Maker's Song - In the Blood Part 28

Thorns p.r.i.c.ked Lilith's heart. "Now who's playing games? No matter how I answer, you'll tell her anyway."

"True, little dove. Pleasant breakfast."

Lilith resumed walking, head high. She was halfway down the corridor before it dawned on her that she'd never tucked the bloodstained paper back into her purse. Her blood turned to ice. She couldn't turn around and go back-she felt Gabriel's presence behind her, knew he scrutinized her movements, her body language. She could only hope the servant would sweep the paper up and throw it away.

She had another concern to add to the lost bit of paper. Why hadn't Star informed her of his forthcoming breakfast interrogation of Lucien?

Had he been hoping to surprise her and catch her off guard, perhaps? After all, she should've still been in their bed. Now, he was most likely wondering where she had gone in the small hours of the night.

Perhaps she'd simply tell him she'd been to see their daughter, but that thought left a bitter taste in her mouth. What if Hekate told him otherwise?

Lilith hurried from the aerie's mouth and launched herself into the night sky.

29 SACRAMENT.

Seattle, WA March 23/24

SHE TASTED AMARETTO AND parted her lips for more.

Fingers brushed against her cheek, trailed along the line of her throat and then down, whispering across the curve of her breast. Sudden heat fluttered through her belly, ignited between her legs. And the scent of burning leaves and early frost filled her nostrils like incense, summoning her from sleep.

Heather awakened and looked into Dante's gleaming eyes. Up on one elbow, he watched her, his fingers still caressing her breast through her pajamas, then he lowered his pale face and kissed her again.

Rolling onto her side, she kissed him back, drinking in the sweet taste of his lips. The intensity of her hunger, her need, surprised her. It burned at her core, white-hot. She skimmed her hand along his back, the feel of his silk-smooth skin and the hard muscles beneath sending hot tingles down her spine.

As the kiss deepened, Dante's hand slid from her breast, down along the curve of her waist, to her hip, and yanked her closer still. His heat baked into her, merged with the fire blazing within her. He shoved her pajama top up, baring her stomach and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He cupped her breast, and his mouth abandoned her lips to trail hot kisses down her throat to her nipple.

A small moan escaped her as he licked the stiffened peak, then sucked it into the wet heat of his mouth. The flutters in her belly intensified. She heard the sound of her own rapid breathing as she worked a hand between them and unbuckled his belt, unfastened his pants, regretting that she hadn't peeled them off when she'd put him to bed.

Dante brushed her fingers aside and finished unzipping his pants. With a low, impatient growl, he kissed her breast, then lifted his head. A blur of movement, a quick heated breeze, and then she heard the clink of his belt buckle as his pants. .h.i.t the floor.

Another blur of movement-white hands, sure and fast, and her pajamas and panties joined his leather pants.

Heather pressed herself against him again. They were still on their sides, face-to-face and skin to skin. She hooked a finger through the ring in his collar. Tugged and claimed him. Mine, she thought.

Dante's mouth closed over hers and she felt a sudden sting as he bit her lower lip, the pain vanishing almost instantly. He sucked blood from the wound, his kiss hungry and rough. His hand tucked between her legs, his fingers stroking and dipping and finding all the right spots.

She moaned softly against his lips, moving to the urgent rhythm of heated flesh and hungry lips and exploring hands, caught up in the music of small gasps and rapid breathing and pounding hearts.

Sliding her hand between them, Heather grasped him, stroking his hard, heated length, his skin velvet-soft beneath her fingers. Dante sucked in a breath, shivered, and the heat fluttering through her belly whirled into a thought-ashing firestorm.

Inching up against the pillows, she eased herself onto him. Dante moaned low in his throat and drove into her, pumping against her, with her. He kissed her, deep and wild, ravenous.

Heather gave in to her hunger, a dark and primal surrender. She grabbed at Dante's shoulder, his back, his hard-muscled a.s.s, digging her fingers in with all her strength as she pounded against him.

His motion matched hers, driving hard and fast, his fevered heat torching a bonfire blaze within her, sweat slicking their skin.

Heather gasped as his mouth slid down to her throat and his fangs pierced the skin. The quick sting vanished beneath his lips, and he sipped, drawing her into him, like she'd drawn him into her.

Without a word, he grasped her hand and interlaced his fingers with hers, their palms pushing together-a balance, a promise.

