Playing With Fire - Katie MacAlister [86]
‘‘The blackmailer poses no problem. We can deal with him so that he will offer no threat to Cyrene or you.’’ He rose and began pacing the room. ‘‘As for the demon lord . . . I would have preferred to keep knowledge of the phylactery’s whereabouts confined only to us, but as we cannot undo what has been done, we will simply have to make the best of the situation. Our first and foremost priority must be to get the phylactery before Magoth can order you to retrieve it for him.’’ He paused to give me a long look. ‘‘Or has he already done that?’’
Bile rose, burning the back of my throat. I wanted to admit the truth to Gabriel, to cling to him and sob out my sorrows, avoiding all the unpleasantness that was woven into my life, but I couldn’t do that to him, not while there was the slightest shred of hope that I could avoid Magoth’s command.
I touched my throat where Magoth had almost succeeded in throttling me. ‘‘He attacked me when he realized what the phylactery was. I was on the verge of passing out—’’
Gabriel, distracted as I had hoped he would be, was instantly at my side, probing my neck with gentle fingers. ‘‘You were bruised here. Your flesh still remembers the trauma. I will ease its memory.’’
His lips caressed my neck, building the banked fire within me until I moaned at the sensation of his skin against mine.
I tossed aside the clothing I was still holding, falling into his arms, kissing a line along his jaw.
‘‘I cannot seem to get enough of you, little bird,’’ he murmured as his tongue swept broad strokes across my neck. I’d never been licked before by a man, but the sensation wasn’t even remotely repugnant. Gabriel positively hummed with pleasure as I slid my hands down his silky skin, tracing out the hills and valleys that made up the planes of his back. ‘‘You are so good, Mayling. You taste so good.’’
I let my forehead drop to his shoulder, guilt spiking through my desire until the latter all but evaporated. ‘‘I’m not good. I’m not good at all, Gabriel. Even assuming we have nothing to worry about with Porter and whomever he’s working for, Magoth will move mountains to get that phylactery.’’
‘‘Then we shall simply have to get to it before he does,’’ he answered, lifting my chin until my lips brushed his. ‘‘We must get you into the vault before Magoth can summon you and give you a direct order. We will have to share this news with Drake and Aisling—I do not wish to involve them, but without Maata and Tipene to help us, we are in a weak position.’’
I said nothing, just snuggled into him, savoring the scent and feel of him pressed so closely against me, thinking with irony of the many times I’d comforted Cyrene when one of her romantic relationships had failed. I’d always been somewhat skeptical about heartache, but now I knew the full extent of how a person could feel they were dying inside. Worse, I had no one but myself to blame for my present circumstance—I knew it was folly to become involved with Gabriel so long as I was bound to Magoth. I knew it, and yet I’d ignored the reality of the situation. And now the true price was uncovered as I acknowledged that over the span of just a few days, my emotions had deepened significantly.
I was falling in love. It was an odd sensation, a sort of prickly excitement that alternated with the absolute depths of despair. I’d never felt love before—other than affection for Cyrene—but even that was tinged with a sense of duty because I owed my very existence to her. But Gabriel was different . . . which would make it all that much more agonizing if I did not find a way out of obeying Magoth’s order.
‘‘It is almost morning,’’ Gabriel said, glancing at the clock. He scooped me up and stood, carrying me to the bed. ‘‘Magoth cannot assault the L’au-delà vaults himself, can he?’’
I shook my head. ‘‘He doesn’t have the means to leave Abaddon. Even if he did, the Otherworld officials sealed their offices and vaults from the demon lords long ago. Magoth can’t get to them himself— he’ll need an agent to do that.’