The flea-brain had given him the oracle’s sleeping draft! He’d wanted to be at Darci’s for an hour, maybe two before he left. Now, he had no way of taking a single bloody step until the potion wore off.
With his senses dulling, Blaéz struggled to scan the area. A familiar brush on his psyche and he picked up Týr close by… patrolling. Damn idiot. At least Darci would be safe if any of those demon dickheads came sniffing. A rough breath sawed past his lips. His eyelids felt too heavy to open, but he was so aware of her living, breathing presence. He reached out for her. “Darci?”
After a moment, her warm fingers touched his. He clasped her hand and drew her close. “Lay beside me.” When she hesitated, something tightened inside his chest that she didn't want to. He couldn’t blame her; after all he’d walked away. “Need to feel warm again… it’s been so long…” Since before he’d been confined to his solitary prison. Since he felt alive. Only she filled the void inside of him — warmed him.
At her complete stillness, and close to begging, the light went off, the illumination behind his closed lids darkening. The bed dipped and she slid beside him. Blaéz searched for her hand and found she’d tucked one under her cheek and the other beneath her pillow. He didn't care for the inch separating them, wanted her closer.
“Your wound,” she protested when he tugged her.
“Don’t give a shit,” he mumbled.
A soft, exasperated exhale left her, then she shifted and carefully placed her arm over his stomach. Her legs slid alongside his, but she remained as stiff as a board beside him.
Did she think he’d jump her? Of course, he wanted her with every thing in him, but he was in no shape to do what he truly desired. He stroked her arm, wanting her to relax. A moment, then two passed. Finally, her body lost its rigidity and her soft curves settled naturally into his side. Her full breasts pressed against his biceps, her thighs aligned against his, surrounding him with her warmth. Blaéz fought against the drowsiness, wanted to stay in this gut-churning sensation of need — of tenderness, coursing through him.
“I'm sorry I walked away,” he murmured. “I thought I was doing the right thing… I’m so fuckin’ messed up…”
“Shh, it’s okay. Rest.”
Yes, it would be okay, he had her back now. Unable to fight the effects of the potion any longer, he wrapped his fingers around hers so she wouldn’t leave him, and finally let sleep claim him.
But images from the past sifted through his mind like eerie specters…
Searing pain had him hovering on the edge of unconsciousness. Blaéz lay in a pool of his own charred remains of flesh as he healed again from a brutal flogging. Hatred surging — he wanted Maloch drawn and quartered before he destroyed him.
An agonized moan filled the shadowy cavern. Blaéz turned his head. A loud thud and feathers scattered. And there, in the gloom, an enormous black wing lay on the rough ground. The weight of his remaining wing pulled the kneeling angel at an unnatural angle, sagging him to one side.
“Let them go, Lucifer,” the angel croaked. Limp, dark hair hung forward, hiding his face “You have what you want.”
A sinister laugh echoed in the quiet. A brutal kick, and the angel fell into a pool of his own blood.
“Did you think coming into my realm to rescue this whiny lot of protectors would be that easy after what you did to me, O’ Mighty One?” Lucifer taunted, hauling the archangel up by his remaining wing. “I planned millennia to get you here. I want more than just your wings. I want you kicked out of your lofty place. I want you broken — ruined, that nothing could ever put you together again!”
He seized the wing and yanked. The sound of flesh ripping apart resonated in the dark. Bones snapped. The dark angel’s roar of unmitigated agony filled Blaéz’s ears.
The bastard! Blaéz struggled to his feet and slammed into
With his senses dulling, Blaéz struggled to scan the area. A familiar brush on his psyche and he picked up Týr close by… patrolling. Damn idiot. At least Darci would be safe if any of those demon dickheads came sniffing. A rough breath sawed past his lips. His eyelids felt too heavy to open, but he was so aware of her living, breathing presence. He reached out for her. “Darci?”
After a moment, her warm fingers touched his. He clasped her hand and drew her close. “Lay beside me.” When she hesitated, something tightened inside his chest that she didn't want to. He couldn’t blame her; after all he’d walked away. “Need to feel warm again… it’s been so long…” Since before he’d been confined to his solitary prison. Since he felt alive. Only she filled the void inside of him — warmed him.
At her complete stillness, and close to begging, the light went off, the illumination behind his closed lids darkening. The bed dipped and she slid beside him. Blaéz searched for her hand and found she’d tucked one under her cheek and the other beneath her pillow. He didn't care for the inch separating them, wanted her closer.
“Your wound,” she protested when he tugged her.
“Don’t give a shit,” he mumbled.
A soft, exasperated exhale left her, then she shifted and carefully placed her arm over his stomach. Her legs slid alongside his, but she remained as stiff as a board beside him.
Did she think he’d jump her? Of course, he wanted her with every thing in him, but he was in no shape to do what he truly desired. He stroked her arm, wanting her to relax. A moment, then two passed. Finally, her body lost its rigidity and her soft curves settled naturally into his side. Her full breasts pressed against his biceps, her thighs aligned against his, surrounding him with her warmth. Blaéz fought against the drowsiness, wanted to stay in this gut-churning sensation of need — of tenderness, coursing through him.
“I'm sorry I walked away,” he murmured. “I thought I was doing the right thing… I’m so fuckin’ messed up…”
“Shh, it’s okay. Rest.”
Yes, it would be okay, he had her back now. Unable to fight the effects of the potion any longer, he wrapped his fingers around hers so she wouldn’t leave him, and finally let sleep claim him.
But images from the past sifted through his mind like eerie specters…
Searing pain had him hovering on the edge of unconsciousness. Blaéz lay in a pool of his own charred remains of flesh as he healed again from a brutal flogging. Hatred surging — he wanted Maloch drawn and quartered before he destroyed him.
An agonized moan filled the shadowy cavern. Blaéz turned his head. A loud thud and feathers scattered. And there, in the gloom, an enormous black wing lay on the rough ground. The weight of his remaining wing pulled the kneeling angel at an unnatural angle, sagging him to one side.
“Let them go, Lucifer,” the angel croaked. Limp, dark hair hung forward, hiding his face “You have what you want.”
A sinister laugh echoed in the quiet. A brutal kick, and the angel fell into a pool of his own blood.
“Did you think coming into my realm to rescue this whiny lot of protectors would be that easy after what you did to me, O’ Mighty One?” Lucifer taunted, hauling the archangel up by his remaining wing. “I planned millennia to get you here. I want more than just your wings. I want you kicked out of your lofty place. I want you broken — ruined, that nothing could ever put you together again!”
He seized the wing and yanked. The sound of flesh ripping apart resonated in the dark. Bones snapped. The dark angel’s roar of unmitigated agony filled Blaéz’s ears.
The bastard! Blaéz struggled to his feet and slammed into
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