Her Wicked Angel (Her Angel Romance Series Book 6) (Reading Sample), Felicity Heaton [ereader android .TXT] 📗

to her mortal concepts of right and wrong, and that there was no good in him as she would view it. Rather what she viewed as bad, he saw as good.

She had been afraid at one point, he felt sure of it, but had rallied and refused to leave him, instead telling him that she knew he could protect her and she was safest with him.

Asmodeus didn’t believe that, so he wasn’t sure how she could. He had done nothing to prove himself worthy of her belief and she barely knew him. She probably knew Apollyon well, and together with Serenity and perhaps their friends, that male would be better able to protect her from the Devil.

He stared up at the stars, trying to ignore the creeping fear at the back of his mind. He refused to feel that emotion. He had feared the Devil in the past, scores of centuries ago, when he had been young and weak, and unsure of himself. With every decade that had passed, every victory on the battlefield and captive that had cracked from his torture alone, he had grown stronger and more confident, becoming fitting of the title the Devil had given him.

King of Demons.

A title he had to live up to or risk losing.

The Devil would strip him of it if he discovered that he had already met the female and was refusing to bring her to him.

He had to return to his master and learn more about why he wanted her, but he didn’t think Liora would allow him to leave without a fight. She wanted him to stay.

Why?

His heart supplied that perhaps she desired to kiss him again.

He wished.

Asmodeus tried to focus on the stars and failed when his thoughts turned to Liora and when she had kissed him. He could still taste her. The kiss had made him feel strange, fuzzy and unfocused, and he wanted to do it again.

He wanted the petite female sitting beside him with her beautiful eyes on the stars and her hand covering his, even though she was full of light and purity.

For the first time in his life, he wished there was more good in him in the human sense of the word, not less. He wanted to be worthy of her and right now he wasn’t. A beautiful, noble, and caring female like Liora deserved a male of equal character.

She would never truly desire someone only capable of violence, cruelty, and darkness. Everything she viewed as bad.

His gaze slid to her against his will and traced the outline of her profile. Starlight bathed her skin in pale tones that his eyes could see. They were accustomed to the dark and marked another difference between them.

She was mortal.

He was immortal.

She glanced across at him and he averted his gaze to his wings. The wind played in his black feathers. It had felt good to fly with her in his arms, held close against his chest, and to feel her hands on his skin.

Asmodeus slipped his right hand from beneath hers, leaned to his left and brought his wing forwards, between them. She frowned and a flicker of hurt crossed her face. He hadn’t meant it as a barrier or an act of pushing her away.

He nimbly preened his ruffled feathers and she relaxed again, and went back to gazing at the stars. Asmodeus focused on tending to his wings. Some of the feathers were out of place from flying and he needed something other than Liora to concentrate on so he could free up his mind. Working on a task that was second nature to him often allowed him to clear his head and caused his thoughts to fall into better order. He hoped it was the case today.

Cleaning his weapons normally produced the same effect.

One of his swords did need cleaning, but he didn’t think that Liora would appreciate him tending to the blade. It would remind her of what he had done, and that the Devil wanted her, and it would spoil this quiet moment of calm.

“Do you not like the stars?” she whispered, her gaze returning to him.

Asmodeus paused at his work and looked over his wing to her. He did like the stars and he liked her too, and he thought she was infinitely more beautiful than they were. What would she say if he told her that?

He shoved that thought away and nodded. “I do, but my feathers are misaligned. They irritate me.”

“Can you put your wings away?” Her hazel eyes lowered to his wing and, before he could answer that he could if he desired it, she had reached over, laid her palm on the curve of his wing, and was running her hand down it.

Holy Hell, that felt good.

A shiver bolted through him, hot and fierce, reigniting his blood and making it burn for more. He wanted her to stroke his wing again, to caress it and tease him, driving him wild with need for her.

His fangs lengthened and he sensed the moment his irises brightened and began to verge on crimson. Her eyes widened and her fingers paused against his feathers.

She sounded breathless when she uttered, “You like me touching them?”

Asmodeus told himself not to nod and not to let on that her touching his wings had him hurtling towards the edge of bliss and had him rock hard in his loincloth.

He tried.

Failed.

He nodded and swallowed hard when she resumed her stroking, sending hot little shivers tripping over his flesh, stoking his hunger up degree after degree until he couldn’t take any more.

His red eyes narrowed on her lips.

He wanted to taste them again. He wanted to shove his fingers into her fall of soft chestnut hair, grasp the back of her head and yank it back so he could devour her mouth and master her.

He would do just that.

Asmodeus reached for her.

His head turned, his stomach twisted, and his fingers shook. A wave of weakness crashed over him and he trembled and pressed his hand to his stomach. His heart raced.

“Asmodeus, what’s wrong?” Liora’s hand settled against his cheek and he lifted his wide eyes to hers.

