“I didn’t want to leave. Yet. I had to make sure you got this.” She lifted a small piece of folded gray material. “It’s the Cloak of Invisibility.”
For a moment, he could only blink in astonishment. Then he shook his head and laughed. His first in forever, it seemed. This tiny woman, this fallen angel, had done what an army of immortals had not been able to do. She’d stolen the third artifact from under the Hunters’ noses—and she’d trounced Galen in the process. Pride swelled his chest.
Reward.
First the demon had wanted to chastise Legion, now Wrath wanted to give Olivia a prize. We’re on the same page, demon. “Thank you. Not that those two little words express the depths of my gratitude, but thank you all the same.”
“You’re welcome. So, what do you think of it? The artifact, I mean.”
“Looks so small.” He studied it from every angle. So innocuous, too. “How does it—”
“Cover an entire body? It expands as you unfold it.”
He didn’t want to leave her, even for a second, but he had to ensure the Cloak’s protection. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, and she nodded.
He kissed her forehead, then stood reluctantly, practically sprinting from the room. The first warrior he ran into was—Strider. Again. Aeron shoved the material into his hands and said, “Cloak of Invisibility. Give it to Torin for safekeeping. Thanks.” There. Done. Not his problem anymore. And then he was off, heading back to his room.
Strider caught up to him just before he reached the door, grabbing his arm and jerking him to a stop. “How did you get this?”
“Later.”
“Fine. Deets about the Cloak are on hold. We’ve got more important things to discuss, anyway.”
“Later.” He only had five days left with Olivia—if he could convince her to stay for the rest of that time. If not… Hell, no. He would. He was a warrior. He would act like one. Victory, at any cost.
Heaven. Any cost.
Two against one. He liked his odds. Then, when their time was up, then he’d finally have his vengeance.
“This can’t wait,” Strider insisted.
“Too bad.” His fingers curled around the knob.
His friend gave another jerk.
Aeron swung around, scowling. “Let go of me, man. I’m busy.”
“For news like I’ve got, you need to make time for me. ’Cause, here we go. You’re about to lose your head. Literally. I wanted to break it to you gently, but you were too much of an ass.”
He froze. “What do you mean, lose my head? How do you know?”
“Danika painted a new picture. In it, your head was detached from your body.”
He was going to die? So far, Danika’s paintings had never been proven wrong. The Lords hoped they could change some of their outcomes, sure, but had never really learned whether they could or not. Which meant it was more than likely that he was going to die.
He waited for rage to fill him. It didn’t. He waited for sadness to overwhelm him. It didn’t. He waited for the urge to drop to his knees and cry and beg for more time to claim him. Again, it didn’t.
He’d lived for thousands of years. And now, having met Olivia, he’d led a full and glorious life. Because he’d loved. His friends, definitely. His surrogate daughter, Legion, despite her recent actions. But mostly Olivia. He loved her. He could deny the emotion no longer. She was his. She was Wrath’s. Their reason for being. The source of their happiness. Their obsession.
Their heaven.
He would have chased her all over the world, just for a few more minutes of her time. Minutes. Perhaps all they had left now, he mused, rather than the days he’d thought to fight for. She was his everything, and he wasn’t going to waste any more of their remaining time away from her.
Finally, he understood the humans. They didn’t beg for more time because they wanted to spend what they had left enjoying each other. Not wishing for what could have been.
Wrath must have understood, as well. The demon wasn’t crying, wasn’t urging him to change his course. Without the angel, they had nothing. And as long as they completed their mission—Galen’s destruction—they could die happy.
“Aeron,” Strider prompted.
He forced himself back to the present. “Who takes my head?” He would still have to be with Legion. That couldn’t change. He wouldn’t allow his friends to deal with a mess of his creation without him, but he would take care of that once Olivia was gone and avenged. And then, then he could die in peace. It would be better that way, anyway. He didn’t want to live without his Olivia.
Now he wouldn’t have to.
“Lysander. I think. Cronus and Rhea are there. I’ve talked to the others and we decided—”
“Later,” he said. What the others speculated didn’t matter right now. If they didn’t have facts, they didn’t have anything he needed. “Tell me later. I appreciate the warning, but like I said, I’m busy now.” He pushed his way back into his bedroom and shut the door, his gaze remaining on Strider until the wood blocked them.
Any other time, the confusion and concern on Strider’s face would have made him laugh.
There was a knock. “Aeron. Come on, man.”
“Go away or I swear to the gods I’ll cut out your tongue and nail it to my wall.”
That earned a growl. “Shut your mouth, Wrath. I’m trying to ignore the challenge in your tone, but it’s not working. Now listen. We can’t lose you. We can’t go through something like that again. We just can’t.” As he spoke, Strider pounded at the wood. “You remember how it was after Baden.”
Not going there. Aeron opened the door, punched his friend in the face and shut it again.
Only a heartbeat later, Strider opened the door himself, punched Aeron twice, smiled sweetly, although a bit sadly, and replaced the block between them. “I won. As for the other thing, you’ve got thirty minutes, and then every single one of us will be inside that room to talk to you. Understand?”
“Yes.” Unfortunately.
Footsteps echoed.
Behind him, Aeron heard Olivia sit up. “What’s he talking about? Losing you? And why were you punching each other?”
At the sound of her voice, Wrath uttered a sigh of contentment.
Slowly Aeron turned and faced her. Having her worry wasn’t something he would allow, so he offered her a grin, one he hoped conveyed everything he felt for her. Perhaps it did. Her eyes widened, and she nervously licked her lips.
“Ignore him. I think he’s suffering from brain damage.” Which wasn’t necessarily a lie. Aeron had always considered the warrior a bit deranged. “Besides, we have unfinished business. I’ve never had you in a bed, and I really want you in a bed.”
Yes!
At first, she gave no reaction. Then, before panic could bloom inside him at the thought of a rejection—no!—she reached up to the collar of her robe and pulled. The material parted, revealing those beautiful breasts with their pink, pearled nipples, that smooth stomach and those long, perfect legs.
“I would like that.”
Yes, yes.
A tremor traveled the length of him, his shaft filling, hardening. He stalked toward her, stripping along the way. A process that included kicking off his boots and stumbling over himself because he refused to stop, even for a second. Skin to skin. That’s what he needed. When he reached her, he was as naked as she was. He crawled up her luscious body, settling some of his weight atop her.
Perfect. Heat, so much heat. They both hissed in a breath. She closed her eyes and arched against him, even as her hands clutched at his back. Her neck was exposed, her pulse hammering wildly. Her lips were parted, and her hair in tangles around her shoulders.
Passion had never looked more exquisite.
He should have spent every minute of their half hour pleasuring her senseless. Licking her, tasting her, sucking her. He should have started at her toes and worked his way to her mouth. He should have lingered over her thighs and her breasts. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He had to be inside her, couldn’t go another minute without being joined, totally and completely, with her.