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Authors: L. A. Banks
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the left bank of windows on the plane only made her squeeze her eyes shut more tightly as her stomach roiled. A light squeeze of Azrael’s hand somewhat quelled the discomfort, but when she opened her eyes, every passenger appeared to her as a swirling mass of light energy.
“Breathe through it,” he murmured, and wiped her damp brow with a kiss. She nodded, knowing that there wasn’t the privacy to have a deeper conversation about her strange waking sensations, but he’d heard her distress nonetheless. This time when she opened her eyes, the passengers and crew had returned to normal, but she noticed Gavreel andPaschar attending to her sisters. Okay, so it wasn’t just her. Aziza was rubbing her temples as though staving off a migraine.
Azrael clasped her palm and brought the back of her hand against his lips. The second he did that, she felt adrenaline riddling his system, so much so that it put a slightly metallic taste in the back of her mouth.
“Kiss me,” she murmured as the flight dipped again.
For a moment he just stared at her, then he complied. But it wasn’t the light peck that she was expecting to test for ambrosia lacquer on his tongue. He held the sides of her face, gently at first, brought his face close to hers, then suddenly took her mouth with so much force that it frightened her.
When she pulled back, he looked away, hands trembling. They sat back in their seats mute, and eventually she glanced around as other passengers looked away, embarrassed at the sudden display. But his brothers were sitting back, eyes closed, breathing slowly, gripping their armrests, practically sparking. What the …
“This region is a vortex,” Azrael murmured in a gravelly rumble. “I had not anticipated this. We will discuss it later.”
“All right,” she replied, taking him at his word.
None of the brothers looked good. Gavreel had clearly lost his sense of peace, Paschar was just as undone, and Bath Kol seemed to be on the verge of an asthma attack. Beads of perspiration had formed on Azrael’s brow, and his once-dry T-shirt and sweater were damp. He looked to be about ten seconds away from stripping the offending articles over his head to release his magnificent wings.
She watched a muscle in his jaw pulse as static electricity began to climb through his long dreadlocks. Thinking fast, she grabbed his hand and held it hard. “Ground through me.”
He nodded, almost gasping, but instead swallowed the sound so hard that it made his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “I need to release them so badly, Celeste, it hurts,” he whispered, then allowed his head to drop back with his eyes closed.
He was referring to his wings. Other passengers hadn’t heard his comment and just assumed he had flying anxiety when the opposite was true. The desire was so thick within him to be out on the thermals, flying beside his brothers into a battle, that it was making his shoulders thicken.
Speaking to him in a hissed warning, she clenched his hand against her heart. “Listen to me, Az—you cannot have a wardrobe malfunction on this flight. We clear? It cannot happen, no matter what.”
Past the point of speech, he just fervently nodded and glanced out the window, then turned away from it as though someone had slapped him.
“We just dropped in altitude from thirty thousand feet to ten, the entry point of aerial assault, the sweet ten, just above the clouds with a sight line to the ground forces.”
Flat-palming Azrael’s heaving chest as a stewardess neared, Celeste shook her head. “Az, I’m serious, man.”
“Is everything all right?” the stewardess asked, looking concerned. “Sir, do you need some water?”
“He’s fine,” Celeste said, glaring at Azrael. “Just has trouble with landings after a long flight.”
“Oh, yes, understood. Plenty of people hate takeoffs and landings, but we’ll be on the ground soon.”
Celeste waited until the woman had passed them to go strap herself into the
“Breathe through it,” he murmured, and wiped her damp brow with a kiss. She nodded, knowing that there wasn’t the privacy to have a deeper conversation about her strange waking sensations, but he’d heard her distress nonetheless. This time when she opened her eyes, the passengers and crew had returned to normal, but she noticed Gavreel andPaschar attending to her sisters. Okay, so it wasn’t just her. Aziza was rubbing her temples as though staving off a migraine.
Azrael clasped her palm and brought the back of her hand against his lips. The second he did that, she felt adrenaline riddling his system, so much so that it put a slightly metallic taste in the back of her mouth.
“Kiss me,” she murmured as the flight dipped again.
For a moment he just stared at her, then he complied. But it wasn’t the light peck that she was expecting to test for ambrosia lacquer on his tongue. He held the sides of her face, gently at first, brought his face close to hers, then suddenly took her mouth with so much force that it frightened her.
When she pulled back, he looked away, hands trembling. They sat back in their seats mute, and eventually she glanced around as other passengers looked away, embarrassed at the sudden display. But his brothers were sitting back, eyes closed, breathing slowly, gripping their armrests, practically sparking. What the …
“This region is a vortex,” Azrael murmured in a gravelly rumble. “I had not anticipated this. We will discuss it later.”
“All right,” she replied, taking him at his word.
None of the brothers looked good. Gavreel had clearly lost his sense of peace, Paschar was just as undone, and Bath Kol seemed to be on the verge of an asthma attack. Beads of perspiration had formed on Azrael’s brow, and his once-dry T-shirt and sweater were damp. He looked to be about ten seconds away from stripping the offending articles over his head to release his magnificent wings.
She watched a muscle in his jaw pulse as static electricity began to climb through his long dreadlocks. Thinking fast, she grabbed his hand and held it hard. “Ground through me.”
He nodded, almost gasping, but instead swallowed the sound so hard that it made his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “I need to release them so badly, Celeste, it hurts,” he whispered, then allowed his head to drop back with his eyes closed.
He was referring to his wings. Other passengers hadn’t heard his comment and just assumed he had flying anxiety when the opposite was true. The desire was so thick within him to be out on the thermals, flying beside his brothers into a battle, that it was making his shoulders thicken.
Speaking to him in a hissed warning, she clenched his hand against her heart. “Listen to me, Az—you cannot have a wardrobe malfunction on this flight. We clear? It cannot happen, no matter what.”
Past the point of speech, he just fervently nodded and glanced out the window, then turned away from it as though someone had slapped him.
“We just dropped in altitude from thirty thousand feet to ten, the entry point of aerial assault, the sweet ten, just above the clouds with a sight line to the ground forces.”
Flat-palming Azrael’s heaving chest as a stewardess neared, Celeste shook her head. “Az, I’m serious, man.”
“Is everything all right?” the stewardess asked, looking concerned. “Sir, do you need some water?”
“He’s fine,” Celeste said, glaring at Azrael. “Just has trouble with landings after a long flight.”
“Oh, yes, understood. Plenty of people hate takeoffs and landings, but we’ll be on the ground soon.”
Celeste waited until the woman had passed them to go strap herself into the
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