nipples hard against the loose shirt, and I didn’t need to check to know I was wet between my legs. I was thoroughly and completely aroused, my body that of a woman well satisfied.
It wasn’t the truth, of course. It wasn’t a portent, a sign of the future, a vision. It was simply the female equivalent of a wet dream. Nothing to be ashamed of, though shame was hovering. No one knew but me. And I liked it. Shameful or not, I wanted more.
I climbed back onto the bed, too hot for covers now, and felt the soft breeze blow over my heated flesh. I glanced over at the door to the courtyard, but it was still locked, and I was safe. I didn’t know what had caused the dream, and I didn’t care. It was nobody else’s business. I stripped off my clothes, leaving them where they fell, and lay back against the cool sheet, gloriously naked. And this time my sleep was dreamless.
W AKING LATE THE next morning, I scrambled out of bed in sudden guilt and worry. A strange sense of oppression and anticipation rippled through me—until I remembered what had caused it. The sun was already up in the sky, some of the overnight mist had burned off, and the man next door wasn’tin residence. I wasn’t sure how I knew that, but I did. Maybe he’d never come back last night. Either way, it was none of my business. He had nothing to do with my dreams last night, nothing at all. Those were mine.
Even sleeping late, I was still an earlier riser than many in Sheol. As I walked down to the sea, I could hear the sounds of people training under the archangel Michael’s stern tutelage, the noise drifting from the open doors of the huge room where they worked, but the beach was empty. I kicked off my sandals at the edge of the water and walked through the ripples of surf, feeling the sun beat down on me, drying my freshly washed hair into a mass of annoying curls around my face. I’d hoped cutting it short would give me some kind of gravitas, despite my height. Instead I had ended up looking like a waif, and there was no room for waifs in a world of oversize, too-beautiful fallen angels.
I gazed out at the dark blue water as I waded along the shore. It was another illusion that I couldn’t get rid of. The ocean was a healing world for the Fallen—its waters could mend even a mortal blow in an angel—but for their human counterparts it was simply water. There was no reason I should feel strengthened and healed when I went into the sea that lay at our doorstep, but I did, and Michael had taught us that perception was half the battle. If webelieved we would triumph, we would. If I believed the ocean strengthened and healed me, then emotionally, at least, it would.
It wouldn’t heal me physically. I’d already tried that surreptitiously, hoping the cool, cleansing water would wash away the scars. It hadn’t, but when I’d emerged that first time, I could feel their importance slipping away.
In fact, I hadn’t thought about the ugly scars marring my flesh for a long time, months, perhaps years. Not until Cain had arrived in a shower of flame.
I was annoyed with myself. I had things to do today, yet the erotic dream lingered. I could still feel it. Whether I wanted to fight or not, everyone was required to spend at least two hours a day in combat training, and nothing would exempt me. It was hard, exhausting work, but I liked how strong it made me feel, the pleasant sense of tiredness that suffused my body. I would train twice as hard today, I promised myself. Work my body so hard that I was too tired to pay attention to anyone, so hard that my sleep would be dreamless.
I turned, ready to head back—and saw him perched on the cliffs overhead, the very same bluff where Raziel flew when he needed to think. Raziel hadn’t been bred to run this unruly bunch of fallen ones. It had always been Azazel’s task, through untold millennia, to guide the Fallen in their ongoingbattle against Uriel and his viciously cruel decrees. There had been
It wasn’t the truth, of course. It wasn’t a portent, a sign of the future, a vision. It was simply the female equivalent of a wet dream. Nothing to be ashamed of, though shame was hovering. No one knew but me. And I liked it. Shameful or not, I wanted more.
I climbed back onto the bed, too hot for covers now, and felt the soft breeze blow over my heated flesh. I glanced over at the door to the courtyard, but it was still locked, and I was safe. I didn’t know what had caused the dream, and I didn’t care. It was nobody else’s business. I stripped off my clothes, leaving them where they fell, and lay back against the cool sheet, gloriously naked. And this time my sleep was dreamless.
W AKING LATE THE next morning, I scrambled out of bed in sudden guilt and worry. A strange sense of oppression and anticipation rippled through me—until I remembered what had caused it. The sun was already up in the sky, some of the overnight mist had burned off, and the man next door wasn’tin residence. I wasn’t sure how I knew that, but I did. Maybe he’d never come back last night. Either way, it was none of my business. He had nothing to do with my dreams last night, nothing at all. Those were mine.
Even sleeping late, I was still an earlier riser than many in Sheol. As I walked down to the sea, I could hear the sounds of people training under the archangel Michael’s stern tutelage, the noise drifting from the open doors of the huge room where they worked, but the beach was empty. I kicked off my sandals at the edge of the water and walked through the ripples of surf, feeling the sun beat down on me, drying my freshly washed hair into a mass of annoying curls around my face. I’d hoped cutting it short would give me some kind of gravitas, despite my height. Instead I had ended up looking like a waif, and there was no room for waifs in a world of oversize, too-beautiful fallen angels.
I gazed out at the dark blue water as I waded along the shore. It was another illusion that I couldn’t get rid of. The ocean was a healing world for the Fallen—its waters could mend even a mortal blow in an angel—but for their human counterparts it was simply water. There was no reason I should feel strengthened and healed when I went into the sea that lay at our doorstep, but I did, and Michael had taught us that perception was half the battle. If webelieved we would triumph, we would. If I believed the ocean strengthened and healed me, then emotionally, at least, it would.
It wouldn’t heal me physically. I’d already tried that surreptitiously, hoping the cool, cleansing water would wash away the scars. It hadn’t, but when I’d emerged that first time, I could feel their importance slipping away.
In fact, I hadn’t thought about the ugly scars marring my flesh for a long time, months, perhaps years. Not until Cain had arrived in a shower of flame.
I was annoyed with myself. I had things to do today, yet the erotic dream lingered. I could still feel it. Whether I wanted to fight or not, everyone was required to spend at least two hours a day in combat training, and nothing would exempt me. It was hard, exhausting work, but I liked how strong it made me feel, the pleasant sense of tiredness that suffused my body. I would train twice as hard today, I promised myself. Work my body so hard that I was too tired to pay attention to anyone, so hard that my sleep would be dreamless.
I turned, ready to head back—and saw him perched on the cliffs overhead, the very same bluff where Raziel flew when he needed to think. Raziel hadn’t been bred to run this unruly bunch of fallen ones. It had always been Azazel’s task, through untold millennia, to guide the Fallen in their ongoingbattle against Uriel and his viciously cruel decrees. There had been
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