Angels of the Deep by Kirby Crow

Author:Kirby Crow [Crow, Kirby]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: erotic MM, Romance MM
ISBN: 9781608200269
Google: HaxtgJocRL4C
Amazon: 1608200264
Publisher: MLR Press
Published: 2009-04-04T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

Mastema had once heard a human poem: Tiger tiger burning bright...

The Nephilim burned.

Mastema had watched them together in the bar. Beck’s pure violet aura blazed and cut through the weak colors of human auras. Even in the rush of voices, the noise and music and random shouts, his aura had pushed their colors back in a great swath, dominating them effortlessly. No wonder Becket felt alone in the world. He was alone. It could be no other way.

The auras of the bar crowd engaged in an orgy of seeking, tendrils spread wide, touching as many as possible. A great psychic sharing, completely unobserved by the humans, as were the shades that rose from the wooden floor in a cool spiral wave, opalescent and insubstantial, the blending of thousands of emotions left behind over the period of centuries. The building was centuries old, the emanations of the past potent and visible. It was a strong place.

He had lurked and watched there, too, watched the kiss and the desire stirring in the pair as they clutched and pulled at each other. He had wanted to rip Beck away and immediately claim what was his, but then suddenly Beck was alone in the night.

Now, Beck could see him.

The desire to touch the Nephilim’s skin was a burning coal inside Mastema’s chest. He wanted to be near Beck, to enter his mind and savor his memories, rape them open and fill the void with his own essence. To possess him.

He reached out in command. Beck’s aura writhed as it was called, and he stared at Mastema in abject terror. Mastema felt the dull, red shock of Beck’s fear. He reached out again and stilled the Nephilim’s trembling mind, then he walked to the stone bench under the gas lamp and reclined, draping his arms over the bench’s wide back. Beck started violently when Mastema lifted one unnaturally long hand to command him closer.

154 Kirby Crow

Beck came haltingly to the bench, resistance making his steps jerky and unsure. The full moon was cloaked behind the laden clouds and snow drifted down lazily in the pleasant yellow glow of the antique lamp. Mastema smelled fuel oil burning and the muted stink of urine from the nearby alleyway. The wind that trailed cold fingers down his collar carried with it the heady, apple-scent of the Nephilim.

“Who are you?” Beck asked. His body shook in violent chills that rattled his frame and edged Mastema’s excitement to a new pitch.

“Sit beside me, Beck.”

Beck shivered again and started to back away, out of the small circle of light.

“Stop.” Beck froze. His eyes were round with fear, his mouth a tight, white line. How terrifying it must be, to hear a command you cannot disobey. Every muscle might shriek in denial and try to escape, but Beck was in his power now.

Mastema stood and went to him, stepping so close that he could see the snowflakes melting on his dark eyelashes.

Mastema stared, aching. Beck’s aura called Mastema and yet repelled, the conflicting pull of desires maddening him like a teasing caress.

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