The Fallen 01 - Raziel Read online

  He had loved them all, but none so much as he loved his Sarah, his heart, his beloved. She was waiting for him, calm and unquestioning, knowing what he needed. She always did.

  Because of all the things he needed, he needed her the most.

  She wouldn’t let him get rid of Raziel’s woman, even though it was the wisest thing to do. The girl wanted to leave, and he should see that she did. The Nephilim would dispose of what was left of her if she went beyond the undulating borders of Sheol. At least, he assumed so. They preyed on the Fallen and their wives, and she was neither. He didn’t trust her, didn’t trust her unexpected presence in a place that allowed no strangers.

  He leaned back in the ornate carved chair, trying to hear the distant voice that came so seldom. The voice trapped deep in the earth, imprisoned for eternity, or so the story went. Azazel chose not to believe that story, not when he heard the voice of the first Fallen answering his most impossible questions.

  Lucifer, the Bringer of Light, the most beloved of the angels, was still alive, still trapped. He could lead the forces of heaven and hell, the only one who stood a chance against the vindictive, all-powerful Uriel and the vicious creatures who served him. But as long as Lucifer’s prison was hidden, as long as he was carefully guarded by Uriel’s soldiers, there would be no chance to rescue him.

  And without Lucifer to lead them, the Fallen were trapped in a cycle of endless pain. Doomed to watch their beloved wives age and die, never to know the joy of children, to live with the threat of the Nephilim constantly on their borders, ready to overrun their peaceful compound. To wait, knowing that Uriel would send his plagues down upon them at any provocation.

  Azazel pushed back from the ancient scrolls and manuscripts, exhausted. There were hints there, perhaps even answers, but he had yet to find them. He studied them until his vision blurred, and the next day the grueling process would begin again.

  There would be no answers tonight. He rose, signaling the lights to stay low, and started toward the huge expanse of rooms that had always been his.

  Sarah was sitting up in bed, reading. Her silver hair lay in one thick braid over her shoulder; a pair of glasses was perched on the end of her perfect nose. Her creamy skin was smooth and delicate, and he stood and watched her, filled with the same love and desire he’d always felt.

  Uriel had never been tempted as the others had been, one after the other, falling from grace. Uriel had loved no one but his God, whom he considered infallible except for the one stupid mistake of making humans.

  Uriel despised people. He had no mercy for their frailties, no love for the music of their lives, the beauty of their voices, the sweetness of the love they could give. All he knew of them was hatred and despair, and he treated them accordingly.

  Sarah looked at him over her brightly colored reading glasses, setting down her book. “You look exhausted.”

  He began to strip off his clothes. “I am. Trouble is coming and I don’t know what to do about it. We can’t fight Uriel—we’re not ready.”

  “We won’t know until it happens,” she said in her soothing voice. “Uriel has been looking for an excuse for centuries. If the girl is the catalyst, then so be it.”

  Azazel rolled his shoulders, loosening the tightness there. “Raziel doesn’t want her, and she doesn’t belong here. I could get rid of her when he isn’t looking, take her back to where Uriel charged she should go. The problem would be solved, and we could wait until we’re better prepared. . . .”

  Sarah took the glasses off her nose and set them beside the bed. “You’re wrong, love.”

  “So you often tell me,” he said. “You think I shouldn’t get rid of her? I have the right to send her back.”

  “Of course you do. You have a great many rights that you shouldn’t exert. Raziel is lying to himself. He wants her. That’s what frightens him.”

  “You think Raziel is afraid? I dare you to say that to him.”

  “Of course I would tell him, and you know it. He wouldn’t rage at me as he would at you. The Alpha can be challenged. The Source is just that, the source of wisdom, knowledge, and sustenance. If I tell him he wants her, he’ll believe it. But I think it’s better if he discovers it himself.”

  “He doesn’t want to bond again,” Azazel argued. “Losing Rafaela was too hard for him. One loss too many.”

  “Losing me will be hard for you, love, but you’ll mate again, and soon.”

