A Vampire for Christmas(68)
Only an Angel’s blood could be so rare and satisfying.
By Christmas morning, Pedro would have Angelina as his own, he vowed. He couldn’t imagine a better present to receive.
ANGELINA WAVERED BETWEEN BOUTS of consciousness as Damien gently bathed her and tended to the wounds along her back. Two deep gashes, each nearly six inches long and located high up along her shoulder blades, marred the otherwise smooth perfection of her creamy skin. Odd wounds, made by the slice of a knife or a clean swift slash of a sword, as if cutting off an appendage. The latter made no sense to him considering the position of the injuries.
When he finished cleansing the angry furrows, Damien applied antiseptic and covered the yawning slashes with gauze. He bound the injuries with soft strips of fabric he had torn from an old flannel work shirt.
Cautiously, he rolled Angelina onto her back, but not gently enough. She moaned at the pressure and opened her eyes, gazed up him with a slightly feverish look that made her emerald eyes glitter.
I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more careful,” he promised.
Angelina sensed his distress. She gathered her waning strength, wanting to reassure him. Raising her hand, she cradled his cheek, the rasp of his evening beard prickly against her palm. He looked haggard, his skin pale even for a vampire, especially in contrast to the coal-black of his hair. Yet nothing could be more welcome than the sight of his face.
You’re really here,” she said, almost unable to fathom that she had been given the chance for which she had been praying for nearly a year. Not that her visit this time had begun as she had expected.
I can say the same, Angelina. I hoped you might return to me—”
And your prayers have been answered,” she said, guessing at why the Archangel Raphael had released her to return. Raphael had been grumbling about having to listen to constant caterwauling. She supposed he had been referring to their combined and persistent entreaties for another chance to make things right.
Damien released a harsh laugh and chided her, his handsome features twisted with resentment. “Prayers. Do you think I even believe in God after all that I’ve seen? All that I’ve done?”
She smiled sadly, but understood. From the day of his birth, Damien had been destined for nothing but pain and misery. The bastard son of a coldhearted and cruel man, Damien had known little love and much loss. But despite all his errant ways, there was goodness and love within his heart. She had seen it time and time again during his early life and so had her boss, the Archangel Raphael. As the Archangel who possessed the power of healing, Raphael had believed Damien could be cured. It was why she had been sent down nearly a century earlier to become Damien’s Guardian Angel.
Because of the strength of Damien’s spirit and goodness in spite of the adversity he had faced, Raphael wanted Damien to become one of their Angels, but only if Damien could finally prove himself worthy.
No matter what you say you believe, my love. It’s here in your heart,” she said and lowered her hand to rest over the bare skin of his chest. He had taken off his wet and bloodied shirt to tend to her. The skin of his upper body was smooth and had been warmed by the heat from the logs burning in a nearby fireplace.
You are what’s here,” he said and covered her hand with his own. His palms were rough from centuries of hard physical labor. Powerful, and yet in bed he was incredibly gentle and giving. Even in her weakened state, desire awoke as she thought of being with him. She didn’t want to waste a moment of her time with him.
They had only a very short time to be together, but truth be told, an eternity with Damien would not be enough for her. Even before her visit, she had been growing attracted to him as she had watched his life in preparation for her assignment. Then she had violated the first rule of being a Guardian Angel: never fall in love with your assignment. It was why Raphael had waited nearly a century before sending her back, hoping to quench that emotion so that she could perform the task she had been given.
Come lie with me,” she said, and Damien didn’t hesitate, rising to pull off the rest of his wet clothes and then slip into the bed beside her. She shuddered at the chill the dampness his pants had left behind on the skin of his lower body.
So sorry,” he said and transformed, awakening the heat of the vampire to warm his skin and hers.
His silver-gray eyes, which always reminded her of an ocean during a hurricane, bled out to the bright neon blue-green of the vampire. From beneath the fullness of his lips his long canines emerged. She raised her hand and ran her thumb along his lips and those lethal-looking fangs. She had no fear of him because deep in her heart she knew he would not kill.