Page 80 of When the Angel Falls First

“Yes! Caleb, ahh—” Her channel locked into a vice grip as she orgasmed around me, and she nearly drove me over the edge before I was ready. I stilled for a second, trying to concentrate over the incredible sensation of her. When my left hand was exactly where I wanted her to wear my mark—across her upper thigh—I started moving faster, driving her higher in the midst of her release, not letting her come back down.

If I had my way, she’d never come down. We’d live in this bubble of bliss forever. But first, I had to bind us, complete the seal.

When I was on the precipice of my own release, I let the power I’d been holding so tightly go in a rush. It surged through my veins, concentrating in my palm as golden light flared between us.

She screamed, the ecstasy it added too great for her human senses to comprehend. Her body bowed, seating me even deeper inside her as my own release took me, burning down my spine in a molten wave. I shouted her name, unable to hold anything back as I filled her.

We stayed locked together until the light faded, and then I pulled her close. Our bodies were damp, with water from the clouds and sweat from our exertions.

She trembled lightly in my arms as I brushed a curl back from her forehead.

“That was… incredible. What was that, at the end?”

“That was the seal. You’ll wear my mark here,” I let myfingers trail over the smooth flesh of her thigh, where a golden wing glowed under my touch. “And I’ll wear yours, here.” I pressed her fingertips back over my shoulder blade where she’d held me, her own matching mark permanently branded into my skin. To a human, they would look like any other tattoo. But any time a bonded angel touched their mate’s mark, it glowed, the divine energy inside it proof of the sealed bond between them.

“It’s really real, then. I’m your Chosen,” she whispered in awe, tears glittering along her lower lids. I kissed along her cheekbones, chasing them away.

“You’re my Chosen, now and forever.”

THIRTY-THREE

Josie

SEVERAL MONTHS LATER

The warm glowof the Bookish Cat’s lights spilled across the shelves, casting a romantic spell over the place. It was twilight, my favorite time of day, when the shop hummed softly like a contented purr—or maybe that was Matilda. A few lingering customers thumbed through pages, the faint scent of vanilla mixing with the aroma of books both old and new. Scattered heart-shaped garlands hung from the shelves, and a small bowl of chocolate truffles sat atop the counter beside me, a delicious reminder that it was Valentine’s Day. The store was mine, my sanctuary, and tonight, it buzzed with a touch of extra romantic magic.

Which meant it was only a matter of time before Caleb appeared.

From somewhere behind a stack of mysteries, Heathcliff emerged, padding gracefully across the wooden floor like the feline royalty he believed himself to be. Gatsby followed close behind, while Matilda was perched on a shelf in the poetry section, tail flicking with the cadence of her own quietmusings. I shook my head, smiling, and grateful that they hadn’t left despite Gabriel dismissing them from their mission.

I felt eyes on me and turned to see Caleb wandering between the shelves, but his eyes were on me. He raised his fingers to his lips and then pointed to the individuals browsing through the new French cookbooks I got through an independent publisher.

The man and woman were oblivious to the magic swirling around them. Caleb, with his usual understated elegance, had maneuvered them into this nook of the shop with all the subtlety of a master cupid at work. The couple struck up a conversation, and their enthusiasm made me smile. Caleb had drawn them together over a shared interest in something mundane yet oddly intimate: bread-making.

Caleb’s celestial powers were never flashy—more of a gentle nudge than a shove. As the couple’s fingers touched over the book, I saw the faintest spark of attraction pass between them, like a flicker of a candle just waiting to burn bright.

“Do you have another copy of this?” the woman asked while keeping her fingertips on the book.

“Sorry,” I shrugged as I smiled on the inside, “the translations from French were few and far between. I was lucky to get that copy at all.” Warmth came over me, a wave of communication from Caleb and the right words came to me. “But you know that baking in France is an art to be shared…”

The man smiled at the woman. “I would love to buy you this book.”

She smiled back, a blush growing up her neck. “Only if I can bake you the first loaf.”

It was borderline cheesy, though I’d never read a line quite like it before.

I rang up the sale, the couple never taking their eyes off each other. I could have charged ten times more for the book and they’d never have been any the wiser, not that I ever would. Love born over French loaves on Valentine’s Day sounded perfect for these two.

The bell above the door tinkled as they left, chatting about the benefits of homemade versus commercial sourdough starters.

Well done, my heart,Caleb communicated to me from across the shop. There were a few other folks browsing, and some words were best shared silently.You have a gift.

Pride bloomed in my chest. This was our life: me and my celestial matchmaker, creating new love stories in the midst of our own. I glanced at Caleb, who caught my eye and winked, my heart doing that familiar flip.

How was it that one look from him still made me feel like a girl falling in love for the first time all over again?

We held each other’s eyes, desire growing like a vine that tied us together, as the last of the browsing patrons stepped outside.

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