  “Don’t.” He couldn’t bear the idea of a time when Sarah wouldn’t be there. Sarah with the rich, luscious mouth, the wonderful, flexible body, the creamy skin. The women in Sheol lived long lives, but they were merely a blink of the eye compared to the endless lives of the Fallen. He would lose her, and the thought was excruciating.

  She gave him her full, sweet smile. “Come to bed, love. We don’t need to think about that for a long time.”

  He slid in beside her, pulling her against him, pushing one leg between hers, his long fingers stroking the side of her face, her neck, the elegant collarbone. “What are you wearing?” he whispered against her skin.

  She laughed, a low, sexy sound. “A nightgown, of course.”

  “Take it off.” He was naked—he wanted her naked too.

  She sat up and obliged him, pulling it over her head and tossing it on the floor. She’d pick it up in the morning, before the maid came in. She didn’t like having anyone wait on her, but on this one matter he’d overruled her. She had enough demands on her, providing strength-sustaining blood for the unbonded.

  She lay back down, a smile in her eyes, and slid her arms around him. She buried her face against his shoulder, and he could feel her teeth nipping lightly at his skin.

  He kissed her, hard and deep, and she pulled at him, her hands restless. “Hurry,” she whispered. “No foreplay?” he teased.

  “I’ve been thinking about you for the last two hours. That’s foreplay enough.”

  He laughed, rolling her beneath him, pushing into her. Her back arched, and he could feel the first tremor of her orgasm tighten around him. She knew how to pull back, contain it so she wouldn’t make him lose control. Their rhythms were perfectly matched, an elegant dance that culminated in a shock of pleasure.

  This was faintly different. He sensed her urgency, when they usually took all the time they wanted. “Why the hurry, love?” he whispered.

  She didn’t answer for a moment, and he could see the shadow of an old pain in her beautiful eyes. “I’m afraid we’ll run out of time,” she said finally, her voice so low he could barely hear her.

  “Never,” he said. “Stop thinking.”

  Her smile was faint, lovely, one of the most erotic things about her. “Now,” she whispered.

  He didn’t hesitate. His fangs slid down and sank into her neck, finding the sweet spot he knew so well. The blood was thick, rich in his mouth, and he felt the spasms begin to take over, felt her own helpless response as his wings unfurled. He rolled onto his side, taking her with him, his teeth never leaving the gently throbbing vein, his cock deep inside her as his wings clamped around them both, locking them together as he gave himself over to the only kind of death he’d ever know.

  CHAPTER

  TEN

  I OPENED MY EYES AND GROANED. I was lying sideways across a big, rumpled bed, still fully clothed—and I was alone.

  I had a really annoying habit of waking up instantly, cheerfully, with no need for coffee or a hushed silence to prepare for the day. It was sheer luck that I’d survived my college years—more than one roommate had been ready to beat me to death over my tendency to prattle in the morning.

  Today I could have used a little fogginess.

  I had actually slept in that man’s bed, though I wasn’t quite sure how I’d got there. Last thing I remembered was falling asleep in the living room, and here I was stretched out on his sheets, feeling physically cozy and mentally freaked-out. I wasn’t used to men carting me off to bed and then doing nothing about it. Actually, I wasn’t used
to men carting me off to bed at all.

  Except he wasn’t a man, was he? He was some kind of monster, or mythical beast, or a bizarre mix of both, but he was definitely not human. And I held the firm belief that interspecies dating was never a good idea.

  I checked my neck, just to make certain, but there were no mysterious puncture wounds; and far from feeling dizzy from blood loss, I was feeling positively energetic, more than my usual morning bounce. The unthinkable had happened, the worst thing imaginable. It had been no surreal nightmare. I was dead and living with a bunch of vampires who seemed to have emerged from Old Testament Apocrypha. It was little wonder I was feeling disoriented. What I couldn’t figure out was why I was cheerful.

  The good thing about total disaster—at least there was nowhere to go but up. Maybe it was that simple.

