“Blaspheme?” She made the sound again, and alarm shot through him. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she croaked. And then, “No.”
Suddenly, sobs racked her body and she slid to the floor in a crouch, her face buried in her hands as she cried.
Raw emotion seized him, scrambling his insides and setting him on the edge of hyperventilation. He couldn’t handle seeing a female cry. Memories of his mother huddled in the back of her cell as she rocked back and forth and wept brought him to his knees in front of Blaspheme.
Very gently, he pulled her against him and used his body to buffer her violent sobs. He didn’t say anything; what was there to say? He wasn’t even entirely sure what was wrong. All he knew was that she was in pain, and he was fucking helpless to do anything about it.
After what seemed like hours, her crying let up enough for him to reach onto her desk and fumble around for the tissue box. He found a slip of paper with some sort of cryptic writing on it, and then his fingers found what he was looking for.
He pressed a tissue into her hand. “Hold on for a second, okay?”
She nodded, turning away to blow her nose as he stood and gathered her clothes. He tucked the piece of paper and her cell phone inside her purse, and then he lifted her into his arms and flashed them both to his bedroom.
He expected her to argue as he carefully tucked her into bed, but she went as limp as a cooked noodle, which was a measure of her exhaustion.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was a muffled whisper into the pillow. “I don’t usually have breakdowns like this.”
“It’s okay.” He climbed into bed and drew her against him as her sobs became sniffles, and finally, she didn’t make any noise except soft snores.
Closing his eyes, he relaxed. Truly relaxed for the first time in… he couldn’t remember. But what he did know was that this felt right, no matter how hard he tried to tell himself that it didn’t. And when the wing anchors on his back began to itch, he once again had the most bizarre desire —
That’s when it happened. His wings sprouted from the slits near his shoulder blades. The left one, blocked by the mattress, lay useless against his back. But the right one spread out in ebony, gold, and silver glory, and he didn’t fight instinct as it lowered over Blaspheme’s body, covering her in a protective cocoon of feathers.
He’d given her the Angel’s Embrace, an act of affection, promise… or love.
Gods, he was a fool.
Blaspheme woke to the mouthwatering aroma of grilled meat. She opened her swollen eyes, wincing at the dry, gritty aftermath of a crying jag. It had always seemed strange that an excess of tears could produce such a parched sensation.
Wait… she’d been crying in her office. In front of Revenant. She groaned and covered her head with the blankets.
Blankets that smelled like Revenant.
God, how could she have fallen apart like that? She wasn’t even sure what, exactly, had caused her to break down, but what she did know was that it couldn’t happen again. She was stronger than that. She’d had to be, to survive this long.
“Hey.” His voice, smoky and resonant, broke into her thoughts, but she wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. “I have food.”
She poked her head out of the covers and peeked at him as he entered the bedroom with a brown paper sack. “Food?”
He held up the grease-stained bag. “Fresh delivered from my favorite underworld pub.”
Hunger beat out embarrassment, and she sat up, realizing at the last second that she was naked. Hastily, she tucked the blankets between her arms and ribs to keep herself covered.
Not that Revenant hadn’t seen every inch of her by now. Still, naked during sex was different than naked and emotionally exposed. She felt like he’d seen not only her body uncovered, but her mind as well.
Something glittery caught her eye, and she reached across the pale blue comforter, her fingers finding the most exquisite feather. Roughly the size of a bald eagle’s tail feather, it was a luxurious blue-black satin shot through with gold and tipped with silver.
“Wow,” she said. “Yours?”
Revenant turned about ten shades of red. Why, she had no idea. If her feathers looked like this, she’d be showing them off all the time. Sadly, hers were the translucent with a pinkish shimmer that all False Angels had, and while they looked exotic from a distance, up close they were crepe paper–thin and meant only for show.
Not that she was complaining. She had no idea what her real wings looked like, and she didn’t want to know. Knowing meant her False Angel enchantment was gone, and she’d likely be dead before she could get intimate with her feathers.