The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(35)

He was rutting atop her, buttocks flexing with fierce purpose. Michael wasn’t sure why Arthur had let things get this far—hadn’t he stated, just moments ago, he was afraid of hurting her? Given the wild frenzy going on behind the window, that outcome seemed entirely possible. Arthur’s control over his newly acquired adept power was sorely lacking.

Michael considered an intervention. He was certainly able to put a halt to the proceedings. He could even manage it in a way that wouldn’t reveal his presence. He might have done it, too, if it seemed like Cybele was in distress.

She didn’t appear to be. She looked, in fact, like she was enjoying herself immensely. Her hips met Arthur’s thrust for thrust. She clawed at his back, leaving long red scratch marks on either side of his spine. Her head tossed back and forth on the pillow. Dear Heaven. The expression on her face was... Dear Heaven.

He moved another inch farther out onto the limb, angling for a more direct view. In that instant, her eyelids fluttered open. Their gazes locked. For one eternal moment, Michael lost himself in a moss-green sea. Then Arthur’s head dipped. His mouth opened and sucked in one taut nipple. Cybele’s body arched. Her lips parted. She turned her head away and let out a long, sweet moan.

Michael’s breathing became decidedly unsteady.

“Fuck me, Arthur. Harder.” Blessed be. Her voice. It was like amber honey.

Arthur obliged, driving deep into Cybele’s body. Michael swallowed audibly.

His hand snaked downward. With trembling fingers, he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. He eased his penis out of his briefs. Eyes riveted on the scene before him, he wrapped his hand around his shaft and pulled. Once. Twice. Again. And again.

Nothing happened.

Arthur’s sex organ was a rigid log. Michael’s was a limp noodle. Yet another grievance to lay at the feet of the Watchers. After the fallen angels had run amok on Earth, impregnating the daughters of men, the Almighty put down his holy foot. With all the righteousness of a farmer slamming the barn door after the cows had run off, He’d proceeded to remove certain functionalities from every un-fallen angel left in Heaven.

Michael could assume a fleshy body. No problem at all with that. It was just that an important bit of that flesh refused to work.

All he could do was watch. And yearn.





EIGHT


“Arthur?”

He half-grunted a reply.

“Arthur.” Cybele poked her fingernail into his back. “Can’t...breathe. Get...off me.”

With a second grunt, he obligingly rolled to one side on the tilted mattress. The movement caused the bed’s frame, which was already half-broken, to come apart completely. The headboard pitched backward, hitting the wall. The side rails and footboard, with no such support nearby, simply crashed to the floor. Cybele grabbed the edge of the mattress as it bounced. It settled with a thud.

Arthur slept through it all.

She drew a deep, much-needed breath. Oxygen rushed into her lungs. By all the stars in all the universe. By all the freaking ancestors in Oblivion. She’d wanted sex, and she’d damn well gotten it.

She’d just never known it could be like that.

Arthur’s breathing slowed and deepened. He’d probably be out for a while still. She just hoped that by the time he woke up, she’d be able to wrap her head around what had happened between them. She pushed herself up on her elbows and winced. Dang it all, her shoulder hurt. It’d slammed into the headboard when Arthur had...

Her heartbeat accelerated, just thinking about all the things he’d done to her. And all the things she’d done back. There were bite marks on her neck and breast. Bruises on her shoulder and hip. A deep, satisfying throb between her legs.

She tried to sit up. Ouch. She collapsed back onto the mattress. Her back ached, and the rest of her body felt like one big bruise. Getting to her feet was going to hurt. She’d made out better than the bed had, she thought with a spurt of amusement. At least she was in one piece.

They’d never actually done it in a bed before.

She laughed out loud. That caused a sharp, shooting pain through her ribs. She couldn’t regret it, though. It’d been worth it.

She and Arthur had been lovers for almost a year. It would’ve happened a couple years sooner, if not for Mab. As a rule, the Druid alpha didn’t much care what her dormants got up to, whether it was skipping school, smoking pot, setting fire to local homes, or screwing their brains out. Luc had certainly taken advantage of his freedom, pursuing witches and non-magical girls at every opportunity. There were never any consequences from local law enforcement or truancy officers. Mab’s magic kept them away.

Mab had a separate set of rules for Arthur. He wasn’t allowed to leave Demon’s Hollow, not even to attend school. Evander and the other adepts left him alone, and the witches were told to steer clear of him. If he’d tried, Arthur might have made friends with the other male dormants. He ignored them instead, which only pissed them off. After a few fistfights—and worse—in which Arthur managed to give as well as he got, they grudgingly left him alone.

Through it all, the spark Cybele had felt when she first laid eyes on him never faded. Arthur was wholly outside her experience. He fascinated her. And he must be special, or else why would Mab treat him so differently than the other dormants? Why had she told his British kin that he was dead?

He was quiet and withdrawn, with a haunted look in his eyes that made her want to cry. He didn’t eat much, but somehow still maintained a taut, wiry strength. She began following him everywhere, trying to talk to him. He ignored her at first. Then he’d told her to leave him alone. Of course she hadn’t.