Wyvern’s Angel: The Dragons of Incendium #9 Read online

  At the sight of the large bed, Percipia recalled that ill-fated afternoon with Sansor. She and Sansor had stared up at the skies and speculated on what it would be like to live on a planet without star travel, without the notion of the universe being a populous and varied place. She thought it would lead to intolerance, while he thought it would create confidence. They had argued, and not just because he had kissed her that day.

  She pushed the memory from her thoughts and kissed Bond instead. It was refreshing to have no agenda or scheme, no competing notions of what would happen afterward.

  There would just be their union and no more.

  Percipia wanted nothing more.

  Driven by the Seed and her own sense of urgency, she tore open Bond’s uniform. She ran her hands across his bare chest, then over his shoulders, pushing off the garment. He felt solid and warm, and she doubted the suggestion that he was an angel all over again.

  His hands swept over her, sure and strong, pushing aside her tunic, then glanced down in admiration. His eyes seemed to glow and his slow smile only heated her blood more. “You are beautiful, Diverta,” he murmured with an awe that made her feel lovely and a bit shy. His admiration seemed to change the stakes, to make it emotional and not pure biology, and she both liked that and distrusted it. She wasn’t sure how to proceed.

  It seemed that everything with this man awakened two opposing influences. Percipia, who never doubted her choice or her path, found it disconcerting.

  It would be good when they parted.

  Even though she already suspected she would miss him. She reached for him again, wanting to have this task behind her, the scent of the Seed diminished in power, and her own clear thinking restored by the claiming of the Seed.

  “Why the hurry?” he asked and she spared him an incredulous glance.

  “Don’t you want to hurry?”

  “No. I feel your urgency, but I want to savor this.” He reached to unfasten her top. He eased the fastener open slowly, kissing every increment of flesh as it was revealed.

  Percipia was both impatient for him to hurry and swept away by sensation. “We should be quick,” she managed to say.

  “I think we should linger over pleasure,” he replied, sliding his tongue across her nipple.

  “We should just get it done,” she said, hearing the strain in her voice. She needed to claim the Seed! “We can do it slowly the next time.”

  “What if there is no next time?” Bond asked, his attention to her nipples distracting Percipia from her own sense of urgency. He pushed open her tunic and eased it over her shoulders, bracketing her waist with his hands. She looked into his eyes and was captivated by their sparkle. “What if there is only this one time? What if there is no tomorrow?” he murmured, his voice low and seductive. “Isn’t it better to linger in the moment and savor what we have, instead of assuming there will be more?”

  Percipia didn’t know what to say to that. Bond kissed her with possessive thoroughness, leaving her aching for more. “Do you eat as if food is just fuel for your body?” he whispered in her ear.

  “Yes,” Percipia admitted.

  He pulled back, surprised, then ran a fingertip across her lips. The touch made her shiver deep inside and she couldn’t pull away. “Haven’t you ever lingered over the pleasure of a meal?”

  “Not often.”

  “Over the power of intimacy?”

  She shook her head. “No. This goes there and it’s done. I don’t have a lot of patience for it, actually.”

  Bond smiled slowly and his hands locked around her waist again. “Then I have something to teach you, Diverta,” he whispered. “Come and take a lesson from me in enjoying the pleasures of the flesh.”

  She had no chance to reply because he kissed her again.

  Percipia chose to welcome his kiss and his lesson. She did like the weight of his hands on her skin and the surety of his caress. And the claiming of the Seed should be memorable. She closed her eyes again, trying to appreciate every bit of this sensation, and found herself on the bed. Bond was angled on top of her and she smiled to see him silhouetted against the stars. She recalled Sansor’s comment of angels being from a celestial realm in the sky and might have asked him if it was true, but he silenced her with another thorough kiss.

  It took half of forever and Percipia was surprised to discover that she liked that just fine. He rained kisses across her cheek to her ear, then made her laugh when he blew on the sensitive skin there. She closed her eyes again when his lips were on her neck, when he grazed her earlobe with his teeth.

  When his fingers slid between her thighs. Percipia gasped then he eased his fingertips inside her, his thumb creating a wicked riot of pleasure.

  “You don’t need to do that,” she said, hearing her usual practicality. “I’m ready.”

  “I’m not,” he replied lazily and began to use his fingers as well.

  Percipia heard herself moan and felt him ease lower, his lips on her breast, her nipple, the other nipple, her belly. His hands were on her breasts, then her waist, then her hips.

  She arched her back in pleasure when his mouth closed over her and his tongue flicked against her. She didn’t know where his hands were and didn’t care. She parted her thighs and arched her back, welcoming all the pleasure he had to give.

  Bond gave her plenty.

  Sansor listened, leaning his back against the door to his father’s bedroom. His father slept, the sound of his breathing raspy in the small space. He could hear the rumble of voices in the kitchen and knew that the angel was awake. He heard Percipia and her Carrier climb the stairs and shut the door of the attic room.

  There was silence then and he opened the door slightly.

  He heard Percipia moan. It was a sensual sound, a sound of desire and yearning and need that he could have made himself.

