Up In Smoke
Page 3

‘‘I haven’t killed a woman with sex in days,’’ he said with another leer, cocking a hip so his penis, tattooed with a curse put there by an unhappy lover, waved at me.
I shot him a horrified glance. He laughed again. ‘‘May, my adorable one, you’re like putty in my hands. A silky-skinned, blue-eyed vixen sort of putty, but putty nonetheless. I take it my suggestion of a threesome is out?’’
‘‘Way out,’’ I agreed.
‘‘Ah.’’ He glanced down at his penis in mock regret. ‘‘Perhaps the lady prefers a different color scheme? Maybe this would be more to your favor?’’
His form shimmered for a moment, blurring slightly before settling into that of a tall man with skin the color of my favorite latte, his hair growing into shoulder-length dreadlocks, a close-cropped goatee and mustache framing lips that were firm, yet so very sensitive. My heart leaped in my chest, thudding madly as I beheld the vision of the man for whom I had sacrificed so much. I fisted my hands, fighting to control the urge to strike Magoth for his cruelty, knowing that he was fishing for just such a reaction from me. It took a moment, but at last I mastered my emotions and leveled him a gaze that by rights should have struck him down.
‘‘You’re not even a fraction of the man Gabriel is,’’ I told him.
‘‘Ah, but he’s not a man at all,’’ Magoth answered, looking down at himself. He shuddered delicately and returned to his normal appearance, thankfully complete with clothing. ‘‘I tell myself that one day I will understand your preference for the silver wyvern over me, but I begin to wonder if it is not just some perverse obstinacy on your part.’’
I took a deep breath, ignoring the need to lash out. My voice was as bland as I could make it as I asked, ‘‘Was there something you wanted, a threesome aside?’’
‘‘How about a threesome astride?’’ he asked hopefully.
I tightened my lips.
‘‘That dragon has ruined you,’’ he said with a sigh, shaking his head. ‘‘You used to be such fun. As it happens, I did have a bit of news about which I wish to inform you—’’
I never heard the rest of the sentence. A faint tingling sensation swept over me for the space between seconds; then suddenly I was yanked out of the room, out of Magoth’s house, clear out of Abaddon, and plopped down in the center of a familiar room.
My vision, which had blurred for a few seconds, resolved itself. A black woman with a white stripe in her shoulder-length hair leaned forward and peered at me through red glasses. ‘‘Are you all right?’’ she asked, concern evident in her warm brown eyes.
‘‘I . . . yes. I think.’’ As I was about to ask who the woman was—and more importantly, how she’d gotten me out of Abaddon—a flicker of movement at the edge of my peripheral vision had me spinning around, my heart suddenly singing at the sight of the man who stood there.
‘‘Gabriel!’’ I shouted, and flung myself into his arms as he ran forward to catch me.
 
 
Chapter Two
‘‘I knew you’d find a way to get me out of Abaddon,’’ I said in between pressing kisses to Gabriel’s face. He was warm and solid, and the wonderful woodsy scent that seemed to cling to him wrapped itself around me, sinking into my pores like rain on a parched desert. ‘‘I knew you would understand what I couldn’t say in front of Magoth. I didn’t think it would take you quite this long to get me out, but given that I didn’t manage to extricate myself from Magoth’s grip, I can’t complain. Not when we’re together again.’’
Gabriel’s bright silver eyes seemed to see through me to the depths of my soul, lighting up all the little dark corners, shining into me with a white-hot heat that immediately set my body alight. ‘‘Little bird, I am . . . why is your face green?’’
‘‘Oh.’’ I touched my cheek, picking off a piece of dried clay. ‘‘It’s a facial mask.’’
‘‘I see. I’m—’’
Before he could finish the sentence, I was summarily yanked from his arms and spun through a sickening miasma of blackness that blossomed into red pain when I was dropped on a cold marble floor.
‘‘Ow. What the—’’ I looked up from the floor, rubbing the part of my forehead where it had struck the marble. A little circle of green clay dust marked the spot. My heart shriveled into a minuscule ball of misery when I beheld the sight of a frowning Magoth, with Sally peering out from behind him.
‘‘Who summoned you, May?’’
‘‘I don’t know,’’ I said, but Magoth was no fool. His gaze turned even blacker as I got to my feet and dusted off my pants. ‘‘You can stop looking daggers at me—or whatever hideous torture device you’d like to use—I don’t know who summoned me.’’ That was strictly the truth; I had no idea who the woman was who Gabriel had hired to summon me, but whoever she was, I wanted to sing her praises.
Magoth was not amused by my attempts at prevarication. ‘‘It was your dragon!’’
‘‘Gabriel was there, yes. But he didn’t summon me. Dragons can’t summon either minions or servants of dark lords, and since I’m considered one of the latter grou—’’
Before the word left my lips, I was jerked back through the fabric of time and being, and deposited back in a familiar room.
‘‘Mayling!’’
‘‘Hello again. Um . . . am I here to stay this time?’’ I asked as Gabriel pulled me into his arms. ‘‘I sure hope I am, because that look in your eyes really makes me want to . . .’’
A gentle cough alerted me to the fact that we had an audience.
‘‘It’s a pleasure to see you again, May, facial mask and all,’’ a woman said, and I turned in Gabriel’s arms to smile at Aisling. She stood leaning against her husband, a dark-haired, green-eyed wyvern named Drake.
‘‘Oh, man, did you have to interrupt her? I wanted to hear what it was she was gonna do to Gabriel. I bet it involved tongues. And possibly peanut butter and a cake spatula. At least I hope the spatula was involved.’’ The large shaggy black Newfoundland that sat next to Aisling might look like a normal dog, but I knew better.