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“Yes.” He bit my bottom lip much less gingerly than before. “Oh.” Then licked the entrance to my mouth before falling back to my side.
“Now, be a good girl and roll over before I lose control of myself.”
I rolled over. Even so, he spooned snugly up to me, making a grumbling sound. My mind raced away with very naughty thoughts, but I wasn’t stupid. I recognized the danger we were both in. If we gave in to temptation now, the consequence would be not only permanent separation from each other, but literally an eternity of hell for me. So, like agood girl, I changed the subject to get our minds off the present exquisitely painful predicament we were in.
“Why doesn’t Kat have a strong English accent? She was born and raised in England, right?”
I stared at the windows, two blocks of faint light streaming in from the streetlamps.
“Kat has tried to scrub out her life as a human, which included her life as one of the English nobility.”
“So, demon hunters aren’t human?”
“Not exactly, not anymore,” he replied. “Flamma operate in a different realm. You are like us now, even not fully awakened.”
I pondered that a moment, wondering when I’d be fully awakened and what that would entail. My thoughts wandered back to Kat.
“Well, why did she want to forget her human life? What happened?”
“I’m afraid those are her secrets to tell. As you meet others like us, you’ll find we keep certain things to ourselves.”
“No. You’re kidding.”
He pinched my upper arm as punishment.
“Ow!”
Then kissed it and burrowed closer behind me, one arm banding around my waist. “Suffice it to say, she had a cruel husband. Uncommonly cruel. But Kat’s a survivor. Like you.”
Like me. Yes, I was a survivor. I’d already survived a mother’s suicide and several demonic attacks, including the horrific assault on my soul by Danté. I would survive and continue on.
“So, what’s the story with her and George?”
His chest rumbled against my back as he let out a short laugh. “They have a history together.”
“Um, yeah. I gathered that. So, they dated or something? Can saints even date? That’s sort of weird.”
Jude laughed a little harder—a sweet, wonderful sound that made my heart sing.
“Yes, they were together once, around the time she became one of us. I don’t know why they fell out, but it seems they both are reluctant to let go. And George isn’t exactly like Mother Teresa. He’s more a warrior than an angel of mercy.”
“Yeah, I figured that one out tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I doubt Mother Teresa has kissed anybody like George kissed me.”
“Are you taunting me, woman?” he grumbled, squeezing me tighter around the waist.
“Taunting you? Me? Of course not.” I paused, suppressing the laugh bubbling up my throat. “But I can’t stop thinking about that kiss.”
He blew out a breath, sounding like a tire deflating, before flipping me promptly onto my back. I did laugh then, wrapping my arms around his neck, my fingers combing into his hair.
“I knew it had to be done, but God help me, when I saw his mouth on yours, I thought I was going to have to kill one of my dearest friends.”
“It wasn’tthatkind of a kiss,” I laughed. “Didn’t you hear him say that?”
“Yes, I know. Since it wasn’t a real kiss, then I’m sure it wasn’t any good,” he said as a statement not a question.