  All he had ever wanted was longevity, if not immortality, that he might complete his lessons and put his knowledge to work. He wanted to know everything and that would take time, far more time than he would live. He saw it in his father, a brilliant and wise man who still complained that he had read only a fraction of the works he wished to study.

  When Percipia had befriended him, Sansor had dared to hope that there might be a solution. When he fell in love with her, it had seemed more than possible. To become her HeartKeeper was his most fervent dream, to sip from the cup of longevity and have centuries to perfect his craft.

  But he wasn’t her Carrier of the Seed. He’d hoped for the duration of their friendship that she wouldn’t have one in his lifetime if it wasn’t him. Instead, that man had not only appeared, but had needed Sansor’s help. He hadn’t been able to decline, not when Percipia asked, but he hated this Bond with all his heart and soul.

  How could a fallen angel be given Sansor’s only dream?

  How could he not treasure it?

  Percipia would seduce Bond, and it would probably happen soon. Sansor had studied the phenomenon thoroughly, hoping to find a way to become the Carrier of her Seed himself.

  Bond didn’t love Percipia and Percipia didn’t love him. Sansor knew she had to fulfill her obligation to her kind, but would there be hope for him after she conceived?

  The chances were very, very small, given the historical record, but would be much improved with Bond out of the way.

  Sansor closed his eyes at the sound of the lovers’ urgency above. Percipia’s low laughter making his fists clench at his sides. He gazed at the ceiling as he heard them fall onto the narrow bed there together.

  He doubted the seduction would take long.

  He awakened his device with a sweep of his fingertips, easily finding the notification he’d seen earlier. The image showed the face of the man he’d helped. The Star Station police were seeking him, regarding the sudden departure of the Archangel.

  Sansor tapped in a message, declaring that the fugitive had been wounded and taken refuge in the attic of the apothecary.

  He paused, then added that the f
ugitive had taken the royal princess Percipia captive.

  Then Sansor sighed. It had been so easy to betray his beloved.

  But then, his dream was in ashes, and he had so very little left to lose.

  Bond coaxed Diverta to the height of pleasure. It was easy to do, because she was so responsive and passionate. He loved that she shouted with her release with such abandon.

  He had the strange sense that it might have been the first time for her and didn’t want to think about how that could be.

  Instead, he’d do it again.

  He gave her a moment to catch her breath then caressed her with his fingertips, easing the tip of his finger inside her slowly. Once again, she responded immediately and with enthusiasm, her lips parting and her eyes closing in pleasure. Bond smiled and continued slowly, deliberately, intent on securing a place in her memories.

  All the time he wondered. How long has she been earning her way as a siren? How many partners had she had? Bond wanted to stand apart in her memories and be one partner she remembered forever.

  He didn’t mind if he raised her expectations either.

  “Not again,” she murmured, a thread of longing in her voice. “It’s not possible.”

  Bond almost scoffed aloud. “It’s very possible. Let me show you.” He bent and kissed her slowly, replacing his fingertip with his tongue.

  She moaned softly in reply, melting beneath his caress.

  Bond whispered against the softness of her thigh. “The question is only whether the second time is better or the first.”

  “I want you,” she whispered and reached for him. Bond evaded her touch. He wanted to see her find her release again first.

  “After the third time,” he countered, then grazed her gently with his tooth.

  “You’re wicked,” she whispered, writhing on the bed. Her skin was flushed and her eyes shone when she glanced at him. Her lips were parted and her hair tousled. He was certain he’d never seen such a seductive woman in his mortal days.

  “That, Diverta, has always been the problem.” He grinned and when she might have asked a question, he kissed her again and felt her shudder with need. He took his time coaxing her response the second time, enjoying how her body revealed her enthusiasm. Had she really shimmered earlier? Or had that been an optical illusion? A trick of his own exhaustion? Gravity, he knew, affected some individuals in strange ways after a long time amongst the stars.

  Diverta arched off the bed and cried out, her legs locking around him as she found her release. She rocked back and forth and trembled, then shook as the tide passed through her.

  Then she exhaled and smiled at him, her eyes shining. “The second time was definitely better,” she whispered. “Although the first was good, too.” Her smile could have illuminated the room.

  She beckoned to him, but Bond left the bed and went to the small bathing area at one side of the room. It was clean and the water was hot. He found soap and a thick towel.

  He washed, intending to give her a few moments to recover before he pleasured her again. He also savored this pleasure, knowing it might be the last time he was able to wash at leisure. There was a large mirror above the sink and he watched Diverta roll to her stomach. She was still nude, but propped her elbows on the bed and braced her chin on her hands to watch him.

  Bond bristled a little, but knew that was foolish. She’d already seen his scars.

  He studied her in the mirror. He could see the shadow between her breasts and the curve of her buttocks. Her hair spilled over her back like a dark river against the pallor of her skin. She bent her knees and kicked her feet idly, looking very contented as she watched him. She looked both young and careful, and more alluringly feminine than any woman he’d known.