“I do not know.” Admitting that sent shame sweeping through him and he cast his gaze away from her. He focused on his body, his pulse spiking and skin prickling. What was wrong with him?

His vision blurred and his stomach cramped, violently this time, turning in on itself until he came close to vomiting.

“You’re shaking.” Liora pressed her palm to his forehead. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

Asmodeus swallowed and nodded, and tried to focus again. It was harder now and took much of his remaining strength. That was fading fast, leaving him shaking worse than he had been barely a second ago.

“Dizzy. Nauseous. Weak. Ailing… I have never felt like this before.” He lifted his gaze to hers again and clutched his bare stomach. “At the tower… I felt strange… I feared I was growing sick.”

“Maybe you are sick.” She pressed her hand harder against his forehead and he caught the flicker of panic in amidst the concern brightening her eyes. “We need to take you somewhere safe and find a way to treat you.”

He nodded again. He didn’t want to be sick. He didn’t like this feeling of weakness invading him.

She rose to her feet and offered her hand to him. He refused to take it and lumbered onto his feet, staggered a few steps down the hill, and finally found his balance. A growl slipped free of his lips and he straightened to his full height, unwilling to let whatever was affecting him get the better of him. He was not weak. He was strong, powerful, and immortal.

He would defeat this sickness.

Liora came to stand opposite him and grasped both of his hands in hers. She looked up at him, her fine eyebrows furrowed with the concern that shone in her eyes, and gave him a short smile.

“We’ll get you better. Just… trust me… okay, Asmodeus? Trust me.”

He wasn’t sure he knew how to trust because he had never tried to place that sort of faith in anyone before, but he was willing to try for her. He nodded and she closed her eyes, and sudden warmth flooded his hands and raced up his arms. He tried to take them away from her but she tightened her grip until it felt as if she was branding his bones with fire.

The dark countryside disappeared and a pale room took its place, filled with elegant matching furniture.

Asmodeus glanced around the expansive living room. It was light and airy. Was this Liora’s home?

“What the hell are you doing here?” The male voice crashed into his ears a split-second before a fist slammed into his jaw, snapping his head to his left and knocking him off balance. His head turned violently and he stumbled, reaching blindly for something to grab to stop himself from hitting the polished wooden floor. The male growled again. “Get behind me, Liora.”

Liora ignored that command and held on to Asmodeus’s wrists, keeping him upright.

She had betrayed him.

Asmodeus snarled and tore free of Liora’s grip, and came to face a male he hated with every drop of blood in his body.

Apollyon’s blue eyes flashed in warning and his black wings erupted from his bare back. The male beat them hard and slammed into Asmodeus, sending him flying backwards against the cream wall. He tried to evade the vicious swing of Apollyon’s right hook but he wasn’t quick enough in his weakened state. The male’s fist smashed into his mouth and blood flooded it.

Asmodeus growled and exposed his bloodied fangs, his anger rising and obliterating the weakness that had been invading him, driving it to the back of his mind.

“Apollyon,” Liora snapped and the large black-haired male paid her no heed as he pushed her behind him.

Apollyon sent his loose black cotton bottoms away, replacing them with his gold-edged black armour and Asmodeus hated him all the more.

Before him stood a completed version of himself, a male worthy of the notice of the female bravely advancing on them. He despised Apollyon for having what he lacked and therefore being able to possess what he could never dream of having.

Liora.

Asmodeus’s black claws sharpened and he swung at Apollyon. The male easily evaded the weak blow, grasped his shoulders, and shoved him hard against the wall, pinning his wings and knocking the wind from him.

Defeated.

How the demons would laugh if they could see him now. Weak and pathetic. Unable to fight. On the verge of collapse.

Only the wall and Apollyon’s unforgiving grip was keeping him standing.

“What are you doing here, Wretch?” Apollyon shoved him harder against the wall, his fingers pressing deep into his shoulders, and narrowed his swirling blue gaze on him. The male’s long black hair was wild and ruffled. He had been asleep. This was not Liora’s home.

She had brought him to Apollyon.

He had grown weak, sick, and she had taken it as a chance to bring him here to this male. Why? Because she desired him to see his failings? She had asked him to trust her. He would never trust her again.

Asmodeus’s lips peeled back off his fangs and he glared as he spit blood at his superior twin.

Apollyon released one of his shoulders to wipe the blood off his face and Asmodeus snarled and struggled again. He managed to crack his left fist across Apollyon’s jaw, knocking the angel away from him. It cost him.

His head turned, the world wobbled out of focus, and his balance left him.

“Asmodeus,” Liora shouted and was there before him in an instant, shoving Apollyon aside and wrapping her arms around his chest to support him.

Asmodeus growled, pushed her away, and stumbled to his left. He hit a small white wooden table in the corner of the room and the china lamp on it toppled onto the floor and smashed. Asmodeus shot his left hand out, pressed it against the wall in front of him and braced himself,