Read Online Warrior's Angel (The Lost Angels Book 4) by Heather Killough-Walden - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Heather Killough-Walden
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didn’t take long for Rhiannon to realize that she was the cause of it.
He was getting to her, this stranger.
The man in black looked up toward the cathedral’s rafters – then looked back down at her. Now there was something in his expression that tightened Rhiannon’s gut and forced her pulse into hyper drive. “You are a force to be reckoned with.”
Suddenly, his grip tightened, and before she could react, he had stopped at the center of the dancing c rowd and pulled her completely against him. The hardness of his body on hers, the darkness of him, the scent of him, and the oceans of depths in his eyes left her at once breathless. For the first time in her life, Rhiannon Dante, the woman who could throw cars with her mind, the woman with pyrotechnic powers that took down buildings, and the one with the ability to bring forth a hurricane, was utterly helpless.
“But you have weaknesses,” he told her now, whispering the words across her lips. The feel of his breath, and the nearness of his mouth were a heady combination, turning her knees to jelly. Outside, the thunder drew closer.
If he hadn’t been holding her up, she might have fallen.
“Everyone does, Rhiannon.” He leaned in, holding her even tighter so that he could whisper in her ear. A shiver, wanton and delicious, went through her when he said, “I’m willing to bet I can find every one of yours.”
How much , she thought recklessly, even as, against all logic and reckoning, she closed her eyes and turned her head to offer him her neck, abandoning herself to him. How much do you want to bet?
“Everything you have ever wanted,” he told her as if he had pulled the question from her mind. “And more.”
A heartbeat later, Rhiannon felt his lips against the pulse in her throat.
Lightning struck the cathe dral’s upper-most peaks, and thunder sliced through the music like a bomb. Overhead lights flickered and went out. People screamed, but the sound was drowned out by the tremendous zapping of wires and sound systems being electrified. Sparks erupted along the walls and shot like fireworks from the bandstand, and Rhiannon blinked, forcing her way back up through the sea she’d been drowning in.
Pleasure was rippling through her, warming her, weakening her. With no more than a kiss, the tiniest touch of flesh on flesh, she was all but gone to him.
But chaos had been born around them, people running, fire extinguishers hissing, and Rhiannon’s will had never been easily buckled. Something was wrong. She needed to focus. Someone might need help.
She felt she was trappe d in time and space as she fought to find the strength needed to pull away from the stranger. She managed inches and looked up, moving in a dream-like slow motion, caught in the syrup of the stranger’s seductive grasp.
“One down,” he told her. His words echoed through her. They were flippant and they were cruel, but this time, he wasn’t smiling as he stepped back into the darkness behind him. His eyes simply burned, like the center of a candle’s flame.
The hottest fire is blue.
Those eyes were the last to vanish in the shadows that had been left behind by the failing lights.
And then the stranger was gone.
*****
“The hottest fire is blue.”
The limousine’s driver glanced up to find her in his rear-view mirror. “I’m sorry, Miss Dante?”
Rhiannon blinked, realizing she’d spoken the words out loud. “Nothing, Frank. I’m sorry, I’m talking to myself.” She’d just been recalling the words her eighth grade Earth and Space Science teacher had once said to her class as she’d taught them about the different types of stars. Contrary to appearances, red was the coolest type of star, despite a red giant’s size. Yellow, as was their sun, was the next hottest. White was hotter. And blue was the hottest of them all.
To illustrate the differences in their temperatures, the teacher had lit a candle and allowed them all to peer closely at the flame.
He was getting to her, this stranger.
The man in black looked up toward the cathedral’s rafters – then looked back down at her. Now there was something in his expression that tightened Rhiannon’s gut and forced her pulse into hyper drive. “You are a force to be reckoned with.”
Suddenly, his grip tightened, and before she could react, he had stopped at the center of the dancing c rowd and pulled her completely against him. The hardness of his body on hers, the darkness of him, the scent of him, and the oceans of depths in his eyes left her at once breathless. For the first time in her life, Rhiannon Dante, the woman who could throw cars with her mind, the woman with pyrotechnic powers that took down buildings, and the one with the ability to bring forth a hurricane, was utterly helpless.
“But you have weaknesses,” he told her now, whispering the words across her lips. The feel of his breath, and the nearness of his mouth were a heady combination, turning her knees to jelly. Outside, the thunder drew closer.
If he hadn’t been holding her up, she might have fallen.
“Everyone does, Rhiannon.” He leaned in, holding her even tighter so that he could whisper in her ear. A shiver, wanton and delicious, went through her when he said, “I’m willing to bet I can find every one of yours.”
How much , she thought recklessly, even as, against all logic and reckoning, she closed her eyes and turned her head to offer him her neck, abandoning herself to him. How much do you want to bet?
“Everything you have ever wanted,” he told her as if he had pulled the question from her mind. “And more.”
A heartbeat later, Rhiannon felt his lips against the pulse in her throat.
Lightning struck the cathe dral’s upper-most peaks, and thunder sliced through the music like a bomb. Overhead lights flickered and went out. People screamed, but the sound was drowned out by the tremendous zapping of wires and sound systems being electrified. Sparks erupted along the walls and shot like fireworks from the bandstand, and Rhiannon blinked, forcing her way back up through the sea she’d been drowning in.
Pleasure was rippling through her, warming her, weakening her. With no more than a kiss, the tiniest touch of flesh on flesh, she was all but gone to him.
But chaos had been born around them, people running, fire extinguishers hissing, and Rhiannon’s will had never been easily buckled. Something was wrong. She needed to focus. Someone might need help.
She felt she was trappe d in time and space as she fought to find the strength needed to pull away from the stranger. She managed inches and looked up, moving in a dream-like slow motion, caught in the syrup of the stranger’s seductive grasp.
“One down,” he told her. His words echoed through her. They were flippant and they were cruel, but this time, he wasn’t smiling as he stepped back into the darkness behind him. His eyes simply burned, like the center of a candle’s flame.
The hottest fire is blue.
Those eyes were the last to vanish in the shadows that had been left behind by the failing lights.
And then the stranger was gone.
*****
“The hottest fire is blue.”
The limousine’s driver glanced up to find her in his rear-view mirror. “I’m sorry, Miss Dante?”
Rhiannon blinked, realizing she’d spoken the words out loud. “Nothing, Frank. I’m sorry, I’m talking to myself.” She’d just been recalling the words her eighth grade Earth and Space Science teacher had once said to her class as she’d taught them about the different types of stars. Contrary to appearances, red was the coolest type of star, despite a red giant’s size. Yellow, as was their sun, was the next hottest. White was hotter. And blue was the hottest of them all.
To illustrate the differences in their temperatures, the teacher had lit a candle and allowed them all to peer closely at the flame.
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