Harnessed Angels: The Quickening Read online

  Mathias didn’t have to wait long for Patrick to arrive. He pulled up in the Audi, stereo blasting the Beastie Boys, his thoughts, even now, intent on Sara. Lust and hatred for Sara mingled in Patrick’s mind and body and Mathias felt another protective surge of adrenaline. Colm was too much of a coward to physically hurt Sara, and Mathias would have her safely turned before Athos could reach her. But Sara thought she could control Patrick, which made him a serious danger to her until she was turned. Exploring the darkest corners of Patrick’s soul, Mathias was startled by the man’s overwhelming need to possess and control her.

  Patrick turned the car’s ignition off but stayed inside with his seat belt on. Mathias walked over and knocked on the window when it became apparent that Patrick wanted to ignore him.

  “You’re Patrick, right?” Mathias asked after Patrick finally rolled the window down an inch. “Colm is waiting inside for you.”

  Patrick got out of the car, took a second look at Mathias and activated the car’s security system. “I was expecting him to meet me. Are you…” Patrick stopped when he saw Mathias raise one dark eyebrow in mock warning.

  “You’ll be seeing Colm in a few seconds,” Mathias said. The door to the side entrance opened onto a staircase and Mathias led Patrick down to the basement, where the door to the Middle East antiquities storeroom had been left open. Colm was sitting inside at a cheap card table, a cold beer in his hand and two more on the table, unopened.

  “I don’t understand why we had to meet here.” Patrick popped the cap on one of the beers and drank half its contents in one swallow. “What if someone from the museum catches us?”

  “Don’t be a pussy. We practically run this place,” Colm said and offered the third bottle to Mathias. “What’s the matter, don’t you drink…beer?”

  “Not my brand,” Mathias answered, tired of the clichés Colm inevitably used around humans.

  “Yeah, sorry,” Colm agreed and winked at Patrick. “But they were all out of pisswater.”

  Patrick snickered then saw Mathias’s hard black eyes narrow. He shifted in his seat, took another deep swig and opened the third bottle. “Let’s just get on with this, okay?”

  “That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard all night,” Mathias said. He closed the door to the storeroom and motioned for Patrick to rise. With Patrick standing at attention, he pulled a drawer from a nearby artifact cabinet and placed it on the table. “Before we tell you what we want, however, you need to show us that you know what you’re talking about. The last thing we need is for you to come back with the wrong item.”

  Small beads of sweat formed on Patrick’s brow and upper lip. He had secretly spent the summer in intensive studies on ancient Middle Eastern societies. From the items in the drawer, he picked up a carved figure of a man on horseback spearing a lion. “This is Assyrian, around nine hundred BC. You can see the Hittite influences,” he continued and pointed to minute striations on the horse’s tail and along the edges of the rider’s garment. He put the piece down and picked up a silver drinking cup. The cup was cast in the shape of a stag resting on its forelegs, its waist imprinted with more stags that walked alongside men. He pointed to the checkered collar on the stag. “You can also see it in this earlier Hittite piece, probably around twelve hundred BC.”

  “What about this?” Mathias pushed forward a clay tablet, its right side shorn in a jagged pattern. To him, the tablet was the only item of interest, the one that would truly test Patrick’s knowledge.

  Patrick tensed as he positioned the tablet in front of him. He had hoped to avoid it. The glyphs at the edges confused him, worse yet, it was written in some sort of Hebrew. “It’s in Hebrew—” he began but Colm interrupted him.

  “Can you read it?”

  “No—“

  “Can you date it?” Mathias asked and leaned over the tablet. He pointed to the border. “Or tell us about these?”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Patrick said and sat down in the chair. He ran his finger along the glyphs, traced their outlines. “There’s a Central Asian influence, but…” His voice trailed off and he suppressed a groan.

  Colm slapped Patrick on the back. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. A predatory smile lit his face and he picked the tablet up and handed it to Mathias. “As long as you know its mate when you see it.”

  “Where?” Patrick asked.