Pleasure pulsed through Heather and blue sparks lit the darkness behind her eyes. Dante drove deeper and faster, harder, and she came suddenly, the o.r.g.a.s.m's intensity stealing her voice. Dante's breath quickened and his lips returned to hers. She tasted her own blood on his lips, his tongue, copper and amaretto. Electric tingles p.r.i.c.kled along her spine, fluttered through her belly.

I'm inside of him.

Pleasure pyramided within her again, building and building. Music-vibrant, dark, and yearning-resonated between them, palm to palm, heart to heart. Blue fire lit Heather's mind and she cried out as pleasure poured hot through her veins like melted wax, rippling through her center and out, in wave after molten wave.

A low moan escaped Dante's lips. Heather opened her eyes and watched through her lashes as pleasure illuminated his beautiful face. Blue flames haloed their joined bodies, shimmered in the darkness.

His lips parted and his breathing became rough and ragged. He pounded into her faster, deeper. Cupping her hand against his face, she kissed him as his muscles tensed and he came. She came again with him, moaning against his lips as the o.r.g.a.s.m intertwined with the song pulsating through them.

One midnight-dark note held-burning and bittersweet, yet edged with hope-gradually fading as Dante's movement slowed. Heather wrapped herself around him, her thigh over his hip, her fingers in his hair. Dante held her tight, his breathing slowing, his heartbeat steady and strong against her cheek. His body fit against hers as though he'd been made for her alone, the second half of a locket clicking into place.

She never wanted this moment to end.

Just her and Dante, curled together. Bodies glistening with sweat, fingers entwined. Breathing as one.

No government conspiracies or buried memories; no deep, dark secrets; no loss.

Nothing beyond this moment, a moment that couldn't last.

Heather realized neither one of them had said a word. But that was okay. Everything she had to say to Dante at the moment, she'd said with her body and her lips. She hoped it was the same for him.

Dante stroked her shoulder, his touch soothing. He planted tender little kisses on her forehead and eyes and lips as she drifted back to sleep, satiated and relaxed, thinking, We'll go slower next time. Play more. And I swear to G.o.d I'm going to learn how to get his G.o.dd.a.m.ned pants off.

DANTE WATCHED HEATHER SLEEP, her head resting on his shoulder, her body warm and snug against him, one leg over his. He brushed her hair back from her face, trailed his fingers through its soft, tousled length. She smelled of lilac and musk, smelled warm and sticky and of him. She breathed easily, her lips slightly parted, her lashes shadowing the skin beneath her eyes.

Inside, it was quiet, the whispers hushed, as though Heather's embrace was a sacrament of silence, white and tranquil. He kissed her lips. Memorized her night-shadowed face, the feel of her against him, soft skin and taut muscles. Memorized the rhythm of her heart.

The noise has stopped, cherie.

Gray, predawn light spilled around the edges of the curtain, and he felt Sleep uncurling within him, mingling with the last of the morphine in his system.

He tried to remember what had happened at Vespers, but smacked into a wall. A hard, blank wall. D'accord. One step at a time. Onstage at Vespers. Singing. Performing. Sc.r.a.pping with Seattle nightkind. Heather pushing through the crowd. Then nothing. Dante sighed.

The next thing he knew, he was waking up beside Heather, not knowing where he was or how much time had pa.s.sed. It wasn't anything new, the not knowing or the loss of time. Yet he felt uneasy, and he wasn't sure why.

Something Heather had told him earlier? Rodriguez filed a malpractice lawsuit against...

Pain, like a red-hot skewer, lanced through his skull. Dante sucked in a breath and shut his eyes. Orange light cobwebbed the darkness behind his eyes. The pain faded. Sleep snaked through his veins, slowing his heart rate and damping down his heat.

He forced his eyes open. Try again. A malpractice lawsuit against Dr. Robert...

Another red-hot skewer twisted through his mind. This one didn't fade. Yeah, well, f.u.c.k it. Dante grabbed for the thought again. Pain corkscrewed in behind his left eye, intense and sharp and unrelenting. His vision grayed.

Dante eased out from under Heather and sat up, rested his aching head against his upraised knees. He tasted blood and wiped at his nose. He waited for the pain to either subside or kick him a.s.s-first into Sleep.

Something soft b.u.mped his calf and mewed a quiet question. Dante's fingers found and stroked Eerie's head, the warm fur soft as silk. He drew in a shuddering breath as the pain gradually released him. Eerie arched up into his hand, twisted around and arched again.

Sniffing back blood, Dante raised his head and looked at Eerie. He smoothed his hand down the length of the cat's spine.

