Nocturne

“That’s the crudest thing I’ve ever heard anyone say.”



“Really? But it seems so practical! You have a—well, I won’t exactly call it a talent—you have a commodity, and many people desire it, and you could find some worthwhile purpose in your life by exploiting it. I don’t see the drawbacks.”



“You’re so vulgar,” he said and turned away.



I came close enough to put a hand on his arm, but he kept his back to me. “Are you shy? Is that it? Out of practice? There are a couple of workers down at the school who used to be angel-seekers, unless I miss my guess. I’m sure one of them would be glad to help you through the awkward parts.”



Now he swung around to face me again. “And who else at the Gabriel School used to be an angel-seeker?” he flung at me. He was angry enough now that he wanted to hit back, and hit back hard. “You? Did you try bedding angels when it turned out your friend was the only one who could catch the attention of a Manadavvi lord?”



I gasped, and then I slapped him so fast I wasn’t even aware of forming the intention. He grabbed my wrist before I could strike him a second time. He twisted me closer, my arm bent against his chest so I could not get leverage to punch him with my other hand; his grip was astonishingly strong.



“That’s obscene,” I panted. “Reuel Harth was a murderer.”



“But you don’t deny the secondary charge,” he purred. “So you were an angel-seeker—either before or after you had your adventures at the Manadavvi compound.”



“Oh, no, I wasn’t,” I spat out at him. “I find you all worthless and weak, despite the fact you think you’re gifts straight from Jovah’s hands. Until I met you, I never wanted to speak to one of you, let alone take one as a lover—”



“And now that you’ve met me?” he whispered. “You want me as a lover?”



“That’s not what I meant to say—”



But it didn’t matter what I meant to say. He jerked me even closer, wrapped his other arm around my shoulders, and covered my mouth with a hard kiss. My skin went up in a blaze of heat; my bones melted against his body. I felt his wings settle around me, caging me, trapping me, exciting me with their delicate, whispering touch. I wrenched my head back to gulp for air, and then lunged forward again, locking my lips to his. Somehow I had gotten my right hand free, or he had released me, because now I had both of my arms around his waist, under his shirt, and I began sliding my palms up and down his hot skin. My fingers reached the ridged, muscular juncture where his wings met his shoulder blades, and I rubbed my thumbs across the roughened skin. He moaned with pleasure and shuddered in my grip.



“If you’ve never slept with an angel,” he murmured, “how did you know to do that?”



“Instinct,” I laughed against his mouth. “Anything that seems too private to touch—should be touched. In circumstances like this.”



He kissed me again. “I thought you didn’t come here so you could take me as a lover.”



“I came here to drag you out of your bitterness and isolation. If seducing you is the only way to do it, well, I’m prepared to make the sacrifice.”



Now he laughed, but the sound was shaky. “I can’t—I’m not—I’m not thinking clearly right now and any decisions I make—any choices—might not be rational—”



I deliberately leaned in to rub myself against him. It was immediately clear other parts of his body were also responding to my touch. My fingers tiptoed up his spine again to caress the hard mass of tissue guarding the muscles of his wings. Again he gasped, then he drew me so close that I was lifted off my feet.



“Let’s not be rational,” I suggested. “Let’s do things that will embarrass both of us in the morning.”



He did not bother answering that. He merely carried me across the cluttered room to a door that led to an equally messy bedroom, kissing me the entire way.



If you’ve never made love to an angel, I highly recommend the experience.



There was no light, or only what little seeped in from my lonely lamp, yet that seedy, cramped room seemed lit with fey radiance. I writhed beneath him, my arms twined around his neck, his wings reared up over both our heads like a divine canopy. I felt sheltered, protected, free to open myself to him completely because no danger could make it past the haven of his wings. My hands explored his ribs and hips while his body worked above mine, driving me to frenzy and then to satisfaction. When he cried out and collapsed upon me, gasping for breath, I kissed his cheek and murmured into his hair.



“Oh, I think you’ve definitely found your purpose in life. No need for all this trauma and despair.”



He laughed into my ear. “I don’t think you can be sure yet,” he whispered. “We’ll need to experiment a few more times.”



And we did.



CHAPTER 7



When I woke up the next morning, my first thought was that I was glad the angel was blind. Sweet Jovah singing himself into laughing hysteria, I must look like a mad street beggar, my hair in tangles, my lips puffy from too many kisses, my face pale from lack of sleep. But, oh, the angel curled up beside me, his cheek still resting on my naked shoulder—he looked sublimely serene. I could not remember the last time I had seen Corban’s face so peaceful. He still bore traces of neglect from four days of wretchedness, but they just served to add a scoundrel’s charm to his everyday symmetrical beauty. I felt his whiskers scratch my bare skin, and I couldn’t help smiling as I gently combed a finger through his knotted hair.



My second thought was that it wasn’t exactly morning.



I frowned as I glanced at the boarded-up window, which nonetheless allowed a few rays of energetic sunlight to muscle in. It had to be well past noon, and it seemed odd that Alma had not come upstairs before this to check on the angel. If she had heard me creep in during the night, she might have realized that I was still on the premises and decided not to intrude on us. But surely she had become alarmed by now and wondered if she might have missed my exit later. She knew how fragile Corban was. She would not leave him alone too long.



No one at the school would expect me to make an appearance for another hour or two; I was safe from inquiry there. But Alma’s absence was troubling.



I kissed Corban on the top of his head and gently disentangled myself. After pausing for five minutes to clean myself up, I ran downstairs. I didn’t catch the sounds or scents of cooking as I stepped into the kitchen. “Alma? Are you here?”



No—and she hadn’t been any time this morning. The room looked exactly as it had the night before when I had paused to light my lamp. There was no pot on the stove, no fire in the oven. The place looked clean, but deserted.



“Alma?” I headed directly to her bedroom, the one that opened off the kitchen, and knocked impatiently on the closed door. “Are you in there?”



I heard a sound—a muffled word, or perhaps a pillow falling to the floor. “I’m coming in,” I said and pushed the door open.



Alma lay coiled at the edge of the mattress, one hand trailing over the side to be able to make a quick grab for a bucket nearby. The room smelled of vomit and she looked like death. “Oh, you poor thing,” I exclaimed. “You’ve caught that wretched sickness!”



I took a half hour to clean her up, fetch fresh water, change her nightgown, and try to make her comfortable. She was grateful but listless, and her skin was hotter than an angel’s to the touch. My apprehension grew.



“I’m just going to put together a quick meal for Corban, then I’ll see if there are any drugs left at the school,” I told her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”



She nodded and shut her eyes. I threw together a tray of food and dashed upstairs. Corban was just emerging from the bedroom, his hair wet from a quick cleansing, his face lit with a private smile.



“So you didn’t abandon me in the middle of the night,” he said. “When I woke up and you were gone, I was afraid you were ashamed or sorry.”



I set down the tray and went straight over to put my arms around him, lifting my face for a kiss. He responded with alacrity; apparently he didn’t have too many regrets, either. “Not sorry, not for a minute,” I said, leaning briefly against him. “But I went downstairs to find Alma, and she’s seriously ill, so I’ve been taking care of her.”



He was immediately concerned. “Ill? What’s wrong?”



“Same stomach disorder that swept through the school earlier in the week, I think, but it looks like it hit her hard.” I hesitated. “I’m not very good in a sickroom. I might need to bring someone else in to nurse her.”



He considered for only a moment. “Of course. I suppose everyone already knows—” He gestured. About me.



“They know there’s an angel here, but they don’t know your story.” I grinned. “I am very good at not sharing information when I want.”



He kissed me and pushed me toward the door. “I’m aware. Go take care of Alma.”