  Or maybe, just maybe, it had something to do with the man—damn, I couldn’t stop thinking of him that way—who’d brought me here. Not that he was any too pleased to be saddled with my unwanted presence. Tough shit—it was his fault I’d ended up in this cross between Valhalla and Anne Rice territory.

  The good thing was, Raziel appeared to have no interest in my far-from-irresistible charms, sexual, social, or otherwise. For all I knew, Raziel’s people were impotent. After all, no one seemed able to procreate.

  That seemed unlikely. The heat between Azazel and his wife had been palpable, despite the disparity in their ages. Maybe Raziel simply wasn’t interested in women. Or, more likely, not interested in me—he would hardly be the first who’d failed to appreciate my particular brand of charisma.

  I’d fallen asleep on the living room floor and he must have been kind enough to carry me in to bed, though so far kindness hadn’t been a major part of his personality. He’d left me sexually and hematologically untouched, thank God. What more proof did I need of his lack of interest.

  I had more important things to consider. I needed a bathroom; I needed a shower. Last night I hadn’t stopped to think about the dead or undead having actual bodily functions. All I knew was that I certainly did.

  I rolled out of the huge bed, landing barefoot on the cool marble floor. The room was dim, the shades pulled against the bright sunlight. There was a door off to one side, and I headed for it. Eureka! A bathroom with a huge tub, a shower made for giants, thick towels, and even a toilet. If the afterlife contained a bathroom like this, it couldn’t be that awful.

  I followed the coffee aroma to a small kitchen, bracing myself to confront Raziel, but the place was deserted. There was coffee in a white carafe, and I filled one of the mugs, looking around me with fresh curiosity. Things didn’t seem nearly so bizarre as they had yesterday—amazing what a good night’s sleep would do for you.

  I moved to the row of windows in the living room, looking out over the sea. It was misty, cool, the rich salt scent thick in the air. Where had Raziel gone? And did he really expect me to stay here like a good girl, awaiting my master’s return?

  Fat chance.

  I found some white shoes that looked sort of like a delicate pair of Crocs and slipped them on, then headed out the door. I paused, staring down the endless flights of stairs, and let out a heartfelt groan.

  Going down would be easier than going up, but if I did descend those forty million treacherous flights of stairs, sooner or later I would have to go back up. Why didn’t they have elevators in the afterlife? Maybe most people just flew.

  No, only the men could. “Sexist bastards,” I said with a sniff. Maybe I could hitch a ride with one of the friendlier ones.

  The stairs were endless, deserted as I descended. It wasn’t until I reached the third floor that I began to run into . . . whatever they were. Fallen angels, vampires, blood-eaters, hell-transporters. Comic-book villains.

  None of them looked particularly happy to see me. So it wasn’t just Raziel who resented my presence. I gave each of them my cheeriest smile and a friendly greeting, and for the most part was met with cool indifference. Great. No welcome wagon here.

  No sight of the Stepford wives, either, who by now were seeming pretty damned normal and friendly. Were they stuck in some kind of seraglio while the men went about their so-important business? Would I end up there?

  Of course not. Seraglios were for wives and concubines, not inconvenient females nobody wanted.

  I finally reached the bottom of those endless stairs, ending up in a massive hallway. It was open at one end, leading out to the churning sea, which called to me and I started toward it, something akin to joy rising in my heart, when I was brought up short by the very last person I wanted to see.

  Not Raziel, who had his own dubious charms. But Azazel the Grouch, the leader of this happy band. And he was looking at me as if I carried all ten plagues of Egypt.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “Looking for Raziel,” I said, a complete lie. I didn’t want to see him any more than he wanted to come near me, but I could think of no other excuse. The sea was calling to me, and I tried to sidle past him. “I think he might be out by the water—”

  He blocked me. “He’s not. Go back to your rooms and await him.”

  I didn’t like Azazel. “I’m not one of the dutiful wives, and I’m certainly not going to hide away like someone in a harem. I’m going out to the water, and I suggest you don’t try to stop me.”

  The moment the challenge was out of my mouth, I regretted it. I’d forgotten these weren’t New York metrosexuals I was dealing with. Azazel froze, and I wondered idly if these fallen angels were capable of smiting a bitch. If so, I was in deep shit.

