Part 32 (2/2)
”My soul,” he said, and knew it was so.
And then something even more spectacular occurred. Out the corner of his eye, Ivan saw a flash. Not the sun on the ocean. Not a bird's wing taking flight. A blinding wheel spun in the sky, gorgeous with color and radiating love.
”An angel,” he whispered. A tear rolled down his cheek. ”Thank you.”
”Ivan!”
Dez appeared above him. A sweep of red silk spilled across his face as she knelt, and swiped the skirt of her robe away. ”What happened? Are you hurt? Is Himself trying to punish you again?”
He slid a hand behind her head and pulled her down for a kiss.
Never before had a woman tasted so exquisite. So...made for him. And the sensation of touch had not until now seemed so fine and detailed. Her lips molded to his as if they were meant to only touch his mouth. The taste of her carried more than a hush of surprise and the soft minty tingle of toothpaste. He could taste her life. Not blood. Life. Full and bountiful and honed over the centuries. Wise with years of experience. Innocent with wonder.And the angel approved.
Hot tears spilled across his cheek. Dez traced the wet trail with a fingertip, but she did not break the kiss. She wanted to know what was wrong with him. Not a single thing. He was perfect.
Life had just begun.
Epilogue.
I van paused at the white picket gate before Dez's house and looked over the pile of rose vines heaped to one side, smoldering with smoke and flame. Dez waved hedge clippers at him in welcome, her hands gloved and hair tied off from her face.
”This is too much,” Ivan said as he approached, still a bit leery of the vines on the ground. But they had been severed, and when he got close, the thick, cordlike vines did not snake toward him. ”What of protection from other vampires?”
”I'll blast them with a category five mini-hurricane. Besides, shouldn't they be relenting on the witch attacks now?”
”They are. The Gray Council reports a remarkable retreat on both sides.” Swiping at the smudge of dirt on her cheek, Ivan then leaned in to kiss it. ”I love you.”
”It's evening,” she replied.
He knew what she was asking, and was happy to report, ”No coercion. I'm no longer bound to Himself. Look.”
He turned and tugged his s.h.i.+rt off over his head. Slapping a hand over his shoulder, he displayed a bare neck, devoid of shadow.
”Bet that feels like a million bucks.”
”You can't even imagine.”
”What will you do with yourself now you've a new life?”
”I promised my father I'd devote the next year to overseeing the transition. There are a few tribes we've marked that could be resistant and continue to go after the witches. I won't be satisfied until we've achieved complete peace.”
”That might never be possible.”
”I won't stop until it is so.”
”Will you check in with me every month or so?”
”Month? I was thinking my weekends would belong to you. Don't know that I could stay away any longer than that.”
”You just want me for s.e.x, vampire.”
”You are talented when it comes to s.e.x. But how do I know you're not keeping me around as your love slave?”
”I like the sound of that. Can a person have a love slave and be in love with him at the same time?”
”Definitely.”
”Want to help me finish burning the vines?”
”Yes, I'll take over. You shouldn't be messing around with fire, witch.” ”So quickly he starts to tell me what to do.”
”Now that I've got you, I don't want to lose you.”
”You won't. I'll stick around for as long as you'll have me.”
”Forever and a day, my love. Forever and a day.”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-2671-9.
THE DEVIL TO PAY.
Copyright 2009 by Michele Hauf All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fict.i.tiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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