Between the Moon and Her Night (Between Life and Death #3)

Chapter 21

Aurelia

M y lips crashed against his as his body pressed against mine, keeping me firmly locked against the glass-like wall as he feasted on my lips. His tongue dipped in, swiping around my mouth as if he were trying to claim every inch of it.

I bit down on the strong, muscular organ as a bolt of anger shot through my lust. A sweet, metallic flavor bloomed on my tongue, and my eyes rolled back at the taste of it—of him. Von’s blood was powerful. Incredible . Like a forbidden fine wine, aged to perfection. Saliva pooled in my mouth—I needed more.

Von released my wrists and my eager fingers swam around his torso, tracing the hardness of his muscles, mapping out his potent, thrumming veins.

He pulled his tongue from my mouth, his shadows twisting around us, taking us back to his dark, dimly lit chambers. Icy metal bit into my jaw as he tipped my face to his. “Do you like the taste of me in your mouth?”

I nodded, my eyelids at half mast, drunk on my arousal and the taste of him.

His hand lowered from my jaw, his pointer finger tracing downwards, between my breasts, down my torso, stopping at my sex. He played with the fabric there, black lashes lowering as he looked down. “And what about when I’m deep in here?”

“Yes,” I rasped, my voice suddenly parched. I rolled my hips, begging him to just touch me. My actions and my emotions were all over the place, and I knew it was because of the bond, but right now, I didn’t care. Logic and anger be damned.

“Then you best be a good girl and quit running from your problems,” he said, dropping the fabric and pulling away from me.

I gaped. Flat out gaped.

My disbelieving eyes watched as he turned his back to me and started for the bar area.

“If you aren’t going to have sex with me, then why did you bring me back here?” I snarled angrily, my toes nipping at the backs of his boots, stopping when he went behind the bar.

“Because you have issues you need to work through—” he said while his fingers walked over the tops of various sized bottles and decanters, lined on a glass shelf anchored to the wall, “—and the hallway didn’t seem like a good place for us to do that.”

Us? He was delirious if he thought I was going to confide in him.

He selected a sizable bottle of spirits and began to walk towards the seating area, the epitome of smug arrogance rolling off him in heady waves.

In a split-second decision, I grabbed the bottle from him before he passed by me.

His chuckling reply only irked me further—Creator above, he was intolerable. If anyone was going to need a drink, it was me. I popped the cork, brought the cool glass against my lips, and tipped the bottle back.

Fire. Vicious, horrific fire scorched my mouth, sending my tastebuds screaming.

I blew out the liquid in a spray of amber mist, sputtering and coughing. “What in the Creator’s name is that?” I gasped, wiping at my mouth.

He let out a low chuckle. “Seventh Tier Whiskey. It’s got a bit of a burn to it, doesn’t it?”

“ A bit ?” I bellowed. One brow quirked. “Why is it called that?”

“Because the Seventh Tier is made entirely of flame.” He snatched the bottle from my hand, glanced at the floor, and in a twist of his wrist, he’d cleaned up my mess. He sauntered over to the sitting area and sat on the settee. Shining green eyes met mine. “Tell me something. Your body lacks the ability to heal itself, your teeth took hundreds of years to elongate for the first time, you have a ravenous appetite much like the mortals, and you require sleep every night. What else does your divinity lack?”

That got me and my inner goddess to glare daggers at him.

The left corner of his mouth shifted upwards as he threw his muscular, inked arm over the back of the settee, his free hand still holding the bottle. There was that unbridled arrogance again.

Unwilling to play his big cat, little mouse games, I decided not to answer.

“Alright, if you won’t bite on that, what will you bite on? Silly me, I suppose I already know the answer to that.” He parted his lips and rolled his tongue against the back of his teeth, drawing emphasis to it—the look was highly seductive. I knew what he was referring to—the kiss we had just shared in the hallway, when his tongue had been invading my mouth and I’d bit it.

He was taunting me.

Goddess Divine, I wanted to throttle him—

And climb on his lap and ride the big boy like a Clydesdale stallion.

An ache formed between my legs, the lady equivalent of blue balls beginning to take hold. Damn him and the blasted bond. The bond . . .

It affected him the same way it affected me.

A potent thought occurred, spilling like a bottle of dye, staining my thoughts. Perhaps I should play his game after all.

I walked over to him, his eyes watching my every move. I lifted my dress and crawled on top of him, lowering myself strategically on his prominent rock-hard bulge. I bit my bottom lip then slowly released it. “Silly me . . . I’m not wearing any underwear.”