  “Allie!” Sarah suddenly came up from behind me, tucking her arm through mine. “So nice to see you this morning. Aren’t you happy to see Allie, my love?”

  Azazel glowered. “No.”

  “Pay no attention to him, my dear,” Sarah said smoothly, leading me away from him. “He’s got a lot on his mind, and he tends to be bad-tempered in the morning. In the afternoon as well,” she added ruefully.

  “Is there ever a time when he isn’t grumpy?” I asked with my usual lack of tact.

  “Not often,” Sarah said. “He has too many responsibilities. Now, let me find someone who will know where Raziel’s gone. He’s probably up in the caves—he spends most of his time there.”

  “I admit, he does have batlike tendencies. The black clothes.”

  “The wings,” Sarah added cheerfully, then saw my expression. “Oh, you haven’t seen his wings yet? They’re quite . . . astonishing. A deep, iridescent blue. You’ll love them.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Sarah smiled. “Let’s find some help. I’m not allowed up there or I’d take you. Besides, with me you’d have to walk and it would take days. Come with me.” She led me, blessedly, toward the open door and the sea.

  I stopped for a moment, blinded by the sunlight, and let the cool salty breeze wash over me like a blessing—like a lover’s caress. I opened my eyes to see Sarah watching me with a faint smile.

  “You fit well here,” she said.

  “I hadn’t realized how much I love the sea.”

  “It’s not just that.” But before I could ask her what she meant, she started walking toward two men who were standing in the bright sunlight, watching our approach.

  “I still can’t get over why they don’t turn into piles of ashes,” I muttered. “I thought vampires couldn’t handle the sun.”

  Sarah laughed. “Vampires are a myth.”

  “And fallen angels who drink blood are part of reality television?”

  “Reality television is a myth too, from what I hear. I would suggest you reserve judgment. Tamlel, Sammael,” she greeted them, and the two of them bowed.

  Raziel was so ridiculously gorgeous he made my knees weak, and Azazel’s stern beauty was impressive. These two were damned pretty as well, and for a moment I wondered if you could be gay in the afterlife.

  One of them was older, with dark brown hair tied back, warmth in his eyes. The younger
one was blond and cherubic, and it was probably my imagination that he looked slightly sullen. They greeted Sarah with warmth, but it was clear they were unsure about me.

  “This is Allegra,” Sarah said. “But you already know that. Allie, this is Tamlel, generally considered to be in charge of scribes. And the young one is Sammael.”

  He was looking at me with a sulky expression, and I’d always had little patience for sullen teenagers. Though this particular teenager was probably thousands of years old. “And what are you in charge of?”

  There was a moment of silence, and then Sarah spoke. “In fact, he’s one of the angels of death. But since the Fallen have eternal life, he hasn’t had much to do since he fell. Our only connection with humans is to take them to their final home.”

  “One of the angels of death?” I echoed. “Like Raziel?”

  “Raziel isn’t a death angel.”

  “You could have fooled me,” I grumbled, thinking back to that bus. “What’s he doing now—killing someone new?”

  Tamlel looked distressed. “We don’t kill. We are charged with transporting—”

  “Never mind.” I took pity on him.

  “Raziel is the angel of knowledge and mysteries,” Sarah said patiently. “He keeps the secrets of the ages.”

  “Typical male,” I muttered.

  Sarah laughed, and even Tamlel smothered a grin. Sammael, however, kept a stony expression. “Will one of you take Allie up to Raziel? He shouldn’t have left her alone on her first day with us.”

  “How long is she going to stay?” Sammael demanded in a tone just this side of rudeness. I guess if you were an angel of death, you could get away with it.

  “We don’t know yet. There are more important things to worry about right now. Her presence among us will be dealt with when the time is right.”

  That didn’t sound particularly promising. I wasn’t in the mood to be dealt with, and no one apart from Sarah seemed exactly delighted to see me, though at least Tamlel was trying, bless him.