blood.
“Charming,” murmured Japheth, shifting to human shape for a moment to shrug his tux jacket off in the heat and toss it aside. “We miss all the good parties.” But an undercurrent of contempt tainted his voice sharp as his golden wings shimmered back in.
“Speak for yourself,” said Dash cheerfully.
“Where are we?”
“Ibiza.”
“What’s he doing in Ibiza?”
“Do you need to ask?” Dash gestured, and Japheth sighed. Because there, against the courtyard wall in a jasmine vine’s dappled moon shadow, stood Michael.
Naked. Shining with oil and sweat. Ice-pale hair tousled and damp, glittering glacier-blue wings swept back. The broad, luminous curve of his back flexed, thigh muscles rippling as hefucked whatever it was he had trapped between him and the wall, slow and hard. Boy or girl, human or angel or monster, it didn’t matter to him, and despite what some people thought, no one in heaven gave a damn either. An equal-opportunity slayer of sanity, was Michael.
Dash sauntered up, dragging Japheth with him. Jae looked overdressed in his crisp white shirt. They both did. “Mike, how’s it hanging?”
No reaction. Asshole.
The girl—it was a girl—whimpered, her eyes glazed, cheek pressed to the rough plaster. Michael’s hair fell on her shoulder, shining ice-bright in the moonlight, and the ends sliced fine scarlet cuts into her skin. Bite marks bled on her throat, her breasts pink and bruised.
After five millennia, the archangel knew his own strength. He just didn’t care.
“Michael.” Japheth’s voice was soft, short.
Michael glanced around, diamond-blue eyes glowing with pleasure. His smile flashed, homicidal. “Just a sec,” he murmured, and in a few more hard thrusts, he came, sighing deeply. The girl writhed and shrieked, like she’d been burned, which she possibly had. Many things about Michael were deadlier than they looked.
The archangel lighted off her, and drifted gracefully over to them. His naked body glowed in hot moonbeams, moist and magnificent. Dash was totally straight, but he knew perfection when he saw it.
“Japheth, what a lovely surprise. You look stunning.” Michael pulled the golden-winged angel into a hug.
Japheth didn’t hug him back, Dash noticed. Just stood there, eyes closed, until Michael stepped away.
“And Dashiel,” Michael added, not so warm. “How nice. Shall we go inside?” He slipped a black silken wrap around his hips and led the way, feet barely brushing the tiles.
Inside, beyond wide glass doors, lay a dark living room, cool and scented with orange blossom. Bookshelves stuffed neatly, a television, bottles of spirits in rows. Not Michael’s things. Just some place he borrowed.
But a curled-iron birdcage hung from a stand, and a fat white cherub plopped on its ass inside, plump little legsdangling outside the bars. On the floor sat another cage, and inside hunkered a pale, bruised hellcreature on an inward-spiked neck chain. His pointy head shone hairless, and finlike wings sprouted from his knobbly back. He muttered and chewed his fingers, ravenous.
Michael’s pets. The cherub was new. Mike tended to kill his playthings. But the knuckle-munching demon-thing was a favorite, apparently, and Dashiel’s stomach coiled as Michael wiggled affectionate fingers through the bars and dropped in a ragged-tendoned human bone. The thing scuttled over on all fours and grabbed it, gnawing with satisfaction.
A scrawny human minion in a white waiter’s uniform scrambled to pour iced water, and Michael flung himself onto the black velvet couch. “What?”
Dash sat opposite, tugging an unwilling Japheth beside him. He sipped his drink, relishing the chilled liquid, and sent the minion a blistering scowl, just in case it was the one who’d answered the phone. “What do you know about blood in Babylon Bay?”
“Nothing.” Michael didn’t hesitate. “What do you know about it?”
Dash glanced at Jae, who sighed and answered. “Luniel
“Charming,” murmured Japheth, shifting to human shape for a moment to shrug his tux jacket off in the heat and toss it aside. “We miss all the good parties.” But an undercurrent of contempt tainted his voice sharp as his golden wings shimmered back in.
“Speak for yourself,” said Dash cheerfully.
“Where are we?”
“Ibiza.”
“What’s he doing in Ibiza?”
“Do you need to ask?” Dash gestured, and Japheth sighed. Because there, against the courtyard wall in a jasmine vine’s dappled moon shadow, stood Michael.
Naked. Shining with oil and sweat. Ice-pale hair tousled and damp, glittering glacier-blue wings swept back. The broad, luminous curve of his back flexed, thigh muscles rippling as hefucked whatever it was he had trapped between him and the wall, slow and hard. Boy or girl, human or angel or monster, it didn’t matter to him, and despite what some people thought, no one in heaven gave a damn either. An equal-opportunity slayer of sanity, was Michael.
Dash sauntered up, dragging Japheth with him. Jae looked overdressed in his crisp white shirt. They both did. “Mike, how’s it hanging?”
No reaction. Asshole.
The girl—it was a girl—whimpered, her eyes glazed, cheek pressed to the rough plaster. Michael’s hair fell on her shoulder, shining ice-bright in the moonlight, and the ends sliced fine scarlet cuts into her skin. Bite marks bled on her throat, her breasts pink and bruised.
After five millennia, the archangel knew his own strength. He just didn’t care.
“Michael.” Japheth’s voice was soft, short.
Michael glanced around, diamond-blue eyes glowing with pleasure. His smile flashed, homicidal. “Just a sec,” he murmured, and in a few more hard thrusts, he came, sighing deeply. The girl writhed and shrieked, like she’d been burned, which she possibly had. Many things about Michael were deadlier than they looked.
The archangel lighted off her, and drifted gracefully over to them. His naked body glowed in hot moonbeams, moist and magnificent. Dash was totally straight, but he knew perfection when he saw it.
“Japheth, what a lovely surprise. You look stunning.” Michael pulled the golden-winged angel into a hug.
Japheth didn’t hug him back, Dash noticed. Just stood there, eyes closed, until Michael stepped away.
“And Dashiel,” Michael added, not so warm. “How nice. Shall we go inside?” He slipped a black silken wrap around his hips and led the way, feet barely brushing the tiles.
Inside, beyond wide glass doors, lay a dark living room, cool and scented with orange blossom. Bookshelves stuffed neatly, a television, bottles of spirits in rows. Not Michael’s things. Just some place he borrowed.
But a curled-iron birdcage hung from a stand, and a fat white cherub plopped on its ass inside, plump little legsdangling outside the bars. On the floor sat another cage, and inside hunkered a pale, bruised hellcreature on an inward-spiked neck chain. His pointy head shone hairless, and finlike wings sprouted from his knobbly back. He muttered and chewed his fingers, ravenous.
Michael’s pets. The cherub was new. Mike tended to kill his playthings. But the knuckle-munching demon-thing was a favorite, apparently, and Dashiel’s stomach coiled as Michael wiggled affectionate fingers through the bars and dropped in a ragged-tendoned human bone. The thing scuttled over on all fours and grabbed it, gnawing with satisfaction.
A scrawny human minion in a white waiter’s uniform scrambled to pour iced water, and Michael flung himself onto the black velvet couch. “What?”
Dash sat opposite, tugging an unwilling Japheth beside him. He sipped his drink, relishing the chilled liquid, and sent the minion a blistering scowl, just in case it was the one who’d answered the phone. “What do you know about blood in Babylon Bay?”
“Nothing.” Michael didn’t hesitate. “What do you know about it?”
Dash glanced at Jae, who sighed and answered. “Luniel
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