“By overdeveloped, you mean what? They have sex every day?”
He chuckled, the rough sound echoing in her ear. “Multiple times a day. We need sexual release more than we need blood, in fact. It’s the only way to maintain our sanity.”
His hand slid down to her hip, fingertips lightly tickling her skin.
“It’s not quite as powerful as what we’re experiencing now.Amnighis all-consuming, only betweenamsouelots. It affects both males and females who’ve seen or met their predestined mate.”
“Seen? So, what? It intensifiesbeforethey actually meet?”
He nodded.
Penelope thought back to those first days when she’d been with him. The overwhelming need, the desire. She’d been embarrassed by her actions, but it had been a byproduct of them meeting. Not her fault, after all. Interesting.
Sliding her hand over Obsidian’s taut stomach, Penelope pressed her lips to his chest. “How did you know to come up here?”
“I can feel you. Your pain, your need. It’s growing stronger.”
“Why can’t I feel yours?”
“You will. Eventually.”
For some reason, that bothered her. It didn’t seem fair that he could know when she needed him, but she couldn’t return the favor. What if he was in trouble? What if he needed her? How would she know?
“You will,” he repeated.
Realizing he’d answered the question she’d only thought, Penelope lifted her head. “You’re reading my thoughts?”
“Not intentionally. Usually, I have to mean to do it. With you, it’s becoming a constant, something I can’t avoid.”
“Can you read everyone’s thoughts?”
“Yes.”
“Can all angels?”
“Warriors, yes. My brothers have the same abilities I do. The others, they have to touch their subject, but then they can.”
“Will I be able to? You know, when you turn me?”
Yes, she realized she’d saidwhen,notif. It was no longer a question in her mind. What she felt for him was so powerful, Penelope couldn’t imagine a life without him in it.
“Yes,” he answered. “My powers become yours, making us equals in every way. It allowsamsouelotsto protect one another.”
Obsidian sat up, dropped his feet over the side of the bed, his back to her. Unable to help herself, Penelope reached over, touched his skin, outlined the wings with her fingertips.
“Why is one of the wings black?”
“It identifies me as Michael’s warrior.”
“Does everyone have the tattoo?”
“Technically, it’s not a tattoo. There’s no ink in my skin.”
She grazed the intricate lines, found it fascinating that what looked like ink wasn’t.
“Can I see them?”
Obsidian peered back at her. “See what?”
