“W-what do you want?”
That flat black stare lifted to her face again. This time she felt certain it was pulling her in. “You.”
She blinked, pressing her thighs together in a feeble attempt to squelch the unsettling throb between them. “I don’t understand.”
“I think you do.”
“You want me to take his place? I cannot—”
“No. I want you naked and writhing beneath me.”
Stunned outrage flashed through her, followed too closely by a rush of heat that could have blown up from the very depths of Hell itself. She should have stepped back and demanded for him to stop such appalling behavior. It wasn’t proper, it couldn’t happen—
But his voice drew her along as easily as a bit of tissue caught up in a strong draft, blown this way and that, helpless as to the direction or the destination. “I want you, your sweetness, your light. I want to bury myself in it. You, crying out my name. That’s what I want.”
“I’ll never say your name,” she snapped, as if this were the most offensive suggestion he’d made. “You want to ruin me.”
“Oh, no,” he murmured, and she closed her eyes as his hand came up and stroked her hair. “Don’t play coy. You know me. You tried to ignore it, but you know how I’ve wanted you. For all my centuries of hatred, death and decadence, you…” He exhaled shakily, and she opened her eyes in time to see him close his own. “You are somehow perfection.”
This proposition from any other of his kind would send her fleeing. And, as he implied, he should be repulsed by her, not tempted. Why he’d wanted her throughout all these millennia was a mystery to her. She’d always felt it, sensed it, though he’d never put his desire into words. Until now.
Gathering her frazzled senses at last, she straightened and lifted her chin. “Apparently, you’ve spent too long in the fire. You’ve finally lost what’s left of your mind.”
“I’ve spent too long in the fire, all right.” The sensual fullness of his lips became a wry slash.
“Be that as it may, there will be no deals of that nature between us. I want to take the matter before the mediator.”
His brow wrinkled. “Don’t make yourself look foolish because you’re angry at me.”
“No foolishness. I simply think it could be argued Adam was too young and impulsive to fully understand the consequences of his agreement.”
Damael scoffed. “They all are, whether they’re seventeen or seventy. Don’t you think?”
“My mind’s made up.”
“Very well. But keep in mind, there’s an easy way to get through this, with guaranteed victory on your part.” His gaze took another journey down the length of her body, and she fought the urge to wrap her arms around herself even though she was completely covered. “Easy and, dare I say, far more pleasurable than listening to Nicolae’s prattling.”
Without another word to him, Celeste turned and exited the room through the closed door. She had to get him out of her sight. Had to. It wasn’t because she was tempted—
Well, all right, she was. To the tips of her wings, she was tempted. He must be here to do just that: tempt her, make her stumble, watch her fall. She had to keep reminding herself of the demons she’d seen in true form…dripping maw, giant webbed wings, burning yellow eyes with narrow black slits for pupils. Scales blackened from millennia spent near hellfire. Nothing at all like their beguiling personas on earth.
Here, on this neutral playing field, they were each in humanlike form. Otherwise her light would strike him blind. His darkness could have any number of adverse effects on her, if he so desired. And neither was allowed at this juncture.
She wanted to win Adam’s soul, but not on Damael’s terms. No matter how her traitorous body responded to his touch. How much more would it respond if that touch wandered elsewhere? She couldn’t allow it, even if it meant losing again.
Losing.
In this matter, it was so much more than a simple blow to her pride. It doomed a soul to everlasting slavery, all because of a moment of poor judgment. One moment of giving in to Damael’s mesmeric smile and his promises of fame and riches and glory beyond one’s wildest imaginings, of making all their dreams come true. She could almost understand why they did it, why they were eager to do it. After all, she wanted to believe he might actually give her what he promised if she succumbed to his will.
Would he really release Adam from the agreement?
Giddiness rose in her chest at the very thought of telling that man he was free. Telling him to go and enjoy his life and exorcise that haunted shadow in his eyes.
It would really feel…incredible.
She startled as Damael drew up close beside her, resisting the urge to leap away. He presented her with the most frustrating conundrum—she didn’t want him to touch her, but didn’t want him to see her skittishness around him. Her weakness.
“Are we off, then?” he asked, his face schooled into its usual dispassionate expression. “I’d rather get this over with.”
Her earlier giddiness crashed and burned in her chest, to be replaced with burning anxiety. The mediator was her only chance. If she failed—and most likely she would—there would be no further recourse available. Adam’s fate would be in Damael’s hands.
And in her own, now that he’d made his proposal. Damn that demon.
Chapter Two
Damael watched Celeste skirt gingerly around the mortals and couldn’t repress a smile. While she avoided the primitive sludge of human emotion, he plowed through it, fascinated as always by their fears and insecurities. Naturally such things would be repellant to his angelic adversary and unfortunately for her, those assorted unpleasantries were so prevalent in the human psyche that she made attempts to avoid any contact with them whatsoever.
He dropped the smile as he thought of how that must make her feel, and then cursed himself for caring. If it had been any of her haughtily pious cohorts, he’d have laughed in their faces about it. But Celeste…she carried the burden of it all. He could see it, see the heartbreak in her eyes when she witnessed the world’s suffering. Every ounce of compassion she possessed showed on her face. It mirrored every crack in her heart.