A song curlicued into his mind, a symphony composed of sweeping genetic strings and twisting DNA rhythm. Electricity crackled along Dante's fingers and its reflected blue light danced in Eerie's eyes. Purring, the cat leaned against Dante's leg.

Dante closed his eyes and plucked at the strings, rearranged the rhythm, adding measures, new beats. Composed.

Strummed new chords. Imagined Eerie whole. Imagined Eerie walking and running.

Just as Dante lifted his hands, pain slashed a dissonant cross-rhythm across the melody he wove and the song split apart and unraveled, as did the white silence within, fraying beneath the sudden angry droning of wasps.

Let's see how long you can stay under.

I think he's dead. I think you killed him.

Tais toi, you fool. Put him in the trunk.

Pain jack-knifed Dante's thoughts, stole his breath. He opened his eyes. White light strobed at the edges of his vision. Then Sleep rushed over him in a black tide and shoved him beneath its lightless surface, but one image followed him into the dark-the image of Eerie jumping off the bed and slipping through the cracked-open door, blue sparks trailing from his fur.

30 SALT IN THE WOUNDS.

Gehenna, the Morningstar's Aerie March 2324

LILITH PULLED THE VEIL from her head, wadding it into a ball in her hand, as she marched into her aerie's s.p.a.cious living chamber. The Morningstar stood at the window in a purple kilt and white platinum torc and bracers, his gaze on the dying night beyond the gla.s.s. He tilted his head in her direction, but didn't look at her.

"Ah, there you are, my love," he said. "I was beginning to wonder."

"When were you going to tell me about your plans for this morning?"

"At the last moment." He turned around to face her. "But you weren't here."

"I couldn't sleep."

"Truly?" Star murmured. "You certainly looked asleep when I saw you last." A smile brushed his lips. "Faking, my love?"

"When necessary."

He chuckled. His blue eyes gleamed in the darkness pooled beside the window. "That's my Lilith."

"I am not your Lilith," she said, throwing her veil at him. It floated like a crimson leaf to the pale, polished floor. She stared at the veil in frustration.

"Funny," Star said. "I could've sworn that for the last five centuries or so, you've been exactly that."

A nephilim servant in a rose-colored kilt entered the room and lit the incense brazier. As he tucked a lock of hair the color of sunripened wheat behind one ear, Lilith was able to put a name to him-Vel, another of the Morningstar's half-blood and never- ending brood. The myrrh's smoky scent mingled with the fragrance of the white-blossomed jasmine climbing the room's north wall.

After a glance at his father for any other instructions, Vel padded from the room.

"You must've spoken to Gabriel," Star said, ambling away from the window. "Since he's the only one I told about this meeting." "I went to see the Chaos Seat," Lilith said, deciding to tell the same story she'd told Gabriel. She had no doubt he and Star would compare notes. "I wanted to remind myself of everything we've lost because of Lucien."

Star arched one white eyebrow. "Lucien?"

"Samael," she clarified. Before she could say another word or draw in another breath, a faint song curled through her mind, dark and beautiful and haunting. The song faded like a half-heard whisper, like the last dregs of sleep, then disappeared. Lilith's pulse raced.

Anhrefncathl.

One look into the Morningstar's wide blue eyes told her he'd heard it too, but the furrow between his brows told her he wasn't certain. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Chaos song. Faint, but..." He searched her eyes. "I didn't imagine it."

"I heard nothing," Lilith said, keeping her voice even. "Are you sure?"

She crossed to the window and looked outside to see if anyone else had heard and was now winging with joy into the predawn sky. The graying skies were empty. She breathed a little easier. Perhaps no one else had heard because they still slept.

"Yes, I'm sure. I'd wager my wings that our so-called Lucien knows exactly where this Maker is."

Lilith swiveled to face Star. "Why do you think Lucien knows?"

"He was living in the mortal world, my love. The creawdwr's song would've plucked at his essence like fingers upon harp strings. Drawn him. And Samael or Lucien or whatever he wishes to call himself would've answered."

"If you did hear a creawdwr, then we need to claim him or her before Gabriel does," Lilith said. "And, if Lucien has hidden this Maker like you believe, you'll need my help to discover where."

Star regarded her for a long moment through his silver lashes, his handsome face thoughtful. "You betrayed his name. Why would he want anything to do with you?"

"He owes me," Lilith said, her hands gripping the tiled windowsill behind her. "He's even admitted as much. If I arranged for his escape, he might trust me enough-"

"To lead you to the creawdwr," Star mused. "Perhaps..."

he sent, eyes alight.

"Of course," Star murmured. "But first the throne."