THE DARKEST ANGEL Read Online Free PDF Page A

pickles and cheese—decorating the edges of the plate. The manifestation didn’t surprise him. That was the beauty of these angelic homes. Whatever was desired—within reason, of course—was provided.
    All this food, and she hadn’t taken a single bite. Why would she request— It wasn’t stolen, he realized, and for the first time in his endless existence, he was angry with himself. And scared. For her. He hated the emotion, but there it was. She hadn’t eaten in these past nine days because she couldn’t. She was truly starving to death.
    Though he wanted her out of his head, out of his life, he hadn’t wanted her to suffer. Yet suffer she had. Unbearably. Now she was too weak to steal anything. And if he force-fed her, she would vomit, hurting more than she already was. Suddenly he wanted to roar.
    “Blade,” he said, and within a single blink, a sharp-tipped blade rested in his hand. He stalked to the side of the bed. He was trembling.
    “Fries. Chocolate shake.” Her voice was soft, barely audible.
    Lysander slashed one of his wrists. Blood instantly spilled from the wound, and he stretched out his arm, forcing each drop to fall into her mouth. Blood was not food for Harpies; it was medicine. Therefore her body could accept it. He’d never freely given his blood to another living being and wasn’t sure he liked the thought of something of his flowing inside this woman’s veins. In fact, the thought actually caused his heartbeat to start slamming against his ribs again. But there was no other way.
    At first, she didn’t act as if she noticed. Then her tongue emerged, licking at the liquid before it could reach her lips. Then her eyes opened, amber irises bright, and she grabbed on to his arm, jerking it to her mouth. Her sharp teeth sank into his skin as she sucked.
    Another odd sensation, he thought. Having a woman drink from him. There was heat and wetness and a sting, yet it was not unpleasant. It actually lanced a pang of...something unnameable straight to his stomach and between his legs.
    “Drink all you need,” he told her. His body would not run out. Every drop was replaced the moment it left him.
    Her gaze narrowed on him. The more she swallowed, the more fury he saw banked there. Soon her fingers were tightening around his wrist, her nails cutting deep. If she expected some sort of reaction from him, she would not get it. He’d been alive too long and endured far too many injuries to be affected by something so minor. Except for that pang between his legs... What was that?
    Finally, though, she released him. He wasn’t sure if that gladdened him or filled him with disappointment.
    Gladdened, of course, he told himself.
    A trickle of red flowed from the corner of her mouth, and she licked it away. The sight of that pink tongue caused another lance to shoot through him.
    Definitely disap—uh, gladdened.
    “You dirty rat,” she growled through her panting. “You sick, dirty, torturing rat.”
    He moved out of striking distance. Not to protect himself, but to protect her. If she were to attack him, he would have to subdue her. And if he subdued her, he might hurt her. And accidentally brush against her. Blood...heating...
    “It was never my intent to harm you,” he said. And now, even his voice was trembling. Odd.
    “And that makes what you did okay?” She jerked to a sitting position, all that dark hair spilling around her shoulders. The pearllike sheen was slowly returning to her skin. “You left me here, unable to eat. Dying!”
    “I know.” Was that skin as soft as it looked? He gulped. “And I am sorry.” Her anger should have overjoyed him. As he’d hoped, she would no longer laugh up at him, her face lit with the force of her amusement. She would no longer race around him, petting him. Yes, he should have been overjoyed. Instead, the disappointment he’d just denied experiencing raced through him. Disappointment mixed with shame.
    She was more a temptation than he had