Coldest Fire by Juliette Cross

Author:Juliette Cross
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy & Futuristic Romance; Paranormal Angel Romance; Paranormal Demons & Devils Romance; Metaphysical Fiction; Paranormal & Urban Fantasy; Romantic Fantasy; Sword & Sorcery Fantasy eBooks; Dominion series; Juliette Cross; Entangled Publishing; Amara; Stand Alone Romance; Revenge romance; Urban Fantasy; battle; war; fight pits; magic; witches; enemies to lovers romance; archangel romance; angel romance; demon witch; underworld; paranormal romance; opposites attract romance; redemption romance; fallen hero; suspenseful romance; immortal hero; alpha hero romance;
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC
Published: 2019-10-22T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Uriel

I thought maybe the fire in my blood was all from my need for vengeance, the restrained violence I’d been holding back perhaps leaking over into other aggressive thoughts, and the only one in my immediate vicinity to receive those thoughts was Nadya. But after three fights and three victorious wins in the ring, my blood only pumped harder, faster, arrowing down into my cock, screaming for relief.

I knew myself well enough to realize this had nothing to do with simple lust or the need to relieve restrained energy. This had everything to do with her.

She sifted us out into the middle of the field near her cottage. Circe whimpered from her spot in the tree line.

“Oh.” She looked around. “We’re too far from—”

My patience almost spent, I sifted us to the edge of my own wards and let her go. I needed some space from her body, from her beauty.

“Hurry.” She walked ahead of me. “I’ll get my stitching needles. I have a balm that will keep it from infection.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re injured.” She scowled over her shoulder, which only made me smile.

We stepped into her cottage. Deimos uncurled and stretched from the quilt on the chair he was curled up on, looked at us, stretched and arched his tiny back, then circled and curled up again. Nadya dropped her long coat then ran to her bedroom.

“Come in here,” she shouted. “I can stitch it quickly enough.”

Blowing out a sigh, I followed her voice into her bedroom, noting the simplicity of the room and the sweet smells that reminded me of her. A warmth bloomed at the center of my chest.

“I don’t need you to stitch it up. Trust me.”

“What are you talking about?” She came out of the bathroom with a small leather bag in her hands and set it on the trunk at the end of the bed. “Sit.”

“I can’t. I need to take off the armor first.”

“Oh. Of course.”

The wounds had stopped bleeding, but there was a messy trail of blood down my leg and covering my right hand.

Turning my back to her, I asked, “Can you unhook the latch at the top of the bar connecting the wing armor?”

I knew she might be confused looking at the complex but ingenious design by Carowyn.

“I don’t quite see…”

With my left hand, I swept my long hair off the nape of my neck so she could see where the chest armor lapped over my shoulders and melded into a small plate that held latches for the wing armor.

“There’s a lever for each wing. Press the release on each side of the bar holding it in place.”

I tried to crouch lower, but it was difficult with my wings and the plated armor dragging on the floor. One of her delicate hands clasped the bare skin on the inside of my armor on the slope of my neck. I couldn’t stop the tremor of pleasure from her gentle hand on my skin.

“I see it.”

Click. The armor on my left wing sagged to the floor.

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