What in the world?
I woke to find my dress riding up, my fingers at the apex of my thighs, muscles clenching. A hot ache burned in me. And to my horror, Samael was back in the room—staring at me.
Oh God.
I felt my cheeks burning hot. His pale eyes swept over my hard nipples, straining against the dress, my bare thighs. With a flash of horror, I pulled my hand from my knickers, then tugged down the hem of my dress.
And yet even as my chest flushed, I thought perhaps this wasn’t a terrible start.
I had his attention. He stood before me, staring, his chest bare under his cloak, eyes bright with flames.
“Hi,” I said, breathless. I tugged the hem of my dress down farther. “I was having a dream.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw, and he turned away from me. He took off his cloak, hanging it up near his bed, then pulled a book from a shelf and sat in the chair by the fireplace.
He seemed positively determined not to look at me. And yet the rigidity of his muscles suggested he was still thinking about me.
The war drums begin their rhythmic beat.
Despite the burning in my cheeks, I rose from the sofa, standing before him. He kept his eyes fixed on the book, and his refusal to acknowledge me only made me more determined.
He wasn’t really reading, though, was he? He was strangely still, not turning the pages. His eyes weren’t moving. Immobile as a statue, he was only pretending to read.
I’d only been living with him two days, and yet I was starting to notice things. He tried to hide from the world, like he was trying to hide from me now. He hoped I’d stop looking at him.
Know your enemy. Knowledge is power.
And I knew a little about him—that my focus on him was deeply unnerving him, making him tense. That he liked it when I touched him. That he was gripping the book so hard it suggested a personal vendetta against paper.
I toyed with the hem of my dress, raising it up a little higher over my thighs. Inching it up, a little at a time.
I bit my lip. “You know, I was having the most wild dream about you when you came in.”
37
Lila
His gray eyes swept up to me. “I know you’re up to something, and I’m far too tired to care what it is. I have expended a great deal of energy executing people this evening. I have none left to be drawn into whatever intrigues or schemes you have in mind.” His voice was low, controlled.
But despite his words, his eyes were on my thighs. Intently.
I handed him the bottle of whiskey. “You need to relax.”
He stared at the bottle for a long moment before his gaze met mine again. “Whatever you’re plotting, you should stop.”
He pulled the whiskey from my hand anyway.
Entranced, I watched as he took a sip. A little line formed between his straight, black eyebrows. Then, he took another sip. “It burns,” he murmured, eyes gleaming, staring at it with wonder.
There was something completely intoxicating about watching an angel drink alcohol for the first time. Here I was, corrupting the Angel of Death. And the night was still young.
I stared as he took a third sip.
He handed it back to me, and when I met his eyes, I saw something unexpected. Despite his ruthlessness, he had a certain innocence in his pale eyes. He didn’t fully understand this world, did he?
He frowned at me. “Others may not see it in you, Zahra,” he said quietly. “But there is something particularly ferocious in you. And deceit comes as easily to you as breathing. If you haven’t yet betrayed me, I am sure that you will. I can feel it. Even now I think of punishing you for whatever you are scheming.”
A little bit of nervousness skimmed up my spine. “But your dream says I’m important,” I reminded him. “So you have to keep me around.”
His gaze slid down my body again, and I tugged the hem of my dress up a little higher, nearly showing off the red kickers. The tiniest lick of flames lit up his eyes.
So I fancied the Angel of Death. It wasn’t my fault he was hot.
“My dreams also say you are dangerous.” His voice sounded husky, flames wavering brighter.
My attack was advancing. I let one shoulder of the dress fall down, exposing the top of my breast, the red lace of my bra. I moved in closer to him, only inches from where he sat.
His eyes burned, and his body had gone completely still.
My heart was beating so hard I was sure he could hear it. “I don’t see how it’s possible that I’m the dangerous one. You’re the Angel of Death.”
And yet the way his body tensed, the way his eyes glowed with flames—he looked like he sensed a threat. I was the threat.
“You’ve never had whiskey before tonight,” I said, handing it back to him. “But what about a woman?”
His entire body shuddered. His grip tightened on the bottle until he was at risk of breaking it.
“I have never before had interest in mortal women.”
“Never before?”
His penetrating gaze was taking me apart, one piece at a time. “What did I tell you about curiosity?”
The memory of our kiss on the boat was burning in my mind, and the way my body had felt against his. The way his hands had gripped me, possessively, making me ache for him.
Even if he was evil, I wanted him. Maybe it was something about the way he looked at me sometimes, like now. Like he was looking for answers from me, intently trying to read me.
Just like I’d seen the dancers do at the music hall, I slid into his lap, straddling him. Our faces were close now, and heat poured off him. My thighs were wrapped around his waist, my dress riding up to my hips.
His entire body went tense, jaw clenching.
“That’s not a good idea,” he said, his voice husky. “You don’t know what I’m capable of. And when it comes to you, neither do I.”
Something compelled me to touch the side of his face. As my hand pressed against his skin, warmth rushed into my palm, “Why isn’t it a good idea?”
He closed his eyes. “I am Death Incarnate. And when my true face emerges, something terrible usually follows.”
In war, you had to take your chances. So I ran my hand down his chest. He hissed in a sharp breath. I felt his abs straining.
He kept his eyes closed. “I warned you to be careful.” His deep, sensual voice seemed to heat the air around me. But he wasn’t completely stopping me. Just warning me.
“I’ll take the risk.”
As I brushed my fingers over his hard abs, I delighted in the way they tensed under my palms.
I brushed a light kiss over his neck, his collarbone, and his body went rigid between my thighs, muscles corded.
“If you don’t get off my lap,” he purred, “I’m not sure what I might do.”
But the deep, sensual timber of his voice suggested he wanted me to stay. And I could feel how hard he was. My breasts brushed against his chest. I pressed my mouth against his throat, licking, sucking …
He let out a low, animalistic groan that slid into me, curling around my belly. Any minute now he would lose it. He would snap. And then, I’d make him vulnerable.
I reached down to the hem of my dress, at my hips, and started to lift it up slowly, over my waist to reveal the red lace underwear. But seduction was a tease, so I dropped the hem down again, covering my knickers. “Maybe you’re right. This is a bad idea.”