Free Her Wicked Angel (Her Angel Romance Series Book 6) by Felicity Heaton

normally produced the same effect.
    One of his swords did need cleaning, but he didn’t think that Liora would appreciate him tending to the blade. It would remind her of what he had done, and that the Devil wanted her, and it would spoil this quiet moment of calm.
    “Do you not like the stars?” she whispered, her gaze returning to him.
    Asmodeus paused at his work and looked over his wing to her. He did like the stars and he liked her too, and he thought she was infinitely more beautiful than they were. What would she say if he told her that?
    He shoved that thought away and nodded. “I do, but my feathers are misaligned. They irritate me.”
    “Can you put your wings away?” Her hazel eyes lowered to his wing and, before he could answer that he could if he desired it, she had reached over, laid her palm on the curve of his wing, and was running her hand down it.
    Holy Hell, that felt good.
    A shiver bolted through him, hot and fierce, reigniting his blood and making it burn for more. He wanted her to stroke his wing again, to caress it and tease him, driving him wild with need for her.
    His fangs lengthened and he sensed the moment his irises brightened and began to verge on crimson. Her eyes widened and her fingers paused against his feathers.
    She sounded breathless when she uttered, “You like me touching them?”
    Asmodeus told himself not to nod and not to let on that her touching his wings had him hurtling towards the edge of bliss and had him rock hard in his loincloth.
    He tried.
    Failed.
    He nodded and swallowed hard when she resumed her stroking, sending hot little shivers tripping over his flesh, stoking his hunger up degree after degree until he couldn’t take any more.
    His red eyes narrowed on her lips.
    He wanted to taste them again. He wanted to shove his fingers into her fall of soft chestnut hair, grasp the back of her head and yank it back so he could devour her mouth and master her.
    He would do just that.
    Asmodeus reached for her.
    His head turned, his stomach twisted, and his fingers shook. A wave of weakness crashed over him and he trembled and pressed his hand to his stomach. His heart raced.
    “Asmodeus, what’s wrong?” Liora’s hand settled against his cheek and he lifted his wide eyes to hers.
    “I do not know.” Admitting that sent shame sweeping through him and he cast his gaze away from her. He focused on his body, his pulse spiking and skin prickling. What was wrong with him?
    His vision blurred and his stomach cramped, violently this time, turning in on itself until he came close to vomiting.
    “You’re shaking.” Liora pressed her palm to his forehead. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”
    Asmodeus swallowed and nodded, and tried to focus again. It was harder now and took much of his remaining strength. That was fading fast, leaving him shaking worse than he had been barely a second ago.
    “Dizzy. Nauseous. Weak. Ailing… I have never felt like this before.” He lifted his gaze to hers again and clutched his bare stomach. “At the tower… I felt strange… I feared I was growing sick.”
    “Maybe you are sick.” She pressed her hand harder against his forehead and he caught the flicker of panic in amidst the concern brightening her eyes. “We need to take you somewhere safe and find a way to treat you.”
    He nodded again. He didn’t want to be sick. He didn’t like this feeling of weakness invading him.
    She rose to her feet and offered her hand to him. He refused to take it and lumbered onto his feet, staggered a few steps down the hill, and finally found his balance. A growl slipped free of his lips and he straightened to his full height, unwilling to let whatever was affecting him get the better of him. He was not weak. He was strong, powerful, and immortal.
    He would defeat this sickness.
    Liora came to stand opposite him and grasped both of his hands in hers. She looked up at him, her fine eyebrows furrowed with the concern that shone in her eyes, and gave