When I felt his length twitch beneath me, I knew I was on the right track—for having sex? Really? Was that the goal, here?

The bond assured me, yes, yes it was .

You could hate someone and still want them at the same time, and the way he looked right now, sitting there with that seductive I own all I survey look that belonged solely to him, well, it made me want to grab his head, shove his face down, and drown the asshole between my thighs.

His black shirt fit him like a second skin, his sleeves rolled back, exposing the inky markings on his forearms. Forearms that were forged from steely muscle and iron bone, and roped with thick, masculine veins. It was a hint at what lingered beneath the rest of his clothes—of that powerful warrior’s body, built to rule anything he touched.

And right now, his fingers were on me.

Drawing irregular, light shapes on my inner thigh, making my center pulse with every electrifying graze of his rings. His touch was like ice against my skin, making me shiver with need.

“Did he ever touch you like this?” he asked, his voice throaty. Deep. Intimate.

I eyed him suspiciously—was he trying to get me to talk about Aurelius or was this some dominant male dirty-talk thing? There was only one way to find out . . .

“In the beginning, he did.” I draped my arms over his broad shoulders, using him to stabilize me.

“And then?”

“He quit.”

His fingers ran up the length of my thigh, drifting under my bunched dress which pooled around my hips—he was so close now.

“Why do you think he stopped?” he asked.

When I didn’t respond, Von stilled his hand .

I growled, flashing my teeth like some desperate, deranged animal.

As soon as I heard myself, I cut the sound off. I sucked in my pressed lips, clamping them shut with my teeth. Who was I?

Amusement lit his eyes. “I’ll continue when you answer my question.”

Well, that answered that. He was using his touch to pry my past out of me. Something I had no desire in discussing. Especially with him.

Huffing, I untangled myself from him and stood up.

“Running again, Kitten?” he purred darkly.

I rolled my eyes, turned away from him, and strode over to the bar. I rifled through the various bottles, popping corks and sniffing the contents—some smelled so potent, I swear my nostril hairs curled up and died. When I finally found one that didn’t smell like it would cause necrosis of my insides, I took it with me over to the wingback chair and plopped in it. I crossed my legs and glared at Von.

He smirked. “Making yourself at home, are you?”

“Hardly,” I grumbled. “I am merely making the most out of a bad situation.” I brought the top of the bottle to my lips, tasting the fruity contents—much better than the molten acid he was drinking. The wine sloshed inside the bottle as I set it down on the floor, a light clink sounding.

“Oh, come now, is it all that terrible?” Von asked, one black brow raising—the one with the slit in it.

“Horrible,” I replied flatly.

“And yet you sit here, in my company, drinking my alcohol. If you find all of this so abhorrent, why haven’t you tried to leave yet?”

“You said it yourself—the bond prevents me from light walking.” I tossed the quick answer at him, hoping he wouldn’t press any further.

Of course, the persistent male wasn’t finished. “You have feet for walking, wings for flying, yes? Those seem like two reasonable options.”

I pulled my gaze from his, glancing towards the twin glass doors that led out onto the balcony. Beyond them, a sky of amethyst sprawled for miles.

My heart stumbled a tick.

“What’s that about?” he asked, his gaze so piercing I felt like he was taking a dagger to my chest, cutting me open, and peering at my insides. No one should be able to look at anyone like that.

“Nothing,” I said.

“It was definitely something.”

I narrowed my eyes at him.

He shot me a look, as if to say I’m waiting .

I decided to ignore his question and said, “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Pray tell, little one.”

“I met a man in the kitchen today. He has been split up from his wife for many years and has tried to attend your throne meetings to request to be moved to his wife’s tier but has never been successful. Will you help him?”

Von thought it over for a moment, before he said, “I will.”

I was surprised by that, how easily he agreed.

“On one condition. ”

Ah, there it was.

“What is it?” I asked, already disliking where this was going.

“Tell me what that little flicker of sadness was about.” There was that slice-open-and-inspect-your-insides look again.

“Fine,” I sighed. “You asked me why I haven’t tried to leave. It’s clear that the bond demands we be close to one another so if I were to run, you’d feel it. Considering you have made it abundantly clear that you will bring me back here, running seems like a waste of both my time and yours. Which means I’m stuck here, which makes me sad.”

