“Night,” Sethios replied from her throat. He scraped his teeth along her skin, sending more of those goose pebbles down her arms. She watched helplessly as her quarry sauntered off, hands in his pockets, with no idea as to why she had come in the first place.
The council would be displeased. Her mission was one of import and meant to be short, but the abomination beside her had ruined everything.
And why was he nibbling her neck like that? It tingled.
She squirmed, but he held her in place with the arm around her shoulder and a hand on her leg. The show of power stirred something deep inside. Not fear, because he didn’t appear to mean her harm, but something wicked.
What is this plane doing to me?
“So Seraphim do react to pleasure after all,” he whispered. “Fascinating.”
He stood and held out his hand. “Walk with me. No fighting or talking, and no going ethereal on me.”
She hated that her legs complied.
Whenever this spell wore off, he would be in a world of hurt.
Because she would kill him.
Slowly.
After she gagged him.
2
Entertaining a Seraphim
Caro’s anger vibrated beneath the arm Sethios had thrown over her shoulders. He tried not to be amused by it but couldn’t help the grin gracing his lips.
Her sapphire gaze reminded him of molten gems.
Oh, he couldn’t wait to see what she did when he released her from his persuasive hold. He loved a fighter, and her lean form suggested strength and precision. A perfect candidate for the bedroom, minus the stoic bit. Though, her body reacted to his just fine. He suspected the lack of emotion may be related to inexperience rather than an actual Seraphim trait.
He guided them through the streets of New York City all the way to his building and up to his penthouse suite. One of the perks of living for millennia? Money. He knew how and where to invest, and his much older father’s resources helped matters.
Not that he cared for the old man.
Actually, he rather hated him.
Nearly three thousand years beneath his shadow, watching endless murder and mayhem, exhausted and bored him. The only one who kept him sane was Ezekiel, and that said quite a bit about the situation considering his best friend’s proclivities for assassinating fledglings.
“You can speak and move freely now, but no misting,” he told Caro. “Fancy a drink?”
“I’m going to kill you.” She said it so seriously that he laughed.
“Yeah? Then I’d better make this one hell of a final drink.” He ignored her furious stare and sauntered into his oversized kitchen. Wine ought to do. He plucked a bottle of Mershano Reserve from the cabinet and poured two glasses. “Seraphim imbibe, yes?”
She responded by throwing a knife at his head. He caught it by the handle and set it on the counter. “I’ll take that as a polite refusal, then.” More for him.
He popped a hip against the counter as he sipped the red wine and surveyed her from head to toe. “Do most Seraphim dress to the times, or did you do this to fit in?”
Caro palmed another knife, suggesting he should have frisked her before letting her loose in his condo.
She didn’t throw this one, though her eyes telegraphed her consideration of his position and the best way to hurt him.
Make your move, love.
Sethios relished an even match, and he suspected this one would provide a reasonable challenge. Though, she had to be younger than him since his father didn’t recognize her. A good thing, as the old man had a penchant for drawing angel blood. Eviscerating such a beautiful woman would have been a waste of potential.