  “At your dad’s university, the Meso-American collection, to be exact.” Colm saw the confused look on Patrick’s face, slapped his back a second time and grinned wider. “We expect you to steal it for us by Christmas.”

  Chapter Three

  Sara waited outside her dorm building for Colm to pick her up for their date. Deciding to humor his request for her to wear red, she had chosen a garnet-colored cashmere tube dress with a matching shawl for her bare shoulders. The September evening was a perfect combination of warm air, tempered by the occasional cool breeze, to keep her from overheating in the outfit. Still, when he pulled up in a white 1970’s Vette with red leather interior, Sara felt like running back upstairs and changing into something that didn’t match his car seats.

  “Nice,” Colm said and leaned across the passenger seat to push the door open. She slid onto the seat and he put the Vette into gear, his hand brushing against her exposed knee.

  The sensation from that brief contact traveled up her leg, coiled around the inside of her thigh and licked at her clit to produce an instant hardening of her nipples. “Wh… where are we going?” Her tongue thick with need, she stuttered to get the words out.

  “Moonlight picnic,” Colm answered and jerked his thumb toward the back seat. Colm removed his hand from the gear stick and the muscles at the base of Sara’s vagina contracted in anticipation, only to relax in disappointment as he popped a CD into the stereo and returned his attention to driving.

  Sara propped an elbow on the inside of the car door, rested her chin on it so that the wind whipping around the windshield cooled her face. Letting the air play over her skin, she tried to analyze the feelings Colm had produced inside her. Their first meeting, when he had interviewed her the year before, she had thought him something of a bastard. Yesterday, she’d been a bit off her guard when she had agreed to their date. Mathias, with his dark eyes and threatening scowl, had frightened and thrilled her at the same time and left her senses reeling.

  “You’re being really quiet,” Colm said. He reached over and rubbed soft circles on the inside of her knee with his index finger.

  “Mmm… sorry, I was just thinking….” Sara tried to remember what she had been thinking about but his touch erased her memory and focused her concentration on his hands and her cunt.

  “That’s okay,” he said and removed his hand. “I don’t really like girls that talk all the time.”

  She started to tell him that she hardly talked at all, but caught herself before the words came out. She felt her chest tighten, a slight nausea rising at her own stupidity. Moonlight picnic on the first date?

  She waited for Colm to pull the parking brake on the car when they reached Groton Park, and then she jumped from the car and grabbed the picnic basket from the back seat. To their left, trees, framed in a soft halo of light, bordered the park’s small pond. To their right, park benches, most of them claimed by other couples locked in steamy embraces, dotted the shore.

  Sara marched over to one of the empty benches and sat the basket down in the center. She turned and looked expectantly at Colm over her shoulder. He stood next to the bench, his body visibly hesitating as if he still would go left. A flicker of irritation at how presumptuous he had been passed over her, but then he smiled at her, his deep gaze cutting across the distance between them and pinning her to the bench. Another hot caress flushed her skin and she curled her fingers around the edge of the bench to keep from letting him lead her into the treed area.

  “I was hoping for something a little more private,” Colm said and joined her on the bench. He reached into the picnic b
asket, pulling two wine coolers out.

  Sara accepted the drink and surreptitiously checked the seal as she opened it for the first time, in case he was trying to slip her anything. He touched the back of her neck, the warmth of his fingertips spreading through her body faster and more effectively than any drug could. Sara shook her head, readjusting her shawl. “It’s a little premature for that, don’t you think?

  Colm blinked once, slowly, and Sara relaxed. His hand found her neck again, played along the back of her shoulders. “I would have thought you liberated enough that it wouldn’t matter, Sara.”

  He breathed the challenge into her ear and she turned her head, her mouth seeking his. Again, the slow blink of his eyes, and she felt herself being pushed back.

  “Funny,” she laughed and rubbed her cheek, “how guys want to make it merely an issue of whether a woman is sufficiently liberated.” The pulsing heat in her body persisted and she held the wine cooler to her neck.

