“I’m serious, K. Tell anyone, and I’ll deny it then hunt you down and chop off your head.”
Would she truly? Lysander wondered. Again, probably. He could not imagine hurting his Olivia, whom he loved like a sister. Maybe because she was not one of the Elite Seven, but was a joy-bringer, the weakest of the angels.
There were three angelic factions. The Elite Seven, the warriors and the joy-bringers. Their status was reflected in both their different duties and the color of their wings. Each of the Seven possessed golden wings, like his own. Warriors possessed white wings merely threaded with gold, and the joy-bringers’ white wings bore no gold at all.
Olivia had been a joy-bringer all the centuries of her existence. Something she was quite happy with. That was why everyone, including Olivia, had experienced such shock when golden down had begun to grow in her feathers.
Not Lysander, however. He’d petitioned the Angelic Council, and they’d agreed. It had needed to be done. She was too fascinated by the demon-possessed warrior Aeron. Too…infatuated. Ridding her of such an attraction was imperative. As he well knew.
His hand clenched into a fist. He blamed himself for Olivia’s circumstances. He had sent her to watch the Lords. To study them. He should have gone himself, but he’d hoped to avoid Bianka.
“Well, don’t just lie there. Tell me what you want to do more than anything else in the world,” Kaia exclaimed, once again drawing his attention.
Bianka uttered another sigh. “I want to sleep with a man.”
Kaia’s brow scrunched in confusion. “Uh, hello. Wasn’t that what we were just discussing?”
“No, dummy. I mean, I want to sleep. As in, conk out. As in, snore my ass off.”
A moment passed in silence as Kaia absorbed the announcement. “What! That’s forbidden. Stupid. Dangerous.”
Harpies lived by two rules, he knew. They could only eat what they stole or earned, and they could not sleep in the presence of another. The first was because of a curse on all Harpy-kind, and the second because Harpies were suspicious and untrusting by nature.
Lysander’s head tilted to the side as he found himself imagining holding Bianka in his arms as she drifted into slumber. That fall of dark curls would tumble over his arm and chest. Her warmth would seep into his body. Her leg would rub over his.
He could never allow it, of course, but that didn’t diminish the power of the vision. To hold her, protect her, comfort her would be…nice.
Would her skin be as soft as it appeared?
His teeth ground together. There was that ridiculous question again. I do not care. It does not matter.
“Forget I said anything,” Bianka grumbled, once more flopping to her back and staring up at the bright sky.
“I can’t. Your words are singed into my ears. Do you know what happened to our ancestors when they were stupid enough to fall asl—”
“Yes, okay. Yes.” She pushed to her feet. The faux fur coat she wore was bloodred, same as her lips, and a vivid contrast to the white ice around her. Her boots were black and climbed to her knees. She wore skintight pants, also black. She looked wicked and beautiful.
Would her skin be as soft as it appeared?
Before he realized what he was doing, he was standing in front of her, reaching out, fingers tingling. What are you doing? Stop! He froze. Backed several steps away.
Sweet heaven. How close he’d come to giving in to the temptation of her.
He could not wait any longer. Could not wait until she was alone. He had to act now. His reaction to her was growing stronger. Any more, and he would touch her. And if he liked touching her, he might want to do more. That was how temptation worked. You gave in to one thing, then yearned for another. And another. Soon, you were lost.
“Enough heavy talk. Let’s get back to our boring routine and jump,” Bianka said, stalking to the edge of the peak. “You know the rules. Girl who breaks the least amount of bones wins. If you die, you lose. For, like, ever.” She gazed down.
So did Lysander. There were crests and dips along the way, ice bounders with sharp, deadly ridges and thousands of feet of air. Such a jump would have killed a mortal, no question. The Harpy merely joked about the possibility, as if it were of no consequence. Did she think herself invulnerable?
Kaia lumbered to her feet and swayed from the liquor still pouring through her. “Fine, but don’t think this is the last of our conversation about sleeping habits and stupid girls who—”
Bianka dove.
Lysander expected the action, but was still surprised by it. He followed her down. She spread her arms, closed her eyes, grinning foolishly. That grin…affected him. Clearly she reveled in the freedom of soaring. Something he often did, as well. But she would not have the end she desired.
Seconds before she slammed into a boulder, Lysander allowed himself to materialize in her plane. He grabbed her, arms catching under hers, wings unfolding, slowing them. Her legs slapped against him, jarring him, but he didn’t release his hold.