“Although that is an answer, it is not the one I’m looking for and you know it,” Von said. “Also, you are a terrible liar. Now fess up. Or else I’ll come over there and use my tongue to pry the answer out of you.” He gave a wicked smirk.

“You’re unbelievable,” I growled, pretending his words didn’t make me feel like my bones were turning to jelly.

“You’re evading,” he stated.

Indeed, I was.

“Little Goddess.”

Creator above, he was pushy.

“I don’t have a full set of wings, okay?” I blurted out. My proud shoulders caved, as if the fa?ade of pretending to be whole had been holding them up all this time.

He was quiet for a moment. Thinking. And then he said, “That’s why when I took you from the battlefield, you didn’t fly away . . . you couldn’t.”

“Look, I don’t need your pity,” I said, standing up, taking the bottle with me.

“I wouldn’t do you the disservice,” he answered in his deep, dark tone, fixing his eyes resolutely on the far wall.

“Good.” I was eager to move on from this topic. “So then, now that I’ve told you, will you help Early?”

“I will. But you have to do one more thing for me.”

My brows collided. “You said one condition.”

“I lied.” He raised his hand, swirling his tattooed finger, the one with a “k” on it, signaling for me to turn. “Show me.”

I stared at him. I had never shown anyone my wings before.

For most of my life, I thought I didn’t have any. I simply chalked it up as one more thing that made me incomplete—adding it to the list. But then one day, when I was in my orchard, standing on the top rung of a ladder and reaching for an apple, the ladder tipped, and I fell. Although it was not a far fall, it was enough to brush the air against my back, instinctually conjuring forth my wings. Although they somewhat cushioned my fall, I’ll never forget that feeling of reaching behind me—of feeling the silky soft feathers on one side, and nothing but bones on the other. Lightweight and sturdy, but featherless. Useless.

Incomplete .

Von sat there, waiting.

“Fine,” I sighed. “But no more conditions. You do what we agreed to—you help Early.”

“Deal,” he said.

I squinted at him, at that word. It was the whole reason I was here.

He smirked, pleased with himself and his god tier of mass fuckery. Then he swirled his finger once more .

Unwillingly, I turned around. Drawing a deep, deep breath, I revealed my wings, pushing them all the way out—feeling that strange, unfamiliar tingle throughout them—like a foot gone to sleep. I hadn’t stretched them in years. I spanned the one wing, full of white, glorious feathers—smooth and uniform and perfect. Then the other decrepit one—sad and useless.

Throughout the decades, I had shed a great deal of tears over my incomplete wings, but time dampened emotions, and now, I mostly felt numb towards them. The only time I felt that immense sadness return was when I looked to the sky and was reminded that I would never know what it was like to fly. I would never feel the wind beneath my wings, guiding me higher in a sea of azure.

I felt Von’s dark shadow fall over me, then his fingers as they hovered over the wing made of bones. Not enough to touch, but enough that I could feel the static flowing between us—a steady, intimate thrum of power and warmth. It caused a shiver to sink beneath my skin, skittering across my bones.

“I’m well aware it’s quite ugly,” I said, staring at a random spot on the rug as I bathed in my numbness.

“On the contrary, I find it quite sexy,” he mused, his hand drifting slowly, as if he were memorizing every detail.

“Says the God of Death,” I quipped flatly.

Von chuckled, but it didn’t seem sincere. It seemed like charity, doled out for me in my time of vulnerability.

Some time passed and then he said, “You and I are like yin and yang—complete opposites, forged to balance one another, to complete the cycles of life and death. But just as yin has a bit of yang in it, yang also has a bit of yin. I believe your wing is like this because of your connection to me. It is that small part of me that has been instilled in you.”

I didn’t exactly know what to make of all that. It was a theory, at least. One I could dive deeper into, but right now, I craved lighter conversation. So I asked with a teasing smile, “If that is so, then what part of me are you carrying around with you? A stray white hair in that raven mane of yours, perhaps?”

He let out a low chuckle, then said, “No white hairs, but that does give me an idea—”

On my feathered wing, I felt a quick, sharp sting, like a hair being plucked.

My wings snapped back into hiding as I turned around and hissed at him, “What was that for?”

“Souvenir,” he stated as he studied a small, white feather— my feather—his thumb and forefinger pinching the quill. He conjured a tie, grabbed a tendril of his long, black hair, and secured the feather in place at the end. Upon his canvas of black clothes and swirls of ink, it stood out like a sore thumb.

“ Killers collect souvenirs,” I pointed out.

He smirked. “Now you’re catching on.”