Which made him want to bring a puppy back from the dead or something, just to give her a miniscule reason to smile.
Either he was imagining things, or that angel grew more exquisite with each passing century. That pissed him off.
It had been a few decades since he’d last seen her. In that time—and every time she was absent from his sight for a long period—he’d almost convinced himself he was imagining attributes she didn’t possess. Her copper hair didn’t really shine like that, her robes weren’t as pristine as new-fallen snow, and the grace with which she carried herself didn’t remind him of swans floating tranquilly across—
What kind of a blathering idiot was he?
The answer came quite easily. The kind that got himself into situations like this.
But those eyes…ah, Hell, that’s when he had to give up lying to himself. Those eyes could kill him with a wink, if they didn’t drown him first. Or invite him to go flying off forever into their endless blue, never to come back again.
That cerulean gaze hit him full force as they exited the building into the night and she turned on him. “Are you ready to go now?”
“I’m never ready to see Nicolae. But, if you insist… Shall I do the honors?”
She nodded, focusing her attention on one of the tour buses parked nearby. Fans had swarmed the fence blocking off the loading docks, hoping to catch a glimpse of their idols as they exited the building. Adam, never one to neglect them, often strolled over to sign autographs after a show. He hadn’t appeared to be in the mood tonight, however.
Too bad. Tomorrow night, he wouldn’t be here. Tomorrow night, there would be candlelight vigils and an extensive media circus. Lead singer of Without Disgrace found dead. Was it an accidental overdose? Suicide? Foul play? Ordinarily Damael would be rubbing his h
ands together in glee at the mere thought. Chaos and destruction were his forte.
But not when Celeste kept looking at him in that way of hers.
He tried to push the concern far from his thoughts as he conjured the teleportation spell that swept them from the bustling arena to the relative silence outside Nicolae’s rambling old mansion a thousand miles away. Here, only the sounds of nature prevailed, and the thick forest surrounding the area was rife with them.
Without a word, Celeste turned and walked toward the front door. He grudgingly followed, resigning himself to the fact that there simply was no banishing this ridiculous infatuation from his thoughts. Why even try? Centuries’ worth of lust wasn’t easily wiped away.
Sometimes he thought his masters kept his nose to the grindstone this way because it tortured him so much to wonder if she might be the one to appear and try to undo his wrongs. The bastards got off on things like that.
Their latest concoction was a masterpiece, anyway.
If you want her, take her. It’s about time, isn’t it? Promise her whatever she wants, then take everything she has. There are no laws forbidding it.
None in their lands, at least. Indeed, there were very few laws at all. He was prohibited from harming her at this juncture, destroying her. But lying? Cheating? Stealing? Seducing? All allowed. More than allowed; his kind thrived on it.
The thought of turning those tried-and-true techniques on Celeste thrilled him…almost as much as it sickened him. It didn’t matter. He’d slyly charmed his way under plenty of nun’s habits, but an angel would be a tough nut to crack. In fact, he was fairly certain he would sing “Kumbaya” around campfires in Hell before it ever happened. But he’d been ordered to make the offer, and he knew the consequences of refusing. In the grand scheme of things, it seemed a rather harmless bit of amusement to ruffle her feathers. He would have fun taunting her about it. And dreaming…
She glanced back at him as one delicate hand reached up to push open the front door to Nicolae’s hidden home. “I appreciate you not fighting me on this, at least.”
He returned her look dispassionately—at the very least, he hoped nothing showed on his face—and shrugged. “You aren’t going to win. It’s a waste of your time, but it’s all the more time I get to spend with you, my sweet.” He dredged up one of his most charming smiles for her and chuckled when she scoffed.
As soon as she turned away, the smile shattered. If anything existed in the universe that could put dampers to centuries of passionate longing, it was being here.
Nicolae’s perpetually bored expression didn’t lift as the two of them entered his study. As one of the few mediators for their kind on earth, he was completely neutral, and everything about his demeanor and dwelling attested to that. There was no happiness to see Celeste in his old, seamed face, no disgust to see Damael, nor vice versa. His walls were mostly bare and the sacred books of both realms lined his bookshelves. One small lamp burned on his desk, and where its light lost the battle with the gloom, shafts of moonlight crossed the ceiling from a set of high windows.
Nicolae leaned back in his tall chair and pressed his fingertips together, gaze roaming from one to the other as they took their seats. The mediators were mortal—because no one in his or her right mind would want to settle disputes such as this for all of eternity—and the only humans on earth who could see their kind at all times.
Celeste perched daintily on the edge of her chair. Damael slouched beside her in his own, arms crossed over his chest, as uninterested in this entire affair as their host looked. Celeste kept her eyes trained on the man, an effort Damael was certain was deliberate. She didn’t want to look at him.
Or rather, she wanted to. She wanted to feast her eyes on him, and that wasn’t his arrogance making baseless assertions. He could see it. Ever since his indecent proposal, she’d gone to almost ridiculous lengths to avoid meeting his gaze directly. She couldn’t let herself look at him because she couldn’t let herself be tempted.
