“Take me.” And reaching up, I took his head and pushed it toward my neck, so that his mouth was there, hot and wet, and I felt the scrape of his teeth, and I wanted more. “Take me,” I whispered again. “Take everything.”

He tensed, froze in my arms, and for a moment I was terrified that he’d pull away from me. He lifted his head and looked at me, and there was such sorrow in his eyes, a sorrow I didn’t understand. “Allie,” he said softly.

But I was inexorable. My body was aching with need, a need I neither recognized nor understood; but I somehow knew I had to have his mouth on me, drinking from me, for me to finally feel complete. “Please,” I begged him, when I’d sworn I would never beg. “Feed.”

He kissed my lips, so gently I wanted to cry. He leaned down and kissed the side of my neck, with the same feathering sweetness. And then I felt the sharp, sweet, piercing pain as his teeth sank into my skin, felt the draw of him sucking at my neck, drinking from me, drinking life from me, and I felt tears running down my face, as I was finally made complete. Filling him as he was filling me.

His cock inside me seemed to swell, and I cradled his head against me, running my fingers through his thick, curling hair, whispering to him, soft words, love words.

And then he pulled away, rising up, and I could see my blood on his mouth, see the glitter in his eyes. He stared down at me, not moving, and I felt his climax deep inside me, giving me back what he had taken from me, and I joined him, flinging myself into the darkness with only him to guide me.

I MIGHT HAVE SLEPT MINUTES, hours, days. It didn’t matter. I was wrapped in Raziel’s arms, and neither of us was moving. I felt his hand brush my cheek, so gently. “You’re crying,” he whispered. “I hurt you. I knew I shouldn’t have.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” I said, rubbing my face against his hand like a hungry kitten. “I’m happy.”

He moved a fraction so he could look at me, and his expression was bemused. “Do you always cry when you’re happy?”

“I don’t know that I’ve ever been happy before,” I said simply.

He was about to argue, then stopped as he remembered my life, the life he knew almost as well as I did. “Maybe you haven’t,” he said finally, and kissed me.

I wondered if his mouth would taste of blood, but it didn’t. It just tasted like Raziel, and I kissed him back, then let him tuck me against his warm, naked body. I didn’t really want to move.

I ran my hand up his arm, my fingers delighting in the feel of him. “What does my blood taste like?”

His hand was at the back of my neck, his long fingers kneading the lingering tightness there, but at my words they stilled for a moment. “To me? Like honey wine, sweet and rich and intoxicating. Not like blood would taste to you.”

“So can you bite people and turn them into va—into blood-eaters?” I asked.

“No. Why would I want to? It’s a curse put upon us for disobeying God. Why in the world would I want to spread that curse, even if I could?”

“Because it would give eternal life, wouldn’t it?”

He knew what I was getting at, and he sighed, pulling me even closer. “No, Allie. It can’t be done. Humans are not made for the sacrament, and the one time one of the Fallen gave in to temptation, his mate died. It’s forbidden.”

“I was just curious,” I said.

“Of course you were.” His voice was wry.

“Are you always going to be able to read my thoughts?” I asked with a trace of asperity.

“I can try not to. When you’re feeling strong emotion, it will come to me, and it will go both ways. In day-to-day life, I can shield you.”

“And in bed? I’m assuming we’re going to do this again?” I held my breath, waiting for the answer. Was he still fighting it? Should I still fight it?

It was a long moment before he spoke, an endless one. “As often as possible,” he said.

I knew his thoughts, knew what he wanted. Now. Again. “Yes,” I said. “Yes.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I SHOULD HAVE FELT GUILTY. I HAD tried to resist, but in the end she’d just been too much for me. I’d fed from her, drunk deeply, and in doing so I tied her to me forever.

It was something I swore I would never do again. I had my choice, aeons ago, and I paid the price. There was no escape for me or the others, but for Allie it was different. As long as I had kept away from her vein there was still a chance she could eventually leave.

Not anymore. And having taken her blood, I was going to find her serving as the Source even more difficult. Dangerous. Not for me, but for whoever dared approach her. They might have to restrain me for the first year or so, until I learned to control my possessive fury.

I should have known I couldn’t stop myself. Not when she was pleading. And I should have known she would plead. A bonded mate needs that ultimate joining. Without it she never feels complete, and I’d accepted that she was, indeed, my wife. Once I’d taken her to bed it was a foregone conclusion, and it was remarkable I’d fought it for so long. I wasn’t usually so thickheaded.

I’d lied to her, shielding my mind so she wouldn’t know. There had been rare occasions when a mate had fed from her partner, but it was very dangerous. Four out of five times the woman would die. The fifth time she’d gain hundreds of years of life, as long as she continued to feed.

Morag had finally died when her mate had fallen beneath the Nephilim; she’d been well over eight hundred years old. I knew what Allie would do if she heard about it, and I couldn’t afford to let that happen.

I wasn’t going to worry about that now. I’d done my best to protect her—by taking her blood I’d made her escape impossible, and I was sorry for that.

But sorry for nothing else.

I left her sleeping. I would have preferred staying with her, but I had to find Azazel. I knew him well enough, could feel his energy, and I knew things were very bad. Sarah had been his soul. He would be empty without her.

I found him perched on the top of the ledge, looking down over the compound and the sea beyond it. The funeral pyre of the Nephilim had burned down to a few live coals, and I shuddered as I saw it. Our fear of fire is so deeply ingrained that it haunted me. Like us, the Nephilim were terrified of it, but we were too vulnerable to use it as a weapon.

I folded in my wings and sat down beside Azazel. He was staring at the boat that had hastily been built, the boat piled high with the bodies of our women and our dead brothers. Sarah would be on that boat. It would be set afire and then sent out to sea, a Viking burial to suit brave warriors, men and women alike. It was our ritual, one we couldn’t avoid, the only time we willingly embraced fire.