Darkness Devours (Dark Angels 3)

“I am sure he can do more than what he says.”

“So you have proof of this? Or is it merely distrust and dislike?”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. I let my fingers slide down to the stylized black Dušan that dominated the left half of his back. It, too, seemed to gleam with a dark fire when I touched it. But then, it was alive, even if it couldn’t gain form on this plane.

“That distrust,” I continued softly, “isn’t the only reason for your sudden need to kill Lucian, is it?”

“No.”

“Then why the change?”

Even as I asked the question I had my doubts that he would answer it. But once again he surprised me.

“Because,” he said, his voice even though the air around us suddenly seemed to crackle with anger and tension—the same sort of tension that rode his powerful body. “He is the reason you are standing where you are, contemplating what you are.”

“No, he isn’t.”

“Do you deny the desire he raised when he called?”

“No.” I ran my fingers back up the tribal patterns. A tremor moved through him as I touched the one that resembled a comet trailing fire. “But he is not the reason I’m standing here, Azriel. He’s not the one I want right now.”

“But you will want him in the future?”

I hesitated, but there was no denying the reality of the situation. I would have sex with Lucian in the future—partly because I generally enjoyed being with him and partly because it was a means of self-preservation. If Jak had taught me anything, it was never to invest too much of myself in a relationship unless I was absolutely certain it was that “forever” one. And neither Lucian nor Azriel could be that, no matter how much I might enjoy being with Lucian or how strong the pull toward Azriel.

“Yes,” I said eventually, and let my hand drop back to my side. “I will continue seeing Lucian. But that does not mean I cannot also be with you. Werewolves are by nature—”

“Do not,” he interrupted sharply, “use your werewolf heritage as an excuse. It is fear that governs your actions on this, nothing more, nothing less.”

“I prefer to call it self-preservation.” I stepped back from him, though it was the last thing I wanted to do. “You said I couldn’t continue to deny what is between us. Well, I’m not. But I will not commit wholly to something that must end when all this is over. If you want otherwise, then I’m sorry, but I just can’t do it.”

“And I do not know if I—” He cut the words off and took a deep breath. Then, finally, he turned around to face me. His mismatched blue eyes were turbulent and dark, but the emotions moved through them too quickly to identify. “You once wondered what it would be like to make love to a reaper. That is not something I can share with you. You are not ready for it.”

I raised my eyebrows, but said nothing, simply because I sensed a “but” coming.>“No. The Rakshasa may be hungry, but it isn’t stupid. It won’t return tonight.”

I sighed in relief. “I’m glad, because I really don’t want to be here when those ghosts start up again.”

“We won’t be.” He rose, pulling me upright with him, then encircling my waist with his other arm. His face was its usual inscrutable self, but there was an odd tension in his body and Valdis flowed with a muted red fire. “Ready?”

I nodded. Energy swept around me, through me, tearing us apart and flinging us through the fields so quickly it was little more than a blur.

I gasped as we re-formed inside the hotel room. “Sorry,” he said, his hand sliding almost sensually around my waist before he stepped back. “I did not want to risk being on the fields for long. Not with the Raziq’s creatures still loose.”

I frowned. “Why aren’t they being hunted?”

“They are, but our resources are still stretched thin.” He paused. “Go shower, Risa.”

I studied him for a moment, knowing there was more to it than that, but also knowing he wouldn’t share until he was good and ready. With a half shrug of my own, I grabbed a shirt and some fresh panties and headed for the bathroom to clean up.

Twenty minutes later I felt somewhat refreshed, and though my arm was still red from the remnants of the slug glue, it didn’t look bad enough to scar. I got dressed, then finger-dried my hair, suddenly glad to be wearing my own face once more, even though I’d probably have to face-shift again when we left the hotel. The Raziq might have attacked me on the gray fields, but they hadn’t yet managed another attack on this plane. The subterfuge, as tiring as it was, appeared to be working.

I sighed softly, then jumped a little as my cell phone rang.

I dug it out of the pocket of my discarded jeans, and said, “Hello?”

“I must say,” a familiar voice drawled, “I am very disappointed.”

Lucian. Damn it, he was the last person I wanted to talk to right now, even if my hormones were suddenly saying otherwise. And what was it about this man that got to me so quickly? I hadn’t thought about him all fucking day, and yet the minute I heard his voice, I became a seething mass of need.