Celeste wasn’t some untrained wingless cherub on her first assignment. She was an old pro, and she’d certainly known him long enough that nothing he could ever say or do should shock her at this point. She was familiar with his dastardly ways.
The only explanation was that she wanted to give in. He wasn’t foolish enough to ever foster false hope, but the fact that she wanted it as much as he did was almost enough.
Almost.
“State your matter,” Nicolae said, and Celeste could swear the man was trying to stifle a yawn.
Damael shifted beside her, and a glance his way showed him to be pulling the contract out of his pocket. He tossed the scroll onto the massive, gleaming oak desk and resumed his former position, crossing an ankle over his knee. “Blooded contract. Adam Matthewson thought a few years of rock stardom would be worth the tortures of Hell.”
Nicolae settled his spectacles on his nose. He unfurled the scroll and eyed it critically, showing a sign of life Celeste was thankful for. He did take his tasks seriously, she had to give him that. His lips twitched under his thick white moustache as he read.
Knowing he was seeing the same airtight language she had, Celeste cleared her throat and spoke.
“Adam was seventeen years old when he signed his soul away. He had no real guidance, was moved from foster home to foster home—” it was here Damael feigned playing a violin, “—and had no money whatsoever. His future was bleak, but making music was all he ever wanted to do with his life. Given his mental and spiritual immaturity at the time of signing, I propose he be released from the contract.”
“Hmm,” Nicolae said, still reading. Perhaps she’d been wrong. He didn’t seem to have heard a word she said.
“He was bounced from foster home to foster home because he was a delinquent,” Damael said. “He had no guidance because he rejected any and all attempts made to reach out to him. I appeared to him because he asked for me.”
“Really?” Celeste snapped, turning her face toward him but keeping her eyes cast downward. “You mean, one day he offhandedly remarked to a buddy, ‘Dude, I’d sell my soul to the devil for a record contract’, and you took that as an engraved invitation?”
His grin was infuriating even though she wouldn’t let herself look, she wouldn’t. The blinding white of his teeth teased at the edges of her vision. “Something to that effect.”
“I doubt very much he truly believed in what he was doing.”
“But he did it. He was all too eager to do it.”
“He was desperate for some kind of change. He would have tried anything.”
“Weren’t all the ones you’ve lost? Did that exonerate them?”
Nicolae made a gruff sound in his throat, probably more to shut them up than to clear his throat. He glanced at her over his glasses, his gray eyes not unkind nor unsympathetic, but firm. “Well, my dear, I’m afraid your opponent has left no loopholes.”
It would’ve been so easy to sag in defeat. She was proud of the steely ring she managed to force into her voice. “Based on Adam’s particular set of circumstances, his age and his mental state, it could be—”
Nicolae shook his head, his wrinkled hands already working at rolling up the parchment. They were nowhere near as graceful as Damael’s had been when he performed the same action earlier. Graceful, elegant…surely those hands could never be harsh on her body—
Truly? Remember the horrific things you’ve seen him do as the final grain of sand slips through a doomed mortal’s hourglass.
Things she didn’t want to see him do again.
“Trouble is,” Nicolae said, “based on individual circumstances, I could overturn them all. There are so many different situations that force people into these agreements, most all of them desperate or hopeless. You know this.”
Celeste cast her gaze to her lap. “Yes, I know. I had to try. It sickens me that he approached one so young and—”
“Pardon me for being an evil bastard. It’s what I do.”
“Y
ou’re certainly good at it.”
Nicolae ignored their arguing, addressing her directly. “Understandable. It’s nothing to take lightly.” She kept looking down as the contract exchanged hands again, going back into the safety of Damael’s pocket. She wanted to snatch it from him, rip it into a million pieces, cast it into the fire. It wouldn’t make any difference. He had to be the one to perform that particular action to nullify it. “Your only hope at this point is if he offers a compromise,” Nicolae finished. “If he’s willing, I’ll be glad to hear it.”
“I’ve offered a compromise,” Damael said casually. The words brought her head around, and she stared at him in shock. His gaze flickered in her direction, one corner of his mouth tilting upward in a smirk she wanted to slap off his pale, beautiful face. “I offered it well before we stepped through your door. She only needs to be persuaded to take it.”
“And what is that, might I ask?” Nicolae inquired in his monotone as he jotted notes about their meeting in a massive ledger sitting on his desk.
“All I require is a few hours of her time, spent at my discretion…if you catch my meaning. And I’ll shred this contract before her very eyes.”
The old man paused in his writing and glanced at her as her cheeks went up in flames.
“Well, this is a first. And I don’t say that often.”
“An outrage is what it is,” she muttered, beating back the shame that threatened to consume her. Shame that she was…not considering it, really, but contemplating…
No. She wasn’t even doing that.
“In that case, are we done here?” In a single fluid motion, Damael stood and snapped his jacket straight, his unwavering stare trained on the mediator. She sat a moment in astonishment that he didn’t want to stay and debate the matter to death. Her knuckles were aching from gripping the arms of her chair so hard, and she realized it was because she wanted to grab his arm, tug him back down. Talk this out some more.