  Bond had time to smile at the contrast before she startled him with her words.

  “Do you miss flying?” she asked, her voice drowsy.

  Bond pivoted to face her in surprise. “Excuse me?”

  “Do you miss flying?” she repeated. Bond’s heart clenched but her gaze was steady. She raised her brows. “Soaring and gliding.”

  His heart clenched in terror. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said quickly, then checked the charge on his laze. He was trying to ignore her and it didn’t work. He was keenly aware of her, the vivid blue of her gaze, the way she watched him without blinking, the sharp prickle of her attention. He doubted that she missed any of his discomfiture.

  “I’m talking about your scars,” she continued. “The ones from the removal of your wings.”

  Bond caught his breath. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “No, I don’t,” she admitted easily and got up. She walked toward him, hips swinging. “But Sansor does. He has a book with a drawing of an angel, one that was fallen.”

  Bond watched her approach, transfixed, and turned as she began to wash herself. Her tone was almost idle, as if she mentioned something of little relevance or import.

  Instead of his nature.

  His secret.

  “It says they found him dead, but he had scars, just like you do. I saw the drawing. And it lists the names of the angels, too.”

  “What was his name?” Bond asked. The dead angel wouldn’t have completed his mission. He wouldn’t have had his wings restored. He would have been forgotten by the Host, lost in the mortal realm as if he had never existed. The truth of it made Bond fear for his own future.

  He’d been warned about angel hunters who wanted his kind as trophies.

  Was that why Diverta had brought him to this place?

  “I don’t know, but then, you’re sure I don’t know what I’m talking about anyway.” She gave him a sharp look, then sighed when he didn’t respond. “I didn’t know angels were so organized. All those legions and armies. It’s amazing.” She watched him, but Bond kept his expression impassive. Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I didn’t even think angels existed.” She reached out a finger to touch his chest before she smiled. “But you’re very real.” She moved closer, replacing her fingertip with her lips, and Bond felt desire surge within him again. “Was that a taste of paradise?” she whispered against his flesh and he heated to his toes.

  Temptation had always been his weakness, after all.

  Bond put his hands on her shoulders and stepped back, ensuring that there was a space between them. It didn’t help his resolve that her eyes had darkened and her lips had softened. “Where’s the book?”

  “In the kitchen.” She reached for him again. “What about that third time?”

  “Maybe there won’t be one.” He cast her a look. “Maybe tomorrow won’t come.”

  “But I have to have you,” she said with force. Her eyes flashed. “There has to be a third time and a mating.”

  Bond was struck by her choice of words, but attributed it to the culture of Incendium—or the slang of sirens. Once again he felt the press of time—and that conflict of needing to do two different things simultaneously, to follow two separate courses that led in opposite directions. “There were a lot of books in the kitchen. Which one was it?”

  She studied him for a moment, then turned to dress again. “I’ll get it for you, since you’re so interested.” She didn’t move as quickly as he might have liked.

  “What else did the book say about angels?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t read it all.” She tied back her hair and eyed him. “I was worried about you.”

  “You shouldn’t have been.”

  “I still am. Are you hungry?”

  “No.” But he was and she might have seen it in his expression.

  She lifted his laze from his hand, considered the charge, then held his gaze for a moment. “Just in case,” she mouthed and he wondered if she thought they’d been overheard.

  He was scanning the room for monitoring devices when she left and saw only her retreating figure. He could see that shimmer around her figure as she descended the stairs, although she didn’t make any sound. How
did she manage that?

  Was she a spy of some kind?

  Or a thief?

  Bond had no idea. He was concerned by how badly he wanted to know, and it wasn’t just because her truth might influence his own safety and mission.

  He was curious about Diverta.

  That was dangerous.

  When she’d disappeared from view, Bond sat down on the bed and put his hand upon his injured shoulder. He couldn’t detect any monitoring devices, so he had to act while Diverta was gone. He closed his eyes and concentrated, willing the wound to heal quickly, pouring his concentration into the cut. Healing was the only gift he retained from his angelic truth, though he’d never used it on himself.

  He hadn’t used it much at all in the mortal realm, because he feared that it would reveal his nature.

  Or lead to questions he couldn’t answer.

  No one was going to see him naked again, though.

  He felt the flesh knitting together and the muscles healing. He felt the typical warmth emanating from the wound, and his own exhaustion rising. He chose a balance point between his own energy and the state of his wound, hoping he’d kept enough strength while ensuring sufficient repair to his mortal vessel.

  Choices. Balance. Was that what mortals dealt with all the time? Bond hated it. He wanted everything all at once and hadn’t been accustomed to waiting.

  Much less sacrifice.

  He paced the width of the attic and back when he was done, trying to make sense of his own feelings. This sense of conflict regarding Diverta was new, of wanting to be with her but needing to leave her behind, of wanting her to go but worrying about her as soon as he couldn’t see her, of wanting to ensure her pleasure before his own...

  Bond came to an abrupt halt. Sansor was in the doorway, proving that Diverta wasn’t the only one who could move silently.