  Colm pushed the wine cooler aside. His lips hovered against her skin, traced a slow line to the curve of her neck. He pushed back the rest of her shawl and she leaned into him, her breath coming in hard pants as she tried to control the urge to wrap her body around him. Christ, it’s been so long. Surely one night…

  Colm stiffened against her, the sudden change a slap of cool air against her fiery nerves.

  “What’s this?” He was stroking her right shoulder with his thumb.

  She turned and looked at the spot of skin he was thumbing. The light should have been too low for him to see, but she knew what he was looking at. “It’s a birthmark.”

  “The lines are so precise…it looks more like a tattoo,” he said. His voice was low, contemplative, no longer a whispered caress.

  Sara pulled her shawl back over her shoulders and wondered how Colm’s eyes could pick out the small pattern that oddly resembled a biohazard sign. “It’s not,” she said and recapped her wine cooler before she put it back into the basket.

  “No wonder he wants you.” Colm mumbled, the words obscured as his lips returned to brush against her neck.

  Her emotions running hot and cold, she was exhausted. She tried to pull away, but he raised an arm across her breasts, barring her forward retreat before she had time to ask him what he had said.

  Don’t panic, stay calm. Just tell him to stop.

  Sara turned to Colm, her body straight, her gaze level with his. She brought one hand up and clasped the sides of his wrist, exerting the smallest amount of pressure on the wrist’s tendons. “I’m ready to go back to my dorm room.”

  Colm relaxed his arm enough that his hand slid over her breast. The press of his thumb against her nipple sent an unwelcome icy spike through her chest that threatened to pierce her lungs.

  “We just got here,” he said and smiled as he felt her nipple hardening under his thumb. “And parts of you, at least, seem to be enjoying the evening.”

  He pressed against the hard tip and she felt a frozen winding sheet wrap its way around her chest. Her breathing shallowed. With a drop of her eyes, she scanned his body. Colm was long and powerful at the top, with a quarterback’s shoulders and biceps. She rejected the idea of trying to fight her way out at this point and let the hand that had been restraining his wrist fall to her leg. Keeping her voice level, she looked him in the eyes a second time. “I am going.”

  Colm returned Sara’s quick visual inspection, took in the curvy figure and fair skin that was well-lotioned and soft. He gave her a warning smile, but removed his arm and stood up. “I’ll drive you.”

  Sara looked at the couples on the nearby benches. Still wrapped in desired embraces, they hadn’t noticed, or had avoided noticing, Sara and Colm. She looked back at the Vette and thought of the shadowed lanes they had traveled on, with the dirt roads branching out and away into unknown territory.

  Colm flexed his shoulders back, a quick dip of his head toward one shoulder and then the other producing a loud series of cracks. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled his keys out and tossed them towards Sara. “Look, you can drive back to your dorm.”

  Irritation spread across his face as she continued to hesitate. “It’s no big deal,” he said and started the walk back to the car. “I thought you were more mature. You’re not. Let’s get you home.”

  An angry heat flushed her face and she followed him to the Vette. He waited for her, his body centered against the bumper, watching to see which seat she would pick—driver or passenger.

  Sara opened the driver’s side door and slid behind the wheel. Just as smoothly, she slid the key into the ignition, the Vette firing to life before Colm could slither in surprise beside her.

  “Take it easy on the gears,” he said as her hand wrapped around the gearshift and she pressed down on the clutch.

  A small, perverse desire to grind the gears wormed its way through her brain but the raw power of the car consoled her, its rumble lulling her into near good-humor. Casting one sideways glance at him, she eased the Vette into reverse, doing a hundred and eighty-degree turn in the parking lot. Once they left the ill-lit lanes behind them, Sara relaxed. She let her body feel the deep swing of the car as she took corners at tight angles. On the open roadway, the engine’s throaty vibration threatened to leave a lingering ache in her crotch.

  By the time she pulled into the parking space in front of her dorm, Sara was panting and she rested her forehead against the steering wheel. Wet heat radiated from between her parted thighs and her nose caught the faint scent of her excitement. What is it about Colm that has me cold one minute and steamy the next?

  “Still sure you want to call it an evening?”

