Angel Heart by Sullivan Phoenix

Author:Sullivan, Phoenix [Sullivan, Phoenix]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Steel Magnolia Press
Published: 2015-11-18T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

OWAIN

How was it only a few short hours ago I had stood on the precipice of eternity, filled only with grief and guilt, and now, so quickly, I stood here on the precipice of one of the most life-affirming acts I knew?

I hesitated. Not because I found fault in the man who extended his arms—as well as that glorious staff—in invitation, but because I feared I would be betraying Rousel, whose memory was so near.

How could I help comparing them? Their beauty a match, Damian’s size and shape only a little taller, a little broader and no less muscled than Rousel, whose every curve, every ridge I remembered so well. Neither I nor Rousel, though, matched the long, proud length of Damian that demanded lavish worship, seducing me with a magic stronger than any fae or shifter could compel.

Nor was I the only one seduced by its charms.

What was there of Branwyn I did not already know? Friends we’d been while she was still in braids, long before she’d captured Rousel’s heart. In soldiers’ camps and on lonely trails Rousel had added knowledge of her beyond the grace and beauty and generosity of the woman I had grown to know myself.

With me, he’d shared every intimate detail of her, from how the sweet rounds of her breasts cupped perfectly into his hands to how the sweet, dark mystery of her teased him to distraction. How she was biddable when it mattered and headstrong when it didn’t. And how when their bodies were locked together in consummation, it was with the same joy that he and I had pleasured in.

Not for the first time, I longed to see Branwyn as Rousel had, through his eyes, through his heart. To hold her and touch her as Rousel had, to place my lips where his had been. To see her joyed in the way Rousel had wanted her to be.

As I wanted her to be.

Between them—her and Damian—there was no choice. I prayed neither of them would make me choose.

Willingly Branwyn and I went into Damian’s outstretched arms. I turned to her in plea. “It is the Christ’s Mass—let us gift each other with the memory of Rousel.”

She ducked her head as a maid must, but not before I saw the bright passion of her eyes.

“And I,” Damian said, a tremble in his deep and melodious voice that found an echo in my loins, “can gift you with a night of distraction, when we can forget who and what we were that makes us grieve. In this season of hope and new beginnings, let us be those things each for one another.”

Branwyn raised a cool and slender hand to each of our cheeks. “I missed my wedding day today. I would have my wedding night.”

A shiver ran through the core of me. She was not denying Damian’s gift…nor mine.

“Wedding day—?” The startlement in Damian’s eyes was clear. “Then you two are not wed?”

She shook her head.

“Then you’re like me? You’ve never”—he looked about uncertainly for the term—“been bred?”

Branwyn blushed deeply.

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