Her tight channel clenched and unclenched on his cock, sent waves of raw, nearly painful pleasure up his spine and into his heart. His! She was his. The sureness of it was reinforced each time his penis surged in and out of her.
He wanted to linger, to savor the intimacy of their first kiss, the sharing of breath marking the first true joining of their souls. But the night was still young, too full of predators to be guarded against. And the hunger raged too fiercely. It commanded the jerk of his hips, the tightness of his testicles, the undeniable need to imprint himself so thoroughly on her that every cell would hold his name, answer to his call.
He changed the angle of their bodies, felt her quiver each time he struck her clit. Primal satisfaction filled him when she fought to get closer, to take him deeper, to feel the hot splash of his seed.
Each thrust was a claiming, a declaration of intent. They would be together.
Aisling’s cry of release spilled into him where their lips touched. And like Djinn fire, her ecstasy burned through him, triggered his own, so wave after wave of semen jetted through his cock.
Long minutes later he pulled from her sheath and reluctantly stood her on her feet. Heartbreakingly beautiful eyes met his as she touched her kiss-swollen lips and asked, “Why?”
He knew she was asking why he’d repeatedly refused the intimacy of kissing until now, but he had no answer for her, nothing he could reveal until after they’d found whoever was creating Ghost, until after he’d dealt with Javier and returned to the Kingdom of the Djinn with the tablet, until after he’d fought for and won a future with her.
“Let’s find a more defensible room,” he said, touching her lips lightly with his before taking her hand and leading her deeper into the building, to a windowless area with only a solitary door to guard.
Aisling dressed then settled into a corner, knees hugged to her chest. For a while she was content to puzzle on the question of Zurael, the change that had taken place between them. So many other times he’d turned away from her when she’d thought to touch her mouth to his.
She wet her lips, relived the fire of his kiss, those moments when the only breath he’d allowed her was his own, as if her very life belonged to him. Her nipples and clit pulsed with renewed need, ached for his mouth and hands.
He stiffened in the doorway. His nostrils flared as if he could scent her arousal. Tiny nipples grew tight and the serpent he wore on his forearms rippled.
Their eyes met and held.
Feminine satisfaction curled in her belly and breasts. The fast, rough coupling had left him craving more. It was there in his taut muscles, the tightness of his features, the cock once again pressed huge and hard against the front of his pants.
She wanted to stand and go to him, to lose herself in the pleasure, the safety and peace she found in his arms. She wanted to keep the angel’s judgment-the word abomination- from her mind and avoid the truth of her own demon origins, the worry about her soul that she’d never struggled with until Zurael and then the angel appeared.
But a cougar’s nearby cry urged caution. The sounds of rustling, of movement in other parts of the building, kept her in place. The drone of a helicopter in another part of The Barrens reminded her of the danger if they had to give up this hiding place.
She pulled her attention away from Zurael. The sun-shaped amulet pressed against her palm. She’d thought at first it was meant to protect her against Zurael, then later, when it became obvious the guardsmen were hunting her, she’d wondered if Tamara’s family had sent her into a trap. Now she didn’t believe either was true.
Aisling flexed her wrist, exposed the golden charm. “Would this work on you?”
“No. It’s meant for the heavenly host.”
She trembled at the fury and hatred in his voice. But she didn’t back away from her train of thought. “Levanna knew I might need this. The Wainwright matriarch wouldn’t have given me such a powerful charm if she didn’t want me to find the Fellowship of the Sign and return with Anya. I think she guessed what you are and knew I’d be safe in The Barrens from anything but an angel.”
Zurael nodded. “I thought it was a trap also. Now I think otherwise. The guardsmen wouldn’t need the hounds, not if they knew the trail we were following.”
An icy chill swept into Aisling’s chest. It settled around her heart like a frigid fist as she remembered the guardsmen calling for a scent article.
Fear for Aziel froze the breath in her throat. In her mind’s eye she saw the guardsmen storming into her house so they could get something of hers to present to the bloodhounds, their heavy boots and guns deadly to the ferret trapped inside with them.
She shivered and once again hugged her knees to her chest. She told herself Aziel was clever. He’d find a hiding place.
For long moments the worry and fear crowded in. They only lessened when she accepted that she couldn’t change what had happened, acknowledged that it wouldn’t have been better to bring Aziel into The Barrens.
If he was a lesser demon, as she suspected, then he would have become a target for the angel’s attack. And unlike Zurael, he wouldn’t have been able to defend himself. Aziel was trapped in whatever body he wore.
Aisling turned to the question of the guardsmen and who might have sent them. She and Zurael had witnessed Cassandra going into the building housing the police station and guardsmen shortly after they’d left the library after searching the Internet for information about Ghost and the Fellowship of the Sign.
Twice police cars had pulled alongside the bus, and once she’d seen a guardsman’s jeep. If they’d been after her, watching her, determined to prevent her from entering The Barrens, then wouldn’t they have stopped her sooner? And if they were selling protection, or involved in distributing Ghost-then wouldn’t they know where to find the Fellowship’s compound?
Aisling’s eyebrows drew together. She felt like one of the farm dogs chasing shadows and rustling leaves-until she thought about Father Ursu and Bishop Routledge. The magnetic strip on the back of the transit bus pass would reveal she’d gone to the stop closest to The Barrens for a second time, traveled again with a second person, only this time hadn’t returned home.
She’d slept at the church. Her scent would be on the towel she’d used after her shower, on the sheets and pillow. Annalise Wainwright’s vision had confirmed Father Ursu and Bishop Routledge’s desire to find the Ghost source.
“The Church might have sent the guardsmen, hoping we’d lead them to whoever is responsible for Ghost,” Aisling said, tensing with her next thought. What if the guardsmen had been ordered to bring her back alive? What if it was the helicopter’s crash that changed the nature of their hunt?
A knot formed in her stomach with the added deaths laid at her feet, the ever darkening stain on her soul. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against her knees.
Almost instantly Zurael was there, his fingers tracing the vertebrae of her spine, already knowing her so well he could guess at her thoughts. His breath was hot against her ear, his lips soft. “The hunted always have a right to defend themselves.”
A soft whimper escaped when his tongue caressed her earlobe. A second followed when it circled the shell of her ear then slipped inside.
His hand pushed between her chest and knees, possessively stroked her breasts, her nipples, forced her to open from her defensive posture. “You need to sleep,” he whispered, palm gliding downward. “We lost ground coming here to escape the guardsmen and reduce the risk of encountering another angel. We’ll have to make it up on foot tomorrow.”
Her cunt lips grew flushed and slick, parted with the same ease as her thighs when Zurael’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of her work pants and her panties. On a moan, she tilted her head backward, welcomed the way he covered her mouth with his and demanded entry with the dominant thrust of his tongue.