Page 31 of Metatron
He palmed her waist and hoisted her, her legs tucking around his flanks and under his wings. Her sex taking his cock with a heated squeeze that had him bracing lest his knees collapse.
Their lips remained locked as he bounced her, his hands on her buttocks, buried to the hilt, their breathing matching in raggedness as they both raced to orgasm.
The moment she climaxed, her channel milking him hard, he joined her, jetting deep, feeling her contractions, the rightness of the connection.
Their joining ended with her soft kiss on his chin and murmured, “We have to get going.”
While he hated having to cut the intimacy short, he did enjoy watching her as she extended her arms and spread her legs for the cleansing.
They dressed, both of them adding layers of garments and weapons. Her more than him. He didn’t recognize the knives she strapped on. Had the cantorii provided them? He knew the ship couldn’t replicate the firearm she holstered, meaning Francesca had stashed some on board. Wouldn’t Elyon have a fit if he knew?
When they were both ready, he hooked his arm around her waist and the cantorii beamed them to a spot above the building, hidden inside the damp clouds. Francesca clung tight, as if fearful he’d drop her.
Never.
She murmured against his ear. “Zilla says the pulse has knocked everything out on that block.”
“Then let’s go meet your president.” He angled through the moist cumulus layer and emerged closer than expected to the towering complex. The windows he sought were a mirrored bank that showed him arrowing in. Nothing he could do about that. His one arm tightened around Francesca as his other pulled his divinii blade.
Before hitting the glass, he pulled up slightly and hovered, his wings beating steadily while his rapid slices created an opening, the glass he’d carved falling inward. He flew through and deposited Francesca as he surveyed the room.
A woman and a man eyed him with dropped jaws.
The president, recognizable from the images he’d seen, recovered first and blustered, “Who are you? What is the meaning of this? Is this a joke?”
Metatron touched the pommel of his sword to his chest in a sign of respect as he said, “I am archangel Metatron, warrior in Elyon’s Army of Light, here to give you warning that your planet is about to be overrun by agents of Hell.”
Chapter 10
I couldn’t blame the president for laughing at Tron’s announcement. It sounded insane. It didn’t help the media had been buzzing of late with angel sightings and imp issues. People were convinced of a massive-scale prank. I had only to recall my skepticism to know the expression on the president’s face indicated she wouldn’t be a person easily convinced.
She crossed her arms and gave Tron a steely-eyed gaze. “Accosting me is a crime.”
“Hardly accosting,” Tron replied. “Merely relaying important information. Your world is about to be invaded.”
“Sure it is and you’re a real angel.” The president rolled her eyes. “Nice costume.”
I cleared my throat. “Crazy as it sounds, it’s true. And trust me, I was a skeptic.”
The steely gaze swept to me. “And you are?”
“Francesca Moretti. Leader of the Pittsburgh Templar Knights, sworn to fight evil. I’ve been trying to organize the defense against Hell.”
“Hell?” The president snorted. “I think my agencies would have noticed an invasion of demons boiling from a crack in the Earth.”
“You mistake where the threat is coming from. Hell is in space,” Metatron corrected.
I jumped it. “It’s that meteor they spotted entering our galaxy. The really big one.”
The president waved her hand. “It’s never going to hit us. My scientists say it’s going to end up in the sun.”
“They’re wrong.” A flat reply by Metatron. “Hell will change course shortly. Before it arrives, though, you’ll have to deal with the legion it will send to pave the way.”
The president uttered a short bark of laughter. “This is priceless. You want me to believe Hell is coming as an alien invasion.”
It sounded insane, and yet I jumped to his defense. “He’s telling the truth.”
The president crossed her arms. “Prove it.”