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Fable’s eyes narrowed on Nova across the table. “I’ll name my terms later, but we’ll just say a favor as a placeholder.” The angel’s eyes dropped to where Nova’s shirt hung open. “Oh, and I can get rid of that mark, too.”
What?
My eyes flicked over to the man beside me. “You can?”
Smug, Fable smirked and nodded, shifting his eyes over to Mary as she strolled over with the food. “But it’ll meanthat.”
That?
Nova didn’t miss a beat. He never really did. His expression was resigned the second he stole a glance at me before nodding his assent. “You’re our best chance to make this happen, and I promise as soon as it’s finished, I’ll surrender my soul for cleansing.”
Cleansing?
I couldn’t help the way my eyebrows rose into my hairline. “Surrender your soul for cleansing? What does that even mean?”
Fable and Nova both smiled at me, but neither of them said another word.
23
White-Girl Sloshed
I STOOD AT THE CURB, looking down as Fable straddled a motorcycle, probably a Kawasaki. They werealwaysKawasakis. Oversized bros were all predictable like that. “A crotch rocket? Don’t angels have wings or something?” I taunted, eyeing the bike reproachfully.
Flipping his luscious dark hair back with one hand like I was about to take his photo—what a jerk—Fable leaned back and his boots scraped across the asphalt. “Get me excited enough and they might come out all on their own. But I don’t like to show my wings to just anyone, darling. I’m shy.”
Shy? Hah, what a load of shit.
I couldn’t help myself. I rolled my eyes and flipped him the bird. But my lips twitched up, giving me away. “Well, ridingthat thingin the midst of a thunderstorm doesn’t sound smart, so have fun with that, asshole.”
It was clear to me that everything I said to this angel entertained him. He wasn’t the least put off by my poison-laced retorts. If anything, it egged the bastard on. If I weren’t so tempted to try him on for size, I’d bash his face in. Might still bash it a little to ease the frustration. Angels probably healed quickly. It’d make this more fun if they did.
Bashing and smashing in more ways than one? Lady likes.
The tatted-up mafia angel reached for the helmet attached to the back of his bike and lifted it towards me, amber eyes twinkling. “You don’t strike me as someone who’s afraid of a little danger, or have I read you all wrong, Lady?”
He was goading me, but dammit if I didn’t fall perfectly for it every time.
I hated how much I wanted to prove nothing scared me—not some demon mistress of Hell, not a fallen angel who still had yet to tell me shit about himself, not this angel who looked more demon than most of the demons I’d encountered, and definitely not riding through a storm on a literal deathtrap.
Thick grey-green clouds had moved in while we were caught up inside, eating, discussing the world ending, acting like we weren’t three people who killed for a living. Rolling thunder took hold of the city and I smelled moisture in the air, ready for the storm to break its first rain. A loud crack echoed in the sky and lightning streaked a violent path to the earth, splintering and forking branches of beautiful light.
If not for Fable in front of me, holding out a helmet, I’d wonder if Nova had stolen me away to another illusion. Thunderstorms were the only identifier I counted on whenever deciding if it was real life or illusion. And now, thunder, water, and lightning reminded me of Nova and his erotic touches.
“I’ll be taking this one, then,” Fable announced to Nova, motioning for me to take the helmet he offered. “It’ll be important to form bonds and all that. You understand, right?”
I glanced over my shoulder to where Nova stood, his expression unreadable. Another emotionless mask was in place. His black shirt shifted in the violent wind coming in from the west.
The powerful silhouette his shape took seemed different today. Something about the man struck me as he stood in front of the double-doors, dirty blonde hair loose on the wind and ethereal emerald-green gaze locked with mine. It made my pulse thrum loudly in agitation.
Nova looked like sadness and tragedy had become him. Lived and breathed inside him. Darkened and corrupted him. Bled from his eyes and soul.
Shit was hard to look at.
Sadly, I’d know that look anywhere. It lived deep inside of me too, where I’d locked it away after fleeing the life that summoned it. The numb pain of regret and self-hatred; the look of a beaten and battered soul.
My stare skittered away, afraid I’d drown in those sad eyes if I looked any longer, and a part of me worried it’d drag out feelings I’d crushed long ago. Feelings I’d pushed down so I never had to feel them again.
Then, as if he’d summoned it, the heavens split open and rain came down in sheets, drenching our forms in seconds.