  Colm’s voice was a well-oiled caress and Sara felt her body gravitate towards him. But her passion turned to ice as his hand found her knee and made a run up her thigh. She threw open the Vette’s door and jumped out. Colm was climbing over the gearbox when she sent the door flying back at him.

  “What in the hell is wrong with you, Colm?” she yelled the question, her anger only flaring higher when she saw the flutter of curtains in the dorm rooms.

  “Me?” Colm’s gaze smothered her body in one hot glance that wound its way around her slim waist and licked her thimbled nipples and heaving breasts, before it wrapped around the arms and hands that trembled with the urge to hit him. “Sara, you’re so ready to be fucked,” he laughed and put the car into gear. “I was only trying to help you out, baby.”

  Fury provided a blinding shield against his smug smile and Sara stood in the middle of the road, eyes closed while she took deep breaths. Colm inched the car from its parking space and laughed at her as he drove away.

  She felt the blood draining from her head and squeezed her shut eyelids more tightly. It’s impossible to pass out just because you’re angry. Her swaying body suggested otherwise and she waited with her eyes closed. When she was sure she wouldn’t faint, Sara let the tension in her face unwind, relaxed her shoulders, felt her balled hands fall open. At last she opened her eyes and saw him—Mathias.

  He was staring at her, his gaze as intense as the anger and passion that had so recently flooded her body. She wondered how long he had been standing there, staring at her; spying on her, even. Another wrathful fit threatened to overtake her and she marched over to where he stood just outside the line of trees that bordered the dormitory.

  “Sara.” His voice was a low warning that she couldn’t heed. The rich baritone pulled her to him and she found her body against his. Her breasts pressed into his broad chest and his hands found her hips, ground her against him while his mouth crushed her lips in a kiss that seared her soul. She felt him backing into the tree, knew she should break free, but moved with him, her body in agony except for where he touched her.

  Pivoting, Mathias raised Sara off her feet. Bark pressed against her back, its roughness catching the cashmere dress, hitching it higher as his hands traveled down her hips to grip her ass. Throwing her head back, she reached up and encircled his neck with her arms as her legs
parted. He boosted her higher and her whole body moaned at the delicious curl of his hands around the back of her thighs. She wrapped her legs around his waist, felt the warm press of his mouth against her breasts. His lips traced their way to her neck, his tongue licking the hollow along her collarbone as his thumbs slipped past her underwear and plunged into her. Arms, legs and pussy squeezed in one long contraction as she sought to hold him to her forever.

  No. The word was spoken so softly that Sara thought it was coming from inside her own head. But she knew the thought wasn’t hers—her whole body screamed Yes!

  Not yet, Sara. The words filled her head, pushed her from him. I’m sorry.

  Dazed, she fell backward. Mathias’s hands darted out to catch her and lean her against the tree. The eager press of his cock against her, coupled with his denial, clouded her mind with confusion. He broke from her and smoothed the bottom of her dress back over her thighs, his hands shaking. She willed him to look at her but he kept his gaze down.

  “Not yet.” This time, the words were spoken aloud, firm, unwavering.

  Chapter Four

  Mathias’s rejection echoed in Sara’s head as she plopped onto her bed the next morning, her body wrapped in a towel from her shower. His hands and mouth echoed, too, on and in her body. An erotic flush heated her skin and she let the towel fall open. The cool dorm air soothed sensitive skin that had been tormented by a long night of imagined caresses. Relaxed at last, she was drifting into sleep when the phone rang.

  “Mmm—hello?”

  “What the fuck is going on, Sara?” Patrick’s angry whine, made tinny by the phone, caused Sara to sit up in bed. She gaped in disbelief at the words and manner in which he had delivered them. She tried to remember if he had ever cursed around her before.

  “Patrick, if there’s something you need to discuss with me, you’d better change your tone and language.” She kept her voice calm and level despite the strong urge to hang up. Her father might have a tenured position at his university, but Patrick’s father was still the departmental dean and Patrick’s mom—well, she was just a complete bitch, particularly when it came to 'protecting' Patrick.