Page 157 of A House of Gold
"I'm serious," he says, but there's a hint of humor in his voice now. "The first time Lysander looks at you like he wants to devour you, I'm turning him into gold, then smelting him to make a new door handle."
I smother a laugh. "Please don't. We need him for the battle."
"After the battle, then."
"After the battle, he's going to be bound to me. Which means you'll have to tolerate him."
Croesus groans. "This is going to be a disaster."
"Absolutely." I lean down, kiss him slowly. "But we'll figure it out."
His hands slide up my back, pulling me closer. "How are you so calm about this?"
"The calmness is the outside, a way to cope, survive, hide from the enemies. You know I am terrified, can feel it." I kiss his jaw, his neck, feel him shiver beneath me. "But I've learned that sometimes you have to just step into the terror and trust you'll survive it."
"And if you don't?"
"Then at least I'll have tonight." I sit back, look at him, this beautiful, damaged angel who's been alone for three thousand years. "At least I'll have this moment with you."
Something in his expression cracks. The careful control, the measured distance he tries to maintain.
"I love you," he says again, and this time it sounds like a vow. "I love you, and I'm terrified of losing you, and I'm going to spend every moment ensuring you survive all of this."
"I know."
"Even if it means letting six other angels touch you. Even if it means watching you bond with them. Even if it kills me."
"It won't kill you." I rock against him, feel him harden beneath me. "You're too stubborn to die from jealousy."
His smile slips across his face. Then his hands tighten on my hips, and the humor fades into something hotter.
"Raven," he warns.
"Yes?"
"If we do this now, if I have you tonight, I'm going to remember it tomorrow. While you're bonding with them. While they're touching you, binding themselves to you." His voice drops. "I'm going to remember what it feels like to have you like this. Just you and me. Before we had to share."
"Good." I lean down, whisper in his ear. "Remember it. Hold onto it. Because no matter how many bonds we create, no matter how many angels I'm tied to, this is ours. You and me. What we choose to be when no one's watching."
He groans, and then he's rolling us over, pinning me beneath him on the bed. His weight is solid, grounding, real.
"You're going to be the death of me," he mutters against my throat.
"Probably." I arch up against him. "But what a way to go."
He kisses me then, deep and consuming and filled with everything he can't say. All the fear and love and possessiveness and desperation bleeding through the binding and into the kiss.
I kiss him back just as fiercely, trying to pour all my own fear and love and certainty into the connection between us. Tomorrow we face an archangel. Tomorrow I become a weapon.
Tomorrow everything changes.
But tonight, we have this.
His hands are everywhere, learning, claiming, memorizing. He traces patterns on my skin, kisses every inch he can reach, like he's trying to map me entirely.
I let him. Let him worship me with touch and tongue and whispered words in an ancient language that makes my bones vibrate.
"Mine," he murmurs against my breast. "At least for tonight. Mine."
