The Forsaken(16)

“I wouldn’t tease him. He just might decide to pounce for real,” teased Shea, picking up her small gold harp.

The harp had been a gift from Mike. Shea always played it on Sundays for him. Shea thought of Mike as a friend, but Izzy suspected their twenty-two-year old benefactor, who was six years Shea’s senior, thought of the Cherub in a different way. She wondered when he’d clue in on the fact that none of them aged.

Izzy watched as five of her sisters positioned themselves on the stage. The velvet curtain kept their movements hidden from the excited crowd. Even without touching humans, Izzy felt their emotions. One in particular thrummed through her. That edgy, daring feeling invaded her mind and body, but she vowed not to let Nathanael’s anger rub her wrong.

Izzy wore a white leather bra underneath a black-mesh shirt that barely reached her navel. The netting covered the scars on her back. Tonight she’d forgone the short skirt. Her legs, kept hidden in the tight white leather pants, hid the Rashi script inked into her flesh without her consent. Izzy knew she looked sexy. Pissed to the core, she showed more flesh than a Cherub should to any other than her mate. She wanted Nathanael to get her message loud and clear. I’m not a perfect Cherub. I’ll dress any way I choose. I’ll wear what I think is appropriate. You will never dictate to me.

Taking her place center stage, Izzy prepared to sing her heart out. When the curtain ascended, her stomach pitched. Her gaze immediately sought him. She hated herself for that and for the fact she’d had little sleep since last night. His mere presence had disturbed the calm equilibrium she’d established. No one, especially not the son of the angel who had ripped off her wings, was going to get away with that.

*

Fury uncoiled in a swift bolt through Nathanael. He couldn’t believe his eyes. What by the blessed scribes is she thinking? His gut told him she knew exactly what she was doing—taunting him. He clenched his jaw so hard his mouth began to hurt.

Anger ripped through him. He wouldn’t be surprised if he found himself levitating—the one heavenly power he’d kept in this realm. Thankful now that the Mistress, in her wisdom, had removed his wings as a temporary measure, Nat knew if he’d had his wings, he’d fly to the stage and sweep her away. Rational, Seraphim common sense flew to the heavens the minute he’d spied his Isabella, and make no mistake, she was and would be his.

First, she’d had the nerve to cozy up to the manager—the same cursed human who had given him that unholy drink the other night. Nat felt his teeth gnash together again while his fist clenched tightly. He didn’t like how comfortable she appeared to be with the man. The only thing that had saved Isabella from him making a scene had been her sidestep away from the human the minute the male tried to touch her. If one finger from that man touched her velvet-soft skin, Nat was seriously going to be pissed.

To add insult, Isabella had sung a blatant Cherub lover’s song. Nat knew he was being put in his place by her voice, which totally disarmed him. Feeling edgy, he’d made his way from the table he’d been sitting at to stand against the wall, more in the shadow so he could observe her while also reclaiming his body’s dignity. The jeans he wore felt even more restrictive than the other night. Watching her and her bandmates work the crowd he saw pure pleasure sail across Isabella’s face. The way she smiled, carefree, made him realize that was how he wanted her to look at him.

Nat realized, he like every other male in the room, wasn’t immune to her sensual voice. But the humans were lucky. They didn’t understand the graphic words that had rolled off her tongue. For once in his life, he wished he’d been absent for the class on classic ballads and their meaning. At first when Isabella had teased him with her attire, he’d been shocked. She stepped over the line, playing and flirting with him through her songs. Tonight he’d give her his idea of fun. She probably wouldn’t like it, but tough.

Let’s see who wins this round.

Marching upstairs, he was at Isabella’s door and about to knock when Meredith approached.

“She’s upset.”

“Really,” said Nathanael with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

“She doesn’t usually act like that.”

That pleased him but he didn’t speak his thoughts out loud. “I need to speak with her.”

“I’d wait until she’s calmed down,” said Meredith, speaking her mind with more ease than she had before.

“I’m not waiting.”

“As you wish,” said Meredith, backing away, allowing him to grace Isabella’s door with a hard knock.

When no one responded he knocked louder. Waiting a few more minutes only served to heighted his temper. Through the wooden door he heard Isabella’s controlled voice.

“I’m busy. Leave me alone.”

Leave her alone. Any sane Seraphim might have heeded her but Nathanael had been pushed enough for one day. He opened the door and almost got knocked on his ass. Isabella wore a white, belted bathrobe, but her leg had clearly come into direct contact with his chest.

He ducked and scrambled out of her way to avoid both her feet and arms, which seemed intent on doing some serious damage to him.

“I said get out!” said Isabella.

Nathanael grasped her arms, halting her attack. Bringing her body flush to his he realized his serious mistake. With her body pressed closed to his he felt every curve. Her head reached his shoulders now that she wasn’t wearing those ugly boots she wore on stage and the floral fruity scent of her soap hit him square in the gut. She was Cherub and having her in his arms reminded him of that. He should treat her with respect and be polite but looking at her angry face, he knew that would not win him any points.