A gasp escaped her, and her eyelids popped open. When she spotted him, amber eyes clashing with the dark of his, that gasp became a growl.
Most would have asked who he was or demanded he go away. Not Bianka.
“Big mistake, Stranger Danger,” she snapped. “One you’ll pay for.”
As many battles as he’d fought over the years and as many opponents as he’d slain, he didn’t have to see to know she had just unsheathed a blade from a hidden slit in her coat. And he didn’t have to be a psychic to know she meant to stab him.
“It is you who made the mistake, Harpy. But do not worry. I have every intention of rectifying that.” Before she could ensure that her weapon met its intended target, he whisked her into another plane, into his home—where she would stay. Forever.
CHAPTER TWO
BIANKA SKYHAWK GAPED at her new surroundings. One moment she’d been tumbling toward an icy valley, intent on escaping her sister’s line of questioning, as well as winning their break-the-least-amount-of-bones game, and the next she’d been in the arms of a gorgeous blond. Which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. She’d tried to stab him, and he’d blocked her. Freaking blocked her. No one should be able to block a Harpy’s deathblow.
Now she was standing inside a cloud-slash-palace. A palace that was bigger than any home she’d ever seen. A palace that was warm and sweetly scented, with an almost tangible sense of peace wafting through the air.
The walls were wisps of white and smoke, and as she watched, murals formed, seemingly alive, winged creatures, both angelic and demonic, soaring through a morning sky. They reminded her of Danika’s paintings. Danika—the All-Seeing Eye who watched both heaven and hell. The floors, though comprised of that same ethereal substance, allowing a view of the land and people below, were somehow solid.
Angelic. Cloud. Heaven? Dread flooded her as she spun to face the male who had grabbed her. “Angelic” described him perfectly. From the top of his pale head to the strength in that leanly muscled, sun-kissed body, to the golden wings stretching from his back. Even the white robe that fell to his ankles and the sandals wrapped around his feet gave him a saintly aura.
Was he an angel, then? Her heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t human, that was for sure. No human male could ever hope to compare to such blinding perfection. But damn, those eyes…they were dark and hard and almost, well, empty.
His eyes don’t matter. Angels were demon assassins, and she was as close to a demon as a girl could get. After all, her great-grandfather was Lucifer himself. Lucifer, who had spent a year on earth unfettered, pillaging and raping. Only a few females had conceived, but those that had soon gave birth to the first of the Harpies.
Unsure of what to do, Bianka strode around her blond; he remained in place, even when she was at his back, as if he had nothing to fear from her. Maybe he didn’t. Obviously he had powers. One, he’d blocked her—she just couldn’t get over that fact—and two, he’d somehow removed her coat and all her weapons without touching her.
“Are you an angel?” she asked when she was once again in front of him.
“Yes.” No hesitation. As if his heritage wasn’t something to be ashamed of.
Poor guy, she thought with a shudder. Clearly he had no idea the crappy hand he’d been dealt. If she had to choose between being an angel and a dog, she’d choose the dog. They, at least, were respectable.
She’d never been this close to an angel before. Seen one, yes. Or rather, seen what she’d thought was an angel but had later learned was a demon in disguise. Either way, she hadn’t liked the guy, her youngest sister’s father. He considered himself a god and everyone else beneath him.
“Did you bring me here to kill me?” she asked. Not that he’d have any luck. He would find that she was not an easy target. Many immortals had tried to finish her off over the years, but none had succeeded. Obviously.
He sighed, warm breath trekking over her cheeks. She had accidentally-on-purpose closed some of the distance between them; he smelled of the icecaps she so loved. Fresh and crisp with just a hint of earthy spice.
When he realized that only a whisper separated them, his lips, too full for a man but somehow perfect for him, pressed into a mulish line. Though she didn’t see him move, he was suddenly a few more inches away from her. Huh. Interesting. Had he increased the distance on purpose?
Curious, she stepped toward him.
He backed away.
He had. Why? Was he scared of her?
Just to be contrary, as she often was, she stepped toward him again. Again, he stepped away. So. The big, bad angel didn’t want to be within striking distance. She almost grinned.
“Well,” she prompted. “Did you?”
“No. I did not bring you here to kill you.” His voice was rich, sultry, a sin all its own. And yet, there was a layer of absolute truth to it, and she suspected she would have believed anything he said. As if whatever he said was simply fated, meant to be. Unchangeable. “I want you to emulate my life. I want you to learn from me.”
