake her head. “Az . . .” Jade trembled beneath him. “Harder.”
But he wasn’t giving her harder. He was controlled. Measured. And she was about to go out of her mind.
“Az!”
He drove into her. Again. Again. He bent and his tongue swirled over her breast. Her sex contracted greedily around him.
“This time, we take it slow.” His jaw clenched as he gritted the words. “I almost . . . lost—”
She spread her legs wider, lifted her hips, and he sank in deeper.
Her head tipped back at the hard stab of pleasure. Good, but . . .
He lifted her arms above her head. Caged her wrists with one hand. Then Az let his right hand stroke between their bodies. His broad fingers pushed down between her legs. Found the center of her need.
“I want to see . . . you . . .” Voice rougher, his touch became more demanding. He thrust—
His control broke. Yes. The small bed rammed into the wall with the force of his thrusts. He plunged into her, so deep she cried out. Not in pain. Oh, no, not pain.
The orgasm continued to rip through her. His thrusts seemed to double the pleasure, making the climax stretch longer on a wave that never seemed to end.
Az stiffened against her and called out her name. Not a gentle whisper. More of a roar as he came inside her.
His shadow wings rose above them. His blue eyes darkened so much they appeared black. And he held her so tightly she wondered if he would ever let go.
In that one instant, she actually thought he never would.
“You’re not dying.” Brandt grabbed Heather’s chin and jerked her face toward him. “The bleeding’s stopped, and you’re all stitched up.”
The witch’s eyelashes fluttered, then her eyes opened, just a crack. Dried blood had hardened on her face and neck. Brandt dropped her chin and crossed his arms as he looked down at her. “I’m not quite as talented with a needle as my brother is, but you won’t be bleeding to death anytime soon.” Well, at least not until he was finished with her.
Her pale hand lifted and, with trembling fingers, she traced the twisting path of stitches that cut across her chest and neck. Heather blanched.
He smiled. “Now, unless you want me to start slicing you back open . . .” Brandt let his claws burst out of one hand. “You’ll answer my questions.”
Heather’s too plump lips trembled. “I-is that why I’m . . . alive?” Her voice was a broken rasp. Probably from all that screaming she’d been doing when he stitched her up. Eventually, she’d passed out.
Eventually.
“I let you live because you were the one to bring Jade back to me.”
“Her and that f**king bastard that you led straight into my camp.” He lunged forward and sliced open the two stitches across her collarbone.
Heather screamed. Good, now her smile was gone. The witch wasn’t gonna play him. In this game, he was the one with the power. Time for her to recognize that fact.
“Don’t f**k with me,” he told her. “I went to a lot of trouble to save you.” He’d never saved anyone before. It had just felt . . . wrong. Heather had screwed him over. She’d attacked Jade. The witch had deserved her punishment.
Yet he’d saved her.
Brandt exhaled and rolled his shoulders. Tension was making his whole body ache. “If you aren’t going to be useful, I’ll just rip open your throat and hunt them down myself.”
Her ragged breathing seemed too loud in the small room. She kept her wide eyes on him.
Brandt lifted a brow. He could almost see the gears rolling in her head as she schemed. “Trying to pull together enough magic to work against me, huh?”
“As soon . . . as I’m . . . stronger . . .”
“Blah the f**k blah.” She was never going to be stronger. He’d seen to that. The witch didn’t even know what he’d done. She would. Soon enough. He sat on the small bed next to her and rather enjoyed the way she flinched away from him. As if she hadn’t begged him to touch her so many times in the past. “Tell me everything you know about Azrael.”
She blinked. “Who?”
Fine. If she wanted more pain . . . He lifted his claws over her neck. “Az-ra-fucking-el.”
A tear leaked from her eye. “Oh, him.”
She nodded and his claws scraped over her chin.
Good. She wasn’t going to deny what the guy was. “How’d you find him?” He pulled his claws away from her throat.
A laugh spilled from her lips. Sad. Angry. “I found him naked in a cemetery. He’d just fallen, and I went to help him.”
Brandt didn’t let his expression alter even though his heart was suddenly pounding far too fast. “You’re not exactly the helping sort.” One of the things that had always kept him on edge—Heather could be as brutal and cold as he was.
That was why she’d be dying soon. But first . . . He leaned forward and brushed back the hair that had gotten stuck in the blood on her cheek. Heather watched him with wide eyes. Eyes that had always seen too much.
“Just where had this Azrael fallen from?” He asked, testing her.
She swallowed. “Where the hell do you think?”
Brandt didn’t hurt her. Not this time. “Once upon a time, you told me that you had a vision that an angel would kill you. That he’d destroy the whole world.” Heather and her visions. She’d looked into the dark so many times. At first she’d scryed because he’d wanted to see what the future held. But later, Heather had done it because she’d grown addicted to that wild rush of power.
He knew how tempting darkness was.
When a witch scryed, she looked past life and death. She looked into the very darkness that waited for man and for the Other.
The death and darkness looked back at her. Sometimes, they even struck out at her. Heather had the scars on her body to prove that.